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Still A Sunbeam

Summary: As a child, Elain Archeron is pushed into a pond by the heir to the Day Courts throne, Lucien Spell-Cleaver, and vows she'll never forgive him for it. But as an adult, Elain finds that if she wants out of an arranged marriage to a Spring Court prince, she will need Day Court's help. More is at stake than a decades-old rivalry, and when their home is threatened, Elain and Lucien will have to set aside old differences and work together

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Read on AO3

There was no hungover Arina to join Elain that next morning when she woke. There was a box, with a small, pink swim suit tucked against pretty white tissue. That was from Arina, an apology Elain thought for falling asleep in the library, leaving her to make her way through the palace alone.

She hoped, anyway. 

There was also a note in masculine script. 

Two o’clock. 

She supposed it was childish to go to his mother and demand a new teacher. Lucien acted as if she’d personally wronged him, when he was the one who’d shoved her. And yet Lucien acted as if she’d committed some grave, unforgivable sin against him. He was going to ruin everything for her, prove Killian right, and more than anything, Elain couldn’t abide by that. So she’d let tears fall down her cheeks and begged Amera Spell-Cleaver to please, please let someone else tutor her. 

Clearly that had failed. 

She didn’t believe Lucien could reign in his temper long enough to give her a worthwhile lesson which was the only thing that kept Elain from stalking to the throne room for his mother again. Let Lucien prove was a spoiled princeling he was. No one could accuse her of not trying, at least. She’d had her fair share of males like Lucien—Killian was just the same. Self-satisfied, pompous and arrogant, with a handsome face and a title that ensured he was never without company.

Elain dressed in blue and tried not to feel out of place with the satin sleeves hugging her arms despite the choking humidity. Elain wasn’t ready for breezy gowns with open backs and long slits up the sides, nor was she ready for pants.

Or teeny tiny swimsuits.

Instead, Elain chose to be dutiful. In the library, she pulled a book of all the current trade deals made between all seven courts over the last century and a half. The book held nearly a thousand pages of transcripts, documents, and testimony—and all of it was terribly dull. Four pages in, and Elain caught herself wondering if marriage to Killian wasn’t so terrible.

And then she remembered he was born the same year her mother was, and how often he’d picked her up when she’d been a little girl, and Elain went back to writing out detailed notes.

Sometimes agreements between courts was simple. Night and Day had built roads between their border cities, and seventy four years earlier, had arranged to have a guard of two soldiers from Day, and two from Night, inspect all goods that came in and out. Merchants were required to have matching seals—a sun and a moon—in order to sell their goods between the two courts. 

Other times they were more complex, such as when Summer imposed a tariff to all incoming ships looking to dock at their harbor. For Autumn, who relied on goods from the northern part of Prythian to make their way through Summer, this had been especially fraught and had nearly resulted in a war. 

Elain didn’t know how any of the High Lords managed any politicking when their overly large egos constantly got in the way. More often than not, simple things caused major fights that could go on for years. 

Decades, even. 

Elain rubbed at her eyes. She wanted to go back to her book about Seers—to read the firsthand account of a young girl grappling with visions, and the observations of a philosopher pondering the nature of such magic and why the Cauldron saw fit to pass it down the way it did. Seers rarely came through genetic lines, and were borne of all seven courts indiscriminately. 

Though, they showed up most frequently in Hybern, where Elain’s father was from. He was unremarkable unless you counted his head for numbers. What were the odds he had three extraordinary daughters? 

Elain compiled her notes, prepared this time for if Lucien asked her about trades. She hadn’t covered all of them, but she’d done just enough to hopefully impress upon him that she was serious. If he was the best, then Elain wanted him to show her how it was done. How to gather information, how to sit at the table with lords far older and cannier than her, and still have her way. Elain already knew the value of a pretty smile, of a well-placed hand and a well-timed laugh. 

But that was merely feigning interest and not getting her way. It was what saw Elain in her current predicament. She’d been too nice to Killian and now he believed she had genuine affection for him. 

He tried to sleep with her before she left. Pinned up against a wall, grinding himself against her as he’d murmured in her ear, “Something to remember me by.”Part of her thought it might just be better to get the whole thing over with. It might even temper Killain’s own lust once he realized he’d had her and no one else would ever get that distinction. She’d been too afraid, squeaking out an apology and excuse until he stopped kissing her neck and let her go. 

It seemed like sex was the favored pastime in Day. Elain knew of the orgies, the parties—had seen the prince on his knees, even—and didn’t think that was how she wanted her first time to be, either. She wanted to at least like the male. To be able to look back on it fondly rather than cringing at the memory. 

She was thinking of, maybe, if she could get her bearings, finding someone in the Day Court who was charming. Kind, even. Someone who would understand the limitations of her situation without being a massive prick about it. That wouldn’t expect marriage but not be cold or callous with her, either.

She pushed open the door to the small study, disappointed to find Lucien lounging in the high backed leather chair at the head of the square table, sandaled feet. The material of the fabric slung over his hips had ridden against his long, muscular thighs to a near indecent length. As he so often was, his chest was bare save for the white that cut diagonal over the broad planes of his torso, clasped with a golden brooch shaped like the sun. 

His auburn hair was half braided off his handsome face, and his wrists and bicep were cuffed in gold. He looked powerful, rakish even with that long hair, and still well-mannered and elegant. Every inch of him betrayed what he’d one day become. High Lord of Day—and an ally, if he ever stopped hating her.

If she could ever get past how much she loathed him.

Lucien looked up from the book in his hands, russet eyes sweeping over her before landing on the clock on the fireplace mantle.

“On time today,” he said, swinging his legs to the floor. Elain closed the door behind her, dropping her stack of notes to the table before sitting primly in her chair. 

Lucien drummed his fingers over the table for a moment, his jaw clenched. Elain braced herself for an onslaught of his temper, for him to slice her to bloodied ribbons for going to his mother.

“About yesterday,” he began in that deep, rich voice of his. Elain suppressed a shiver, bracing herself. “I’m sorry.”

Her mouth fell open. “What?”

Lucien’s full lips pulled into a thin line. “I’m not going to say it again.”

“You’re sorry?” she gaped. Of all the things he might have said, she’d never considered an apology.

“Yes,” he agreed crisply. “I—regret my words.”

He didn’t sound wholly convinced of that, and yet he was still apologizing. Elain nodded, deciding she wouldn’t outright forgive him. Not until he’d proven he would at least work with her. They didn’t have to be friends—he didn’t have to even respect her, really. So long as he trained her well enough to never have to return to Spring, Elain would be satisfied. 

“We’ll be going to Summer,” Lucien began, pulling out a large pad of paper. He propped it against an easel he’d dragged in, standing beside it with a black pen in hand. “There are things you need to know before you ever step foot inside.”

“Like what?” she asked, moving aside her own notes to jot down whatever Lucien said. 

His eyes swept over her. “Like the way they dress, for starters,” he said, making his distaste for her attire plain. 

Elain’s eyes widened, though she wrote it down anyway. “Okay.”

