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clowningaroundmars · 2 months

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punkflower hcs bc i need to see more of them being cute teen boys together.... like, playful and creative and stuff

looong long wall of text under the cut (no nsfw)

♡ miles and hobie definitely exchange art often, even collabing on some punk zines and graffiti pieces occasionally. hobie also makes mixtapes on cassettes and slaps a million stickers on them just for his bf. miles appreciates the kind gesture but reminds hobie that he doesnt have a cassette player. "yet," hobie tells him with a wink :)

♡ miles draws a million little doodles for hobie on scrap paper, post it notes, hobie's gear, hobie himself. ofc hobie loves them all, esp when he gets to go home with his arms and chest covered in stars, cartoons, graffiti, and hearts

♡ miles is a lot more shy about dancing in public than hobie is, but whenever they manage to have any downtime at all hobie will wrap his arms around miles and sway them around. if music is playing anywhere, hobie will bop to it and get miles to join in

♡ hobie's love language? touch. any kind, anytime, anywhere, for any reason. words of affirmation come next

♡ miles' love language? quality time, and he's big on kissing. hobie isnt much of a kisser but loves his sunflower just the same, and does not complain at all when miles places little kisses on his hands, ears or his back

♡ sometimes hobie will be a lil mean to miles just as a flirty thing. just usual teenage boy stuff like kicking miles' sneakers, manspreading to get into his space if they're sitting anywhere together, using his height to bully miles into a corner away from everyone so they can flirt some more, crashing into miles on purpose just to be annoying

♡ anytime they get to go on multiverse missions together they somehow manage to get into the craziest shenanigans. breaking into a zoo to stop a villain from mutating the animals, saving a group of schoolkids on a field trip from a killer robot (?), one time hobie even drove a runaway car to stop it from crashing right into jamaica bay and miles was scarred for life

hobie tries to control the car as he haphazardly swerves it around pedestrians and barely manages to miss a group of elderly people.

miles clings onto his seat for dear life. "HOBIE!! you're gonna kill us man, where'd you get your license from!?" he yells.

hobie scoffs. "license?! i said i could drive, mate, i aint mention nuthin' 'bout no license!"

♡ hobie's universe is set in the 1970's and living in a dystopian police-state means it's too risky to bring back a phone with him, so he's often left out of spiderkid groupchats. miles still tries to keep him up to date on the latest memes and inside jokes though. they also have their own inside jokes too

♡ hobie wouldn't bring a smartphone with him anyways since he's so mistrusting of tech in general. video games, laptops, and "smart" tech mystify him, and smart watches? forget about it. when miles gets one for christmas one time, hobie clowned on his bf so hard the watch was never seen again

♡ that being said, they love exchanging music often so the only piece of technology hobie ever brings back to his dimension is an ancient half-busted ipod (it was probably rio's at one point) filled with music miles managed to download for him that week. spiderman-ing and living as a homeless teen means hobie doesn't get much time to explore genres outside of the UK punk scene and listening to brand new genres is often a trip! hobie finds out he loves drum n bass, grindcore, industrial techno, UK drill, deep house and 90's hip hop

♡ hobie gets miles to make him cool posters for whatever venue he plans on (or doesnt plan lbr) playing at every now and then

♡ rio LOVES hobie. hobie is the perfect gentleman (gentlespider?) around her and often tries to help her around the house when he can. miles... does not enjoy how much his mom favors his partner. jeff is also not so crazy about this smart-mouthed punk

♡ miles and hobie absolutely swap clothing as often as possible, with hobie "borrowing" miles' clothes more often. miles' parents keep commenting on how much of a rockero he looks with all the punk stuff and hobie never returns clothes without having altered them in some way (pins n bits everywhere, a mysterious rip or two here n there, pinned-up sleeves, etc)

♡ miles is absolutely horrible at cooking and feels left out when he sees hobie helping his mom in the kitchen. he desperately tries to learn, but it's a wonder how he hasnt sliced his fingers off yet trying to peel and cut platanos so they can make tostones

