Summary: Set midst ACOTAR 3, war is brewing and Elain helps to prepare Lucien for battle while being terrified of losing him.
Teaser: She’s never felt anything so fiercely as she feels her love for him now. She was never one to rage and burn and howl defiance at the world. That had always been Nesta. She had only ever endured, quiet and unassuming, a gentle blossom finding a way to grow between the cracks in a paving stone. But for him, for Lucien, for the love for him that consumes her she feels fire blaze up inside her soul –his fire- filling her with warmth and light and life.
Pushing up the left sleeve of her gown again as it makes
another hopeful bid back down to its proper place around her wrists Elain dips
the jug back into the bath and tips it gently over Lucien’s head. Obligingly,
he keeps still as she combs her fingers slowly through his hair, helping the
water sluice the soap from it.
Elain smiles, admiring the way the light catches in her
mate’s burning copper hair. Her mate. Even now, several weeks after accepting
the bond with him, Elain’s stomach still flutters pleasantly at that thought,
making it feel as though someone has released a cloud of butterflies inside her
every time she thinks about it.
Lucien notes her expression and no doubt feels her reaction
through their bond because a soft smile brushes his lips, stretching the brutal
scar on his face. His hand lifts from the bath, beads of moisture clinging to
his finger tips like liquid jewels before he lightly brushes her cheek.
This little display of affection from him is enough to make
her smile again and a moment later she’s pressing yet another gentle kiss to
his lips. She just can’t help herself. She had been warned of experiencing a
certain frenzy in the wake of their
mating but while they had spent quite some time in bed there hadn’t been
anything entirely frenzied about what they’d done – which Elain had been glad
But she just can’t seem to stop kissing him whenever she has
the chance. The feel of his soft lips against hers, the scent of them swirling
through the air around her, the happiness that swells in her chest every
time…A part of her is quite sure she’ll never be able to stop it. Even though
she still can’t quite wrap her head around the idea of living for centuries, somehow it’s not so difficult
to imagine kissing Lucien through every single one of them.
“Not to rush you,” Lucien murmurs onto her lips, “Because
this is wonderful,” he smirks wryly, lightly rubbing noses with her before he
says, “But I’m turning into a prune.”
He holds up a hand for her inspection and she sees that it’s
perfectly true. The sight of the pads of his fingers looking more like raisins
than anything makes her giggle. Her inability to keep from kissing him every
few moments has drawn this bath out and caused him to have to reheat the water
several times over.
But if it were possible she would never let him leave this
moment. He’s safe here and happy and she’s loathe to let him go when that might
change; when everything might change.
Bracing her hands on her hips she pushes those thoughts away
as she narrows her eyes and tries to sound stern when she says, “Are you
criticising my bathing skills, sir?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, dove,” Lucien replies, eyes wide,
with such forced sincerity that she giggles again in spite of herself.
A soft gasp bursts from her as she feels a sudden cold blush
against her neck – Lucien’s fingers curling into the front of her dress and
coaxing her down to him. She obliges and he kisses her again, soft and slow.
“But,” he adds as he withdraws with obvious reluctance, “If
I could get out of this bath some time this month I would be grateful.”
In answer Elain dunks her jug into the water and promptly
dumps its contents over him without warning. Lucien emerges from the torrent of
water sputtering and shakes his head like a dog, spraying her with water and
causing her to squeal in protest and jump back.
Approaching him again with a little warning growl to tell
him to behave himself Elain settles herself at his back and continues her
rinsing, combing her fingers slowly and luxuriously through his silken hair
until he groans and leans back into her touch.
Lying almost horizontally, face appearing upside down to her
he says, “You’re very good at that you know.” She presses a swift kiss to his
lips then nudges him upright again so she can finish what she’s doing, shaking
her head slightly at him, though another smile tugs at her lips in response to
Through the sleek, wet curtain of his red hair her fingers
sometimes can’t help brushing against the crisscrossing patterns of scars on
his back. The laughter that had been blooming in her chest dies and strips the smile
from her lips along with it each time she does so.
She’s grown used to his scars since their mating – there
isn’t an inch of his body that she’s unfamiliar with any more – the physical
ghosts of the violence he’s endured that patterns his skin don’t usually bother
her but today…Today.
Lucien shifts slightly, sensing the change in her mood but
before he can say anything about it she blurts out faintly, “Do you have to
A stupid, childish question but she can’t help herself. It’s
been gnawing away at her all day, the words circling around and around in her
head like gore crows over a killing field. Lucien freezes in response to them,
his body taking on that immortal stillness she still hasn’t managed to achieve
and doubts she ever will.
