I write fanfic (Forgotten Realms, ACOTAR, whatever strikes my fancy) and sometimes make art. Elucien/Neris stan. I do not care about your winged shadow daddies (pre-SF Cassian excepted), keep them to yourself. You can find me on ao3 as Mad_Morrigan.
Hello! Here is the list of things I have published on AO3 and on here. Comment to be added to my taglists for when I post new chapters or stories!
ACOTAR
Longer Fics
(1) Of Swords and Sorrows: an ACOTAR rewrite. Andras doesn't die; Feyre's not the only who taken to Prythian. How will the Spring Court contend with not one but THREE Archeron sisters, especially when something is definitely going on between Elain and Lucien, and Tamlin is vexed half to death with Nesta, the eldest? And what will anyone do with a truly feral Feyre?
Status: In progress (14/30 chapters)
Rated: M for violence and downstream light smut, also general vibes.
Ships: Elain/Lucien, Nesta/Tamlin, Feyre/Andras
(2) Sic Semper Tyrannis: a Clue- and The Last of Sheila-inspired murder mystery. Elain and several others receive mysterious puzzle boxes, inviting them to an exclusive party about the luxury yacht Autumn Breeze. Murder, madness, mystery, and mayhem ensue.
Status: In progress (5/9 chapters)
Rated: M for violence, downstream light smut, and character death.
Ships: Elain/Lucien, and more to be revealed as the series continues
(3) The Last Ten Days: cowritten with @limeandorange! A short(ish) fic outlining the last ten days of Nesta's freedom before becoming locked up in the House of Wind, the motley group she meets, and her whirlwind romance(?) with Prythian's own Bard himself.
Status: Complete
Rated: N/A
Ships: Nesta x OC
(4) A Thousand Threads of Fate: Elain goes to sleep on Solstice Night, still reeling from her rejection by the Shadowsinger. She wakes up in a liminal space where she's shown glimpses of worlds and meets other Elains that have never come to be. At least, not that she's aware of.
Status: In progress (4/7 chapters) - on hiatus
Rated: T
Ships: Elain/Lucien
(5) You've got Mail (Neris' Version): a modern Neris epistolary fic. (Cowritten in part with @itsblobross.) Nesta Archeron does the one thing you're never supposed to do: text the number on the bathroom stall. To her surprise, she and the mysterious stranger on the other end have more in common than she could ever have expected.
Status: In progress (22/30-something chapters)
Rated: T
Ships: Eris/Nesta, Elain/Lucien, Helion/LoA, Feyre/Rhysand, Gwyn/Emerie
(6) We Both Go Down Together (part 1 of Or Forever Hold Your Peace). Nesta needs a happily ever after. Eris needs to move after being in a holding pattern for decades, if not centuries. But a split second decision at Nesta and Cassian's mating ceremony has unforeseen consequences for everyone.
Status: Complete
Rated: M
Ships: Eris/Nesta, Elain/Lucien, minor background Feysand, implied Gwynriel
(7) The Singer Addresses His Audience (part 1.5 of Or Forever Hold Your Peace). Cassian's mating ceremony is a total catastrophe, after Mor says the unforgivable and Nesta leaves with Eris to Parts Unknown. Azriel finds himself in an awkward conversation, caught between Cassian and Morrigan and 500 years of unspoken history.
(8) The Harrowed and the Haunted (part 2 of Or Forever Hold Your Peace). Elain and Lucien find themselves in limbo after siding with Nesta when she abruptly leaves her mating ceremony with Eris Vanserra of all people. But what on earth can a trembling fawn with unpredictable powers and the exile of two and a half courts do to help? And a better question: how on earth will they be able to stand working with each other?
Status: In progress (2/5 chapters)
Rated: M
Ships: Nessian (former; mentioned), Elucien, Neris, OC x OC (Damien/Philoméne)
(9) As the Honeysuckle Embraces the Thorn: Elain grapples with life without her mate a week, a year, a decade, and a century after his passing and finds unexpected companionship in the High Lord of Autumn, Eris Vanserra.
