[quantum77-writes]

Venus Flytrap • Chapter 1 • Read on AO3

“I’m not sure you understand how to negotiate. You claim to be the most uniquely powerful female in Prythian’s history. You’ll bear my children—at least two of them, more if there are daughters—and in the meantime, I owe you no attention or affection beyond my own wicked pleasure. What’s in it for you?”

[istillwishforyouateleveneleven]

web weave finds that made me want to claw my eyes out

[separatist-apologist]

Midnight Sun

Summary: Everyone knows Earth is lost to humanity, a wasted rock destroyed by nuclear war five hundred years before they fled to the stars.

Or, that's what Elain Archeron believed right until she crash landed on Earth's surface.

Notes: Massive, important, MAJOR thanks to @chelseamorninggirl and @limeandorange for letting me bounce this fic off of them, and for reading whole chapters of it and giving me their thoughts. It wouldn't exist without your encouragement- thank you.

for @elucienweekofficial | Read on AO3

-

The station sirens blared to life, rousing Elain Archeron from another restless sleep.

It was the third time that week, unusual by the standards of the Station. Pulling a pillow over her face, Elain tried to slip back into the dream she’d been having, but the noise was only muffled.

Wah. Wah. Wah. Wah.

Rhythmic and unyielding, a warning to remain in her cabin for the time being. Elain sighed, tossing the pillow to the cold, metal floor. She blinked against the offensive red lighting up the otherwise peaceful dark of her space until she didn’t have to blink against the light. What was going on?

It was tempting to ask her sister Feyre, who seemed to know all the gossip albeit unwillingly. Feyre lurked in the maintenance halls, hiding from her responsibilities and so she could focus on the one thing that gave her real purpose and joy—art.

There was no room for art on The Station. 

Elain sat up, legs dangling off the raised platform her bed rested on. Reaching toward the metal plated wall, she pressed a button to lift the shade from the porthole just above her window. It was the only one she had, a view into the vastness of space. Below, Elain could see the ruined husk of the planet Earth, abandoned centuries earlier for space travel—at least at first.

No one knew if it was space travel or simple biological evolution that brought about the beginning of the end for humanity. Had someone contracted a disease on some far-flung planet? Or had a planet, filled to the bursting with a population that seemed like it couldn’t die, finally brought about its own destruction? Everyone seemed to agree it was technology taken too far, but the disease had spread too quickly and had killed so effectively that by the time anyone realized they had a full-blown pandemic on their hands, all that was truly left was evacuation. 

Elain peered closer against the tempered glass. To her, Earth was something mythological. A pristine blue and green sphere, the mother of her species—home. As a girl, she and her sisters had run about The Station pretending they were living in those lush jungles and swimming in the salted oceans they so often read about. 

Humans weren’t meant to live in space, of that she was certain. Some had certainly adapted. Nesta, for example, seemed to have been built for the cold, dark expanse of space. Most people agreed. Nesta was powerful, overseeing secretive missions deep into space as humanity pushed ever forward, looking for another planet they could call home. They were, after all, the only species in the known universe that did not have a planet to call their own.

Humans were everywhere, living in the most populous cities and the most remote outposts. It was said humans could adapt to anything, often with a sneer of disgust. The other races loathes humanity for the way they’d kicked open the galactic door at gun point, demanding equal trade access, the right to settle colonies and worlds, and the right to defend themselves with force. It took other races centuries to accomplish what humanity managed in fifty years.

The galaxy was afraid of humanity. That’s what Nesta said, anyway. Better to let them be, Nesta would add, brow arched and arms crossed, as she reflected on their status in the universe. Nesta was so close to a council position—the first ever for humanity—though Elain secretly hoped she didn’t get it.

That was more selfish than anything. Nesta wielding one of the most powerful position in the galaxy was a major coup, and it would mean she and Elain would never have another meaningful conversation again. Nesta didn’t know how to switch between gears—she was either Nesta, the woman only Elain truly knew, or she was Ambassador Nesta, a woman even the most feared races in the galaxy didn’t dare cross. While other ambassadors were often lambasted on the net, everyone tiptoed around their critiques of Nesta.

She was ruthless, and her hands were stained with blood. Everyone knew it. 