But in spite of that she stumbles on, mechanically
continuing the rinsing of his hair as she does so, as though she can anchor
herself to reality with them, as though they can keep her from falling apart.
The repetitive motions are soothing, something to cling to as panic flares and
her world, the one she’s only just learned how to live in, how to love, pitches
violently and tears itself out from beneath her.
“I hate the thought of it,” she gets out through gritted
teeth, voice brittle.
It’s a thought that’s kept her awake these past few nights –
nights she’s spent just watching him sleep, softly running her fingers through
his hair, listening to the steady rhythm of his deep breathing – a sound that’s
come to be one of her favourites in this world – one she’s not sure she knows
how to live without any more.
Everything about them feels so right to her. She’s never been this sure of anything before in her
life. She let Feyre and Nesta be stubbornly and defiantly sure about it all
while she just did her best to manage, to adapt to whatever new circumstances
were thrown her way, doing what she could to just get on, whether she knew
exactly what was happening to them or not. But this she’s sure of. Him she’s sure of. Their souls were
forged to be together and losing that, losing him…
Her mind has dwelled on it for days. Lucien, her Lucien, in a battle, in a war. Fighting and bleeding and – She
closes her eyes, shaking herself, fists clenching tightly as she refuses to
finish that thought and instead says, “I can’t stand it, Lucien, I can’t.”
“I know,” he murmurs quietly, such a profound sense of
empathy in his words that she opens her eyes.
A flutter from the bond communicates his wants to her and
she shifts to his side again so he can see her.
Reaching out he takes her hand in his and kisses it,
massaging her knuckles with his thumb. “I know,” he says again, looking into
her eyes this time, cupping her cheek tenderly in his hand. “But I have to go,”
he murmurs and she swallows, nestling in to his touch. “This is war Elain and
I, I have to fight,” he tells her. She closes her eyes, burying in against his
neck, trying not to tremble, to be strong, like Feyre.
”For you,” he whispers faintly and she opens her eyes again
to meet his. She finds them blazing and fierce and determined despite the fear
she feels radiating from him, “And for all the people in these lands that I
promised to serve and protect.”
He had made that same oath to Tamlin and however the High
Lord had abused it, and him, he still feels guilty about breaking the vow. He
won’t do so again, she knows. And she can’t ask him to but…
Continuing her absent washing of him, just wanting to touch
him, wanting to physically connect them, she says, “I want to go with you.” She
feels him flinch in response to that but she looks up, making him meet her eyes.
“I’m your mate,” she says, hating the
tears that suddenly line her eyes and clog her throat, making her voice wobble
when she so wants it to be stern and sure and defiant, like Nesta’s is when she
growls at the world and orders it to shape itself to her will.
“I’m your mate,” she says again, slapping the
surface of the water with her palm in frustration, “I should be with you – to
keep you safe – to bring you home-“She breaks off, turning away so he can’t see
how upset she is, though she knows he can likely sense it through their bond in
spite of that.
The feel of his hand on hers is the only thing that stops
“You can’t,” he says, his voice, usually always tinted with
that playful irreverent edge is now heartbreakingly gentle. But that hint of
humour drifts back in when he adds wryly, “It just wouldn’t be fair to the
other side,” she looks up at him, blinking away her tears in bemusement, “You’d
wipe the floor with them, plum, we have to give them half a chance.”
He winks at her and she can’t help the smile that tugs at
her lips in spite of everything. Dipping her hand into his bath she trails her
fingers through it pensively for a few moments then withdraws them and flicks water
from the ends of her fingers at him in mild reproach. That makes him smile too,
his scar stretching slightly and his eyes crinkling in that way they do.
Surging forwards unexpectedly Elain takes his face between
her hands and kisses him again, open and rough and messy as love for him burns
through her so fiercely she knows if she doesn’t do this, doesn’t do something, it will consume her entirely.
So she does this, she kisses him as hard as she can – a claim on him, her mate,
her partner, her home- and he allows it and responds in kind.
Breathing heavily as she pulls away she drags her fingers
through his hair, just to anchor herself to some part of him.
“I’m scared, Lucien,” she breathes onto his lips, her eyes
closed, her forehead pressed against his.
Selfish. Selfish of her to make him think of that, of her
fears, on the eve of a battle that might very well hurt him or maim him or kill
him- She chokes on the very thought of it. But whatever dangers he might face
or fears that might plague him she needs him. She needs to hear him reassure
her. She needs his words to wrap around her and make her feel alright. Even if
it’s all lies she just needs to hear him say that they’ll get through this.