“Unlike other courts, Summer doesn’t conduct their meetings in a hall or a throne room. They take foreign dignitaries to an off-shore pleasure barge.”

Elain forced herself to remain unbothered, though the mention of a pleasure barge made her uncomfortable. She knew exactly what that meant and from the way Lucien was decidedly not making eye contact with her, she knew he understood, too. Elain wanted to ask him if the expectation was for her to have sex with one of them, but that was wild—and far too cruel, even for Lucien. 

He began writing on his large sheet of paper. “Dominic is who we’re trying to sway. He oversees the narrow channel between the Gulf of Adriata and the Prythian Sea. He had immense sway with the High Lord and right now imposes a tariff of thirty percent of all incoming goods against foreign ships.” Elain nodded, writing so quickly her hand was cramping.

“Summer has long coveted a relationship with Day outside of our usual dealings—one the High Lord is prepared to ink on paper if we can get them to lower the tariff to ten percent.”

“What’s the deal?”

“Saffron,” Lucien said, eyes sweeping over Elain. “It’s costly, especially to export.”

“So you’re offering to, what, exactly?”

“A wholesale price of saffron without the export fees and taxes in exchange for passage through the strait. Passing the straits lets us avoid the dangerous waters of Prythian’s southern sea and make more direct routes to Hybern and beyond. Without it, we’re forced to go up around night where the icy water damages our ships.”

“What am I supposed to do, exactly?”

Lucien glanced over his shoulder. “Surely I’m not required to teach you the art of seduction as well.”

Elain hated him for saying that. “Is that what you’ll be doing?”

A wolfish smile spread over his face. “Yes.”

“I thought there would be more…negotiation…” Elain replied lamely, hating that stupid look on his ridiculous face. Lucien arched a brow before turning back to his paper. 

“You thought we’d spend more time sitting around a table arguing when every court has a celebratory orgie? Truly, Elain?”

She did choke on her air, then. “Excuse me?”

“This is why I thought bringing you here was a bad idea. You don’t have to fuck anyone. It’s the illusion, Elain. The game—”

“And when they visit you, is that how they get what they want?” she demanded. 

He was still grinning. “Sometimes.”

Elain believed it. Against her will, the image of Lucien ducking his head beneath some nameless females skirt flooded through her mind. Elain pushed it aside, determined she wouldn’t be distracted. 

Elain let Lucien drone on about Dominic, the Summer court noble they’d be expected to charm and woo, until her hand ached. Two hours was all she got with him until it was time to go. Elain meant to sprint out that door in order to escape Lucien.

“Elain? Can I ask you a question?” he called when she stood, reaching for the door handle.

“No,” she replied, walking out without a look back. Elain had no interest in Lucien’s questions. He might have gotten himself together to educate her today, but she knew it was only a matter of time before he was back to insulting her.

The less they knew about each other, the better.

LUCIEN:

Lucien exhaled a breath, his head hitting the marble wall behind him. He didn’t know who was on her knees in front of him, pushing the fabric of his clothes up over his hips. He didn’t care. Lucien was more than a little intoxicated and was back to doing what he did best when he didn’t want to confront his feelings.

He was fucking. 

Well, he was getting his cock sucked, to be precise. He groaned when soft fingers wrapped around his aching shaft.

“Is this what you like, lord?” she whispered, pumping him roughly. Lucien bucked into her hands, gripping the strands of her hair.

“I’d like it better in your throat,” he growled, angling himself so the tip of his cock smeared precum against her bright red lips. She opened wide, tongue stuck out in invitation. Lucien was going to get caught. Despite the late hour, he hadn’t managed to get back to his bedroom before he’d lost control of himself and the writhing female he’d been hauling over his shoulders. 

He didn’t care. Not when she swallowed him nearly to the root, gagging softly on thick length of him. Lucien’s groan of pleasure bounced off the high ceiling, echoing around him. This was what he needed, he told himself. A release—a pause from the stress he felt and his regular life. 

Something was off. Lucien watched her bobbing head, fingers threaded through thick, dark hair and yet where he ought to have been building higher, he found himself stalled. He wasn’t so drunk that he’d become numb.

Lucien closed his eyes, which helped. Thinking of nothing specific, he let himself be overtaken by the silken heat of the females tongue. Of her wet mouth and the sounds of soft gagging that seemed to spear straight into his balls.

He didn’t try and hold himself back like he so often did, drawing out pleasure until the last possible second. He didn’t want to risk losing the cresting pleasure and the orgasm he so desperately needed. Lucien tightened his hold in the sucking females hair, spreading his legs ever so slightly. 

A flash of big, brown eyes stole through his imagination. Of Elain staring up at him from the table, her lips sucked around the tip of her pen. Elbows on the table, pushing her small, pert breasts higher until they practically heaved against her rather modest neckline.

“No,” he groaned, but it was too late. Lucien came with a violence he wasn’t accustomed to, spilling himself all at once. He couldn’t stop, nor could he recall a time he’d ever felt that good. Pleasure quickly sluiced into cold dread when he realized he’d come, whether intentionally or not, to the image of Elain taking notes. 

The female pulled back, pressing a kiss to the tip of his cock. “Was that good for you?”

“I—”

Clipping shoes down the hall caused her to rise to her feet while Lucien adjusted his clothing. A moment later, Arina rounded the corner holding a pile of clothing in her arms. She narrowed her eyes when she saw him, eyes sliding down his body to the bulge of his still erect cock straining against the white fabric of his clothes.

“Charming, as always,” she said, glancing toward the female. “Larissa.”

“Arina,” she murmured with an incline of her head. Lucien saw his opportunity to escape and took it. He shot Larissa an apologetic glance before trailing after Arina.

“You stink,” Arina complained the moment he fell into step beside her.

He only shrugged. “Where were you tonight?”

“Trying to make Elain Archeron feel welcome like your mother asked me,” Arina said. “She asked me what kind of clothes were worn in Summer Court and I went and dug some up for her.”

“You should have made her do it,” Lucien grumbled, unwilling to be charitable despite how his pulse was still pounding in his cock. He didn’t want to think about her like that. Lucien imagined Elain as a nervous, silent thing besides. Exactly what a Spring Court prince would want. Seen and not heard, legs spread silently, unconcerned about pleasure. 

If she could even feel it, of which Lucien doubted. What kind of High Fae didn’t like to fuck? Elain looked as if her eyes might pop out of her head when he’d suggested seduction as a political tactic. 

Arina only sighed. “Not everything needs to be so difficult, Lucien.”

“Try telling her that–”

“Spoke like a true child,” Arina snapped, rounding on him. “And Larissa? Really?”

“Why not Larissa?” he asked defensively, though in truth, Lucien doubted he’d see her again. 

“You don’t remember last summer? The fight in the garden—”

“Oh, that was her?” Lucien asked, thinking of that muggy night when Arina had come to physical blows with another female at court. She’d never said what had happened and Lucien knew better than to ask. “What was the fight over, anyway?”

