#mentioned elaine

[beginning-writer]

I got better. I'm gonna post a new chapter? No. I'm going to do more random scenarios with a head-canon that's not mine.

So found out i was not really sick, i was passing through emotional fever. Which is when you are not physically sick, but when you receive some horrible stimulus - like fear; sadness; anger; anxiety; etc. - excessively, and your brain gets sick. What affects your body and makes you feel symptoms such as fever, headache and etc. I stayed like that for about three days and now i'm better. What am i gonna do? More scenarios whit Tova's head-canon.

Galahad’s pov.

Galahad always knew who his father was, the horrible weeping monk, his mother made sure of making that clear to him, even if he didn't really know why. When he heard that his father was a horrible man, he thought it was because he was an ugly person. It was far from his head about the things his father did.

He didn't know about the atrocities his father committed until two springs ago, when he asked his mother and grandfather to let him spend some time at his house, and his mother went completely crazy. She started saying how bad the idea was and tried to persuade him to stay with her, when she saw that it wasn't working she threw everything she could. Mom was desperate, she seemed possessed by something, and began to scream in tears that he was a horrible man who killed and tortured his own kind and that Galahad should not go to his house, or he would suffer until he left there.

He got terrified and ran to his room to escape his overprotective mother's tears. He couldn't believe it, he thought the horrible man his father was was just because he didn't look good, not that.

Now, two springs later, he was brought into the fey resistance when he lost from his mother, and was living with his father; a boy the same age as him, but much more energetic and who wouldn't shut up, he liked him, the name his was Squirrel, but his father called him Percival when he did something wrong; And another man, older than his father, he is dark-skinned, and with a bit of fat under his big muscles. Galahad thinks he swears excessively and drinks too much, but he is very nice and admirable. His name is Gawain, he is the hero fey, the green knight. But the only green thing about him is his eyes.

It has been three lunar cycles since they all began living under the same roof, and Galahad had taken note of a few things. Squirrel has a very light hand, so I have to keep my things well; Gawain is gluttonous and shows a lot of physical affection towards my father, but they are not lovers; And my father is nothing like i believed.

His father wasn't an ugly man, in fact really pretty, and he looked much more like him than with his mother. He had few tear marks, but Galahad didn't have any either, so it didn't matter much. His hair was still auburn, so he probably wasn't even in his thirties, which meant he became a father at a very young age. His real name was Lancelot, which in their fey mother-language meant “To Protect/Serve” or “Earth’s fire.”

Lancelot did not deny that he committed horrible things against his own kind that he would never forgive himself or expect to be forgiven. Gawain kept saying that if the gods forgive him, he should forgive himself, but that doesn't mean much into Ash culture. The gods are not always right, they make mistakes, like we do.

He learned many things about his father, and things he likes to do with him. Very often people question whether his father is really his father, he doesn't know the conditions under which he was conceived, but he’s sure he is Lancelot's son. They have the same blue eyes, the same golden streaks among the red in their hair, except that his father's hair is darker due to age, the same body type, the same smile. The only things he inherited from his mother were his facial shape and skin tone. But other people didn't know that, so their dialogue most of the time went like this:

“Who’s your parents?” Someone asks

“My father’s Lancelot.” I respond, and the confusion rises in their faces

“... Like… in the weeping monk?” 

“Former weeping monk.” I promptly defend. That wasn't my father's title, so I don't see why people should insist on using it.

“Are you-”

“Yes.”

“But you two-”

“We’re gonna look more alike when I grow.”

“You have-”

“I’m gonna get my marks when my first rituals are done.”

“...”

“Stop questioning it. He is my father.”

“... okay. Sorry.”

They were always the same questions. They didn't even need to go beyond two words for me to know what they were going to say. Sometimes I even joked that no, he wasn't my father and I was just a child that he kidnapped and started taking care of, and then denied it. But it didn't matter what anyone else thought or said, Lancelot is my father. And he had a feeling he was starting to really like it.