“If you’re hurt-“she whispers, pressing in as close as she
can to him with the copper tub in the way, breaking off, struggling to former
her tumultuous thoughts into words. His hand tangles in her hair, resting on
her cheek again, thumb softly stroking her skin, trying to soothe and calm her,
“If you don’t come back to me- If I lose you-“
Her voice breaks on that last word, that last awful suggestion
and he stands abruptly from the bath at the sound, unable to bear it. She
watches the water run in rivulets down his lean, muscled body, drinking in
every inch of him.
As he steps from the tub she rises to her feet too to meet
him as he steps to her. Hooking his fingers under her chin he coaxes her to
lift her eyes from the floor to look at him, “Everything will be all right,” he
whispers, so sincerely that she believes him for a few heartbeats, believes
that it will be, that he would stop this whole war then and there with nothing
but his love and his promise and his will to make it so for her.
He raises his hands and holds her face gently between them.
Pressing a soft kiss to her forehead he says, “It will be all right. I’ll be
fine. I’ll come back. I’ll come home to you, Elain. You will never lose me.”
“You promise me?” she breathes, trembling at his touch, at
the mere thought of its impossible absence.
A promise. A vow to her – binding as the mating bond that
tethers their souls – one it’s unfair of her to ask him to make, one he can’t
have any way of knowing he can keep but she needs it. Even if it’s as hollow
and empty as her heart would be without him. She needs it.
“Promise me,” she says again, not a question this time but a
request, a plea, a prayer to him.
“I promise,” he whispers.
The reverberations of that oath shudder to her down their
bond – the depth of it, the sincerity within in it, for her, staggers her.
Without hesitation she flings herself into his arms and
embraces him, feeling him lift her clean off the floor against his body. This male.
Her mate. A few months ago he likely wouldn’t have cared if he came back at
all; wouldn’t have thought it mattered. But for her he’d promise this, so
strongly she still feels it pulsing in her core right alongside their bond.
She’s never felt anything so fiercely as she feels her love
for him now. She was never one to rage and burn and howl defiance at the world.
That had always been Nesta. She had only ever endured, quiet and unassuming, a gentle
blossom finding a way to grow between the cracks in a paving stone. But for
him, for Lucien, for the love for him that consumes her she feels fire blaze up
inside her soul –his fire- filling her
with warmth and light and life.
She meets his lips as they descend to claim hers in a rough
kiss. She doesn’t care that he’s still soaked through; doesn’t care that water
is plastering her dress to her; doesn’t give a damn about any of it. All she
wants is him. Her body craves his. Her skin needs his touch. Her mouth demands
his tongue. Her soul calls for his everything. And he gives it to her.
Lifting her securely in his arms he carries her from the
bathing room to the adjoining bedroom. The moment he sets her down, so
carefully, letting her find her feet before he releases her like always, she
Following the mix of urges barrelling into her body from
both the mating bond and her own deep, primal instincts she reaches up to him.
Her hand slides around behind his neck and draws him down to her. Kissing him
she presses herself against him and nudges him back, coaxing him to take step
after step until he hits the bed behind them. Then she pushes him gently down
He obliges her, sinking down onto the soft mattress but
stretches up and reaches for her almost at once, as though he can’t bear to be
apart from her for even these few bare seconds. Taking a fistful of her light,
sodden dress he tugs her softly to him.
Slowly, Elain crawls onto the bed beside him but as his
hands slide deftly and surely to her hips, ready to settle her down and place
himself over her as they usually do, she straddles him instead. Lucien’s eyes
go wide as she settles herself astride him, hitching her dress up around her
hips, getting it out of their way, wanting nothing between them but sweat and
Leaning down she kisses him as she mounts him and swallows
the moan he presses onto her tongue at the feel of her around him. Sitting up
slowly she takes both of his hands in hers and, knowing what she wants, he
locks his arms against the mattress giving her something to brace against.
His eyes fill with wonder and awe as she begins to move upon
him. The way he looks at her in that moment makes her feel like she might be
the Mother incarnate, eternal, blissful, consuming -a goddess made flesh before
Closing her eyes and letting the feeling of him filling
every part of her being she whimpers and whispers his name and hears him echo
hers back to her with each gentle thrust. Heat swells in her core and she grips
his hands, solid and real as pleasure begins to overwhelm her and she loses
herself in him, in this, in them. As she feels them both reach for the
beckoning oblivion that will take them she opens herself to him and lets that
bond blaze through her soul until there’s no way of separating them or the
eternity she demands whatever fates that control this world permit her with
him. And every time she sinks down onto him she claims him and calls him home.