“My father,” Arina gritted out. Lucien’s smile died, nostrils flaring as he took a deep breath. Arina’s father had once been a respected member of Helions court. Now he was little more than a drunk pissing away generations of wealth at the gambling tables. He’d never recovered after Arina’s mother died, though from what Lucien remembered, the male had never seemed to show much affection for her, either. 

“Oh,” he said, feeling like a shitty friend.

Arina cut him a sharp glance. “It’s like I said, Lucien. Not everything has to be so difficult.”

“Arina,” he pleaded, but she took off ahead of him, tossing her glossy waves over her shoulder without a look back. Lucien was fucking everything up lately. He knew he was. He just barely had friends anymore. His parents were disappointed in him, Arina didn’t like being around him…fuck, Lucien didn’t like being around himself, either. 

He thought about that until the sun rose—how he couldn’t figure out how he’d ended up like this. Jaded and angry despite having no reason to be. And he knew where Arina would be first thing in the morning. Padding out to the blue mosaic tile and the sparkling, inlaid pool that his family used when they couldn’t be bothered to go to the beach, Lucien stretched himself out on Arina’s favorite raft in nothing but a pair of orange shorts. He’d spent half the morning floating with her and the other half dragging her into the city for food and drinks until the bridge of her nose was sunburned and she didn’t look at him with such open exasperation. 

He was pleased when Arina rounded the corner wearing matching orange. She put her hands on her hips when she saw him, sighing loudly.

“Haven’t you heard of just saying sorry?” she demanded, wading down the steps while tying her hair messily against her scalp.

“Nope. This is all I know,” he replied with a grin.

“The least you could have done was bring drinks.”

“That comes later. On me,” he added, as if there was ever any doubt. What good was being the High Lord’s heir if Lucien couldn’t get his best friend rip roaring drunk on occasion? 

Lucien slid into the warm water, holding the raft still so Arina could fling herself on top of it gracelessly. They both couldn’t fit, so instead Lucien braced his arms against the side and propelled them around the pool lazily, flooding her with water without sinking her. 

“Tell me the gossip,” Lucien said, even though he knew just as much as she did. It was a peace offering.

Talk to me.

“Is it true your mother is inviting all of Autumn Court for her birthday?”

Lucien sighed. “Just my brothers. They’ll be here for three days.”

Arina glanced over at him. “I’m sorry, Lucien.”

He played dumb. “Why? Mother loves them—”

“But you don’t. They’re awful. I hear the rumors too, you know…”

“It’s not that I don’t love them,” Lucien murmured, his heart pounding in his chest. “It’s that…I just—I wish they didn’t exist. They tie her to that place where she was hurt and I know they’re angry she left, too. They all think she should have stayed and endured Beron Vanserra and—”

Lucien was breathing so hard he thought his chest might cave in. Arina turned her head and poked him in the cheek.

“We could leave. Spend a week in another court?”

“And leave my father with four Vanserra’s? I know they’re only coming to spoil things for mother. No. We need to be here as a reminder of how much better off she is. That leaving them was the right thing to do—that she has a son who she wanted, and wasn’t forced on her.”

“Lucien,” Arina murmured again, but he shook his head.

“One day she’s going to realize they were rotten from the start. There was nothing she could do to fix them and no amount of bringing them around is going to free them from the Vanserra genes. I want to be here as a reminder that leaving was the right thing to do—and if she’d met my father first, she could have had more sons that weren’t such obvious and terrible disappointments.”

“So we throw her the most obscene party Prythian has ever seen,” Arina said with a smile. “I know Helion likes to celebrate her in the palace, but imagine the whole city celebrating their Lady. Given how Beron has never said one kind thing about her, I would imagine it would be difficult for his sons to enjoy themselves. And ruining it just proves everyone right about them.” Lucien straightened himself. “And it might convince them to even leave early.”

He felt as if he could breathe again. It was, perhaps, a devious plan—a cruel plan given how much her mother wanted to bridge the gap between her sons from her first marriage and her happy life now.

She didn’t understand how much better off she’d be without them. 

Lucien could show her though. He’d free her from Autumn.

What Do You Know About Love - (7/?)

Summary: When Elain discovers a centuries old love letter, written in secret and never sent, she decides that she's going to be the one to finally deliver it. Even if finding its intended recipient means going on a mission with Lucien Vanserra. Set post ACoSF.

A contribution to @elucienweekofficial Day 7: Tension/Healing

Chapter 7 - Push and Pull

Read on AO3 ・Previous Chapter

-

It was true what they said about the Celestial Courts. The seasons changed with the natural cycles of the world, which in itself was unusual, but the skies—they were unparalleled to anything she’d seen before.

She’d slipped away from the party to glimpse it in full, and was pleased to have found a small veranda laden with overstuffed pillows and a heavy cloth drape she pulled for privacy. Her father would be red in the face if he caught her collapsing into one of the pillows when she could be preening the ego of a High Lord’s son. Which was precisely why, moments prior, she’d tactically set one of the High Priestess’s acolytes upon him by exaggerating her father’s interest in the traditional rites of a Day Court Equinox.

From her estimates, she’d afforded herself at least an hour before he realized his middle daughter was missing, and perhaps an hour more before he discovered her hiding spot.

It didn’t matter that he would be furious. Her feet ached from the hours of dancing, and the relief of removing her shoes for even a second would be worth his temper.

She kicked the embroidered boots to the side and collapsed back into the large pillows, releasing a breath she was certain she’d been holding in all evening. Already, she felt much more refreshed—enough to manage her first genuine smile as she blinked at the horizon sprawled before her, glowing against the night as if someone had arranged a line of embers across the bottom of the sky.

“If you think our dawn is beautiful, you should stay long enough to see our dusk.”

With a scream, she clambered to her feet and whirled to find a male holding the curtain aloft, his mask a streak of gold in the dim light.

He laughed. A deep, rumbling sound that she would have mistaken for thunder had she not watched it shake his chest. “Pardon the intrusion, Lady, I’m—”

“I know who you are,” she breathed, taking in his bright eyes, the shape of his jaw, the warmth that radiated from him as if she was standing before a roaring bonfire. Even in the residual night, with the moon disappeared and the sun still tucked away, their small alcove seemed to light with his presence.

She would know who he was, even if she did not recognize his face.

He offered her a broad smile. “And how might I acquire the same honor?”

“The same as you would acquire anything,” she said. “By offering something of equal value in exchange.”

One of the male’s dark eyebrows lifted over his mask, amused by her game. In truth he was a Prince, and he could acquire such information simply by demanding it.

“Then you’ve set me an impossible task,” he said. “There is nothing I could offer you that’s of equal value.”

Oh, he was a flirt. And she couldn’t deny it thrilled her.

“No?” she took a step toward him, the sun-warmed stone tingling against her bare feet. “I’ve heard that you have troves of gold.”

“I could empty my coffers and it still wouldn’t be sufficient,” he said grimly.

She laughed. “And your thousand libraries? Surely they contain knowledge of greater importance.”

“I assure you, Lady, the ancient scholars would be left unrewarded from such a pursuit.”

This time, he was the one to take a step, drawing her attention to the golden sandals lacing up his muscular calves. He paused once he was in front of her, and gently perched his thumb beneath her chin to draw her eyes back to his.