Elain turned from her window and her musings as the blaring ceased and darkness flooded through the room again. Her ears rang with the echoing wah’s even when she closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep. The clock on the nearby stand read four twenty two am—local donjon time. The whole galaxy was centralized around the founding galactic civilization and their stronghold—donjon. Their language was the standard, common language, their year was the standard year, their time the standard time. 

Humanity called their city The Donjon based on its appearance—it seemed to look like the protective keep of a medieval fortress, nevermind that it sounded nearly identical when spoken in their native tongue. The name had stuck over the years since, and now most colloquially referred to the city as Donjon, much to the irritation of the people living there previously. Humanity is so disrespectful! Net pundits would scream, eyes purpling around the sockets. But all these centuries later, the name was still around and so was humanity.

Deciding it was better to just start her day early, Elain let her bare feet  the cold metal sheeting of the floor. Having been cleaned the day before, she could see her distorted reflection peering back up her, just as she could everywhere else she went. There was no privacy aboard The Station—not even from herself. 

There was also very little water. Water had to be imported, and not every world needed water or relied on it the same way humanity did. Often, a world would have drinkable water for them, but absolutely polluted to humans. In the early days, Elain knew it had been a major source for concern—how did you establish colonies both on planets and in space without access to a constant source of water?

The answer had been synthetic, like so many other things. H2More, they called it. It was like water. Good enough to satisfy the human body, and easy to replicate in factories to be bottled and sold all over the galaxy at reasonable costs. People who’d tasted real water reported H2More tasted wrong, though they could never quite articulate how. No one could even describe the taste of water to begin with, so how could something reportedly made of the same compounds—along with several extras to compensate for living in space—taste wrong?

Elain had never had actual water, so she couldn’t say one way or the other. Most of her life had been spent on The Station—known as Tuscon, the former city on Earth—or on Donjon on occasion. Elain didn’t care for space travel, which often left her feeling sick to her stomach due to the high rate of speed they had to move to get from one planet to the next. 

It was good enough to brush her teeth and wash her hair with, and she didn’t have to ration it like she’d heard they’d done back in those yearly years, and that was good enough for her. Life was small on The Station, but it was simple and navigable. The larger galaxy was chaotic, loud, and confusing, which worked for someone who could establish order, like Nesta. But for Elain, her little life felt like enough.

She parted her hair into two waist length plaits, slid a little chapstick over her lips to help with how dry the air was, and slid into the white belted jumpsuit everyone wore on The Station. Her name was embroidered just above her heart: Elain Archeron, Astrobotanist, and she wore it with pride. Her vegetables, fruits, and herbs might be grown with synthetic sunlight and synthetic water, but what came through was real. 

It was more science than anything. Elain wasn’t expected to feed The Station, which imported the majority of its goods from other worlds, but to find the right conditions in which once extinct produce could return to the wider galaxy. She’d been working on bananas for the better part of a year. No one in living memory had eaten a real banana, though every human had tasted banana flavoring.

Whether that was the truth of a banana or merely someone's memory, no one truly knew. Elain wanted to be the first to find out, though growing bananas in a lab in space was proving to be quite more difficult than she’d first imagined when she’d applied for the research grant. She’d had good luck growing tropic fruits—she’d managed little mangoes, one teeny papaya, and one half-sized pineapple that had been so acidic, the fruit had ripped apart Elain’s mouth as she’d eaten it.

Though, that hardly stopped her. Elain would have eaten it even if it made her mouth bleed. Nothing had ever tasted so sweet, so…so…alive. She could recreate the humid conditions, the heat, the volume of light, and yet…her trees resisted. It was as if they knew she was attempting to trick them into giving up something they otherwise wouldn’t.

As if this continued pursuit to see what she could grow regardless of if she should, was offensive to the plants themselves. Bananas, a fruit so ubiquitous on earth that they were mentioned in passing in so many written documents, almost as an afterthought, seemed determined to thwart her.

Not for you, stargirl.

How did Elain explain that she had roots in her fingers tethering her to the planet below her? That if there were a chance to return, Elain would have taken it without a backward glance at the stars above? She wanted to feel the sun warming her skin the way humans were meant to—her sun, on her soil, on her planet. No red suns, twin suns, blue suns, or any other type of suns that existed and provided light and warmth to other species. Her sun. 