His mother didn't have time to braid his hair every night before bed, he didn’t balme her, she was a single mom. His father on the other hand. Today he did a simple braid, the kind that didn't squeeze his head, his hair was always curly in the morning. He might not be the best dad, but he was trying. And now he has a brother! He was noisy, but still, he loved him. He loved his new family in every detail. Well, maybe not the murderous part, but that’s aside.

Ashfolk red-heads are my love now. So sorry, but i'll keep stelling this very often. @lancedoncrimsonwings

[howmanysideblogscanihave]

If the mating bond was always supposed to be the end all be all for Elain’s book…

Why have Feyre question why Elain wasn’t mated to Azriel?

Why introduce to the concept of ill-fitting mates or rejection of the mating bond?

Why have Elain distance herself from her mate and grow closer to Azriel?

Why have Azriel and Elain have feelings for each other at all?

Why have other characters pick up on Azriel and Elain’s feelings/chemistry?

Why have Elain and Azriel almost hook up?

Why have Azriel question the cauldron?

Why write the cauldron being corrupted and insist that everyone reads the book where it’s confirmed before the next ACOTAR?

Why have Azriel be the one to learn about the corrupted cauldron?

None of this does anything plot wise for any other endgame other than Elriel.

If the mating bond is the end all be all for the next book, Elain will have to forego all of the avoidance and “that entitles him to my time” and decide to give her mate her time and affection; either never learn the truth about why Azriel seemed to have rejected her or learn the truth and somehow decide to throw away everything building between the two anyway; learn about the corrupted cauldron and do nothing with that information or Azriel and Nesta never tell Elain what they learned about the cauldron and it actually not be an important plot point at all; and get over Azriel so she could be with her mate.

An Elain accepts the mating bond centric book would feel contradictory to everything that came before it.

[acourtofthought]

Oh nothing. Just Elain and Lucien being able to mirror all of Sarah's favorite tropes starting with Elain's current disinterest in Lucien (hate to friends to lovers) and the mating bond having immediately snapped for them both which is a lot like the marriage of convenience trope, where two characters are bonded forever before falling in love.

[merwgue]

The way that you guys are pinning elain and gwyn against each other is INSANE, calling them boring, bitches, whores.

Yet when it comes to the men its crickets

Just say you hate women and move on, it's giving internalised misogyny

[crmediagal]

I finished A Court of Frost and Starlight last night...and I have a lot of feelings. Putting them under the cuff and just gonna generalize the biggest peeves I had below...

Can the Inner Circle be anymore insufferable? They probably can…but they really gave me the ick in this book, even more than the others up to this point.

Feyre talking about how many Illyrians died in the Battle of Hybern or how many families in Velaris are displaced and homeless after the war…but then she keeps flexing about the endless supply of money she and Rhysand have. And doesn't even think about giving any of it away to those in need? Oh, and she's gifted another house at the end of the book?! The utter lack of self-awareness is gob-smacking and just makes her and Rhysand all the more unlikable.

My biggest pet peeve of all in this book: Feyre treating Lucien like actual garbage and Rhysand saying he "can't forgive him [Lucien]" for what he did to her UTM. I'm sorry, what kind of gaslighting is this?! Lucien?! Lucien did nothing but try to HELP Feyre every step of the way UTM and was even willing to let Rhysand turn his mind to soup rather than give up her name, and that's when she was still human! The gaslighting by the characters and author in these books over other characters' actions continues to drive me insane. Where did that assassination of Lucien's character even come from?!

Oh, and we can't forget Rhysand visiting Tamlin twice, who is CLEARLY deeply, horribly depressed - he's unkempt, not eating, barely communicates, and even asks for forgiveness at the end - and Rhysand just keeps verbally kicking the guy again and again. It was so unsettling and uncomfortable for me to read someone verbally abusing someone suffering this badly. If I had any more reasons to dislike the fandom's favorite High Lord, there it was. He's grotesque towards others' pains and faults but can't look in a mirror. Ever.

