(okay this kind of….like I just can’t angst with elucien apparently @valamerys be proud of me I blame you for this. Concept pinched from a tumblr post I can’t find but…yeah. Anyway.)
He has been warned about her, about this place. But those warnings are impossible to heed. The closer he draws the more he feels that this is right. Old instincts that whisper to run, to hide, to flee are replaced by the deeper instinct that sings in his bones.
The urge to come to this place, to her, has been driving him wild for days. He can’t eat. He can’t sleep. He can’t think past the pull in his chest that draws him to her. He doesn’t know if this is part of her magic. None of the stories have warned him about it, but none of the stories would ever be able to explain this feeling.
Nothing could ever explain this. The need to be with her. The ache in his chest that tells him that the world is wrong without her in it. The desperate ravaging screaming in his head that threaten to drive him mad unless he answers them.
He decided this morning that he doesn’t much care if this is part of her magic, part of her curse, to lure him into her trap for the sheer pleasure of killing him that he doesn’t care. This burning compulsion is going to make him lose his mind if he doesn’t yield to it soon. It’s worth it. Just one taste of her will be worth the death that follows.
His feet drag through the thick, wet sand. Sea water laps at his bare feet. Small stones and shells pepper them with cuts and the salt stings them but he carries on. He can hear the sharp cries of birds overhead, feel the sharp slap of wind against his face, trying to push him back, send him home, away from this place.
But all the while she calls to him. And he’s helpless to resist.
His fumbling fingers brush against the rough rock of the cave as he enters it, needing the sensation to ground him. His heart pounds in his ears, drowning out the soothing rush of the sea and the cries of the gulls. As he steps into the cave, the salt smell is replaced by what he thinks is the scent of soft, spring flowers…
Elain looks up from the small pond overflowing with plants that she was tending as magic tugs at her skin, warning of an intruder. No. No not again, not again, please not again.
They all tell tales of her. They say that she is a monster. They say that any who tries to slay her never return. That she keeps their stone corpses as trophies. It’s only half-true. Elain has killed every man who has entered her cave, spurred on by the folk stories and the hungry desire for glory, but she hasn’t wanted to. She’s wept over every one of them. She cries herself to sleep each night because of what they whisper behind her back: ‘monster, monster, monster’.
She never asked to be a monster. She never wanted to kill. She doesn’t want to hurt anyone. She just wishes to be left alone with her plants and her peace. Please, please…
The shuffling steps are echoing down the passage to her now, she can hear him approaching, can scent him, can’t deny his existence now. Standing Elain moves back, pressing herself against the furthest wall, her heart pounding, tears springing into her eyes. She doesn’t want to do this again, she doesn’t, but she can’t help it, can’t make it stop, she doesn’t have any control over this awful curse.
“Please!” She calls out, her voice trembling. She has to make it stronger, more commanding, then perhaps they wouldn’t think her weak, they wouldn’t think they stood a chance against her. “Please don’t come any closer, please just leave.”
“I can’t do that.” His voice is low, controlled, a little raspy, a little fearful, but steady and firm.
“You must!” Elain insists, “Please, whatever they promised you, it isn’t worth your life. Just go home, tell them you tried to slay me but couldn’t, none will doubt your bravery for coming here.”
“I have not come here to kill you.” Elain starts in surprise at that. No-one has ever come here for any other purpose. She is a monster, and monsters were made to be slain.
“Then why?” She demands. He’s still coming closer, he’ll be here soon, see her soon, and then there will be nothing she can do but bear witness to his death and honour him. “Surely it isn’t worth your life.”
“It is,” he says, his voice hoarse, desperate. For the first time, Elain feels something other than fear tugging at her chest and…”I have to, I have to meet you. It might kill me. But not meeting you, not knowing you, is killing me too.”
She starts, taking a step towards him, unable to help herself, “It’s you,” she whispers to him. The one she’s connected to. The one who keeps trying to draw her from this cave, draw her into killing hundreds just to try and find him. Her mate.
“Yes,” he whispers, understanding what she means, still slowly moving towards her, unable to resist. A pare of magnets pulled irresistibly towards her. She curses fate, curses the gods that made her into this thing and then tethered this poor man to her, dooming him.