Their home was always a warm, bright place, but with glow of the evening sunset not yet faded, lighting up the sky like phoenix flame, and the lanterns and mana-strings hung throughout the court adding their warm glow and festival-like air, the estate was alive. The children certainly felt it, running to and fro with happy shrieks, chasing the luminescent firebugs that were beginning to emerge with the setting sun.
Everything is bright and new. Everything is chrome and green and blue and
stained white-yellow by the rays of the seemingly never-setting sun that you
feel chasing you into the shade, into your home. Even shadows are illuminated
and there is no such thing as a hiding place.
Salsa and reggaeton spill out of passing cars as
you walk down your sunny palm tree line street. You see a large green log lying
in the road in the distance. The log turns and stares back at you with ancient
eyes and jagged teeth and it takes you a little too long to realize that that
is not a log. You are glad you were taught to run in zigzags in school and
remember that this land is not yours, that while the pavement pushes into the
green sawgrass, the green pushes back.
An old man riding his rickety old blue bike
waves to you as you slowly turn the corner. He has waved to you for years and
he is a familiar and welcome sight. One day your grandmother tells you that the
nice old man was hit by a car while riding his rickety old blue bike. “He died
this morning,” she tells you and you tell no one that weeks later he waves to
Sometimes it seems as if all the old ever do is
talk. They talk about how things used to be in their homeland, la madre patria,
their land, about the wives/husbands/siblings/children they left behind to
escape the war/revolution/prison/rubble. They talk about the past as if they
speak of it enough it will rush in and replace the present. They talk about
their dead as if they aren’t dead at all and talk about the living as if they
have been dead for years. In time you learn that for some the future becomes a
mirror and not a door.
It’s 2 AM and neither you nor your mother can
sleep so you stand together on her balcony and look over your oil-stained
street. In the distance you hear a door slam and catch sight of your neighbor
stumble out of his house and let out a mournful wail. His voice cuts through
the bright night even as he comes to a stop in front of the house across from
yours. “¡Asesino! He killed my daughter!
I buried my baby and they let him go. ¡No hay justicia! No hay allá y no hay acquí!
¡Asesino! He killed my daughter and now he has killed me!” You look to your
mother and find her watching for falling stars and remember how her stories are
littered with the word “Guerra”.
You and your friends sit and complain about how
backwards this place is. North is south and south is north; the past is alive and
the living haunt the present.
Chasing the Sun Part 2: The Silence - An Elucien fic
Part 1 of this fic is here. This is a direct continuation of this first part so you could try and read it as standalone and you’d probably be able to follow it. But you might also be really quite baffled.
Title: Chasing the Sun Part 2: The Silence
Summary: Set midst ACOTAR 3, war is brewing and Elain helps to prepare Lucien for battle while being terrified of losing him.
Teaser: She had shown him the way back, the way the world could be if he only dared to dream and try. He had taught her what she had been missing out on, what could be found right in front of her. She had been lost and he had taken her hand and guided her home. He had been broken and she had healed his battered, weary soul. And together – together they had both learned how to live again.
All of her life seems to have been spent that way – waiting
for something. Waiting for their fortune to finally run out and leave them with
nothing, little more than beggars; for the frozen, terrifying winter to thaw
into spring, for the shadow of death that fell over their cottage every year to
pass; for things to get better, this
year, this year, this year; for a husband to come and claim her; for
children; for the end of her mortal existence, old and content with her life
predictable, expected. All she’d hoped for.
All this time spent waiting to live, waiting for a life that
was actually worth living.
Nesta had looked
back. Back to the past they had once had with bitter longing, refusing to find
even a scrap of joy or light in their present for spite. Feyre had been the
only one existing in that present. She had lived measuring her life, their lives, day by day, forcing herself
to just get through now, just survive this hour, this hour, this hour and think
about the next only when it arrived.
Meanwhile Elain had
looked forwards. And had hoped that maybe next week, next month, next year,
would be better for her; for them all. She had planted her little seeds in what
they’d humoured her and called her garden and she had gone to bed that night
already dreaming of the bright, beautiful flowers that they would one day
become without ever even know if they’d sprout or take root at all.