Her words became breathless. “Then are you saying, milord, that you have nothing to offer me?”

“Not nothing, Lady. Though I hope you will take pity on me, for my offer is humble. I would like to volunteer my company for the evening.”

She pretended to consider this. “Can you dance?”

“Yes,” he said. “For as long as you wish.”

He offered his hand to her, and she stared at it for a long moment before placing her palm atop his. The touch of his skin against her own sent a zap of heat through her body, and she gasped as it triggered a sharp tug in her chest.

His amber eyes softened, all too knowing.

“I accept your offer,” she said. “On the condition that we stay out here.”

She imagined her father wouldn’t be pleased to see her dancing with the Day Court Prince when she was supposed to be making nice with the sons of Autumn.

“Wherever you wish,” he said with an agreeable nod. “Although, it will be hard to hear the music from out here.”

“You let me worry about that,” she said, raising her palm to mimic the starting position of an Autumnal Waltz. His eyes never once waivered from her face as he mirrored her stance.

And then she began humming.

-

A soft, haunting melody tangled with the steady rhythm of footsteps, and beneath, a distant, beaconing heartbeat. It started in time with the melody, but as it grew louder it fell out of tempo, beginning to drown out the song. Elain resisted its call at first, wanting to linger in the rippling memory—a woman, humming, her voice warm and sweet, like sun-soaked apples and spiced wine.

Elain thought she recognized the melody, but when she tried to grasp it, curling her fist around the soft notes, the thread of memory tightened, then yanked, vaulting her towards the thundering heartbeat.

A headache. That’s what the pounding was—her own blood, violently pumping through her skull. Though as Elain peeled her eyes open to the dim bedroom, she half expected to find someone standing above her, rapping their fist against her forehead.

Every curtain was drawn, sealing out any allusion to the time of day. She groaned softly, raising her palm to her temple in the hopes she could massage the throbbing pain away. It was difficult to convince herself to wander out of the safety of her dark bedroom, but the need for water won over.

She was still wearing the blue gown she’d arrived in, now creased in odd places from sleep, and she hadn’t the slightest idea where the clothes she packed for the journey had ended up.

“Lucien?” she called, parting the curtains to the central room of their shared suite.

The Eagle fountain stood proudly in the center, liquid still flowing from its beak. Nausea churned in her stomach as she recalled how its water had burst the room into light and color, sweeping around and around her. And yet, even as her head thudded and her nose crinkled in repulsion, the back of her mouth began salivating, recalling its sweet taste.

Elain tore her eyes away from the statue, pushing the chant of its soft trickle to the back of her mind before it could tempt her into another sip. Her eyes wandered to the two other curtains, once which led to Lucien’s bedroom, presumably, and the other… to a bright seam of light.

So it was day time.

Elain carefully picked her way through the maze of multicolored pillows littering the floor, her steps impaired by her wavering balance and the sharp lance of pain that shocked through her skull each time she bobbed her head.

When she reached the wine colored drape, she paused, certain that the light on the other side would be excruciating. But her mouth was so dry, and she thought, surely, if she could find someone, they would know the remedy for this hangover?

With a deep breath, Elain pushed open the curtains, cringing back from the full intensity of the morning sun. It was angled in the perfect position to pour directly across her face.

She held up her hand to block its path, squinting to take in the details of the surrounding private garden. As she searched, her eyes landed on a tapered waist rising from a large pool of steaming water. Lucien’s back was turned, oblivious to her arrival as he reached up to run his fingers through his wet hair and inadvertently flexed every corded muscle in his arms and back.

Elain shrieked, causing Lucien to whirl around, and she shrieked again—staggering backwards before she risked seeing the front of him nude. In her haste, she tripped over the drapes, and though they slowed her descent, she still fell hard enough against her elbows for her teeth to clack together. It did nothing to help her worsening headache.

“You’re awake,” Lucien said, rushing to the edge of the pool, like he intended to help her before the nature of their predicament dawned on him. She watched him cover himself in her periphery. “I—sorry. I thought you’d be sleeping for a while yet.”

“Why aren’t there any locks in this place?” she complained as she sat up to rub her sore elbow. She was deliberately looking anywhere but his direction.

“I already told you,” he said, and she could hear his smugness seeping in, “baths are communal in the Day Court. I thought I was being courteous by taking mine while you were asleep.”

Elain squeezed her eyes shut. It was her attempt to both block out the stabbing pain behind her eyes and the image of his naked backside.

“I need water,” she said, desperate to change the subject. “And clothes. And something to get rid of this godforsaken headache.”

“That’s what you get when you drink a full mug of ambrosia,” he said, with hardly any sympathy.

“You didn’t warn me about this part.”

“I seem to recall not having a chance to.”

Elain shook her head in exasperation, then immediately regretted it when the pain ratched skywards in intensity, causing her to clench her teeth and drop her head into her hands. If she could squeeze hard enough to end her misery right then, she would have.

His voice softened. “Go back inside—I’ll be there in a second.”

Feeling rather pathetic, Elain retreated back into the safety of the dimly lit lounge, depositing herself atop a pile of pillows as she tried not to listen too closely to the sounds of water sluicing off Lucien’s body.

Moments later, the curtains parted to reveal Lucien, his skin and hair still damp from the pool. He’d tugged on a pair of loose-flowing trousers but was still bare from the waist up. She could feel the heat from the water curling off him as he dropped to the ground in front of her, perching on the balls of his feet.

He surveyed her sorry state and sighed. With a wave of his hand, his traveling pack appeared beside them, and he began rifling through its contents until he procured a small tin. He popped the lid open with his thumb, revealing a handful of powdered orbs, each roughly the same size and shape of a marble.

“Here,” he said, plucking one of them from the tin and holding it up to her lips. “Place it under your tongue and suck on it—don’t swallow,” he added sternly.

Elain recoiled. “What happens if I swallow it?”

“Must you question everything?”

She only blinked at him, refusing to part her lips until he told her.

“So stubborn,” he grumbled, though she swore there was an underlying warmth to it. “If you swallow it, it won’t work. Do you trust me?”

Elain gave him a hard stare. His lips twitched.

“If you don’t trust me, you’re going to have a very hard time here, Elain. You know I’d never put you in harm's way.”

She did know that, even if she didn’t want to admit it. The same way that she couldn’t bear the thought of harming him.

Begrudgingly, Elain parted her lips and tilted her head back. Lucien’s throat bobbed, but his touch was nothing but clinical as he leaned forward and dropped the small orb onto her tongue.

She immediately scrunched her face together, and Lucien slapped a broad hand over her mouth to stop her from spitting it out. It tasted vile—like licking a piece of rusted metal.

“I know,” he said, his voice coaxing. “It’s horrible, but it will make the headache go away. It’s getting better already, isn’t it?”

Elain’s eyes were beginning to water. She screwed her eyes shut and shook her head, but he was right. Her thoughts were no longer suspended between bright, pulsing bursts of pain.