Status: In progress (1/3 chapters)
Rated: T
Ships: Elain/Eris, Elain/Lucien
Drabbles/One Shots
(1) MadMorrigan's Curiosity Cabinet: a collection of drabbles and other short works done on tumblr, all in one collection.
Rated: T for non-explicit violence.
Ships: Beron/Unnamed first wife, Beron/Lady of Autumn, Elain x Lucien, Jurian x Vassa, Eris x Elain, Eris x Nesta, Nesta x Tamlin
(2) Anemones: the last night of Pomona Danaan - soon to become The Lady of Autumn - and her attempts to write the perfect goodbye letter to Helion.
Rated: G for lack of spice
Ships: Beron/Lady of Autumn, Helion/Lady of Autumn
Planned/Not Yet Published
(1) The Wanting Comes In Waves - summary TBA
(2) The Bachelor and the Bride - the story of what brought Damien Vanserra from the Court of Rot, and Philoméne Vernell of the Court of Harvests, together over the past two centuries.
Ships: Beron/Lady of Autumn, Philoméne/Damien, Philoméne/Galen
(3) The Hazards of Love - summary TBA
(4) Easy Come, Easy Go - summary TBA
(5) The Cauldron: fresh off of being laid off and her three-year engagement broken, Elain Archeron takes on a pastry chef role across the country at a struggling San Francisco restaurant owned by executive chef Eris Vanserra and meets the crew of misfits trying to keep The Cauldron alive.
Ships: Elain/Lucien, with downstream ships to follow
My Art
(1) Elain Week 2025: Psyche
(2) Tamlin Week 2025: Free Day (Serious Tam)
(3) Tamlin Week 2025: Free Day (Cursed Lion Tam)
(4) Elucien Week 2025: New Beginnings
(5) Eris Week 2025: Burn
(6) ACOTAR Secret Santa 2025: Erislain
(7) Tamlin Week 2026: Free Day (Sad Tamlin)
Forgotten Realms
(1) The Pride Before the Fall: a Netherese archmage reflects - and then rejects fate - as his city crashes to the ground all around him.
Rated: G. Nothing spicy here, minus a bit of language.
Ships: nope
(graphics by @saradika-graphics, and banner by @limeandorange!)
Let me know if you’d like to be added to or taken off the taglist!
Snippet below the cut
Cassian rolled his freshly-taped shoulder, sitting on the bench with one boot tied and the other abandoned next to his foot, pretending to check the weather forecast but instead checking for any new messages, against his better judgement. His eyes roamed over his last exchange with Nesta, lingering on the unanswered question about who would win in a fight, a vampire or a zombie. He’d taken it too far, perhaps. Probably. He was almost completely convinced he ruined it for good, that she’d never talk to him again. Perhaps Azriel had been right, and this had been a stupid idea.
He’d really tried to stay calm and act normal about the fact that she hadn’t answered. He’d gone about his days. He’d done his usual pre-training ritual. He’d been perfectly normal, if he ignored the fact that he’d poured boiling water into a cup that morning and stared at it for almost five minutes, before remembering to put in the actual tea. He was also ignoring the fact that he’d listened to her voice note more times than he should admit, falling asleep to the sound of her voice ranting about Arthurian legends the night before. Cassian knew he wasn’t acting normal, lying on his back in bed with his phone on his chest and Nesta Archeron’s voice cutting through the dark, furious and precise and devastatingly posh, but he couldn’t help it.
He just couldn’t stop listening, and he couldn’t prevent the way she had him under her spell. He had thought, the first time he listened to it, that no woman had ever sounded more enraged about medieval pseudo-history while simultaneously sounding devastatingly concerned about his welfare. By the time he fell asleep, her voice had gone softer in his ear, not because she had softened—God forbid—but because sleep had sanded down the sharp edges. By the end, he’d listened to the rhythm of her voice more than the words. The clipped irritation, and the breath she took halfway through, as if she had realised how long she had been talking and considered stopping, only to continue because the point was apparently too important to abandon. The little, sharp emphases she put on certain words had made him grin into his pillow like an idiot. Around midnight, Cassian was pretty sure he’d probably listen to her tell him off about fraudulent relics, plague transmission, or the ridiculousness of fantastic creatures until the end of his natural life.