Shaking her head, Elain laced up her boots, grabbed her keycard so she could access the other parts of the ship, and left her gun behind. Technically, all personnel aboard the ship were required to carry a standard issue firearm everywhere they went but Elain rarely did. Soldiers patrolled the corridors and that was enough for her. 

She wasn’t the only one up. A light murmuring down the bright, sanitized halls betrayed the cafeteria, which was busier than usual despite the early hour. There weren’t lines yet which was lucky, but if she’d waited Elain knew they’d have cleared out all the tofubacon before she got a chance to get any. Elain added toast with a packet of jam, a scoop of eggs, some sour ro fruit along with a packet of salt to cut through the tartness, and a little carbonated water. She scanned the crowd, found a familiar head of golden blonde hair, and plunked her tray at the same rounded table.

“Alarms got you up, too?” Arina grumbled, pushing the same neon yellow eggs around her tray without enthusiasm.

Arina Novak, Archivist. 

“I was dreaming about forests again,” Elain admitted, resting her elbows on the metal surface as she ripped apart her bacon absently. 

Arina ran both hands over her bare face. Like Elain, she’d pulled her hair back, though she used a series of small ponytails to create two large bubble braids that hung down either side of her back. It was a popular style on the net, and it looked rather pretty on Arina. Arina, in Elain’s opinion, reminded her of the sun, or what the sun ought to be. Maybe that had been why Elain had been so drawn to her as a little girl.

It wasn’t just her gold hair that caught even under the harshest, most artificial light. It was her grassy green eyes and her brown skin, the same as the soft soil Elain often sifted through her fingertips. Arina seemed the living embodiment of a planet Elain was homesick from, as though she’d been crafted from the missing parts.

Though, Elain looked for Earth in everyone she met. The iron blue of Nesta’s eyes were a stormy sea, the freckles that dotted Feyre’s nose little pebbles for skipping across a lake. Earth was everywhere as a reminder, and never so clearly than it was in the beautiful Arina. 

Arina, who spent her days preserving what she could of humanity. The work of her colleagues was to digitize what they could, while others preserved what existed in the here and now. But Arina took the oldest records and carefully preserved them, either by copying them exactly onto new paper, or restoring the documents so they could live on. The majority of these artifacts, once restored, sat in museums on planets that did not belong to humanity and could only be seen if a person had the resources to travel to wherever they were.

Where else would they be housed? Humanity had no home, which meant no place to keep their cultural heritage. Arina often complained about this to Elain, who privately wondered what the benefit was, overall. Did it make other cultures appreciate them more? Make their case for a new planet to colonize greater? Elain could have asked Nesta these questions if she’d wanted to, but never did.

“I wish I was dreaming about forests,” Arina grumbled, finally forking some food into her mouth. “Everytime I close my eyes, I see fire.”

Elain sighed, chewing thoughtfully. “Afraid of losing your work?”

Arina didn’t answer. “What if we got out of here for a while? Took a break, saw a…I don’t know, a beach? Someplace new? What if we spent six months in Noctus Prime—”

“Why?” Elain interrupted, brow wrinkling. “You want to leave?” Arina turned toward the large, open windows at the far end of the cafeteria. All Elain saw was the emptiness of dark space, peppered with the occasional star here and there. 

“We’re rotting out here, Elain,” Arina said with an urgency she hadn’t heard from her friend in the two decades they’d been friends. “Nothing changes on this station and nothing ever will. Don’t you want more than all this?”

Elain looked down at her half-eaten tray. Not really. Once, maybe, she’d dreamed of seeing more of the universe back when she’d been a little girl, but now…

“Doesn’t it suck seeing Gray every day?”

Elain recoiled as though Arina had struck her.

“Why would you say that?” Elain asked, willing her bottom lip not to tremble. “I barely see him at all.”

That was true enough. After Graysen had ended their engagement, he spent more time off The Station than on, traveling between worlds as a diplomat, same as his father. That had been eight months ago, and Elain was doing better. She didn’t cry herself to sleep at night, though if she were honest, she did spend a lot of time trying to keep herself busy so she wouldn’t obsess over the what-might-have-been. 