♡ for a person who's built like a lamppost, hobie is shockingly graceful with his movements. he always slips around a room like a cat and miles is so jealous of that. long gangly limbs should be a deterrent from moving like That and yet here he is, practically pirouetting around miles for fun

♡ which is a total TRIP when they go out swinging around a city. once the mask is on, every movement hobie makes is chaotic, frantic and unpredictable. spiderpunk and hobie are very different people sometimes

♡ rio often points out hobie's thinness as a typical hispanic mom does ("jóven, pero tu 'ta tan flaco, hobie honey come eat! i have leftovers here!") and miles also agrees that hobie could eat a lil more too. he is always sneaking bits of food into hobie's pockets or bags, saving fries and last slices for his partner. sometimes hobie brings home armfuls of tupperware filled with caribbean food back to his boat

♡ in return, hobie is like a magpie and brings back shiny gifts for them, some handmade stuff too. miles' drawers and nightstand are filled with jewelry, bottles, knickknacks, and other handmade accessories. his walls are filled with collages and zines hobie makes for him and rio bought frames for some of the pieces he makes her

♡ the first person to say "i love you" was miles, but by accident. after realizing it, he was nervous as hell worrying that hobie would clown him to death since he didnt seem like a big romantic. instead, hobie went nuts about it in his own hobie way, writing lyrics about miles' face when he said it, doodling them together more often, teasing miles about it often but lightheartedly. he flaunts miles' love whenever he can

♡ miles has a lethal puppydog face and he KNOWS it! one 🥺 look and hobie immediately folds and gives miles whatever he wants. but not before hemming and hawing about it first, playing up his hesitation just to make miles laugh

♡ speaking of laughter, hobie does Thee Most just to see his bf laugh or smile. he will always goof off in the bg, crack jokes every 2 secs and pretend to get hurt sometimes. hobie is naturally sarcastic and goofs off in general anyways but around miles he dials it up to 200

♡ hobie tries to get miles in on the whole anarchism thing but 1. the texts and manifestos from his dimension are different than miles' and 2. miles is a teen boy. he doesn't know anything about the theory of alienation or effective mutual aid and won't really care at the moment. "mm, you'll learn all 'bout it soon enough, though... eventually," hobie muses

♡ miles is not as big on pet names as hobie is. hobie has like 24984 nicknames for miles but miles mostly sticks to just calling his partner by his name. one day during history class tho a lightbulb moment happens, and when they meet up again miles is excited

"hobie!! guess what, i really got it this time. i have a nickname that i know you're gonna love!"

"spill," hobie says as he throws an arm over miles' shoulders.

"so you always call me sunflower all the time, right? and your name is ho... bee. get it? so i was thinkin' i'm gonna call you 'honey bee' now. y'know, you're not the only one who's got corny ass nicknames! it's good, right?"

hobie has to fight not to grin like a jackass

♡ hobie's sleep schedule is atrocious so whenever miles can manage it, he tries to wrestle his partner into any bed and tucks him in. hobie is touched that his sunflower cares so much about him ♡

♡ miles almost never gets permission to sleep over other friends' houses but on the rare occasions he does, he leaps into portals and goes to visit hobie in his dimension. his fave part of New London is hobie's boat, bc they set up a big hammock for them to lay in, feeling the sway of the boat and letting it lull them to sleep. not to mention that the boat itself is totally badass, and hobie more often than not encourages miles to cover it in graffiti

♡ hobie lowkey (but highkey) loves when miles gets a little bossy, forceful or stern. he loves ribbing miles about it (the "ill do it, but not cuz you told me to" line in mumbattan was a total joke from hobie btw LOL) and saying corny shit in response to a demand, but he loves seeing miles being confident and calling the shots every once in a while. it makes him proud

♡ if they can, miles and hobie try to gather up as much food as they can and take it over to the F.E.A.S.T. that's in hobie's dimension. miles meets hobie's "family" there and gets to know the community, which feels so much more tight-knit and welcoming than Visions. once miles gets over the major jarring differences between his world and hobie's, he finds he LOVES New London