The House gives Gwyn a book of healing exercises to help her explore sensuality and physical intimacy. When it comes time to practice these exercises with a partner, Azriel offers to help.
I originally had planned to turn this into a longer fic with more detail and nuance, but I clearly lack the conviction to complete a fix on time 😅
So, I turned the overall concept into a poem instead! It's my first in a long time, but hopefully it's not as rusty as I think it is.
Detail below the cut!
This is an acrostic poem. I feel like the form is underappreciated or relegated to the territory of middle school English classes. But they can be fun and require putting intention into word choice and line breaks.
The acrostic is "Peak Yearning", plus an "SH" as a sort of signature line!
What was the oddest oddity (or favorite oddity) at the oddity expo :)
Aw, hey @pittedjune, thank you for the question!
There were some genuinely amazing stained glass and sculptures for sale. But I think this one thing might have been my favorite:
It was also WAY out of the budget I'd set for myself, lol, so I didn't come home with it, but this specific stall sold bugs and crystals, of which I like both, and this one pearlescent cloche in particular was so pretty I'm probably gonna write it into something.
OH! And that cloche was tied with this:
Finally, I didn't get a photo of it, but I was also absolutely enchanted by one of the stained glass vendors. Much of the oddities though were not really my thing, though. Like - there was a LOT of taxidermy present. I can't even describe to you how many stalls selling dead things or things made of dead things there were.
Summary: As far as Elain knew, in all of her ten years of collected knowledge, she was the only person who frequented these woods. She'd never seen footprints before. Not ones this recent, not ones that the forest guided her to.
That curious sensation in her chest grew stronger. A stumbling beat. A beckoning.
Go, the rustling leaves called to her. Go see.
She had never seen him before, but Elain knew at once who he was.
What he was.
A Vanserra.
Or: That time an eerie meet cute in the forest changed their lives
A contribution to @elucienweekofficial Day 3: Peak yearning
Read on AO3 ・ Series Masterlist ・ Previous Chapter
-
4 years earlier
Time was a linear thing to most people.
They were born. And then they died. The moments that happened in between were an orderly chain connecting each point to the next. Every moment was distinct. There were no intersections, no overlaps, no loops.
Elain didn't always experience time that way.
Past, present, and future were sometimes indistinguishable from each other. Layered, and occurring simultaneously. While her physical body was mired to the present, her senses were wayward and drifted wherever they deemed most necessary. It had taken a long time for Elain to recognize when she grew disconnected from the present, longer to master how to tether herself back.
On the day she woke to thousands of names clinging to her like cobwebs, she wondered if the present was something she wanted to be tied to at all. What she wouldn't give to return to the simple days of sneaking off to the forest, when war was so far on the horizon that the only futures she saw where flashes of giggling on Graysen's arm.
How could she walk down the hall and smile at the servants as if she hadn't seen the temple razed to the ground? She could go to the High Priestess, explain to her that she saw the temple's wall collapse. That there only a handful of sunrises before the temple was captured by force, after which Beron Vanserra's army would systemically pillage each of their rooms. He would demand they turn over the seer, and the temple would face his wrath if the High Priestess refused.
Every conversation Elain had tried to broker with the High Priestess had fallen on deaf ears. Even with the severity of what Elain had seen, she knew another conversation would end no differently. The High Priestess would insist their army was thriving, that these were only bad dreams, not prophecies.
But what was the point in all this effort to protect Elain if she was to burn alongside the temple anyway?
Elain knew she was standing on a precipice. There were many paths forward, even ones she had not yet Seen. But the path she chose was one of comfort. Familiarity. It involved feigning sickness for the day and climbing out her bedroom window.
This was a path she walked a thousand times before. And for that reason, she would never walk it alone. There were a thousand other versions of Elain walking beside her, some of them young, some of them older. All of them were greeting the forest with a smile and an open heart. Their presence steadied her, reassured her that this was the right path.
The forest had never steered her wrong before.
Even if… even if she was a little nervous to see him again. Assuming he decided to follow her trail, assuming he even saw it, this would be their third time meeting in the forest. But on this occasion, there was no injury forcing his hand. He would need to come to her simply because he was curious enough to do so.