“You used to want more than banana’s, Elain,” Arina tried, her tone just a little too sharp. Elain scowled, eyes narrowing.

“If you want to travel off world, you don’t need me for that,” she snapped, petulantly.

Arina’s hand shot across the table, fingers encircling her wrists. “I want you to come with me. There’s whole worlds out there to grow bananas on. Worlds that Gray wouldn’t dare step foot on.”

That was, partly, what Elain was afraid of. Neither of them needed to vocalize that outloud, given they were both well aware of Elain’s unspoken fears. Even if Gray came back crawling, could she ever trust him again? It had been nothing personal, he’d said, as if their engagement was merely a business transaction that had run its course. He simply needed to put his career first. Maybe someday, blah blah blah, Elain had stopped listening by that point. Empty platitudes meant to make him feel like he wasn’t the bad guy for letting things get this far.

Pretty lies to obscure the fact he’d broken her heart. 

“What about a weekend on Noctus Prime? On the Gold Coast?” Arina cajoled, betraying her hand. Elain’s eyes narrowed again.

“You’ve already purchased a flight, haven’t you?”

“Two days from now,” Arina admitted without an ounce of shame. “We can extend it, if we want, but come for a couple days and relax. Get away.”

“Fine,” Elain conceded, ignoring the soft fissure of pleasure she felt at Arina’s obvious joy. It was nice to have a friend who loved her like Arina did. 

Arina beamed and Elain basked in the warmth, a moth drawn to the soft glow of her smile. 

They parted ways not long after, shifting topics to The Station and all the gossip Arina had. Unlike Feyre, who happened to know things because she was often in the room where things happened, Arina had a trustworthy face. People just told her things because they trusted her, and Arina often immediately told those things to Elain, knowing Elain would never betray her secrets.

The lights in the halls began to warm, mimicking a sunrise on a faraway planet. As Elain walked down the halls, boots smacking softly against metal, she wondered what time it was on Earth. Was the sun rising somewhere below, too? 

It was a question she wondered every morning as she walked the halls to her own station—a massive space divided into multiple smaller rooms that were supposed to mimic the biome they wanted to grow in. Elain took one last breath of dry, filtered air, before scanning her key and stepping into her own little lab. 

The warmth was a kick to the stomach, the humidity physically weighing on her as though it were its own form of gravity. Elain would never be used to it, though some part of her relished it. This was what the world might have felt like, at least somewhere. 

She spent the morning doing her checks, working from a tablet to input data like she did each day. The amount of water needed to be measured, along with soil density, depth, and acidity. Each day Elain measured the length and width of her trees and each banana leaf coming from each branch. She charted the different colors as she observed them, any little spots, any trimming she did, and everything in between.

It took her all morning to complete. Elain wanted to be through so her research could be replicated someday, once she succeeded. The whole galaxy could eat bananas for all Elain cared—that would make them easier to obtain. 

She was about to start mixing her feed for the soil to encourage a little more growth when the station seemed to shudder. Elain paused, looking toward the door, but nothing happened. No sirens began wailing, no lights flickered. It was as if something merely knocked into The Station and kept going. 

Elain shrugged and continued about her lab, supposing it was likely a piece of floating rock, or junk, merely bonking into them as it continued onward in its neverending journey through space. Elain barely looked up when the station rocked again, though the lurch caused her to dump some of her fertilizer onto her shoes. 

“What is going on—”

Another crash, this time violent enough to send Elain careening against the far wall as though she’d been thrown by an invisible hand. Groaning, Elain attempted to rise to her feet, but another lurch kept her pinned to the floor. 

The lights overhead shut off with a loud, whining click. A moment later, the sirens began blaring. Wah. Wah. Wah. Wah—

Louder than they’d been that morning, a full-blown warning that something was wrong. Outside the lab, Elain could hear loud voices. Someone was shouting as Elain made her way to the door of her lab.

Someone was firing plasma shots, too, she realized. “What’s happening?” she demanded, as if someone was going to materialize and tell her. 

“Get back inside!” A soldier from the hall barked, hitting the red button on the wall to manually shut the doors to the lab from the inside. Elain didn’t move from the little window, feet rooted in place. It seemed unreal. Smoke curled down the hall, obscuring her view. The soldiers in the hall were pushed back as bright red bolts of molten plasma screamed toward them. Some fell, and Elain watched that, too. 