♡ miles and hobie teach each other slang from their countries and time periods, you can't change my mind. miles walks around saying shit like "bloody 'ell" and "septic" all the time. the one time hobie said "deadass" completely unironically, all of the spiderkids DIED laughing

♡ miles learns that EVERY spider is a total dweeb in some way shape or form. even hobie! hobie's awkwardness comes out when theyre in big groups of people. hobie is oddly comfy with performing in front of crowds but when he's invited to parties and tries mingling, it's so... sooo awkward. miles secretly rejoices when he finds out hobie's weakness

♡ i'm an adhd hobie truther and i hc that miles buys hobie the weirdest fidget toys he can get his hands on. along with his switchblade, jewelry, and whatever he stole that day, hobie carries various different fidget toys in his vest to keep boredom at bay

♡ hobie definitely writes songs for miles but takes a very very very long time to actually admit it. miles finally finds out when one of hobie's songwriting notebooks falls open when hanging out in his boat, and hobie comes clean about it. with miles' encouragement tho, hobie makes the decision to add some of those songs into the usual setlist his band performs

♡ if miles ever has time, he tries to attend whatever gig hobie and his band has going on. he loves to see hobie perform on stage, his energy and stage presence is always electrifying

#mine #across the spiderverse #punkflower #miles morales #hobie brown #stupid ass tumblr posted my 1st draft completely randomly while i was in the middle of writing this #so uh if theres any mistakes its cuz i had to rewrite ALLLL of this in my notes app #hope yall enjoy tho ♡#i am relatively new to this fandom.... kinda? well specifically punkflower #so if these hcs are basically fanon i wouldn't know lol i just skimmed the tag on tumblr recently #im going purely off of Vibes and movie/comic canon #ive seen some good takes in the tags as well and those inspired me too!!#so ye hehehe #these 2 are giving me brainworms my god i havent even written hcs for my other OTP #i should.... probably get started on that since i kinda had fun writing this!#and uh if theres mistakes you noticed at all i also wrote most of these while.... zooted as well. so. yeah lol #spiderverse

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velidewrites · 4 months

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Don’t Look Back

Five hundred years ago, the humans fought hard for their freedom in the Great War and won. Now, their former masters seek retribution in a rebellion that grows stronger year by year. When Elain Archeron finds out marrying Greysen Nolan might be the only solution to keep her family safe from the ancient, cruel Fae, she doesn't hesitate to fulfil her duty. What Elain doesn't know, though, is that the man with the fiery hair and russet eyes is not her fiancé, but his killer—and when she finally finds out, well…it will be far too late to turn back.

Rating: Explicit

Notes: Happy Holidays @rainbowdolphinrealm! I absolutely loved being your Secret Santa for the @acotargiftexchange and getting to know you over the past few weeks! My little elf has told me there may be some Azris angst in the background, and a surprise Azris treat is also sleighing your way soon 👀

Read on AO3 or continue for Chapter 1 below!

*Please note that for reasons beyond my control (insanity) I have given this fic way too much lore. Here is a map I've drawn!

Chapter 1: The Visitor

Elain had never thought she would be dreading the spring. It was the season her gardens bloomed, the season that melted the lakes around the manor to reflect the fluffy clouds dotting the sky above. The flowers she’d planted over the harvest would sprout to life, their sleepy buds erupting into colours Elain would dream of all winter. Two years ago, her father had gifted her the most extraordinary tulips for her birthday, the intricate paintings over the pack of seeds promising shades of violet she’d never seen in New Prythian. He’d brought them right from the fields of the Montesere province far on the Continent with a vow to bring her along on his travels next year—so that she could see their beauty for herself.

Her mother died the spring after.

Father had gone anyway, but Elain—Elain stayed. She had lost all desire to travel, anyway, especially when the circumstances of the death had hardly been expected. The Continent had assured them the Fae rebellion was not a threat to be taken seriously, and that the Governor had everything under control. Out of the eight human clans looking after their world, Lord Nolan had perhaps been the only one Elain would put her trust in. If he claimed the scattered remains of the faeries of old were entirely harmless, then it must have been the truth.