Always waiting. Always. And just when she had thought she
had what she had spent all that time waiting for, something that didn’t make
her want to wait for something else, something more, something better;
something that had made her want to live,
it had come again. The stillness, the hopelessness, the inevitability of it
Just as she had finally begun living- finally stopped
passively letting time slip by, only vaguely wondering what the next moment may
bring- and had started actively seizing every second with both hands. Now always
reluctant to allow it to slip through her fingers, it had ground to a halt and
forced her to wait once more. As it demanded to pass she had demanded it pause.
Only a little longer, a little longer, a little longer, until she was quite
sure she was done with it. And now it stalls and she wants it to rush by, to
race by, to pass without her noticing.
Ironic, she muses now, that she had only started valuing her
time when it had become unlimited, only started savouring every beat of her
heart when their number had been made infinite, only started truly living when
she had become immortal.
Though her transformation has had little and less to do with
her desire to make the most of every moment than her mate has. Her mate –
Lucien – the one who woke her from her slumber; mild and pleasant but as good
as death compared with the life she experiences so fully with him now. Lucien.
Who had finally made her stop waiting, who had finally made her want to live in
the moment with him.
A sudden pain bursts through her heart, a lethal blade
driven through it, crippling her for a moment as she realises that she had never
told him- She had never told him that he had brought her to life. As surely as
she ever had for him. There might not have been the same shattered darkness in
her, her soul may have lacked the jagged, uneven scars that had never fully
stitched together that his had possessed before she had helped him begin to
But they had both been stuck –frozen in time, unable to live
– he for having too little hope; believing all the world to be a mess governed
by monsters, not worth saving, not worth fighting for, not worth trying for,
barely worth existing in at all. While she had had too much hope; too busy idly
wondering about a better world, too busy dreaming of childish, impossible
things in her over bright future to waste time existing in her grim reality.
She had shown him the way back, the way the world could be
if he only dared to dream and try. He had taught her what she had been missing
out on, what could be found right in front of her. She had been lost and he had
taken her hand and guided her home. He had been broken and she had healed his
battered, weary soul. And together – together they had both learned how to live
It occurs to her now that she had never said that to him –
any of it. She had never once, in all these weeks with him, spending time with
him, slowly blooming into her full potential in the face of his encouragement,
finding the fire that he kindled in her with the sparks of his own,
experiencing every moment so fully as she slowly began to fall for him, and him
for her, wanting him, claiming him, mating him, loving him. She had never told him just what he meant to her, what
he’d done for her, how he’d been as much her salvation as she had been his.
Mostly for my own reference, I’ve been sorting out the internal chronology of the movie (since we’ve already had plenty of speculation about the pre-movie timeline) – and I came across a few unexpected things.
chased the sun set today. dashed across a high way to the edge of a cliff. pulled my shirt off and bared my body to the sky. I love who I am. I love the body I’m in. I love the skin that has so willingly taken new shape for me this last year. I love even the parts that have been hard to love.
in a month I will be more authentic than ever before. it’s kind of like renovating. I had to take everything out for a while so I could repair a few things. so I could make some additions. in a few years I’ll know every new nook, every new corner. in a few years there will be memories hung all over.
transitioning has been hard. there have been days when getting up was too much. I’m sure there still will be days like that in the future, too. but learning to love who I am and the form I am in has made every challenge worthwhile.
i know this is a tough road, guys. but the journey is worth it.
The sun was hiding behind the clouds that pour buckets and buckets of rain onto the ground soaking everything with the water, especially on a child who didn’t mind the rain, it was like a shower for her.
Until it began thundering.
“….” Sighing and quickly running to some place that kept the rain off of her, also dried. “I can’t go back to the alley plus the tree is all yuck.. I guess the bathrooms..” There was a small vending machine that was filled with candy and she managed to find it’s copy key so she didn’t need money. Laying next to it and sighed. “I hope it’ll clear up..”
It’s time to get moving, time for us to have some fun There’s no time to hang around, our adventure’s just begun We’ll be thinking ‘bout our friends as we chase the setting sun We’re leaving them behind, we’re on the run
I don’t care about what all the others say Well I guess there are some things that all too quickly go away I wish that I could say that there’s no better place than home But home’s a place that I no longer know
So sorry I haven’t been updating! I’m at my data limit for the month and downsizing was traumatic and I had a lot of people to visit before my departure! I’m currently crashing in Queens for a week or so to pose for a painting being done by @bruesselbach, then I’ll be picking up @vortexsophia and chasing the setting sun across a sea of grass!
I’m going to try to do some sightseeing while I’m in NYC, but no promises on pictures. I don’t want to stumble around gawking and potentially make myself a target.
Would it be weird if I sketched?
Edit: I will endeavor to catch up on my message backlog as well, but again, I’m not making any promises.