This wasn’t a meteor or debris. This was an invasion.

Why? 

Who?

The second part of that question was answered almost immediately. Emerging from the fog was a sight Elain had only ever seen on the net—a male Teryx, tall and imposing, his brown skin glistening even in the otherwise dark and adorned with blue, whorling inked tattoos over his shoulders and biceps. They were said to be marks of conquest, given their race was prized warriors above all else. 

He paused in the middle of the hall, rolling his shoulders to reveal two massive, leathery wings on either side of his body. Elain ducked, but not quick enough—those vivid yellow green eyes saw her.

The locked door crunched beneath the male's power, his long, strong fingers prying the two sides open with ease. Elain remained where she was, taking note that he seemed almost human with that shock of dark hair, his square jaw and strong, curving nose. The Teryx came from somewhere within The Cosmic Web, their homeworld unknown and uncharted. How they managed space travel was its own mystery, theorized endlessly by pundits on the net. 

The Teryx didn’t join politics, they had no interest in being part of any Galactic Alliance, and if they were concerned about their image, they never attempted to correct it. It had been a good century since anyone had seen one of them in the wider space, though on occasion someone might find a Teryx male in some far-flung outpost, taking work as a bounty hunter or otherwise doing something that concerned only them.

Elain had never seen a Teryx female, though she knew the rumors—that the males kept them enslaved in caves, forced them to breed, and cut the wings of every young girl so she couldn’t escape. Though, until that moment, she’d never seen a Teryx male either.

He was terrifying. Pointing his weapon directly at her—a strange mixture of a gun and a knife—he said, “Out. Now.”

Elain shook her head back and forth. “I’m not going anywhere with you,” she whispered.

The male’s eyes narrowed, lips pressed in a firm line. He held the gun a little firmer in his hand. “Now,” he said again, his soft voice a lethal threat. 

Elain had a split second to make a decision. Who knew what would happen if she went with him. There was a booming black market trade for slaves in which humans were valued rather highly—nevermind females. For all she knew, he intended to round them all up and sell them for as much as he could manage.

And that was the kindest future she could imagine. Every other alternative was far, far worse. There was a stack of ceramic pots on the table just behind her. With speed Elain didn’t know she possessed, she reached for one and smashed it against the male's face before darting around him.

The roar of anger he emitted scared Elain to the bone, urging her legs on faster. Delving into the smoke and chaos, Elain relied on her emergency training.

Everyone living on The Station went through it four times a standard year. Given how long she’d been there, Elain had gone through it a bazillion times—enough to know the path blindfolded in the dark. That was lucky, given the lack of light, save for the flashing red overhead, was the only illumination in the smoky dark. The floors lit up the path to the shuttles was all but useless given Elain couldn’t see her hand in front of her face.

She choked, coughing against the smoke, as she made her way through the twisting turns. The closer she got, the louder the screaming, the shouting, and the sounds of gunfire. Were they firing bullets or plasma rounds, she wondered? And would they strike her? 

As it turned out, no. Soldiers wearing masks yanked her through a chokepoint, not bothering to see where she fell as she came through. It didn’t matter—Elain could hear Nesta’s voice cutting through the hysteria.

“Elain? Where is Elain?”

Elain scrambled to her feet and flung herself at Nesta, colliding into her chest with relief. “We need to get out of here—”

“We need to take them out while they’re distracted,” Nesta interrupted, eyes steely. 

“Nes—”

“One of them has Feyre,” Nesta said again, teeth clenched. “They took Feyre, and we have to get her back.”

Elain looked over her shoulder, catching sight of vivid gold in a sea of gray. She reached out for Arina, yanking her hard to keep them together. 

“You’re sure?” Elain asked as Arina gasped for air, hands braced on her knees. They were lined up for evacuation but it was going slowly. People were panicked, screaming for children, for lovers, for friends and the orderliness had broken down. If they didn’t hurry, not everyone would make it out before they were breached and more prisoners taken. 

“There were two Teryx,” Nesta said, pulling Elain deeper into the hall and further from where the evacuation ships were. “They were…are…huge. One of them lunged for me and she appeared out of nowhere with a knife. Stabbed the bigger one right in the stomach, which should have sent them running.”