Until a small group of them had broken into the Merchant’s manor and killed his wife in her sleep, with magic so corrupted and vile that not even a speck of blood had left a stain on her sheets. One moment, she was deep in a peaceful slumber, and the next, she was simply…gone.

Everything had happened very quickly after that. Orders had come in from wherever Father had sailed off to, and the manor had been fortified with ash-dipped iron from Vallahan—made by the Forge himself—and spells Father had acquired from his trades with the North. All entirely legal and ratified by the Governor—according to Father, at least. Elain knew better than to ever question the Merchant.

The manor, though fortified to the teeth, had not been enough to keep Elain or either of her sisters safe. The very last order came in with the Merchant himself, a rare smile on their father’s deep-creased face as he announced it to his daughters. Elain had never seen Nesta so horrified as her older sister had been in that moment—pale as the moon, whiter than the sheets their mother had died in. For Nesta Archeron, the eldest daughter of the feared Merchant of New Prythian, was to marry.

Somewhere along his usual search for old faerie artifacts, abandoned over the centuries after the Great War, Father had found his way into an alliance that would secure his territory’s position on the island. With Nesta’s marriage, there would be no Fae slipping past his borders, no other clan opposing him—no human ruler to ever deny him whatever faerie secrets they’d been holding in their keep. It was an alliance that rattled the seas all the way to the Governor’s seat in Rask—perhaps even crooked the crown on his greying head an inch.

Nesta, after all, had been promised to none other than Tomas Mandray. To the son of the Harvester.

Every human territory had a role to play in the new world order—after the Great War, order seemed to be exactly what the humans needed. Their freedom, won by bloodshed and sacrifice, broke them free as slaves of the Fae. Elain still dreamed of the horrid images her governess’s books taught her—of humans in chains, gleaming with white-hot magic, burning spells into their skin that made any chance of escape nearly impossible. Had it not been for the courage of the six ruling queens, all hope would have been lost. Five hundred years later, it would have been Elain in those chains, her sisters, her Father, even the all-powerful Governor. Even the Harvester.

His territory—the dark, somber island of Hybern—was one Elain would never so much as think of travelling to. Pretending the work the Harvester did there did not exist made everyone’s lives a lot easier. While the Merchant dealt with old Fae artifacts and traded them across borders, the Harvester’s work involved a lot more of getting one’s hands dirty. Enchanted faerie objects, after all, were not the only things believed to have valuable properties. High Fae hearts, for example, promised a long life, untainted by illness.

And the Harvester…well, the Harvester delivered them. Amongst many others.

The marriage had taken place shortly after the summer, and neither Elain nor her father had been invited to witness the nuptials. She had simply watched the ship sail off West as she lost yet another sister.

She would not think about that right now—not when spring had finally arrived again. Soon, her tulips would bloom again, flecks of pinks and violets shining softly under the young, shy rays of sunlight. Elain would not be there to witness it—right after Nesta’s marriage, Father had left for the Continent again, and this time, Elain expected the order.

She was to be married next.

My dearest Elain,

It is with a full heart that I bring you the joyous news of our latest triumph. I have successfully docked in Saetre, and the Governor has received me warmly—as expected. As I’m sure you have already guessed, he was most pleased with the offerings I have bestowed him. You’ve seen them yourself—the old Illyrian dagger seems to be his favourite as of right now, though I have not yet even shown him the rest of the treasure I have acquired from the Wildlands. I can already imagine his eyes light up as I hand him the pair of wings your sister had sent in from Hybern. I shall convince him to display it right above his throne, I think—a testament to Nesta’s success.

Our deliberations commenced shortly after dinner—a roast turkey and the most exquisite stew, if you’re interested. I have already sent a footman along with a separate letter containing the recipe—so that you may have the maid try it out in the weeks before my return. Winters in Rask are quite unforgivable, and I must admit a hearty meal like this was exactly what I needed. Rask rears its own livestock, you know—an impressive one, too, if I do say so myself. To not be dependent on Braemar for your dinner plans—imagine that! I am growing quite tired of the Huntsman raising his prices every harvest. Ridiculous.