She was unarmed. The thought occurred to her on her third hour of waiting, perched comfortably on a branch near the bluebell carpet where they first met. There was nothing stopping him from assembling a team of men to follow the path she laid, to try to attack her while her guard was down.
Elain indulged the thought for all of a double-heartbeat before she giggled to herself at the absurdity. The future was always a bit murky when she thought of Lucien Vanserra, like a churning sea protecting the secrets within its depths. Even so, she knew there wasn't a single outcome in which Lucien betrayed her location.
He was a Vanserra. He was involved in this conflict to a degree of which she did not yet know. But his heart beat in her chest, and the rot of Autumn had not penetrated it. Its sound was pure. Its presence was warm. There was kindness in him. Softness that perhaps was unsafe to let his court see.
In the forest, it would thrive.
Did he feel the call, too? When the mist parted way, did it feel like coming home at last? Elain didn't know if anyone else could feel as settled as she did in a place so mercurial, but she wanted to ask him. She held on to that question, not wanting to forget it, but by the fifth hour of waiting, she was beginning to lose hope.
Until a branch cracked on the threshold of the treeline. Her heart stilled, but the other kept beating.
He's here, the forest said. He's coming.
His footsteps were quiet, but she heard each one, a steady tap beneath her ribs. Closer and closer. Red hair dipped as he swung beneath a low hanging branch. Uninjured, he was no longer a fox in coloring alone. He moved like one, swift and graceful. Primrose flowers brimmed from his close fist. Those clever eyes swept the forest in search of the next, and she kept to her hiding spot as she watched him pluck another from the trail.
Lucien paused when he reached the base of the tree. Seeing that there were no more flowers, he cast his ensnaring eyes upward, pinning her to the spot with a devilish smile.
"I didn't know these trees fruited such divine flowers," he said in greeting.
For having done nothing but lounge for hours, she was alarmingly breathless.
"Primrose doesn't grow from trees," she couldn't help but correct.
His smile broadened. "I wasn't speaking of the primrose."
"You're very charming for a man who's preparing to raze my home."
Lucien's smile fell, and he turned away before she could mourn its loss. "So you know. My father's lost his patience. He's given the High Priestess time to turn over the seer, but now he feels he must take matters into his own hands. Even if that means taking your temple apart in search of her."
"Can you do anything to stop him?"
"I've tried, in what ways I can. All my brothers have. We didn't want to wage this battle against the temple, but my father, he is…" He trailed off, and Elain wondered if his mind was drifting to another time as hers so often did. Whatever memory he saw, he shook it away and continued, "He will not stop until he finds her, Elain."
"What makes him think we have a seer?"
Lucien turned back to her. She'd thought this might be her opportunity to at last admire his handsome face without seeing it pinched in agony, but it was still there. And this time, there were no poultices to pack in his wound. This conflict was being inflicted on her people, but one would not think so from the grief in his expression.
"I told him," he confessed. "When I was just a boy. He wanted to know how I found my way back from the forest, and I admitted a girl laid a path for me. I didn't understand the implications, but my father explained to me that only a seer can navigate these woods. He's been obsessed with finding you ever since."
Elain's eyes burned. She knew it was the truth because she could still feel their bargain cording around her ribs. He could not lie to her, even if he wanted to.
"Why haven't you told your father who I am?"
"Because I fear what will happen to you." He reached upward for her hand, and she let him take it, breath held as his satin touch swept across her knuckles. "Twice now, you've saved my life. I am honor-bound to repay the favor."
Warm. His touch was so very warm. Like laying in a spot of sun on a bright summer day. Elain stared at their hands, the way her much smaller one was completely enveloped in his, and wondered what it would be like to fall into that heat. Would her mind still be split in three directions, or would she finally be anchored to the present?
"And what will you do when he breeches the temple's walls?" She asked.
Lucien's gaze was caught on their hands, too. But his expression did not convey the same honey-drenched thoughts Elain had been occupying. His brow was drawn, as though troubled. She supposed they were discussing a troubling subject, after all, and it was rather girlish of her to be diverting attention to something as trivial as holding hands with a boy.