“What happened?” Elain whispered, so easily able to imagine what had happened.

“The other one,” Nesta’s eyes clouded over with burning hatred, “he laughed. Said, ‘There you are, darling. I’ve been looking for you,’ like it was a joke, and then…”

Nesta shook her head, the crown of braids atop coming slightly loose. “He swallowed her up in a cloud of smoke. Like magic.”

Elain’s steps stuttered for a minute. “Magic?”

“Some kind of tech, probably,” Arina interjected, having finally caught her breath. “There’s no such thing as magic. And if you blow up their ship, you’re going to blow your sister up, too.”

Nesta didn’t seem to be listening, two pistols in either hand as she made her way toward a fleet of fighters. Most were gone, encircling the terrifying, onyx ship in the distance. Had a bevy of lasers not been firing from its canons, the ship might have looked like a dark void. It seemed to absorb all the light around it like some kind of terribly devourer from legend. 

“Are you listening?” Arina pressed, her own gun strapped to her thigh. “If you blow them up–”

“I just need to board,” Nesta interrupted, turning to face Arina down. Elain didn’t know how Arina withstood that look, and after a moment it seemed Arina couldn’t either. She backed down, palms held upward in surrender. 

Another body boarded the small fighter. She was a familiar figure to Elain and Arina, though for different reasons. Another archivist, and Nesta’s only friend Gwyn stepped aboard, pushing a gun into Elain’s chest without a word.

“You pilot,” Gwyn said, plopping into the co-pilot’s seat. “You two—buckle in.”

Arina moaned softly, eyes closed as she took a jump seat across from Elain. The two snapped in the harnesses as Nesta jerked away from The Station. She shouldn’t have watched—Nesta took off like a bat out of hell, yanking Elain forward by her navel before pressing her back against her seat.

“I’m going to be sick,” Elain whispered.

“There!” Nesta shouted, tilting the aircraft sickeningly on its side. The cannons from Gwyn’s guns recoiled, causing their own little fighter to lurch from the energy. Not that it stopped Nesta, laser focused on her prey. They whipped around enemy fighters flying ships that melded with the space around them, appearing just in time to send another fighter ship crashing into the void.

That was going to be them if Nesta wasn’t careful.

Elain wondered who’d taught Nesta to fly like she did. She was a natural, maneuvering through the sky and debris like she had some sixth sense—like she’d been born for it. Nesta had always been good at everything she tried, and even better when she put effort behind it. 

And that wasn’t enough to stop what was coming for them, all the same. The dark ship at the center of the invasion seemed to have its own wings, unfurling like a terrible dragon. Nesta attempted to move further afield, but gravity was dragging them toward that gaping maw.

Alarms inside the fighter began to ring.

“What now?!” Elain demanded as Nesta and Gwyn flipped switches and pushed flashing buttons to no avail.

“I’m not letting them take Feyre!” Nesta swore. “We’ll never see her again.”

“This is a suicide mission!” Arina argued, unstrapping herself as they yanked forward. “We need to bail—now.”

Gwyn looked at Nesta. “You’re right,” she said before Nesta could argue. “Nes, it’s over. C’mon.”

Nesta only had seconds to decide. Looking up at Gwyn, she finally nodded. “To the pods. Now.”

There were two pods, big enough to sustain life for seventy hours for two individuals. Arina went in first, Elain second. As Elain sat, knee to knee with her friend, Nesta looked into the pod.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Nes—” Elain scrambled, but Nesta slammed the hissing door shut and began the countdown launch for the pod.

“Sit down, Elain!” Arina tried, but Elain was banging on the small window. 

“Nesta!” She screamed, palm aching from the force. “Nesta, they’ll kill you! Nes—”

The pod launched into space and once again, Elain was slammed against a hard, unyielding surface. Arina groaned, too, having taken an elbow, or perhaps a knee, to the gut. 

“Elain, you—”

Something smashed into the side of the pod, sending it careening wildly out of control. Elain smacked her head against the unyielding metal wall once, twice.

And then one final time before the stars all winked out. 

–

“Another day in paradise,” Jurian commented as Lucien rolled his eyes. That’s not what he would call their current circumstances. He’d come to the resistance a good five years earlier with a friend, and while many others had abandoned the cause, Lucien had remained. 