Anyway, I digress. Rask has consumed my attention entirely, as I’m sure you can tell. I am confident you would enjoy it here, too. Winters are rough, yes—but I remember how much you’ve always wanted to visit the provinces in the West. Just imagine your beloved tulip fields, illuminated by golden sunlight—imagine being able to see them at your whim. What a life that would be, would it not?

My sweet Elain, I am writing to tell you that it could be. You know how dear our family has always been to me—but you, my beautiful daughter, have always been closest to my ageing heart. It is precisely why I had devoted all my efforts, all my resources, into this agreement. Elain, it is one for the pages of history. A union like no other.

You see, the Governor—Lord Nolan, our very ruler himself—was so impressed with your dowry, and concerned with the fate of our family in the past year—that he had offered his son, nay, his heir, as a candidate worthy of your hand. Your hand in marriage, Elain.

Indeed, the past year has brought our family hardship unlike ever before. I do mourn your mother still, and the loss of our young Feyre continues to be a fresh wound in my heart. It is only fair we honour them, would you not agree? Your sister, your brave, headstrong sister, has already taken that first step—and look how happy she is with the Harvester’s son. She holds power like no other human in our family ever had—right now, she is perhaps the most powerful woman in Prythian. Perhaps even more than the Siren herself. Elain, with your beauty, your grace, your heart—you could outshine them both.

I am sure you were too young to remember meeting Greysen Nolan—you were only five, after all, and he only twelve—but he has grown into a fine young man, and as heir to the Governor, he is the most eligible bachelor our world has to offer. A fine marriage like this would give us the protection we need—New Prythian would never have to deal with faerie filth again. Our people would be safe, Elain—and all because of you. My beautiful Princess.

I do hope this news brings some comfort to your healing heart. Lord Nolan has bestowed his son with a title prior to your official engagement. The Visitor, as your fiancé is now called, has taken on the role of supervising all clans and their work—of ensuring their role in our world guarantees our continued survival amid the growing rebellions in Old Prythian and Vallahan. Elain, as wife to the Visitor, your dream will finally come true—you shall accompany him on all his travels, see the world as you’ve always wished! It brings me joy to know I have assured you that fate.

I am to remain in Rask until the snow melts. The Visitor and I shall set sail for home with the coming of spring, and we shall host a celebration in your honour. An engagement ball envied in the eyes of any other young lady in Prythian, New and Old!

I am told Greysen (is it too soon to address him as such, do you think? He is to be my son-in-law) enjoys roses the most. Perhaps you could show some thought and consideration and embroider a pattern on your ball gown? I trust that this letter gives you enough time in advance. You’ve always been so skilled at crafts and other projects of creative character.

Be safe, my sweet Elain. Better times are coming—and sooner than you think!

With love,

The Merchant

Elain discarded the letter on her nightstand, thinking she might puke if she so much as tried glancing upon it again. From the neat, elegant cursive to the tone of the very words, the message reeked of her Father—of the Merchant . There were so many things wrong with its contents that the anger she’d been stifling in the pit of her stomach for the past few weeks had bubbled all over again, threatening to burn its way up her throat. Elain had never been any good at art—that was Feyre, the Merchant’s other daughter the Fae had only taken a few months ago. Taken and never returned. She was likely dead, her body discarded somewhere in the Wildlands. And Father didn’t even care.

He didn’t care that it was him Elain had always wanted to travel with, not Greysen Nolan, not anyone else. He’d promised to bring her along, at least once. Now, it was too late. He would lose his final daughter—for the safety of New Prythian. Naturally.

A new wave of guilt crashed into her with a sudden force, killing the fire inside her with little effort. She didn’t want the marriage, that much was true—but, her father’s personal agenda or not, the Fae rebellion was as real as the Visitor, no doubt already sailing her way. The Fae, though very few in number thanks to the work of the human clans, still posed a very real threat—her mother and sister were the prime example of how dangerous those creatures were. Five hundred years ago, they’d nearly won the War—had nearly rid the world of all humans and enslaved whoever remained. Until the humans turned their own magic against them—and took their freedom back. They have continued to preserve it ever since.