The throbbing was easing back in slow tugs, moored like a ship being hauled from a sandbank. But saliva collected in her mouth like a flooding tide, wetting the powder around the pill, and the tugging became easier. Less of a tug and more a glide. It was receding faster now.

Lucien read her posture well enough to see she’d relaxed. He dropped her palm and offered a grim smile. “Better?”

Elain nodded, shoulders slumping in relief.

“Good,” Lucien said, rising to his feet. “Because the next part is pretty gross.” She watched him warily as he held a cupped palm in front of her lips. “Spit it out.”

Elain shot him a look that said, What?

“Quickly,” he urged.

Into his hand? Were there no options? Lucien’s fingers flexed, urging her to hurry, and Elain sensed that she would regret delaying over human primness.

Elain spat the orb into Lucien’s waiting hand, watching in horror as its surface split open to reveal several long, spindly legs breaking free of its constraint. She screamed as Lucien hurled the creature to the floor and stamped it beneath his foot.

“It was an egg!?” Elain pressed her hand to her mouth in horror, holding back a gag. Her voice rose in pitch as betrayal coursed through her, hot and boiling. “You made me suck on an insect’s egg?”

Lucien winced, lifting his foot to reveal the mangled, flattened corpse. His lips curled in disgust as he inspected the guts sticking to the bottom of his bare foot. He still hadn’t responded to her outrage.

Elain launched to her feet, giving the insect a wide berth. “I can’t believe you!”

“Would you have taken it?” He asked. “If you knew what it was?”

“No!” She cried. “And that’s not a good enough reason to not have told me!”

“Elain—”

“Don’t talk to me,” she snapped, storming toward the drapes that led to her designated bedroom. “Just—just leave me alone, Lucien.”

She threw open the red cloth, wishing that there were doors in this gods forsaken palace so that she could slam it in his face. And though there was nothing to keep him from pushing the curtains aside, he halted on the other side of the limp barrier.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked. “Do you… do you still want me to bring you some food? I can leave it out here.”

Elain said nothing in answer. She didn’t know what to do with herself, alone in this room. In this Court. She hugged her arms around her body and sat on the bed, listening to the steady heartbeat on the other side of the curtain as Lucien waited for an answer.

Waited, and then realized he wasn’t going to get one.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’ll ask a servant to bring you some. Just in case.”

Elain listened to his footsteps retreat, holding it together just until she was certain he’d left their suite entirely. And only then did she allow herself to grab one of the pillows from the bed and fling it toward the wall, pretending it was his stupid, handsome face.

When Words Fail

Summary: Elain doesn’t get out of the town house much. But on a rare occasion that she did, she runs into Lucien at a piano studio.

Rating: G

WC: 2.5k

Read on AO3

A/N: Happy @elucienweekofficial (aka one of the best times of the year🥰)! This was originally intended for the day 2 prompt: Golden. BUT I was in bed with a flu so you get it on day 3 instead 🤧 Enjoy ☺️

When words fail, music speaks

- Hans Christian Anderson

The city of dreamers buzzes around Elain, comes to life with energetic shouts across the streets advertising for new shows and wafts of delectable street snacks. Doe eyes widen to take them all in.

A biting wind passes her by and Elain pulls her cloak closer around her, enveloping herself entirely in the thick feathered coat. Tugging the soft hat to cover the pinked edged tips of her ears, delicate button nose twitches slightly to sniff the wondrous buttery scent.

The middle Archeron rarely leaves the confines of the town house, usually content to bide her time in the greenhouse or in the kitchens. But just for today, astounded by Feyre’s artistic depiction of the Rainbow, did it occur to her just how much of the city that she has lived in for years but still has yet to see, so much that she has yet to experience. It stokes the long dormant part of her that once dreamt of adventures on the continent. All before…

Elain shakes her head with a grimace. Tonight is not a night for dwelling. Her thoughts short-circuit when a particularly fragrant scent hits her. The edges of her lips quirk upwards as she holds herself back from bouncing towards the street stall.

She exchanges a silver coin for a rich buttery pastry, wincing as molten chocolate ganache floods her mouth from the very first bite. With a palm still cradling the hot soft pastry, she continues her way through the bustling street.

Then her feet halts in front of a plain beige unassuming building.

Despite the lively chatter of the Rainbow, the sound of light flowing keys of a piano effortlessly reaches her. She turns towards it, stuffing the remainder of her snack into her mouth and hastily swipes the crumbs away from her cheeks. Her feet move mechanically on its own accord, like a rope that has been tied around her waist and pulls her into the building.

The city noises muffle, blocked by the wooden door frame of the building entrance. Elain is able to clearly hear the melody now, muted and uncertain, supported by the gentle running chords in the lower register. A simple but melancholic beauty that tugs on her chest and pulls in the most heart twisting manner.

The music turns as she passes by door after door within the studio. The same melody returns, bright and daring. Her chin tilts upwards, chocolate brown orbs widening. At last, her feet stop. Exactly where she needs to be.

It is a cozy quaint space, barely larger than her bedroom. The room is bare save for a grand piano plonked in the middle, the walls are lined with oak panes with a full length bookshelf pushed into a corner.

A golden spotlight streams down on the pianist, gliding along long auburn hair which has been pulled back into a simple low ponytail. A featherlight caresses an all too beautiful face and neckline, accentuating the contrast of his white billowing sleeves.

He doesn’t see her, she thinks.

Not as his fingers gracefully glide up and down the midnight and ivory keys, never ceasing to stop the flow of the music. Not even the slightest hitch in its tempo.

At that moment, Elain admits quietly to herself.

He is truly the most beautiful being she has ever seen.

She doesn’t sit and neither does she linger. After the piece ends, she gives a curt nod before turning around. It is only in the safe space of her own solitude does she acknowledge the melody that is still a constant flutter in her ears, her chest, her heart.

She returns the following night at the same time.

Foolishly, maybe. She doesn’t even know how long he will be in the city, doesn’t even know if he has left. Yet as she stands, just two steps beyond the doorway, so quiet that not even the sharpest fae ears can register a sound, there is no denying the little part of her that went, oh thank the Mother he is still here.

When the piece ends, the embers in her chest are fanned by a raised eyebrow, an open challenge in the dancing flame of a russet eye. She takes a seat next to him, the bench barely long enough to fit the two of them. Close enough to feel the heat emanating between the narrow space.

She resists the urge to shudder for a different reason and lifts her hands to the keyboard.

He doesn’t rush her, sitting in patient silence as she considers the different pieces she could play. Her mind skips through numerous music, each as showy as the last, each learnt under strict tutelage with the very intention of impressing guests and suitors. She gives herself a mental smack of a head (no, that will not do, she chides) and settles for a simple folk melody from her childhood.

Perhaps it’s anticlimactic and a letdown. Perhaps it’s a peep into years past that she hasn’t shown anyone in Prythian. One that draws a quirk of lips in her peripherals that she pays no mind.

It surprises her when skilled hands join her when she plays a repeated section, effortlessly complements her with his counter melody. A smile plays on her lips in the simple joy of music. The vehicle in which they embark on their unspoken conversation. She goes up, he goes down, then they loop around. The piece stretches and reshapes into a dozen different variations.