“I know how it feels,” she says, brushing the tears that threaten to spill down her cheeks away with the back of her hand. “But please, you must resist, you must leave. Go home, please.”
Stubborn idiot. Elain balls her hands into fists.
“I don’t want to kill you too!” She cries in anguish, stamping her foot on the ground, not sure that she could bare that, killing him, feeling him die through this connection. “Please,” she pants, “Please don’t do this to me.”
“I can’t just leave,” he chokes, “I can’t bear it, I, please, please-”
“What’s your name?” She asks him, desperate to keep him talking while she tries to think of what to do, how to save him.
“Lucien,” is his reply and her heart aches for him. She wants him, she doesn’t even know him but she wants him, needs him. “Do you…Do you have a name?”
She starts in surprise. No-one…No-one has ever asked. No-one has ever called her anything other than ‘monster’ within the walls of this cave, this prison she fashioned for herself to keep them safe. She aches to hear something else, the illusion of kindness, a thing she’s nearly forgotten.
Selfishly, knowing it will only draw him closer, she whispers, “Elain. My name is Elain.”
“Elain.” She can hear the smile on his lips when he whispers her name and it wrecks her. She will give him everything, even if it destroys him, because she cannot refuse him, cannot refuse this. “Please, Elain, please let me meet you, please.”
Squeezing her eyes shut, praying he will do the same, she nods, then remembers that he cannot see her and whispers, “Very well.”
He moves towards her, fumbling, going slowly, and when she sees the tips of pale, delicate fingers on the black rock, she can’t help herself from taking hold of them, drawing him to her, to his death.
He’s tall, much taller than her, with long red hair he has bound in a thick braid down his back. His skin is pale white, dusted with freckles, his clothes are fine, cut to emphasise his slim, muscular build. And his eyes- Elain gasps, the hand not holding his covering her mouth in shock. His eyes are gone. Two empty black sockets, a deep scar tearing through one side of his face.
Elain starts crying. Tears flood down her cheeks, clogging her throat, her lungs, choking her. It’s been ten years, ten years since she was cursed, ten years since she’s looked upon any face that still had life, that could still smile down at her. Ten years since she’s had any company, any contact with someone she hasn’t left a corpse.
“What’s wrong?” He asks, clearly afraid, “Is it your power? Does it hurt? Should I-”
“Lucien,” she rasps, sinking to her knees, unable to keep herself standing. He kneels down with her, obviously confused, “I can look at you,” she sobs, “I can look at you.”
“I wish I could return the favour, dove, but unfortunately…” he gestures to his sightless eyes, smirking playfully at her.
Reaching out, still crying silently, she takes his hands and gently places them on her face, letting him feel her, explore her with his soft, deft fingers. Musician’s fingers, she’s quite sure.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers quietly, his thumb ghosting tenderly over her lips.
“You would say that even if I was covered in barnacles and mould,” Elain says, finding a hysterical little giggle bubbling from her chest.
“Naturally,” he says, fingers now examining the tips of her ears, the curve of her jaw, the shape of her cheekbones. “Elain,” he murmurs, growing serious, “Why am I not…I mean, why have you not…Is it because I’m your mate?”
Yes, she thinks, because only he could be her mate, could match her and be with her. But she cups his face in her hands and whispers, “It’s because you can’t see me,” she brushes the scar on his cheek, “I can’t hurt you, Lucien. I will never hurt you.”
He stiffens at her words and a noise like a choked sob bursts from his lips as he begins to tremble. A laugh bursts from her chest, and joy floods her for the first time in years. She lost her fiance, her family, her home, her life, everything on the day this curse claimed her. She never thought she would ever even speak with another person for longer than it took to beg them not to try and kill her, let alone have a partner. And now she has a mate, a mate who she will never lose.
Lucien’s throat bobs as he swallows, Elain’s face still cupped in his hands, her fingers tracing tenderly over the wound in his cheek. He had never thought he would be thankful for the day the brothers had taken his eyes from him. But now, with her, feeling her jubilation bursting through their connection like a firework, he is.
