#lucien backstory

[olenvasynyt]

The sketches:

The finished pieces:

Me: “I should take a break from writing this Lucien and Jesminda scene”

Draws Jesminda and Lucien

I could not capture her full beauty because idk how to do shimmer on Illustrator, but she has a warm golden glow on her skin and in her hair! I will reveal other features of her lesser fae race later on.

I took inspiration from the beautiful Golshifteh Farahani and Rehka 💕

[shadowqueenjude]

Doomed to fall for sarcastic side characters with daddy issues.

[gwandas]

Tbh I only like Eris in theory. I’m meh on canon Eris as of right now, and I think it’s kinda insidious the way SJM threw Mor and Lucien to the side to prop him up.

[maybeiwasjustjade]

The Tragedy that is the Vanserra family

*I just want to preface this by saying that I’m well aware that this might be a controversial opinion. My issue is simply with how that particular pairing was written, because clearly not a lot of thought was put into it when SJM changed canon to fit this pairing in. This was also not written with the intention of victim blaming. Only that this plot genuinely sucks ass because it makes everyone out as uglier than need be.

For such minor characters (sans Lucien, and Eris to an extent), the dynamics SJM has blessed us with paints such an interesting family coated in absolute tragedy. It also doesn’t help that almost all of it was seen through Feyre’s pov—who’s not exactly reliable nor capable of introspection most times.

All we know so far of Beron and his relationship with his children amounts to:

Aside from Helion and Rhysand, Beron’s the only HL that was active during the war 500 years ago.

He abuses his wife, though when it started is still ???

He routinely tortures Eris, and more than likely all his remaining children

He LOATHES Lucien

And it’s so easy to paint Beron as this needlessly cruel, manipulative 2D bastard who only exists to cause pain and carnage over everyone that breathes near him. The male tortures his children and sentenced one of them to death for falling in love with someone ‘lesser’—that alone makes him the worst male to come out of acotar by a landslide.

But there’s an art to Beron’s cruelty that SJM could have fun with. Routinely siccing and manipulating his children against each other, forever ensuring that they’d be too busy fighting and hating each other over him so that they’d be unable to overthrow him. And maybe he does have his reasons. Maybe he thinks that this is the only way possible to raise an heir that would be ruthless and merciless enough to overthrow him and destroy his competitors—probably the same thing Beron did to claim his throne. And if the children are too busy with each other to go after him…all the better.

Show them no compassion. Torture all the disobedience out of them to make them strong. Pit them against each other to please him. Heinous tactics, but evidently it works when Eris and Lucien are the results of it.

But this dynamic only works if that was who Beron is, and how he was raised to be. I don’t suppose we’ll ever really know, not unless a large chunk of Lucien’s future storyline revolves around his roots in Autumn. But knowing sjm and how dirty she did Spring, Lucien’s arc will be about Day.

But back to Beron and the LoA:

Curious how the LoA is still nameless, but SJM purposely and canonically provided a timeline to show how much of a poor victim the LoA is. I want to make it clear that I am not condoning the abuse the LoA is facing from Beron. I don’t think anyone deserves to be abused or tortured the way Berons does his family, nor will anything justify it.

However, I am side-eyeing the way she WROTE Helion and LoA’s affair. I think what she little she wrote yet specifically gave painted them both as absolute fucking morons.

Canonically, we have no idea if Beron knows without doubt that Lucien isn’t his. Hell, we have no proof that he even knew about Helion at all; only that Helion certainly believes so, and what Feyre perceives as the truth. And that truth is ugly.

My opinion is that for the story to work, Beron can’t have known about Helion specifically. An affair perhaps, but not specifically who. Why? Because I wouldn’t doubt Beron would have killed Helion for it the moment he found out. Helion wasn’t High Lord until <50 years pre-Acotar. If Beron wanted Helion dead for having an affair with his wife, I doubt even the previous HL would have stopped Beron from lobbing of Helion’s head. Now assuming Beron knew about the affair specifically, but not about Lucien, I can see canon coming to fruition.

The only issue is Lucien’s features. He needs to look very, very similar to the LoA and not at all Helion. If Beron knew it was Helion, he’d be paying double attention on Lucien’s features to see who sired him. But say he doesn’t care who did it, only that it did. Lucien was screwed from the getgo as a possible affair baby. But that’s hardly the biggest issue with how the affair was written.