There really wasn't much to like about this book, and it's a shame because the after-war reprieve could have been a lovely, cozy read. It was interesting getting other characters' POVs, too…but they all are so infuriating and self-righteous that it made the experience very un-enjoyable for me.

I'm basically hanging on to this fandom for Lucien's and Elain's POVs…and praying that their storylines are upheld, not gaslighted, or sh*t all over.

[elainsgirl]

The difference between:

A compliment:

“She was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen” - Lucien

Poetry:

“And there she was. The faelights glided Elain’s unbound hair. Making her glow like the sun at Dawn” - Azriel

[stargirlfeyre]

The High King Lucien theories are laughable to me because this man couldn’t even stand up to one High Lord in the name of protecting his friend….

But you think he’s able to overpower and unite seven to exist under him? Seven High Lords with centuries on him and one who is the most powerful High Lord that has ever lived are all going to get together and decide to follow…Lucien?

Not a lot of people in this series takes Lucien seriously and unfortunately I don’t think his fans do either.

[acotar-girly]

Night’s sister- Part 1

Summary: You’re Rhysand’s little sister, who escaped the spring court when your mother and older sister were murdered. The only living Princess of the Night Court. Rhys is High Lord, and your close sibling relationship is something everyone, even enemies (unfortunately) are aware of. You live with Rhysand. You haven’t met Cassian and Azriel yet, as Rhys is trying to keep you safe and protected. You’ve only ever heard stories of them, and you’ve never worked up the nerve to want to meet them. You’ve been kidnapped, by Rhys’ enemies, while he’s fighting in a war and he left you at home.

TW: kidnapping, graphic SA, graphic violence, gore, describing torture, (but also somehow a lot of fluff later on???)

-please tell me if i’ve missed any triggers and i’ll add them.

My eyes flutter open and I let out a low groan of pain. I force myself to focus on my surrounding through sheer willpower. My mind is cloudy, fogged by the pain that aches, burns, and throbs my body. I’m dimly aware of my lack of clothing, being stripped bare to just undergarments. My wrists are manacled by heavy black chains to opposite walls and I hang in the middle, my knees almost brushing the ground. I instinctively reach for my power, but it’s dampened and held down by another force. Scraps are all i have left of my once overwhelming power. It’s pressed down, either by a powerful fae or by a drug such as faebane.

A cool hand tilts my chin upwards and I let out a weak snarl, trying to tilt my head away in a pitiful attempt to get away. The person chuckles, as though finding my attempt to scare him away funny. The male in front of me presses a soft kiss to my lips, one hand keep my chin in place and the other stroking my hair. I shudder, but I’m too weak to pull away. He leans away finally, still stroking my hair, but his other hand moves to my cheek and caresses the unbroken skin there. I realise, that although I’ve been tortured to the point of unconsciousness, not one cut or bruise or burn scars my face. The male must see the realisation, or read my mind, because he laughs softly, amused.

“We couldn’t mark such a pretty little face like that” he cooes, enjoying toying around with me, seeing the fear creeping into my face, my anger and defiance dissolving.

Bella?

My mind drifts to the familiar voice that passes through the rubble of my mental shields, and the male notices my attention shift. He invades my mind once again, eyes narrowing, passing through the shields I desperately try to put up with what little power I still have.

Bella please

The voice pleads. Not the male in front of me. Another voice. Pinewood and citrus. The ocean. Home. I wonder dimly, how long the voice has been calling out for me, without a response. I wonder how long he’s been calling out to my unconscious mind, going crazy with worry. All at once, the memories rush down. The battle. Rhys. The kidnapping. The torture.

Rhys?

I manage to send back, the effort making my body sag. My voice, even in my mind, is exhausted and laced in pain. I hear the male laugh in my mind, the violation making me shudder. It’s like he’s mocking my poor attempt. Like he knows i won’t be able to tell rhys anything important before he interrupts me and my brother

Bella.