A forest away, men were stabbing each other with swords. Ash of the dead was being scattered on the breeze.
It didn't seem such a trivial thing, in the face of it all, to reach for something soft. To hold it as long as she could.
"I'll meet you in these woods," he proposed. "While my father searches for you in the temple, I can help you sneak into the Autumn Court. You can establish a life in a nearby village, live under his nose. I'll make sure you're kept safe."
As he spoke, the timbre of his voice strummed upon the bargain's thread, an indolent musician plucking a string simply for the desire of being heard. Truth, it sang. Then another pluck, more agitated. Hear me.
"And my sisters?" She pressed. "The temple?"
Lucien winced. "If my father doesn't find the seer, he'll destroy the temple. But you can get your sisters out before that happens. Hide them in these woods."
"My sisters won't abandon the other priestesses. Archerons are not known to flee from a fight, even in the face of slaughter."
"Then trick them," Lucien suggested. "Make them leave."
Elain would have snapped her hand away no faster than if he'd scalded her. Make them leave? Her lips parted to chide him, but a stuttered beat against her ribs gave her pause. Could she really scold a man for being heartless when it was her own chest that it occupied?
Look, the forest said, and she peered down her lashes at the male still cradling his hand around the space hers had been. His fingers closed around the empty air, as if he might still capture the essence of her. Hold on to it as long as he could.
He is scared. For you.
She did not know if the revelation was the forest's or her own, but it struck her that Lucien would be willing to make any suggestion that spared her from his father. He did not feel he owed anything to her sisters, but he felt he owed a life debt to her.
There was a much simpler solution. One he was refusing to acknowledge—perhaps she had been, too. Elain was not as brave as her sisters, but that was something she could overcome in her love of them.
"If your father is given his seer, will the bloodshed end?"
Lucien's posture grew taut. "Elain, don't even think about it."
"If your father is given his seer," she repeated, "will the bloodshed end?"
He was fighting the answer. A vein strained in his throat. The muscles in his jaw flexed. But the vow he'd made to her in this forest was bound by the might of the earth, and the wind would force the words from his lungs if that was what it required.
"Yes," he gasped, sweat beading on his brow. "If you surrender yourself, our army will retreat."
-
"This is a bad idea, Elain."
It was sure to be if even Feyre—the purveyor of bad ideas—thought so.
Elain darted her eyes between both of her sisters. They wore twin expressions of disapproval, which was another ill-omen. A situation ought to be dire, indeed, to find Feyre and Nesta in agreement with each other.
"Help me convince her," she pleaded. "It's the only thing that will save us."
"Are you out of your mind?" Nesta flung her arm towards the tower window, where they had a perfect vantage of the smoke pluming from the lit funeral pyres below. "The Autumn Court will tear you apart. And the High Priestess would sooner burn this temple herself than give you freely to them."
"It's a temporary solution," Elain stressed. "I'll satisfy Beron's demands long enough for you to safely evacuate the temple. Once you light the signal, I'll escape into the woods and meet you there."
Nesta crossed her arms. "And if they keep you in chains? How will you escape then?"
"Lucien will help me. I know he will."
Both of her sisters scoffed. They would never understand. They didn't see how haunted he looked to admit he'd set this conflict in motion. That his father would never know a seer lived in this kingdom if she hadn't shown him kindness.
"No Vanserra can be trusted," Feyre said gravely. "You have a soft heart, Elain. He's trying to use it against you to fulfill his father's goal."
"If that's the case, then why didn't he just capture me in the woods?"
Her sisters shared a glance. Then Feyre said, with grating gentleness, "You're the only one who can navigate those woods, Elain. He can't take you from them unwillingly."
For the slightest moment, Elain's view of the forest took the altered shape that it did in everyone else's eyes. A place that was eerie, unsafe, dangerous. She pictured a red-haired man in those woods, but his clever eyes held the sinister edge of a blade. His smile was just as wicked, but the thrill it wracked through her was one of terror, not pleasure.
Was her naivety covering the truth with a softer lense? Or was it their cynicism churning the image, diluting its water with murky sediment?