The clans of Old Prythian had always been successful in dwindling the numbers of whoever remained—the Fae, in all their mighty immortality, could hold out for centuries, using their magic to roam the lands in secret. Three hundred years ago, most of them had been pushed far north to the Wildlands, old faerie territories Elain had read about in her studies. There was little information on the former Solar Courts and their rulers—other than that the most powerful of them had a history of cruelty that could make the Harvester himself flinch in horror. Some part of her was glad the territory had been reduced to rubble—that, at the very least, the humans’ ancient killers could no longer rely on their fortresses to lock them all up.

She had seen the Huntsman’s reports on recent rebel activity in Braemar, though. The faeries may have been few, yes, but those foolish enough to crawl out of the Wildlands caused problems that would usually send shivers down Elain’s spine. The Huntsman’s own daughter, stationed in the North under the Guardian’s protection, had been slaughtered no more than six years ago when their outpost was attacked. Father had told her stories of fresh, crimson blood, gleaming on the thick, white coat of snow.

For what had to have been the hundredth time in the past few weeks, Elain debated that perhaps, an alliance with the Governor’s son would not be such a terrible thing. She may not have known him—let alone harboured any affection for him—but their marriage would strengthen the clans. If she married Greysen, perhaps no one else’s daughters would be slaughtered, no one else’s mothers killed in their sleep or sisters hunted in the forests surrounding their own homes. Elain could protect them—in whatever way she could.

Either way, she had no choice.

***

The forest rippled with the sound of teeth tearing into flesh. Over the centuries, they had grown longer— sharper , which was just as well. He needed as much protection as he could get these days, especially with weapons so difficult to come by. The camp was already growing unsettled, and he could feel the tension weighing on the air whenever he returned. The past few winters had been difficult enough.

The coming of spring was a welcome change. Spring meant they could hunt—the new year brought on as many animals as it had opportunities. The prey in his arms, grasped by the claws he’d sunk deep into its skin, just so happened to be both.

And what an opportunity it was. They’d been wishing for it for decades—centuries, even, or perhaps even more. Like many others, he found himself losing count of the passing years. They all seemed the same—eat, sleep, move, hide. Kill had only recently started to disrupt his routine. Yet another change he welcomed.

He spat out the blood, nose wrinkling with distaste as if on instinct, and watched as the liquid settled into the mossy earth. The body fell to the ground a moment after, leaving a heavy thud in its wake, heavy enough that he could have sworn it echoed between the trees. He would get an earful for not being careful later. The thought made his eyes roll as he wiped his nails clean on his crumpled shirt.

He pulled it over his arms, then, letting the fabric float away with the gentle spring breeze, and took a deep, steadying breath. The small, golden rays of sunlight peering through the budding leaves warmed his bare chest, and he tilted his head up to the sky, soaking up the sensation until the quiet gurgle at his feet inevitably commanded the return of his attention.

He sighed, kicking away the arm resting on his boot. The body rolled to the side, baring the unpleasant face to his sight yet again. For what must have been the fourth time in the past two minutes, he felt himself grimace. Something so ugly should not have been this finely dressed.

This, however, was a problem he could easily take care of. Holding his breath to avoid the stench of his prey’s spilling guts, he kneeled to free it from the immaculate, navy-blue jacket, dark, charcoal trousers and boots before its blood managed to stain them. The formerly pristine shirt was unfortunately already lost to him, though he supposed his own would do just fine.

For a split second, he wondered if the body should be buried. It would take little effort on his part, and he knew it had been travelling with a party before trailing off the carriage path to piss. It would be best to not leave any evidence behind, lest any of the man’s companions decided to follow their master and look for relief in the forest as well.

He sighed again, a sound he feared was starting to become a signature of his lately. With a flick of his hand, the dirt rustled quietly, and the ground parted, swallowing the body entirely.

Good. This was good. He only wished he’d taken a good look at the man’s face before letting the worms dig into the body he’d so benevolently left open for them. He needed the memory unscathed for the spell, and right now, he could not for the life of him remember the colour of his prey’s eyes. Oh, well.