Rhys says into my mind, voice relieved.

Where are you? Are you okay?

He questions instantly, his tone back to one of worry.

I’m scared rhys

i manage to whisper back, my voice sounding childish. Broken and scared.

Bella, where are you?

He asks urgently

I’m-

the male steps in, interrupting the conversation in my own mind, cutting me off.

She’s more than okay, High Lord

He croons in my mind, to Rhys.

who the fuck are you?

Rhys snarls, his anger invading my senses, even with what’s probably all of Prythian between us.

and why are you in my sister’s mind?

The male smiles at me as though he expected this, lazy and amused, his teeth glinting, as he sees the pure undiluted terror on my face and the trembling of my body under his touch. My eyes are wide and afraid, and pleading. In response to rhys’ question, the daemati in front of me sends Rhys a mental image of me, chained between two walls, stripped bare to undergarments that aren’t mine. My wings bleed and droop, resting against the cold marble floor, stained in my blood, my body littered with cuts and bruises and burns. He caresses my cheek, the soft gesture making me sick, and I’m sure he’s still showing Rhys my state, because he tilts my head upwards sharply, my red rimmed, crying and afraid eyes meeting his own. Into his mind. Where I’m sure Rhys is looking down at me through the male’s eyes.

Let’s talk, High Lord.

The daemati says, grinning cruelly.

[animezinglife]

Late Nights in Summer

Lucien tends to Elain after she has a bit too much to drink.

Genre: Fluff/Romance/Subtle Angst. Mild suggestive humor (brief). Post-canon, established relationship Elucien fic | Masterlist Simple, fun little one-shot I wanted to get off my chest. Briefly-mentioned OC. Thank you as always to @lucienarcheron, @zenkindoflove, @crazy-ache, @teddyhoneybear, and @thelov3lybookworm for their continued support.

Lucien wasn’t sure what to expect when Tarquin had called him in about Elain, but it hadn’t taken him long to figure out. With one glance he'd known: her hair and the clothes she’d worn out with Cresseida disheveled, head resting on the pillow of Cresseida’s sofa, and snoring.

Loudly.

The princess of Adriata stood behind where his mate lay and raised her hands in mock surrender.

“I told her to slow down,” she said, and Lucien smirked, crossing the room and kneeling at the side of the sofa. Elain wasn’t accustomed to drinking to begin with, much less the strong, deceptively sweet drinks of Summer that could take a fully grown male out of commission if he didn’t pace himself. Despite her snoring, though, Elain’s face was serene, and he brushed a strand of her hair off her face and tucked it behind her ear. 

She snorted in response. Cresseida bit back a laugh.

Resting a hand on her shoulder, he glanced up at the princess. During his and Elain’s earlier visits to Summer together, Cresseida had acted aloof towards his mate, keeping a distance and not going much farther than to offer her the usual, courtly formalities. It had bothered him even though he’d quickly pieced together that it hadn’t been personal–more of a lingering suspicion towards the Night Court in general. Yet over time Elain had thoroughly charmed Cresseida and Tarquin both, and this wasn’t the first time they had explored Adriata’s nightlife together. Though it was the first time they had left the males behind altogether, on account of “Welcoming Acelia to the family!” as the princess had put it.

“Where’s Acelia?” he asked, and the princess rolled her eyes, her smile softening slightly.

“Where do you think?” she asked, and Lucien nodded in understanding, knowing the small female had been returned home to Tarquin safely. The High Lord’s mate was as small as Elain in stature, though as a Summer native herself, he suspected she’d fared better than his own. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly, and the princess nodded once as he gently turned Elain and lifted her into his arms. Even though the sweet scent of Summer booze was strong, her own scent of jasmine and honey still filled him, and as if in response to his nearness she stirred awake, their bond humming as her eyelids fluttered open. She pulled herself closer and nuzzled his neck, and at Cresseida’s amused expression, he said his goodbyes and winnowed them back to their quarters.