Elain's heart knew the truth. Hers and Lucien's beat as one. She'd helped him twice without question or hesitation. He would be driven to do the same. That was the only truth she could make peace with.
Regarding her sisters, so they both could read the depth of her sincerity, Elain told them, "There are two paths forward. You can either help me convince the High Priestess of this plan, or I'll sneak away to surrender myself to Beron's army. I know which choice gives the temple the strongest advantage. Do you?"
She waited patiently as her sisters digested the ultimatum. They studied her, they studied each other. Nesta's eyes even drifted back to the funeral pyres she'd gestured to earlier. There was very little change in her expression, but she did set her lips into a thin line.
"Okay," Nesta said. "I'll help you."
Feyre looked far more stricken, but she nodded. "I will, too."
"Thank you," Elain whispered. She mustered a smile that conveyed far more courage than she felt. "Then, let's go convince the High Priestess to offer my hand to Lucien Vanserra."
Present Day
The boat swayed with the rise and fall of the sea.
Through the stern window in the captain's quarters, Elain could feel the rhythmic swish of water as it swept against the hull. Again and again, like the sea was trailing its knuckles against the wood, just to remind the crew she was still there. Warning, you are alive because I allow you to be. I can change my mind at any moment.
"You used to say my name sounded like the sea," Lucien mused. He leaned forward on the chair he'd pulled to her bedside, a bowl of seared fish and grain cupped in his palm. "Having heard her song, do you still agree?"
Elain's glare hadn't left her face since the moment she'd woken up in that ox-wagon. Now, she speared it towards the spoon he held toward her lips. It didn't matter that the smell made the back of her mouth water, or that her stomach grumbled loud enough for the both of them to hear. She kept her mouth shut.
With a sigh, Lucien set the spoon back in the bowl. "I won't let you starve yourself, Elain."
"Of course not," she sniped. "Your father won't lift your banishment if you return with an emaciated corpse."
"That's not why I care," he said evenly.
"Isn't it?"
Lucien reached for a waterskin with his other hand. "It isn't." The cork popped with an easy pry of his thumb, and then the opening was pressed to her lips. "At least drink something."
Having no desire to be bound to a bed of soaked sheets, Elain parted her lips. To his credit, Lucien held the waterskin at a steady angle as she drank, ensuring too much water didn't pour at once. A small amount dribbled at the corner of her mouth when he pulled away, but that was fixed with a swipe of his thumb that lingered at the plump of her bottom lip for a beat too long.
Lucien cleared his throat. "I noticed you didn't answer my question."
"About the sea?" He nodded, and Elain decided to answer if only because it would offer a distraction from the heat still tingling through her lip. "Maybe I said that because I was really hearing this moment. Maybe it was a warning me that our fates would be bound, and you would be my captor."
"Captor?" His echo held a sadness that called to her weaker sense, but she refused to give him her pity. Not when she was tied to a bed, trapped in a prison of his making in the middle of the ocean. "I preferred when you called me husband."
"Those words are no different to me. What will I be when you turn me over to your father, wife or captive? You know I'll try to flee at the first opportunity, so what will you do? Keep me chained to our marital bed?"
Lucien narrowed his eyes. "You're the seer between us. You tell me."
Futures couldn't be summoned on a whim, not in the way he was suggesting. She was brought visions as the Cauldron willed it, and though she could often pick up vague senses of where a person's immediate path was heading, with Lucien it was always blank. As if his preferred mask of indifference was rooted down to his soul.
She'd never met a person as guarded as him. There were one or two souls she'd come across on her travels who faced the world through a shield of ice, but Elain could still peer through them on occasion. Perhaps because they were not so layered as Lucien's. Where most people maintained a single barrier between themself and the world, Elain suspected Lucien had built several. Wall after wall after wall—so enclosed that perhaps he no longer knew where the surface was.
And yet, through all those layers of stone, she could still hear the slow, steady beating that begged her to listen. I'm still here, it said. Find me.
Elain returned his glare. "I know that right now, you are keeping me restrained. That makes you my captor."
Yanking on the bindings caused the rope to scrape against her raw flesh, but Elain felt the pain was worth if for the remorse that flashed across Lucien's face. She didn't expect him to set the food aside to inspect her wrists. He swore when he saw the angry blisters on her skin.