According to Helion’s recount of his affair, it started during the war when he rescued the LoA. Sure, rumor has it they met before her marriage, but it wasn’t until then that it became an actual affair. And it lasted decades. We don’t know how old Lucien is. Most have guessed that he can’t be older than ~400 at series starts. Following the timeline provided by Helion, there’s about 130 years age gap between Eris and Lucien, and five sons between. The LoA had at least two more kids born before the war started, leaving three sans Lucien to be born after.

See where I’m going with this?

If the affair only ended because Beron found out, preferably before Lucien was born or he’d be dead at birth, then on-off or no, that affair lasted a century. My question is: did Beron begin tormenting his wife before or after he found out about the affair? And was he already torturing his children before he found out, or was that punishment for what their mother did?

If Beron only began abusing and assaulting the LoA after Helion, then there’s a chance he only started hurting his sons around that time too. It also begs the question on whether or not Helion sired more than one Vanserra child. Even if the answer was no, it’s not like Beron would believe the LoA. Not after she cuckolded him. So he hurts her as punishment, doubling that pain by going after all their children too.

Lucien especially, for being mama’s favorite. I doubt Beron ever had to do much to encourage the torment Lucien faced from his brothers. He never had to; she did it to him all on her own by loving him best. And in a household where everything is a competition and love a weakness, Lucien was weakest by being the most loved. Oh, how they must’ve loathed him for it. His birth was the reason their lives became a living hell. A mother that perhaps loved them, but not enough if she outright favored the youngest, knowing his existence was their punishment.

But that’s the kinder story, if you can believe it. A female who was never happy, who found happiness outside her wedded husband, and was punished for it terribly. Her cold husband turned cruel bastard, who punished her for the crime of finding joy outside of him and their children. She didn’t know this was going to be her future.

Yet, the alternative is so much worse.

Because it implies that Beron already was a cruel and abusive bastard, who already hurt his wife and children immensely, and the LoA went and had an affair anyway. I can’t blame her for wanting to escape from Beron. Perhaps she was actually happy with Helion. But she did it knowing that the punishment would be so much worse if Beron found out, and he did.

Helion couldn’t have protected her. Claiming Lucien as his son would’ve been a death sentence to both from Beron’s wrath. And with a century long affair, there was no proof that Lucien was the only one that wasn’t Beron’s child. Not unless most of the Vanserras look like their father more, and we don’t even know that because they have no names or features described. And even then, the LoA was lucky that Lucien’s skin tone and features favored her instead.

I don’t care that a woman cheated on her abusive husband repeatedly. You do you, and all that. I care that the LoA is written as knowing what an absolute monster her husband already was to their living children, and clearly not thinking of what he’d do to them if she’s caught. This is Beron—he could’ve killed all their children as punishment. The man tortures his son bloody—I wouldn’t put it past him to kill them all and start fresh. She put them in so much danger by having Lucien.

I don’t like the way Helion knows what a bastard Beron is, yet not caring when he had a century long affair with a HL’s wife, knowing that she might be killed if found out. And he would be powerless to stop it.

I don’t like how neither of them even considered that she might’ve gotten pregnant from their affair, especially knowing that the LoA already had SIX CHILDREN.

I hate how their affair is going to be spun into some kind of romance of the ages, mates who were forcibly separated by a monster, when in reality it’s more like the love story of two morons who didn’t spare a single braincell to actually think before going back to each other often enough to have a whole ass CHILD.

Jfc, SJM definitely didn’t think through enough when she decided to add this into the story. Too many plot holes, and not enough sense to justify the absolute stupidity of cuckolding a High Lord with someone who couldn’t even protect her if they were caught. She wanted drama but spared no thought to logic, per usual.

[lady-sunbeam]

Rare Jewel

Summary: After the war, Feyre encourages Elain to invite Lucien to Velaris. Lucien wants permission from the lady herself. Elain wants Lucien to come to Velaris, but it's difficult to speak when he's washing her hands.

Lucien Vanserra was exhausted. 