Elain had been ecstatic about their guest suite, its walls invisible from within and facing the sea. The wards that protected the room from the elements and external threats only allowed the fresh, gentle breeze and sounds of the waves to flow through. Vines with tropical flora wove their way around the columns of warded wall, the view extending out uninterrupted to their terrace and private bath with edges that seemed to drop into the ocean itself.

They’d spent most of their previous night there and most of the following morning in bed. Time seemed to move more slowly in the Summer Court, and while Tarquin himself was a punctual high lord and a gracious host, it was rare that any among his court rushed on a daily basis.

Lucien and Elain had found themselves thoroughly enjoying that fact.

Presently, he smirked as her nuzzling turned into a long, wet kiss, and he carried her towards the bed and sat her down gently. His mate propped herself up lazily as he knelt to remove her shoes, and he didn’t miss the heat in her gaze as her hand found his hair.

“I love this view,” she slurred dreamily, and Lucien allowed himself to glance up at her, the corners of his lips twitching upwards. 

“They did give us the best suite in Summer,” he quipped, and she shook her head, steading herself with her grip on his hair and leaning down closer. Fruit and rum danced on her breath as she met his eyes, focusing on that scent to distract himself from the way her legs parted before him. 

“Not that,” she said, her cheeks flushing beyond the effects of the booze. “I like you right here.” Her voice emphasized the last two words with a suggestiveness Lucien was certain she would’ve had more reservation making had she been sober. He held her gaze as he slid off her sandals, his hands tracing up her legs lightly until they rested on the sides of her knees. He moved them together gently, resting one hand atop them and smoothing down the hem of her skirt that had risen from the motion with the other.

“If only you hadn’t had so much to drink,” he teased, pressing his lips to her exposed knee. “I’d stay here as long as you liked.” 

“I’m not that drunk,” she insisted, wavering slightly as he rose and sat down on the bed beside her. 

“Sure, you aren’t,” he said gently, brushing her hair over her shoulder and reaching for the pins in her hair. She always took them out before bed, and as he started on them one by one, she swayed slightly and rested her head into his touch. The warm caress she sent down the bond didn’t surprise him–what did was the sharp tug that followed, so strong it pulled his body towards hers in response. He raised a brow as she giggled, angling herself so she could place her hands on either side of his face. She leaned into him so closely he could taste her breath on his own, her eyes narrowing slightly…and trying desperately to focus. He spoke again as her gaze lingered over his mouth, allowing a fraction of defeat. “You’re not making this easy, love.” 

It amused him, this once-human mate of his who’d surprised him more times than he could count. Whether from her resilience, her warmth, her wit, or her sharp tongue, there hadn’t been a dull moment with Elain Archeron ever since they’d begun to know each other.

There was no doubt to any who saw her that Elain was High Fae: she was beautiful–devastatingly so--and the gentle, warm power that had lay dormant for so long seemed to glow from within her even now. But it wasn’t that fact alone that made it impossible for Lucien to take his eyes off her; hadn’t been from the moment he’d first seen her the day she’d been Made.

It was the vibrant spark in her fawn-brown eyes–the innately, undeniably human spark that had held him in its grip and refused to let him go. 

Even now, despite her current state, its embers shined through, holding him there as she lightly traced his jawline.

His nose.

His mouth.

His eyes fluttered closed as her fingertips found his scar, gently brushing over his eyelid and resting her thumb against the height of his cheekbone–where the scar met its greatest depth. 

Lucien had hated that scar for a long time. He’d considered glamouring it; had once even sought information on healers who might be able to rid him of the disfigurement. 

He had wondered–despite his senses and intuition telling him otherwise–if that scar and his eye had been partly to blame for the distance Elain had initially put between them. Though those fears had long since proven a fragment of his own insecurities and vanished, and when Elain had asked him to tell her the story behind it, he’d done so. He wouldn’t have blamed her for running–not when she’d already been given a bond she’d never asked for.