Even in the sticky, muggy weather in the ruined suburbs of Chicago. He supposed he ought to be grateful the ground wasn’t radioactive like so many other cities that had once existed. It had merely been torn apart and left to rot until nature took it over.

And now he lived there, even in the dead of summer, the middle of winter. The weather was decent for about four months out of the year, and he lived for those times. Looking upward at the towering oak trees swaying beneath the moonlight, he wondered what life might be like among the heavens. It was the dream of little boys, not men. There was nothing in their universe besides Earth—how long had they searched, only to find nothing? There were rumors, of course, of aliens appearing in this place or that. Someone claimed a whole group had crashed in Ft. Lauterdale. What a horrible place to be introduced to humanity. 

No, this was all their was. Lucien sighed, thinking of his father, the governor of the entire territory. It was a huge swath of land that had once been different states within a United States—a place Lucien only read about in textbooks. Now it was simply The Middle, and had become the most prosperous region in the massive empire that now was The Imperium of the Americas. 

Lucien sighed, pulling his shirt from his sticky skin and tossing it over his shoulder. Beron might have declared the resistance dead, but it seemed lively enough to Lucien. People were working, as they always did, in the camp Jurian had taken over from a previous group. It wouldn’t be hard to find them, even as they dug far below the ground to create shelters that could protect them from radiation, and the vast array of new weaponry that seemed to come from the stars every other month. 

He glanced upward again just in time to see a shooting star streak across the sky. He wasn’t the only one watching. Everyone, it seemed, had craned their neck to take a look. He heard a child announce they ought to make a wish, and for some reason, Lucien decided to do it.

Send us something that can help, he breathed, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. Anything. Anyone.

“Lucien,” Jurian’s voice interrupted. “That’s metal.”

The star should have arced along the curve of the planet, not…continued plummeting. “Meteor?” Lucien heard himself say, ignoring everything Jurian had just told him. 

Jurian shook his head no. “Could be junk.” They’d found a lot of debris that had fallen from their gravitational orbit, leftovers of a space age that was long gone. Unfunded by a government more concerned with immediate profit and stripping the remaining minerals from the planet than they did about learning anything new. Lucien often wondered what would happen once there was nothing left to take. When the earth had given up all her secret spoils and humanity was left wretched and abandoned. 

Why?

“Could be good for salvage,” Lucien offered, well aware he wouldn’t be getting sleep that night.

“We need to move fast,” Jurian replied, wiping sweat from beneath a mop of brown curls. 

“Let’s go now.”

–

Eris was interrupted by his father.

“The Tuscon was attacked.”

“The research station?” Eris questioned, setting his tablet down on the side table. “For what purpose?”

“It’s unclear. They had a lot of projects, and the station is rubble.”

“Who?”

“Teryx,” Beron replied. “Debris is raining down just outside the city. Go out there, clean it up, and ensure no one else finds anything.”

Of course Beron had come to deliver instructions. Beron cared as little for space as Eris did. Their home was on Earth and had been since the dawn of time. Eris had little interest in traveling off world like his father so often did. He’d heard there were grand civilizations out there and he simply did not think anything could be better than what humanity had already constructed.

Even if humanity was a fractured species at the moment. What did the aliens make of that, he wondered? 

Eris nodded his head curtly. It was a direct order, and Eris always obeyed. He’d cleaned debris up before. No one was to know the full scope of what was happening in the galaxy, mostly to keep the interests of the wealthy, well…wealthy. Humanity still needed food, still needed weapons, and those things were best found on Earth.

Beron turned and left Eris’ townhouse, leaving Eris to send a flurry of messages as quickly as his fingers could type. This was a problem for the morning. Eris was tracking his youngest brother, who was back somewhere nearby, living like a filthy caveman if he knew Lucien. And he did. Lucien would be scrounging, and Eris didn’t want to have to drag him back home.

Again.

It had simply become an embarrassment for them all. Lucien, brother by his mothers blood only, had always been difficult and unafraid of Beron. He’d left for the resistance as a teenager and only returned when Eris found him, often knocking him unconscious and dragging him home.

Only for Lucien to vanish just as soon as someone took their eyes off him. 