He got dressed quickly, finding the fabric a little too tight in the shoulders. Come to think of it, the trousers also seemed to be a tight fit, his thighs unusually restrained by the silken threads. He would have to walk more slowly, he supposed. Ripping his seams open in front of dozens of humans was hardly the surprise he’d spent the past two months carefully devising.

Rising to his full height, he closed his eyes then as though for concentration. The tingling on his skin was hardly pleasant, but he endured it all the same until the memory in his mind finally faded away. There was no stream nearby to look over his reflection, but he knew the glamour had worked, anyway. It always did.

To those who knew the man he’d just murdered, he would appear as Greysen Nolan—the newly titled Visitor, hell, the Governor’s own firstborn son. He couldn’t help but smirk.

It seemed that Daddy was in for one hell of a disappointment.

***

Elain could not breathe in her gown.

“Just a few more minutes, Princess,” the seamstress repeated, the sound muffled through the needle she’d clenched between her teeth.

The nickname did little to ease her nerves. The Princess was hardly her official title, but her father insisted the staff—that everyone in New Prythian called his one remaining daughter as such. She used to adore it as a little girl, though upon further reflection, she had no doubt she’d earned a few spoiled brat ’s in those years. Still, the name seemed to have stuck, and, as she always did, Elain felt her cheeks flush furiously in response.

“I’m not a princess, Lavinia,” she reminded the seamstress, trying her best not to make her tone sound too pointed.

The woman scoffed. “You might as well be, Lady Archeron. The Visitor is a titled man, and if that wasn’t enough, he is the Governor’s heir.” She adjusted the ribbons adorning Elain’s sleeve. “Our royalty may be long gone, but everyone knows the throne resides at Rask.”

Elain hummed. “There is a reason we are no longer ruled by six queens. To anoint a new monarchy would be to dishonour their sacrifice.”

The seamstress scrambled quickly, “Of course, Lady Archeron. I only meant—the Governor holds a lot of power in the realm.”

Elain sighed and looked into the mirror. “I suppose that much is true.”

“You don’t seem very excited,” Lavinia remarked, meeting Elain’s gaze in her reflection. “Surely the Visitor is an excellent match?”

“Certainly,” Elain nodded. But excellent was not someone Elain was looking for. She wasn’t looking for anyone, truthfully, and yet here she stood, watching Lavinia touch up her gown for the final time before her engagement ball was to commence. “This is good, I think. You’ve done a wonderful job—as always.”

The seamstress offered her a smile. “Try to be happy, Princess.”

“Of course,” Elain lied.

It was clear enough that Lavinia had left her alone, quietly excusing herself out of the room. Elain could hear her mutter instructions to the guards at her door—she was to be escorted downstairs, whenever she was ready. Apparently, guests had already begun pouring in, and the Visitor was to make his grand entrance shortly.

Elain hadn’t even seen Father yet. Wherever he was, he clearly would make his appearance once the public had gathered in full.

It was to be expected, but Elain felt her heart sink nonetheless. She could use a few words of encouragement right now. Usually, it had been Feyre offering them without Elain even having to ask. But Feyre was gone. Had been gone for a while.

And she wasn’t coming back.

Exhaling shakily, Elain looked into her own eyes in the mirror, ignoring the tear welling up in one corner, her expression stern.

“You’re doing this for them ,” she told herself. “For Feyre, and for Mother, and for Nesta, so that no one else has to suffer like they had.”

Her reflection nodded, the pearls in her ears sparkling with the movement. She breathed out again, one last time, and braced herself for the three quiet knocks on her door.

“It’s time, Princess,” the order sounded shortly after. Elain, of course, obeyed.

The gown was a pain to walk in. It was beautiful, to be sure—she hadn’t lied when she’d complimented Lavinia’s work—though that hardly made it a comfortable garment to wear. Elain appreciated the way the corset hugged her curves, or the way it perked up her breasts, but she also appreciated being able to take a breath without immediately choking on it. She had never squeezed into a dress so impossibly tight. The flowers—roses—crafted by the ruffles of tulle rested attached at her hips, the ribbons of her sleeves caressing them as Elain made her way down the hall. The gown spilled down her body in petals of ivory and a dusty pink, making Elain herself look like a blossoming rose, floating with every step.