And yet…

Lucien didn’t stop her as she leaned closer still, closing the distance between them to press a kiss to the spot her thumb had lingered. Despite himself, he sighed into her touch; her scent. He let her fingers find his hair again as she ran them through his red strands and accepted the chaste, lingering kiss she placed at the corner of his mouth.

“Kiss me,” she murmured against his lips, tugging lightly at his hair in encouragement. “Please, Lucien.” 

Something in her tone sobered him, and his eyes opened slowly to take her in. Of course he wanted to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her and never stop, giving in fully to their bond–to her–and tangle with her in bed until they were both spent and had nothing left to give. 

There would be time for that, and he thanked the Mother every day for the time they spent together.

For now, he could oblige her one request.

Gently resting his hand beneath her chin, he closed the distance between them again. He savored the kiss she returned, tasting the drink on her lips and at the scent that so potently warmed to him as her body called to his. But as she tried to part his lips he stopped, forcing himself to break it and instead place another long, chaste version against her temple. “I’ll always kiss you,” he murmured, and she hummed against him and slid her hand over his heart. He covered her hand in his, feeling their heartbeats move in sync. 

He wanted her. He always wanted her, whether he kissed her or made love to her or simply felt her presence near.

But he would only have her when it was fully her choice and nothing could blur those lines between them. He'd made that decision long ago, even though it would have never been a question to begin with.

Elain knew as much. He could sense it now as some conscious part of her seemed to withdraw slightly, even if it did nothing to stifle either of their want.

She tilted her head and met his gaze, the embers like sunlight dancing in her eyes again. This time, the spark and feeling she sent down the bond were playful.

A dare.

A private, blissful challenge.

“Tomorrow,” she said, tapping a finger against his chest. He felt his smirk return as her blush deepened. “When I’ve slept this off, I want more than a kiss. I want you."

He didn’t bother to jest or retort, and instead pressed another peck to her lips. 

“It’s a deal.” 

[bluiela]

Honestly dreading the Acotar actual announcement/release because the e/riels are being so toxic now (getting attention from some companies)

Imagine them when the Gwynriels/elucien actual book is announced or released

Like just saw many e/riel posts on X and stuff being like " idc if im rude and petty (obviously because behaving with manners is too much to ask) but e/riels win Gwynriels looser delusional and what not"

They are acting like this now, I honestly can't imagine what will happen then and honestly, I get now why SJM took a step back from the fandom

[fcrafcrtnight]

i just did everything i could to keep others from making the same mistakes i did.(Jake/Elaine)

"I KNOW. AND THAT'S ONE OF THE THINGS I ADMIRE ABOUT YOU, YOU KNOW? YOU ALWAYS PUT OTHER PEOPLE FIRST. and for the longest time, it.. wasn't easy for me to be like that, but.. i want to be. i want to be someone you can be proud of having by your side." well, certain old habits did die more than hard and she was always going to be a selfish bitch in so many ways, but.. for him? maybe, she could make an attempt to be different. little by little. maybe. or.. at least, she knew that she was going to try. "and someone you can take to see the stars. don't think i've forgotten about that most romantic proposal?" @springbandit

[llamagirl28]

Another BG3-related ask: who would the BoC ROs pursue if they’re playing BG3? 👀

Oooh fun!

Elaine - Karlach

Isac - Lae'zel

Sofie - Astarion

Agravain - Shadowheart

Gawain - Wyll

Galahad - Shadowheart

Nimue - Astarion

This is more of, who would they pursue on a first playthrough because all of them would take an interest in multiple characters lol

[feyrescourt]

When will the EL’s see the transparent ass parallel between rhys’s parent’s bond snapping moment, and el*cien’s…..

[clockwork-ashes]

Something Lonesome - Part I (a few times more)

Read also on Ao3 :)

Summary: Elain dies when she’s thrown into the cauldron, but she doesn’t stay dead for long. Over and over, again and again, something brings her back, and every time she finds her way to Lucien.