But alas, it all comes to an end when another fae interrupts with a knock, signalling the end of the session. It shatters the spell that they have woven with black and white keys, a glass splintering into hundreds of pieces.

It is with a wry smile that they come to a stop. Elain’s hands drop from the board, her insides twisting in disappointment. Lifting her chin slightly, she sucks a breath in and asks, “Maybe another time?”

The smile that blossoms on Lucien’s face leaves her breathless. A crinkle of happiness that threatens to rip apart the seams of intricately weaved vines burying the golden thread deep, deep within her chest.

“I’ll be here.”

The thread lights up with promise.

“So will I.”

***

The duo steps outside back into the frigid night air of Velaris. Before they take a further step, Elain pauses, her hand raises to her cheek to shield her face from a passing wind. Her petite form shivers a little in time with the slap of freeze.

In that moment, her entire being is engulfed in a tall shadow, and a translucent curtain of shimmery maple drapes over her to shield her from the chill. The brunette tilts her head back at a carefully impassive face.

It is the simplest of magics. Something she should be used to after so long with the fae. Even then, it is still a simple gesture that causes rose to dust across her cheeks, a different type of warmth that spreads from her chest. She resists the urge to scoot a little closer to her mate.

“Walk me back?” She asks, brown eyes meeting russet head on, stubbornly holding the stare until the edges of Lucien’s lips slope upwards.

“In need of a personal heater?” He quips.

A smile spreads on her face as she points out, “It’s freezing.”

Elain loops an elbow around Lucien’s as she forces her speeding heart rate to settle.

I can hear your heart beating through the stone. Can you hear mine?

Surely, he must.

Cocooned in their little bubble of warmth, it feels like there isn’t anything that can be hidden from the other. Not the rhythmic drum beats the organ in her chest plays or the shimmery glow of thread tying them together. Thankfully, that doesn’t stop the tall redhead from tightening the space between their arms as they walk down the lively alleyway in companionable silence.

He takes a step back when the entrance to the Town House comes into view, their arms unwinding. And though the shimmering warmth still covers her, Elain feels a smidge colder.

“I will be returning to the Human Lands tomorrow morning.” Lucien informs her softly.

“Oh—”

“But if you would like,” he almost rushes to continue, “I’ll send you a note the next time I’m back in the city.”

“I would like that.” She returns finally as her mate raises one hand to brush the back of her palm. The flame in his eye returns with a spark.

The moment feels surreal and for just a moment, Elain could pretend that she is a simple lady out jn society, and him, a charming suitor. There is no mess of biting cold dark waters of the Cauldron between them. That the rushing beats of her heart and brush of lips on skin is nothing more than the promise of something new, something exciting, something hopeful.

***

Elain’s brows furrow as her fingers speed up to follow the fraught tempo the Autumn son had set. Her frown deepens as she feels herself get pushed out of the music. Two hands drop to one until she eventually lifts her hands back to her chest and sets her gaze higher to the male himself. His fingers continue to fly across the keyboard, so lost in the music that his lips are parted slightly, his mechanical eye clicks to follow the notes. He seemed unaware that she had even stopped.

He throws his weight into the wooden keys, the force of it unravelling strands from his low ponytail. The air rattles around them with the vibrations of his final chord until it dissipates into nothingness.

“Lucien?”

The thread between them pulls taut as her voice brings him out of his reverie and brings mismatched gold and russet eyes on her, round and tinged with the slightest hint of manic.

Even with all the time they had spent together the past few winter months, it is uncharted territory for them to share more than a piano or playful words that mean nothing. Still, Elain gingerly catches the hand that has just fallen back into his lap and draws it close to her.

“What happened?” She asks, rubbing light circles into the soft flesh of the back of his palm, where the index meets the thumb.

She feels his wordless response, of fingers that close around hers, of the tension simmering in each muscle fibre.

She tries again, “Shall we get out of here?”

With a simple nod, her world transforms into the warm licking golden flames of his winnow. It disappears to reveal a simple apartment where familiar city noises continue to trickle in from the windows.

It dawns on her immediately that this is Lucien’s apartment in Velaris.

Utilitarian. Perfunctory. Devoid of personality. Vastly different from the homeliness of the River House or even her own room in the Town House.

Elain had never seen his room in Spring or in the Human Lands but she can say with certainty that it did not look as empty as this. She ignores the slight lump forming in her throat and pulls him over to the plain brown couch. Without letting herself overthink her next actions, she tugged him down with her to settle his head on her lap.

Something twinges in her chest. The bond that she had tried so hard to submerge under the deepest hedge of thorns that threatens to give way to blinding light. She hastily covers his eyes with nimble fingers, lightly brushing the gnarly scars surrounding his left eye, tracing thick brows with her fingertips and easing the tension filled lines.

Slowly but surely, Elain feels the hard muscles relaxing into the plush skin of her thighs and the soft nuzzle of his face into her dress. She shifts her attention to those silky tresses, carding her fingers through them.

“We are losing Vassa,” he mumbles into the soft rolls of her stomach, “the transformations have always taken their toll but it’s getting even harder. To see those sharp cerulean eyes blank and empty, devoid of her usual sharpness and intelligence, even for just a few minutes.”

A sourness pulls at Elain, a sly voice starts to whisper in her ear. Yours. Thief. Claim. Her fingers tremble, entangling digits into thick locks.

“Have you told Rhysand?” She asks instead, not trusting herself to say more yet also, hating her response for its implied immediate deference.

Lucien pulls away, his head turning away as he replies bitterly, “We need more time to gather allied forces from the continent before we can take on Koschei. He’s not wrong,” his eyes flutter shut and the lines between his brows deepen, “but it’s hard to watch.”

“You care for her.” She wonders if she sounds as petulant as she feels.

The look he gives her is reproachful in answer. Yet, he still reassures her, “She’s a good friend.”

Friend, he had seemed to emphasise. But did she even have the right to lay a claim after all these years of nonchalance? Even as the hissing beast prowling the stairs of her ribs calm slightly, placated at the clarification.

Elain continues her ministrations, nimble fingers absentmindedly braiding then combing them out. The monotony diminishes the world around them into the random sounds of the Velarian nightlife and the occasional crackling wood of his fireplace. It envelopes her mind and lets her thoughts stray to the majestic firebird soaring through the skies, screeching as it flies over a lake black as coal. A cold scaly presence yanks her past the line splitting air and water.

It is cold, so cold. Like the Cauldron, like death, like—

CRACK

Elain’s eyes snap open, brown eyes wide with fear. They find mismatched russet and gold instantly, concern and alarm warring within them. She pauses, waiting for the questions that are sure to come.

None came. Just a wary gaze and a firm grip around her hand. Unyielding and grounding.

She asks finally after a few fraught moments, when her heartbeat resembles what felt like normalcy. “What if I can help?”

Lucien sits up, sending a flurry of movement as the mass of flesh and muscle moves in her lap. He is still impossibly near, the heat emanating from his body an entrancing addiction. He asks carefully, “Are you sure?”