"Why didn't you tell me?" He asked, hands flying to the knots around the headboard. Elain didn't say anything, too stunned by the way he untied the rope and took both her hands into his own to further examine the wounds. "Elain."
"I didn't think you cared."
Lucien made a strangled sound in the back of his throat, one that fell somewhere between anguish and frustration. She replayed the sound in her mind, trying to puzzle where it landed closer to. Meanwhile, Lucien retrieved his pack from the far side of the cabin and began rifling through it.
It occurred to her that she could have tried to escape during that short moment his back was turned. But they were in the middle of the sea, and if he'd paid off the crew well enough to take residence in the captain's chambers, she could imagine they wouldn't be scrambling to aid her.
"Here," Lucien said, returning to his seat with a tin in hand. "This salve should help."
Elain held out her hand, expecting to take it from him to administer it herself. He surprised her by taking her hand in his, heartbreakingly gentle. With his other hand, he dipped two of his fingers into the salve. Elain hissed when it met her skin. Despite his gentleness, despite knowing it was coming, the pain still prickled through her.
Knowing when pain was coming did not always alleviate it, she found.
"I'm sorry," Lucien said. His voice was solemn. "You're the last person I ever wanted to hurt."
"Then you should have let me go. You should have never come looking for me."
There it was again, that sadness flicking over his face that preyed on her heart. His voice was strained as he said, "I tried. I told myself I could let you go. But I couldn't. It—you haunted me. I had to set things right again."
As he spoke, something plucked at her. An old string in her chest. If she tugged on it, she had the sinking sensation it would lead to his own. Truth, she thought it said. Elain frowned. Lucien switched to rubbing salve on her other hand. His movements still gentle, the unintended sting still cruel.
"This is your way of making things right?"
"This is a means to an end," he corrected. Then he shook his head. "I would like you to explain it to me, though. Why do you think I no longer care for you? Only one of us was abandoned in those woods, and it wasn't you."
Elain tried very hard to keep her mind anchored to the present. She focused on the pain throbbing through her wrist. The warmth of his hand, cradling hers. His steady heartbeat pleading, listen. Listen. Anything to keep from reliving the moment she last saw him in the forest.
"It was a means to end," she whispered, because it was the only answer she could give him. "I couldn't risk you taking me back to Autumn."
His flattened lip said she was only telling him things he'd already worked out for himself.
"But why do you assume I no longer care for you?"
Because I don't know if you ever did.
"I betrayed you," she answered. "I left you."
"It hurt, but I understood your reasons. How could I not?"
It burned her, that he had the audacity to play ignorant. Like a branch bearing too much weight, the anger in her snapped. If she was capable of deeper anger, her hands would have flown to his cheek. Something in her craved violence, but the most she could bare to strike was the tin of salve in his hands. It clattered to the floor, splattering its contents as it went. Flecks of it decorated Lucien's leg, but that was not nearly so satisfying as the shock on his face.
Shock that morphed into something hot. Anger, and something else. Something that writhed and tangled in her stomach, made her clench her thighs.
Maybe it was because of that heat, because of the fear that rose to meet it, that she snapped, "Don't take me for a fool, Lucien. I am not the same naive girl I used to be."
"No?" Lucien lifted from his chair, surging so fast and so close that Elain instinctively fell back on the bed. He followed, arms braced on either side of her head, lowering himself until she could feel the heat of his body skimming every inch of hers. "I think you're right," he breathed. "The girl I met was no coward, and certainly no oath breaker."
"I broke no oath!"
"You broke the one you made to me!" He snarled. "You left me."
Elain stilled, searching those heated eyes. For just one traitorous second, her gaze dropped to his mouth. She told herself it was because his teeth were bared. A survival instinct, to make sure he wouldn't bite her.
A memory flickered at the cusp of her grasp. If she reached for it, she knew she would feel those teeth sinking into her skin in another time. One framed by the rosy flush of passion. Even without reaching for it, her body recognized its remnants. Her bones sighed in relief, saying, we've been here before. Why fight it?