There was nothing jarring about the realization; he so often was – in Autumn, he’d been at constant war with sleep, permanent or otherwise, and Spring served to rejuvenate and distract himself from the screaming in his nightmares right up until Amarantha sank her teeth into Prythian and his eye. Feyre came along and, for a time, he found hope that they might be free, and in that freedom, he found a friend, mortal and fleeting though she was, but as he was currently headed towards the Night Court’s cropping of tents, Spring was yet another failed avenue. And as for Night, he would consider its name quite the misnomer. Rest was in short supply. 

How could he rest with his mate just down the hallway, attuned to every beat of his heart? When at last he was needed, he ran, and prayed rest came with it. He ran as he always did, but now bore something to show for it: ships, Vassa, and the father of his mate. 

The father, who, as luck would have it, died. 

Elain was closest to her father of all her sisters, Lucien thought, or at least the most forgiving, and so he walked alongside her with nothing to say beyond meaningless platitudes he could not dole out upon a female he so longed for. Being anywhere near her was a dream, or would have been, and he still thought that perhaps it was but a mirage, down to the very smell of her – Elain in Winter Court armor, hair like caramel pulled back in shimmering sheets from her soft, lovely face. Radiant as the sun, even with her flushed skin hidden beneath splattered mud and gore. 

“Would you mind terribly if I visited Velaris now and then?” 

Her brown eyes, round and large and framed with long, full lashes, fixed upon him quizzically. Once, they’d been entirely vacant, spurring him to spend his nights bent over low tables in the library in search of some way, any way, to help her, going so far as to write various entreaties to the courts of Day and Dawn. He would have done so for an eternity. But here, standing before him, a glimpse of the woman she was and the female she had become returned, shining with vivacity. “I extended an invitation, did I not?” 

Heat flared up from the base of his neck to the roots of his hair. “Feyre – well, in a sense, Feyre did. I’d like your permission, assuming that’s not too forward, my Lady.” 

“I don’t own the Night Court.” Elain sidled closer as the encampment neared, the black tents like cragged mountains. Wounded soldiers screamed and pleaded from within; a shiver rocked her spine. “But were you to visit, as is your right. . .” she glanced up at him with an openness he’d yet to see. Still cautious, a bit guarded, yet his knees wobbled, “. . . you might consider calling upon the townhouse.” 

Lucien fisted his hands at his sides, resisting the urge to touch the small of her back, feel her warmth radiating through her armor. She walked ahead of him into a tent that towered over the others surrounding it, the fabric black as ink and the inside shimmering like stars, lit by a lantern near the bed. The Morrigan stood inside already, wetting a rag in the ewer. A small smile touched her face at the sight of them – at Elain, more than likely. 

“Lucien,” she murmured coolly, and at once, he knew he’d been correct, as he tended to be in this instance. His eldest brother’s reputation preceded him, blazes that ran across Prythian and burned down his path. “Good to see you survived.” 

“Was there any doubt?” 

Like a wraith, Elain drifted towards the ewer, clasping her slender hands. Morrigan excused herself with another gentle smile towards Elain and assurance of her pride regarding the King; Elain, to her ever-increasing credit, did not shrink back from the death on her hands. 

When the flap of the tent closed behind Rhysand’s Third and they were bathed in gentle shadows, Lucien joined Elain, reaching for a cloth to scrub his hands. Blood pooled into the water like ink, like shadows, and Elain’s eyes jumped from them to him as she whispered, “I killed him.” 

“So you did, Lady.” His eyes caught movement and drifted to where she worked helplessly at dried blood beneath her nails. Holding his breath, Lucien extended a hand to help, leaving his palm face up between them. Only when she settled her hand in his with a soft intake of breath and he began working the grime from her did he continue. “And from what I’ve heard, you did so very well.” From what little snippets he’d been so privileged as to catch, he corrected himself. 

“I did as any one of you would have done.” 

“You’ve not killed before.” He said it simply, almost absently, so focused on caring for her skin. Her nails were clean now, but he held her for a moment longer, turning over her hands and peering at each individual finger for gore, for minute injuries he could not stand to leave behind. “It’s a wonder you didn’t choke.” 

Elain caught his eye from under a curtain of fiery hair. Metal whirred and clicked softly in the silence between them. “I did not choke because I wasn’t thinking. And as for killing, I should not like to do so again.” 