“It’s better than…” she trails off because better than what? Better than the comfortable life accorded to her in her sister’s court, surrounded by everything she could ever need? She clears her throat before meeting those assessing eyes. “It’s better than just waiting passively for things to happen to me.”

Lucien stood from the sofa they were sharing, his body angled away from her. And just as Elain opens her mouth to backpedal her decision, he turns back. Eyes gleaming and determined.

“There’s a piano in the manor.”

Elain almost gasps in that moment. Her hand twitches by her side, itching to claw at her chest, to hover over where the golden thread has burst out of its burial site.

It’s bright, it’s dazzling.

It’s iridescent.

END

Flying Changes - Chapter One

A Nessian Equestrian Fic

Masterlist // Previous Part // Next Part

Read on AO3 or below!

Three years later…

Nesta Archeron made a lot of mistakes in her life. In the seventh grade she accidentally told a secret that wasn’t hers to share. When she did her online classes during high school she had forgotten about an entire English project and simply had to take the failing grade. But this current mistake, as she smelled of cheap beer and liquor. This was by far the worst mistake she’s ever made as she stepped out of the Uber facing the Velaris Courthouse.

Bile rose in her throat, the contents of the alcohol gaining an upperhand. She gulped then massaged her face, putting color into her cheeks. It would all be okay. I’ve been fine in the past. I’ll be fine now.

She climbed the marble steps before entering the courthouse, finding the room her case was assigned too. 

“Where is your client, Mr. Vanserra? I won’t ask again.”

“I’m sorry, your honor. She’ll be here any minute.” 

Ah fucking shit. Eris might just pull out all of his hair for this.

Heads swung as Nesta opened the court door, keeping her head low. She wore an old dress that most definitely had a ripped somewhere and her heels seemed to be wobbly. Or was that herself being wobbly?

Eris greeted her quietly before glaring at her. He pulled his head near her’s.

“Your have to be fucking kidding me right now. Are you actually drunk right now, Nesta?”

Nesta made a motion with her head to show somewhat as an answer. Eris sighed heavily before turning to the judge.

“You honor, my client has appeared now. I think we can start now.”

The judge peered down at Nesta. Her silvery eyes and black hair bob made Nesta squirm slightly.

“Listen young lady. If you’re ever late to court again, there'll be a lot more trouble given to you.” The judge said before continuing.

“You pleaded guilty for driving under the influence and as this would be your second offense, your consequences fit your crime.”

Nesta swayed back and forth, the nerves lingering in her body. She dropped her chin a little and looked over her shoulder. Near the back was her baby sister, Feyre. And at her side was her long-term boyfriend, Rhysand Valyrian. Feyre’s face was written in disappointment while Rhysand shot glares at Nesta.

Better watch out, buddy. Your face might get stuck like that.

“Miss Archeron, did you hear me?” The judge called out.

Nesta jolted, coming back to reality. “I’m sorry, Judge.”

Eris groaned, his hand already in his hair.

“It’s your honor, girl.”

“Yes, your honor.”

The judge began flipping through a packet in front of her.

“I will not be repeating myself after this, Miss Archeron.” She paused before continuing. “As you pleaded guilty this will not be entering an official trial. I would sentence you to the Dusk Court Prison if it was solely up to me Miss Archeron.” 

Nesta’s heart began to speed up. Prison was really on the table this time when she spoke with Eris last; the night she made bail.

The judge sighed. “But after a loved one sent in a letter I’m afraid their decision had swayed me. Nesta Archeron, you will not be sentenced to prison.”

What felt like a collection of relieved sighs happened across the room. However Nesta must have imagined it.

“You will serve three hundred and seventy-five hours of community service while on probation. You will meet with your lawyer and parole officer once a week. If things go over well we can look into extending the meetings every two weeks.” 

“Your license will be suspended for 1 year. You will be attending mandatory Alcoholics Anonymous sessions in the area you’ll be staying in.” 

Nesta gripped her wrist, nails digging into her skin.

“Finally, you will be volunteering at the House of Wind Therapeutic Ranch in Windhaven. You will not be allowed to leave the site unless otherwise approved by the staff or mandated such as the sessions.”

Her stomach dropped. Freezing water dumped over her entire body.

A ranch?

“Your honor, is this a horse ranch?” 

The judge looked down at her with a deadpan stare. “Yes, Miss Archeron. This is a ranch that involves horses. Although there may be other animals there too. Is that a problem?”

Nesta shook her head. No, no, no. This couldn’t be right.

“No, your honor. I’m not qualified to work there. I’ll take the–” but before Nesta could continue, Eris squeezed her shoulder roughly. He glared at her, his rusted color eyes glancing at her silvery blues.

“Your honor, my client doesn’t understand how this is a tremendous opportunity given to her. She will take it. Won’t you, Miss Archeron?” Eris squeezed harder, Nesta wincing. Her breath drew heavier, a faint memory of hands on her before.

There was no escaping. This was her consequence.

“...Yes, your honor. I understand.”

“I’m glad that you do. You’ll be needed at the ranch by nightfall tonight. If you cannot arrange a ride, the court will order one for you. If you break any of these rules, Miss Archeron, the consequences will escalate to a higher degree. Do I make myself clear?”

Nesta nodded. “Yes, your honor.”

The gavel’s sound bounced across the rooms. The sentencing was finished. Dread filled her veins while Eris stepped away from her, packing his things. She looked behind her again to see Feyre standing there, arms crossing over her chest. Rhysand had just walked out the door.

Nightfall came as Nesta sat in the passenger seat of Feyre’s truck. Technically it was their father’s old truck, but he passed it down to her shortly after her high school graduation. The fabric seats were torn with threads peeling and mysterious stains that Nesta didn’t need to know more of.

The car ride was filled with so much silence, it was like a third person was in the truck. Nesta kept picking at the skin, creating bloody hangnails. The radio wasn’t on either. Nesta loved music, but Feyre looked like she wanted silence. Her sister’s eyes kept on the road, both hands on the wheel. Driving through the highways then onto backroads, Feyre and Nesta made their way to the town of Windhaven. Approximately an hour outside Velaris.

There was humid mist in the air as rain drizzled from the sky. The windshield wipers rubbed against the glass. Nesta winced every time the wipers made a sound.

Red lights reflected on the puddles on the two lane road. The car came to a stop. And then Feyre sighed.

“Nesta, I love you. You’re my sister. But I can’t keep doing this.”

“I can’t keep reliving this nightmare of my family dying because of alcohol. Mom and dad died because they drank themselves to death.”

Nesta’s hand curled into her palm. Bitter words were hanging off her tongue and she did nothing to stop them.

“You need to get over dad’s death. It was almost three years ago. And secondly you need to get a new car, Fey.”

Fey was the nickname Nesta and Elain had decided for her when their sister was born. It had been stuck like that since. Feyre winced at her old nickname. The light turned green, and Feyre drove again.

Silence came in between them once more, as Feyre made a turn onto a dirt road. Some of the street lamps were on, illuminating pastures and arenas. Nesta’s stomach turned at the once familiar sight.