"You said you understood my reasons." Elain was unable to help the mocking sing-song in her voice. Lucien's eyes flashed, and some inane instinct had Elain craning her neck in response.
He tracked the movement, just as he tracked everything she did.
"That doesn't mean they didn't wound me," he murmured, dipping his head to speak the words against her neck. "Especially when I would have gone with you."
"Liar," she gasped.
Sharp teeth dragged along the column of her throat. She couldn't resist her full-body shudder.
"I've never lied to you, Elain." A nip at her pulse. "You made me swear it."
The hand she slid into his hair was entirely involuntary. She told herself she was only tangling her fingers with the intention to pull him away. But she was his wife, once, in every sense of the word. Memories of it were trailing back to her, slow and syrupy as treacle.
They were telling her things. Secrets buried the bedsheets of Autumn. Like what would happen when she pulled on his hair.
And Elain pulled hard.
Lucien groaned, and the next thing she knew, his teeth were clamped down on her neck. No more teasing. No more gentleness.
She squirmed beneath him, hips bucking until he indulged her silent request by pressing his body in. Pinning her to the bed with a strong thigh wedged between her parted legs, pressing solidly against the place she ached. She was left with no choice but to stay. To feel. To keep herself anchored to this moment of anger and passion and… and something she couldn't bear to name, or it risked shattering her past repair.
Her husband released her when she finally cried out. Not from pain or anguish, but from the sharp, quivering needs she hadn't dared acknowledge since the moment they parted ways.
Lucien's breathing was ragged. "Tell me why you're so angry at me. Tell me why you think I don't care for you anymore."
"You've chased me down to bring me back to him!" She exclaimed, blinking back tears. "Why do you need more explanation than that?"
The bed sighed as Lucien peeled his body away, leaving Elain deprived of his weight. Empty.
"If you think that's why I've been chasing you all these years, then perhaps you truly don't know me at all."
Elain thought she should say something, refute his words or throw them back, but they'd doused cool water over her anger. She could think of nothing to say, could only watch as Lucien strode to the door and left it swinging behind him.
Summary: When Elain discovers Lucien’s apartment, she can’t resist sneaking inside. What starts as a harmless little visit quickly turns into her making herself a little too comfortable while he’s away. It’s only a matter of time before Lucien catches her in the middle of something naughty. Set during ACOSF.
Reminder that fanfic writers are people and not your personal fantasy machine. I’m not an AI that you can type your prompt into and get an emotionless response from. You have to actually talk to fic writers like we’re people with feelings and not a fucking robot. Some readers have a habit of making a request while not saying a word about the fic they’re commenting with said request on. So it’s incredibly dismissive of the work that is already there! And then the audacity to demand a fic while doing so! If you want someone to do something for you, you usually get better results when you’re kind about it.
Also, how are we to know you won’t treat the request the same way if it actually does get written? How are we to know you’re even going to say a single kind word? We don’t, because you’re behaving in an entitled way that shows you won’t. The amount of requests I’ve taken in good faith where the person who requested it never said a word about it is astounding. Not even a thank you.
Just quit the bullshit. You act entitled, mean, and ungrateful, and then whine and complain when writers stop posting, because you lack the self awareness to see that it’s your behavior causing that. You want endless fic but refuse to engage with the writer in any kind or respectful way. Stop it.
i’m going to be really honest with you guys i think the tendency to read the absolute worst possible intentions into every action you don’t agree with is getting too automatic and it’s eating you from the inside out
Day 2: 70s Disco - we used the Barbie Movie as inspiration and told the beautiful perfect wonderful sexy smart @qwillaart gave us this beautiful perfect wonderful sexy smart art piece
@the-lonelybarricade and I are so grateful for you AND we think your friendship is just sublime
Today may be the start of Elucien Week, but it is also the one and only @primulagoldworthy's ✨birthday✨!!!!!
To celebrate, a few of us broke into the Day Court's security cameras and you'll never guess what we found....
Happy Birthday from Sevan's Fan Club, Prim! 🥳 We love you so much and are so lucky to have such a wonderful, talented, and kind soul in the fandom. As Lulu put it, we hope this next year opens (fairy) doors that let you take all your hopes and dreams by storm! 🙌