“That’s quite all right.” Huffing a soft laugh, Lucien retrieved a fresh rag and gently massaged her hands, praying they’d dry slowly. It was the most she’d been willing to grant him to date, and tomorrow, when she woke and clarity revealed to her what a disaster she was, they’d be right back to sparse glances and three-word sentences every few months. The ever-present pain in his chest pulsed at the thought. “There are plenty of killers among us, my Lady. If you should choose to be otherwise, you’d be a rare jewel, indeed.” As if she were not rare already, as if she was not the loveliest, most stunning female he’d ever seen. My Lady, my Lady, my Lady. It was the closest he would allow himself to saying her name. 

She faced him fully and struck him stupid as her small hand retracted from his, soft fingers soothing over centuries’ worth of hurt as they slid across his skin. “You’ve traveled Prythian, yes? I cannot be so rare as you say.” 

Elain’s mouth was full and warm and all sorts of things he couldn’t think about now, not when she looked up at him with such wide, bright eyes that searched his own for an answer as if she trusted him and did not consider the golden machine whirring in his eye socket something to fear. 

“You are. . . incredibly rare, my Lady. One of a kind.” 

Her gaze drifted down to his hands like falling leaves. Conviction strengthened her voice as it had not while walking to the tent. “You could come to Velaris, Emissary. You could come to the townhouse.” 

“I will. Whenever you – and the rest of the Night Court, of course – have want of me.” 

The string tied around his rib went taught, a sharp tug yanking him towards her hard enough he yielded a step, the golden specks in those lovely eyes clear as a rushing river. Yet Elain was impassive, watching him with careful consideration. “Whenever you come, we’ll have you. You might – you might consider telling us of all the. . . gardens you’ve seen in Prythian and how. . .” she heaved a trembling breath, averting her eyes to the ground, where his boots seemed incredibly interesting, “. . . how the gardens in Velaris compare.” 

“I’m sure they are breathtaking, Lady.” He might have mentioned her hand in creating them, or her beauty and how, in comparison to her, any garden would pale, but she was shaking, and a flush flooded her face all the way to her hairline, so he said a tad softly, “And when my time to leave Velaris comes, I might ask for someone to accompany me to Day. I’ve yet to see much of the solar courts.” 

A shock threw him back. Her hand was in his, soft and warm and so impossibly small. “Will you walk me to my tent?” 

He tightened his grip on her fingers, lest she disappear in a passing breeze. “Of course.” 

In companiable, unsteady silence, they walked, snow crunching under boots until he loosed just a bit of flame to melt the path ahead of her. Elain didn’t appear to mind snow terribly, but her pert nose was tipped red as if nipped and he couldn’t imagine the wrath that should befall him from the High Lady were he to endanger her sister, much less the hatred within in his own self sure to suffocate him just as soon as Elain suffered. 

Her tent sat next to the High Lord and Lady of Night’s, mercifully and considerately surrounded by a ward. Elain stopped right at the entrance to look down at where their hands joined, her thumb daring a small pass across his golden skin. Lucien shuddered. Did she know the power she held over his head as if it were an axe, and he the poor accused. Her fingers were pale and cold against his skin, and he sent from his hands to hers a pulse of warmth. 

“I am glad you are alive,” she murmured, her voice a whisper of hope cutting through all the aches in his head, “Lucien.” 

He was struck down by the sound of his wretched name upon her lovely lips, and for a moment, he existed without his family, without Beron. He was only Lucien, and from her it was something beautiful, something longed for aimlessly over centuries rather than a sense of nothingness and bitterness, and he raised his head from her mouth to meet her eyes and beg to come to Velaris with her straight from the battlefield, but she was gone, the tent flap waving in the wind and her scent lingering in his nose, wrapped around him like a coat of armor.

[utilitycaster]

The answers Marisha gave in this 4SD felt a lot more realized than in the past, which is good! But it still makes me feel like this character concept is incredibly ambitious and when juxtaposed with the various "I don't want to think anymore"/"go with the flow" statements I'm not sure she realized that.