Note: This is a romance, but it’s also just a story about Elain. There will be a happy ending <3 Also, completely dedicated to the lovely @nocasdatsgay because I have so many ideas and every time I yell them into the tumblr void (the tags) she has something nice to say <3

Elain watched as Feyre’s blood flowed between the grooves of the stone tiles. Steady like a lazy river, just as mesmerising as the waters that danced in the Cauldron.

She heard the strangled moan Nesta made in response, a tortured, animalistic sound. The gag in her own mouth was soaked through with tears, damp as it cut into her cheeks. 

Rhysand howled in pain, almost as if the King of Hybern had taken a knife to his heart instead. Elain wished he had. 

Just as the soldiers hauled her into the air, she locked a terrified gaze onto the warrior whose eyes were made of sunlight. She felt as if she had seen them before, known them as surely as her reflection when she looked in the mirror. 

He took a measured step, purposeful. His broad hand was on the jewelled sword at his side, and Elain knew he would have been a sight to behold wielding the weapon. She was thrown into the whirling waves suddenly, pulled under by a force so strong, fighting against it would have been impossible. Darkness clouded her vision, but the map of a vicious scar lingered bright as day for the briefest of moments, lovely. 

* * *

“Put the prettier one in first,” the king said, his voice ringing from where he sat on his throne. Elain wanted to rip out his dark eyes, wished to feel skin and blood and tears beneath the crescent moons of her nails. 

Nesta hadn’t stopped fighting, and Elain hadn’t stopped shaking in fear. There was a part of her that knew there was an inevitability to it all, a sixth sense warning her not to even try. It felt deeply rooted, connected to her like a tree was to the ground it grew from. 

The red haired man spoke, tilting the world on its axis. His voice was as rich as melted gold, bright as the arrow of light Elain swore she saw arching towards her. “Stop this,” he said roughly, the demand echoing when no one listened.  

Elain could still hear the two simple words as she was shoved into the Cauldron, tripping over the edge of the ancient object, sinking until all she could see was darkness. 

* * *

Moonlight always looked like sunshine on the darkest nights, Elain knew. Each bright ray cutting across the sky, forcing all the stars to fade away. She liked how a path sometimes appeared over water, endless, not even stopping when it reached the horizon. When Elain had been a girl, she’d often wonder if there was a way to walk across the phantom bridge, could close her eyes and imagine it clear as glass. 

* * *

Elain went into the darkness willingly, knowing it like an old friend. 

Darling. 

Cold waters hugged her like welcoming hands, gentle. 

Stay. 

Only once, Elain wanted to know what might happen if she asked the darkness to wait. 

[acourtoflight]

“No, but we need to summon Lucien,” Azriel said, just a shade tightly, as if he didn’t like it one bit.

[unlikelysaintdelele]

I am 63% of the way through Part 1 of ACOSF on the graphic audio (it's 32% in the full ebook). I just got past the scene where Nesta snaps at Elain and says something along the lines of "You're finally becoming interesting." I don't know if I just don't remember this being mentioned before or if it has genuinely been glossed over in the fandom but... Elain offered to find the dread trove? She just came in and said she'd do it? There was no hesitation from her.

I don't recall hearing about this and I feel like this alone is so telling of her character and her future that surely someone would have pointed it out already. I mostly see people posting about her response to Nesta, calling her sister out, but not about the fact that she said she'd look for the dread trove. Actually, it seems like Elain was determined to track it down before Nesta even stepped into the meeting, based on Feyre's response.

Elain has grown so much since being made. How do people find her boring? She wants to be an active part of the Night Court and the world around her. Better yet, she is not backing down from Nesta's wrath, she is holding her ground. She is not weak just because she is soft. Her willingness to fight, in her own way, tells me of her strength, and of the potential for her to be a main character.

I am so excited for her book, I want to tear my skin off.