She almost enjoyed the thought until she remembered Father’s letter once again—until she remembered Greysen Nolan’s favourite flowers were, in fact, roses, and the gown’s very design served to appeal to his tastes instead of her own.

Had it not been for the guard’s heavy boots sounding behind her, Elain would have entertained the idea of turning back. Would Father drag her downstairs himself? Would he lock her up in Greysen’s carriage and ship her off without second thought? Elain had never once thought her own engagement ceremony would ever feel like an execution. And yet, here she was, followed closely by the Merchant’s personal guard, dressed up like a doll for a man she didn’t even know.

The somber thought accompanied her down the marble steps spiralling down to the ballroom, consuming her so thoroughly she could hardly feel the countless stares watching her every more. Father must have invited more people than she’d thought—dignitaries from all over the island, perhaps even the Continent itself.

Perhaps her seamstress was right—perhaps Rask was the closest they could get to royalty, and Elain truly could not have found a more advantageous match. She also could not have married at all.

But then she met her father’s gaze, and the guilt hit her with a familiarity that nearly swayed her off the stairs.

His eyes—brown, exactly the shade of her own—were shining with pride so unabashed she could not help but smile in his direction. She was doing all of this for him, too was she not? For her family—so that they may never see misfortune again. Nesta had been strong enough to proceed with her own match. Why should Elain be any different? She could do this—otherwise, watching that pride dim from her father’s gaze might just be the thing that killed her.

Slowly, she made her way up the dais to meet his extended hand. Behind them, two high chairs she supposed had been made to resemble thrones sat waiting for the Lord and Lady to be. Elain’s heart quickened in the constraints of her corset.

“This is real, Elain,” Father murmured over her shoulder, as though he could hear how loudly her heart thumped in her chest. If he did, he’d grossly misinterpreted the reason behind it. “This is truly happening.”

Elain swallowed something thick in her throat, and forced another smile as she turned to face him at last. “I know, Father.”

The white of his teeth nearly outmatched the chandeliers above. “You look absolutely spectacular,” he complimented, his smile wider as he noted the tulle roses. “Are you ready to meet your husband?”

She supposed there was no turning back now.

Father nodded to the guards. “Invite the Visitor in.”

Every single head in the ballroom turned as two, white-gloved hands turned the golden, ornate knobs and swung the doors open.

Elain held her breath—then counted to three. Four. Five.

On seven, he entered.

She’d spotted his jacket first—a deep navy-blue adorned with fine, silken thread. Fitted, charcoal trousers and boots, echoing quietly off the marble floor as the Visitor finally stepped into the light.

Elain’s breath caught in her throat.

He was, without a doubt, the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

His long hair was like molten fire, a stark contrast against the depth of his jacket. Shades of red, auburn and orange, falling down his back in waves as the firelight danced on his golden brown skin—almost like greeting an old friend. There was something raw about his beauty—he was hardly one of the perfect, polished aristocrats she’d danced with at other balls. No, there was a cruelty about him—as if he’d been crafted by the same flame that gleamed playfully atop the chandeliers warming her skin, melting every guard she’d ensured to build up, every reason she could think of that made him the worst fate the world had in store for her.

Elain could have sworn that fire sizzled in his russet eyes as he reached the dais—as he stopped before her and bowed at the waist.

When he looked up again, their gazes locked and held. “It is an honour to make your acquaintance, Lady Archeron,” he greeted, his voice smooth and deep. “My name is Greysen Nolan.”

#this looks like a cover of a reverse harem novel I PROMISE YOU IT IS NOT #there is a perfectly acceptable amount of smut in this fic #we're just going purely off vibes #and the map LOL #acotar gift exchange #elucien #pro elucien #elain x lucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #elucien fic #elucien fanfiction #acotar #my writing

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