The biggest example is that Laudna has two conflicting traits: she is extremely sensitive to betrayal, and she is very quick to trust even after experiencing a number of betrayals in her life. And when I say "conflicting" I mean that they are in conflict with each other, not that it doesn't make sense for a character to be a complicated person with traits that frequently work against them; in fact that's in my opinion a fantastic way to create a compelling character. But it feels like the why is only just starting to get explored in any capacity, and because of that even good choices raise more questions: why is this only coming out now; why so young a regression; why has it peeked out so weirdly and inconsistently in the past; why haven't the repeated betrayals in the past two months affected her mindset and made her more closed off. It once again makes me really wish we'd gotten a sustained outburst after the party reunited, because that would have made far more sense - a fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me situation.

I agree with the opinion that Laudna conceptually just fits far more with being an actual child herself - her desire to befriend children frankly comes off slightly weirder (not line-crossing or anything, just a little off) than it would had she died younger, as does her approach of dolls, and her failure to do anything with Delilah would make a lot more sense if she was at an age to be much more reliant. It would also make her inability to just blend into a city much more reasonable; no one is going to rent to a lone 11 year old. It really does feel that when the creepy child idea was rejected - which is a valid choice - it wasn't reworked sufficiently to fit someone who died in her late teens or early 20s.

I also don't really get the idea of her childlike nature being without malice. A pretty consistent theme for the various traumatic childhoods the characters of Bells Hells (and, tbh, past parties as well) has been the cruelty children are capable of - Ashton even says it in 3x78. Delilah being stuck with someone without malice would honestly lead to a situation in which Laudna was very trusting of her, which isn't the case, which again goes back to the conflict of betrayal as a trigger vs. being so quick to trust. Given that Laudna was frequently bullied and rejected as a kid, one would think she'd be aware of this. The specific example of Delilah calling Ashton a child and Laudna making him a doll still works wonderfully, but the overarching theme falls apart in places.

I think things have been on an upswing as of late, but ultimately we're at a point where, without some retcons I don't think Laudna will ever truly make complete sense because it's just such an intensive concept that did not get the work that required, and still feels reliant on a now-rejected premise.

[dent-de-leon]

Lying on the floor thinking of how Taliesin said if he could change anything in a campaign it would be Mollymauk surviving that fight. And how the Mighty Nein animated series is going to be a departure that’s a different story from the very beginning…Taliesin you have the chance to do the greatest thing ever—

[northern-polaris]

Take Me Out

Managed to ground something out for @tamlinweek day 1 so please enjoy Alis getting her not-son to go outside to socialize instead of being cooped up all day. Tamlin somehow manages to fail successfully.

Word count: around 1.2k

Summary: after getting kicked out of Alis' tavern, Tamlin ventures off to a place people tell him he shouldn't go and saves someone people tell him he shouldn't have saved.

“Boy, get out of here.”

Tamlin looked up from wiping a wet rag over the bar and stared at Alis who had her hands on her hips and an exasperated look painted on her face. He would have thought she was actually cross with him if he didn’t spot the slight upward tug on the corner of her mouth. 

“What?”

“You heard me,” Alis gestured with a quick nod to the tavern doors that lead outside, “We’re all set for now, and I won’t need you till later when the night crowd rolls in. Get out of this stuffy, old cellar and go get some sunshine.” 

“It’s not stuffy, and I still have to finish up–” Alis marched over, plucked the dirty rag out of his hands, and began to swat him with it, herding him closer and closer to the doors. 

Every time Tamlin tried to open his mouth to object, he got a face full of the soggy, stained fabric.

“You ain’t ‘have to’ do nothing if I tell you to. Get going!” She accentuated her point by using her unoccupied hand to shoo him off. “Now, I don’t want to see you back here at least until sundown, you hear?” She finally quit her assault when he was over the threshold and onto the street.

“I–” Alis raised the rag, “...hear.” She lowered the rag.

“Good.” With that, she closed the doors loudly, and Tamlin was left standing uselessly in front of the tavern. 

He stood there for a while, not quite knowing what to do with himself, so he just chose to attentively watch the doors as if Alis was going to spontaneously open them and welcome him back inside again. Tamlin knew that wasn’t going to actually happen, but he let his mind hope. 

Eventually, he found the sense and drive to wander off somewhere else when the bewildered looks and judgemental eyes from passersbys felt too heavy on his skin. 

Starting down the road, Tamlin meandered along the path that led towards the village outskirts. While walking, he scanned the ground attentively in case there was an interesting rock on the ground he could bring back to show Alis’ nephews. Those two boys loved rocks, and Tamlin didn’t mind helping them scavenge treasures. Finding a few, he stashed them into one of his pockets and continued on his way. 