“That’s not fair, Nesta.” Feyre counted as she pulled up to a house, putting the old truck in park.

“You’re the one literally dating Daddy Warbucks. He could give you the moon if you wanted. Maybe ask for a new car or some shit.”

“You will leave Rhysand out of this. He has nothing to do with this. And Nesta…IF you don’t change your ways, I will make sure you will not meet my child. I will not have that in their life.” 

Nesta sat stunned in the quietness of the truck. Her gaze went from Feyre’s face to her stomach then back to Feyre.

“I love you, Nesta. But after this, no more. I will not let you be a burden to my life anymore. I will not have my child witness that.”

Nesta’s lip trembled slightly before she roughly opened the door and grabbing her stuff from the back seat. She didn’t look as she marched on forward, her suitcases and backpack in hand trailing behind her. As she climbed the porch to the front door, it suddenly swung open.

A man, a tall man, stood in the doorway. His long hair in a half up half down style as he leaned against the frame. The wheels of the truck became distant as Nesta looked up at him.

“So, Nesta Archeron. We finally meet after all this time. Welcome to your new home.” He stood inside, ushering her in.

“Prison is more like it..” 

“I can get orange jumpsuits if you think that would make you feel better, however I don’t think orange is your color.”

Nesta scuffs, the insult nailing her. She glared daggers at him.

The man moved on, walking down the hall before turning around to face her. “I’m Cassian. Your warren, if we want to stay on the prison theme.” 

“And lucky you. You get the fourth floor all to yourself. Enjoy, Nes.” Then he walked off, not bothering to help Nesta.

“My name is Nesta!” She called out after him followed by mumbling a few curses under her breath. Nesta took her things and began to climb the stairs. Step after step Nesta made her way flight after flight when she finally got to the last step of stairs. A closed door stood on top.

Nesta sighed, her breath heavy and jagged from the climb.

“I never hated a place more than this.”

She grabbed her belongings, dragging the heavy suitcase up the final set of stairs. The wheels rolling off the wooden steps. Once at the top, Nesta opened the door. 

She was greeted with a decent sized room especially for an attic. This had to be the attic after all. There was

 twin bed in the corner near the window with an AC box unit installed.

The suitcase and bags were thrown to the ground as Nesta pulled out a piece of gum. Quickly she began to chew as her stomach hit the bed. Squeals of the bedsprings hit her with force. The spearmint flavor kept her mind at bay, letting the urges stay in the dark.

Tag List (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @chairofchaos @blueunoias @velarisdusk @c-e-d-dreamer @jsmelodies

The Scenic Route - Elain x Lucien

Chapter 5: The Middle

"Amarantha’s throne room was exactly as it had been left four years ago: the cracked walls stood steadily, holding the horrors of the past within. Dried blood still stained the marble floor, and two obsidian thrones sat like sentinels on their dais, watching over it all in silence."

This chapter is a a little darker than the rest, but the fluff will be back next week 🫡

Start on AO3 | Read Chapter 5 on AO3

Summary: Elain grows discontent with her role in the Night Court as she grapples with grief for her human life and powers that she does not fully understand. One evening she accidentally winnows to Lucien's doorstep and he agrees to take her back to Velaris via the scenic route(aka on horseback).

This is a fairly slow burn with lots of fluff (canon compliant)

Status: Multi-chapter - WIP ~50k words (this fic is fully drafted and chapters will be posted weekly on Mondays :)

Chapter 5: The Middle ~4600 words

Rating: M

Relationships: Elain Archeron x Lucien Vanserra

If you would like to be added to the tag list let me know!

tag list: @the-darkestminds, @crazy-ache, @zenkindoflove, @shadowqueenjude, @slipmerfoot, @angelofl0ve, @little-fierling, @fox-in-flowers, @olenvasynyt, @mr-agent-mulder, @what-about-elvenis

fic rec friday 62

hello and welcome to fic rec friday! where, on friday, i rec five of my favourite fics.

All things infinite by MemeKonYA

“I didn’t know Lance was...” “Bi?” Hunk supplied. “Ready to jump anyone sentient and willing?” Pidge offered. “Yeah, let’s go with bi,” Hunk says. (Or: the one where Lance is a Bisexual Intergalactic Flirt, and Keith discovers he has feelings about this.)

keith is just constantly talking about how smart his bf is literally to everyone who will listen.....i get him on the most personal of levels. truly. also whore lance my beloved

2. all my love for the the sweetness of his laughter // he is the tear that hangs in my soul forever by KaterinaRiley [CONTENT WARNING]

The story of how Lance survived, then didn't survive, then survived again, living life knowing that his soulmate belonged to someone else. That Keith belonged to someone else. Or so he thought. -- “That rivalry was just so you wouldn’t forget me, but—” Lance broke off, looking away, the numbness creeping back into him, choking the anger out in seconds. “But you did anyway. You decided I wasn’t worth your time, and I got that message loud and clear.”

this one is DEFINITELY a little heavy, and i think it was imported from wattpad?? but like omega shield fics are so RARE man and lance has so much baggage.....it needs to be discussed fr

3. It's Just How It Is by @movetowardfocus-blog

They’re supposed to bicker, and Keith is supposed to be better at everything and Lance is supposed to pretend to have a chance against talent like that. They’re supposed to get mad at each other and storm away, just like old times. Instead, Keith is looking at him softer than he ever has.

there is no one in the ENTIRETY OF VOLTRON that is as kind as keith idc. and the level of perfection they are for each other post s6.....its insane and this fic gives them that

4. won't treat you oh so typical by @adverbialstarlight

Lance’s hands dropped to cover his face and he sighed again. “They didn’t give a shit about what I did. I was just the stupid little kid who can’t do anything because all my damn siblings have done it before. “And I kind of just—” he snorted, “I dunno. I thought maybe I wouldn’t have to end up as the dumb one out here anymore. That you guys wouldn't just treat me like some idiot who can’t do shit but has to do everything perfectly anyway. And you don’t, really, but I’m still the most useless paladin. I can’t hack the ships, I can’t fix all its mechanical stuff, I can’t control a teleduv, I’m not a badass emo ninja with two cool swords and amazing piloting skills, I’m just… me.”

yes lance IS smart. and keith cares so so so much. also this isn't part of the description but i need you all to know about this line: "Confused, he nodded and turned to survey the few items in the room. He had no idea why Keith was helping him out, why he even cared or didn't just do it himself—Lane concluded it was Black Paladin Encouragement and Support For His Teammate, no more no less." bc oblivious lance my BELOVED hes such a dweebus 😭😭

5. All's Fair in Love and War by @litalana

“I can’t do this,” Lance decides one night. “I’m going to get rid of all my shirts.” “You say that like it’s a threat,” Keith responds, imagining how the implication of Lance always walking around shirtless could possibly be bad. - - - Keith keeps stealing Lance's shirts. Lance can not deal.

this fic gas me GIGGLING theyre so stupid and ridiculous and horny and down bad and i just. i adore them

that’s it for today!! i’ll see y’all back next friday for the next fic rec post!!!