So he doesn’t stop himself when he surges for her, a little clumsy, and a little off-target. But she’s still laughing when she guides his lips gently to hers. He has never known such gentleness. He had laughed, a hollow, bitter thing, when he had realised that he was mated to a monster. Fitting, he had told himself, he must have been made for them. But Elain…
Elain is a monster more like him than his brothers. Broken and left in darkness, forgotten, abandoned, unwanted. But now…Now they have found the light again in each other. And so he lets himself kiss her, long and slow, letting them be swept up in the joy of finding each other, of finding this thing they never thought would be possible: acceptance.
Okay so Idk if any of you guys care, but basically i have been so so so anxious of this person that even hearing their name made almost start crying. I would like to point out that i have never met them in person but they screwed me up.
Maybe a month ago i deleted them. I deleted all of the pics, the messages, blocked them on everything, which was very difficult for me to do, i don’t think you realise how hard it is until you’re standing in the situation.
Okay, but what this post is really about is that today, i heard their name for the whole month and i saw their face. I didn’t feel anything. At first i didn’t even recognise them and then i remembered. I could only feel it a little bit.
What does a girl (me) gotta do around here to get a pretty girl to aggressively pin me up against a wall, maybe kiss and bite my neck, & I don’t wanna push my luck here…but maybe she could grab my ass too?
ARTHUR WEASLEY IS ONE OF THE MOST UNDERRATED CHARACTERS IN THE SERIES AND CERTAINLY THE MOST UNDERRATED OF HARRY’S FATHER FIGURES ok this man:
is so passionate about his job and supporting muggle rights that he doesn’t give two shits abt his reputation as a blood traitor even tho it’s apparently the reason he never got promoted at the ministry
wrote the book on why u should not enchant muggle objects and literally has a shed full of flying vehicles and shit that he hopes his wife doesn’t find out about??? lmao what a rebel?? i love this guy
was concerned about harry before he even met him because ron was worried that he wasn’t responding to letters and when harry came to stay he totally could have been like ‘shit another mouth to feed’ but was really really happy that harry was there and safe??? ‘pls sit next to me at dinner, child, i need to ask you ten thousand questions about muggles’
like he was actually the first adult ever besides maybe hagrid to sit there and ask for harry’s opinions and recognize that he had knowledge and thoughts to offer im crying
fixed harry’s glasses for him after they broke in the floo ;-;
gave zero fucks about what everyone else thought should be done and told harry about sirius black bc he wanted this kid to be aware and safe as possible??
dragged the dursleys for not treating their nephew like a human being (and destroyed their living room what a great moment tbh)
gives advice that harry remembers years later bc he respects this kind ginger man so much ‘don’t trust something that can think for itself if u can’t see where it keeps its brain’
(lol remember that one time molly was upset about death eaters at the quidditch world cup and he made her some tea and then was like ‘i think this needs some whiskey too trust me i’m a doctor’)
agreed that harry should be told certain things about the resistance because he knew harry was competent and intelligent enough to handle it but like also kept in mind that harry was a kid in the middle of a war
took harry to work with him and made sure he got to his hearing on time and distracted him and ‘smiled at him encouragingly’ when he knew he was nervous im dying this was so sweet
was part of the group who threatened the dursleys to keep their hands and shitty attitudes away from harry and he was so ‘light’ and ‘pleasant’ abt it omg this dude was throwing so much shade
was ready to fight scrimgeour with remus when the minister wanted to get harry alone and harry had to be like ‘omfg stand down pls’
‘am i about to discover where you, ron, and hermione disappeared to while you were supposed to be in the back room of fred and george’s shop?’ … ‘how did you-?’ … ‘harry, please. you’re talking to the man who raised fred and george’
never raised his voice except for that one time he told a fully trained auror to back the hell off and get out of his way so he could see his injured son and harry literally thought ‘holy shit’ it says so right there in the book u can check
fought in the battle of hogwarts and after fred and harry had been killed he went into full on rage mode and teamed up with percy to fuck up the minister for magic
‘madame delacour glided forward and stooped to kiss mrs. weasley too. “enchanteé,” she said. “your ‘usband ‘as been telling us such amusing stories!” mr. weasley gave a maniacal laugh; mrs. weasley threw him a look, upon which he became immediately silent and assumed an expression appropriate to the sickbed of a close friend.’