Slowly, the path died out, and Tamlin found himself facing the dense forest that surrounded the village. Only a select few actually went outside of the security of their settlement and into the uncharted woods. They were located not far from The Wall, the boundary that separated the Fae lands from theirs, so there was always a chance of encountering something… unsafe outside the guarded townlet. 

With all this in mind, Tamlin glanced around, noted that no one was watching him, and promptly ran into the woods with reckless abandon. 

____

Tamlin always loved being in the forest.

The rustling of leaves, the singing of birds, the smell of the earth. It was all encompassing, surrounding him like a welcoming blanket. It provided a much needed reprieve from rigid civilization.

Following the way he mapped out from countless times before, Tamlin ended up at a small clearing that was lined with a vast river. 

Near the edge stood a lone Weeping Willow; its vine-like branches swaying lazily in the gentle breeze. Moving them aside like a curtain, Tamlin walked underneath the tree’s canopy and made himself comfortable sitting with his back against the trunk. 

He then closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. Calm.

Tamlin could feel his mind slowly begin to wander away somewhere else, losing himself in his surroundings in a way he never could anywhere else but here. 

It was quiet. Serene. Peaceful.

…At least it was until it suddenly wasn’t.

Until something violently disturbed the shrubs on the other side of the river, startling Tamlin out of his daze. Bolting to his feet, he staggered through the tree branches just in time to watch someone break through the undergrowth and tumble into the river with a loud splash. 

Tamlin was in the water too a second later, diving after the person with his heartbeat thundering in his ears and not a thought running through his mind. 

He barely registered the freezing water as he treaded through the river after the person. They were just floating along the current unmoving, and Tamlin felt his stomach drop further. Finally, Tamlin managed to catch an arm, pull the person over his shoulders, and began to drag them both towards his side of the shore. 

It was good that Tamlin already knew which rocks were slippery and which were not; he had learned the hard way from the other separate occasions of being in the river.

Underneath the willow, Tamlin laid down the person, rested his own head on their chest, and listened for a heartbeat. 

Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. 

Tamlin let out a long sigh of relief, willing his own racing heart to slow. Lifting his head up, he got to work scanning over the person’s body for injuries: scrapes along both arms, a swollen ankle, multitudes of forming bruises. He also took in the appearance of the person as well, despite their rugged and worse-for-wear state, the clothes were fine and clearly belonging to someone who had enough riches to waste on stuff like jeweled encrusted knives, ruby cufflinks, and leaves made out of golden thread embroidered on their lapels. Was this person royalty? 

What was a noble doing in the forest this far away from the nearest big city? Badly wounded at that?

What in the ever living fuck happened to them? 

The person coughed lightly, and Tamlin raced upwards to regard their face. Despite it being utterly drenched, their hair was a bright, vibrant auburn. Tamlin moved it carefully aside from where it was previously draped over the person’s face. 

Oh. 

“Good face.” 

Tamlin realized he said his thoughts out loud and clamped his mouth shut, praying that the other wasn't awake to hear him. 

Ignoring his warming cheeks, he checked over the man’s(it definitely looked like a man, a gorgeous, gorgeous–Shut the fuck up!) face for wounds. There was a tiny trickle of blood coming down from the man’s temple, so Tamlin moved to tuck the man’s hair behind his ear—

Pointy ear. The man’s ear was pointed. Not a round ear. Pointy. 

Oh, well shit.  

Shit. Shit. Oh Shit. Fuck. Fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fucking Shit. SHIT FUCK SON OF A FUCKING BITCH OH SHIT HOLY FUCK WHAT IN THE SHITTING FUCK—

The man coughed again, stronger this time. The man who was not actually a man. The man who had pointy ears which meant it wasn’t a man but actually a fae, and what in the flipping flying fuck why hasn’t Tamlin bolted for the hills already– 

The not-man’s eyes fluttered open and revealed the clearest, prettiest eyes Tamlin had ever seen in his entire nineteen years of existence and Tamlin couldn’t help himself from opening his mouth and speaking his mind. 

“Your eyes look undamaged.” 

[separatist-apologist]

I want instant gratification pls

Okay. Tell me how you feel about this:

If he let himself think about Jesminda, Lucien would utterly fail in his part in their plot. He couldn’t help himself, ruminating on his failures that had led to her death. It had been no one's fault…and yet he blamed himself anyway. Married for just a year—the best year of Lucien’s life, if he was honest with himself. He’d been just a junior Senator then, a nobles son from the Galatia province desperate to cut his teeth on Roman politics.

And Jesminda had been…well. She’d been wild. Too wild for patrician life and yet she’d tried anyway. If Lucien had been smart, he would have given it all up and taken her far, far away from the city. He’d merely loved it too much and assured himself she would learn to love it, too. Everything had been for her. The money, the social climbing—everything.

She should have been with him, listening to him plotting from beside him in their shared bed. And their child…he should have been there, too. He’d have been toddling around by then, speaking his first words with a mop of Jesminda’s dark curls. Lucien thought of them often, wishing Jesminda hadn’t lost her life trying to bring his son into the world. 

By the time Lucien realized what was happening, it was all too late. Jesminda was gone, hair stained red from all the blood she’d lost. He hadn’t even been able to tell her goodbye. And the babe…the baby hadn’t lasted the night, taking his last, frail breaths from Lucien’s trembling arms. He’d prayed on his knees to the gods, begging them to let the baby to live.

And then he’d prayed to bring her back. He’d offered a trade—his life for hers. He’d go into the underworld himself if he could only just find it. The gods were silent, their decision final. So he raged, instead, and then he fell silent when it was clear there was no undoing what was done. No bringing either of them back, no happiness the way he’d envisioned it.

[olenvasynyt]

I love reading food descriptions in fantasy (Holly Black, you have my heart) so I dropped so much food into my Lucien backstory fanfic. So here is what is on the Autumn High Family’s dinner table!

Dinner:

- salmon steaks

- Autumn salad: butternut squash, Brussels sprouts, cranberries, pecans, and beets

- Fig jam crackers

- Cranberry, persimmon, and burrata salad

- Honey-ginger glazed ham

- Pumpkin and Gouda stuffed shells with brown butter and sage alfredo sauce

And for dessert:

- Caramel pear galette

- Blackberry tarts

- Nutmeg ginger apple snaps

[queercontrarian]

in her grace

in her power

in her freedom

enjoy this messy little jesminda sketch

[everybodyloveshippos]

is it fair to my dm to make a character that has like 4 evil exes

[tiny-huts]

So no essek?

[marine-indie-gal]

Just some Random Doodles of Bolok's Childhood Life.

I've been somewhat in a slow burnout since I haven't figured much on what to do with my Other OCs but since I created my own personal Family Lore for Lucien based on the Game's Deleted Wiki, I'd figure that maybe I might show some more of his own Lore seeing as to how Nobody else ever drew his Backstory life until this Fan had to come in.

Odile Bolok (My Interpretation of Bolok's Mother) (c) Me

Lucien Bolok (c) Xilam

[saphira-artandoc]

It’s theory time babeyy

Alright in this episode we learned via Keyleth that the rift in Terrah is unstable and the Air Ashari are there to help. Keyleth also believes what happened to the rift is connected to the Malleus keys BH discovered. With this discovery, I am now 95% sure that the attack on Zephrah 6 years ago was meant to be a practice ground to set of the elemental air rift here. Otohan might have been tasked to cause enough mayhem, kill Keyleth if possible with the poison, to weaken the Air Ashari enough to give a chance on the test with the Malleus keys. It failed however, since we never heard of a problem with the rift from either Orym or Keyleth in campaign. But Orym helping the Fire Ashari posted at Flamereach Outpost in EXU might also be connected to those machines. It’s also a possibility that the Hishari are working with the Ruby Vanguard, being a rogue faction of the Ashari tied to the elements.

TLDR; Ludinus, Otohan and Sorrowlord Zathuda are probably causing mayhem on the elemental rifts situated in Tal’Dorei by testing the power of the Malleus keys. They propably tried on Zephrah but it failed, tried Flamereach Outpost because of Thordak’s leftover influence and are now onto Terrah. The Hishari may be also responsible for the Terrah rift situation.

[vikingmagic33]

Gwynriel Pirate AU Update

Chapter 5 of A Corset for A Cutlass is now up on AO3. 

Read it here!

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