Eris sighed, crossing his legs. A ruined space station, the Teryx coming out of deep space, and now debris was raining from the heavens.

Eris had warned his father this secret wouldn’t last, and when the populace on Earth realized they’d been lied to and essentially enslaved, there would be no need for Lucien’s rebellion. The people would revolt all on their own.

He doubted they’d care much about Eris’ own forced participation when they were lining him up for the guillotine. It was simply too much work to try and control everyone’s perception. Beron still cared.

But Eris Vanserra did not. 

[the-lonelybarricade]

My Thoughts Will Echo - Chapter 1

Summary: As far as Elain knew, in all of her ten years of collected knowledge, she was the only person who frequented these woods. She'd never seen footprints before. Not ones this recent, not ones that the forest guided her to. That curious sensation in her chest grew stronger. A stumbling beat. A beckoning. Go, the rustling leaves called to her. Go see. She had never seen him before, but Elain knew at once who he was. What he was. A Vanserra. Or: That time an eerie meet cute in the forest changed their lives

A contribution to @elucienweekofficial Day 1: Heartbeat.

Read on AO3 ・Series Masterlist

-

15 years earlier

The forest called to her again.

In her dreams, windows blew open in a gust of protest. Trees clawed at the glass, possessed with the intention of crawling inside to drag her from bed. Their murmurings pitched from a gentle whisper into a chant.

Elain. Come to us. Elain.

It usually wasn't this insistent.

She stirred from sleep, hair a tangled wreath upon her head as she peered into the dim room. From her bed, she could see a bright blob of moonlight waxing nearly to its peak. It passed behind a midnight cloud before blinking back into the sky, as though winking at her. By its silver light, she could see that the brass latch of her window was still firmly secured.

Wind howled on the other side of the glass, but the room was otherwise undisturbed.

Her heart, however, was not.

In her chest, there was the usual steady rhythm. One she didn't take much notice of on a regular day. But on that early morning, under the light of the knowing moon, it was joined by a restless pounding. The hail of a war drum. She pressed a hand to her chest, marveling at the peculiar sensation, the way it pulsed through every vein, hooking them as if to manipulate her body by its strings, to draw her from the bed.

Elain obeyed. She always did, when the forest called.

No one would be walking the halls of the temple at this hour, but Elain crept silently out her window even so. She enjoyed the thrill of jumping from the ledge to the wide tree branch, feeling the swoop in her stomach as it swayed beneath her weight. She knew she wouldn't fall. The same way she knew that if she angled her head to the right, she would catch the silhouette of a grey owl with its wings spread across the swelling moon. Its cry pierced the air, masking the sound of the leaves crunching under her feet as she dropped from the tree.

The forest told her these things. It had since the moment she was young enough to understand them. Before then, too.

Her tutors still spoke with a shudder at her habit of crawling towards the forest edge the second their backs were turned. They feared they would lose her to the mist, that she would disappear into the hazy underbrush and never return. It wouldn't be the first time such a thing happened.

Those woods are cursed, she'd been explained when she was older. Too curious for her own good, they said. The trees disorient wanderers to feed on their souls.

At present, Elain tipped her head back to inhale a deep breath of the damp, loamy air. It felt clean in her lungs. Fuller than the breaths she could take in the temple. Her mind felt cleaner, too, all the details of the world so much richer. The chirping insects, the writhing soil, the dancing wind, all of it pulsing, bursting with life.

How could anyone get lost here? She often wondered, following the signposts the forest left for her. A stack of rocks, a croaking frog, a pointing branch. All of it as clear as if she were guiding her fingers across an atlas in Nesta's personal library. Turn right. Go straight. Turn left.

Then, the signposts became unusual. A set of footprints in the soil.

Elain paused at these.

As far as she knew, in all of her ten years of collected knowledge, she was the only person that frequented these woods. She'd never seen footprints before, not ones this recent. Not ones that the forest guided her to. That curious sensation in her chest grew stronger. A stumbling beat. A beckoning.

Go, the rustling leaves called to her. Go see.

At the bottom of a mossy knoll, slipping past a trickling creek, Elain saw what the forest was leading her towards.

A boy.

She had never seen him before, but Elain knew at once who he was. What he was.

A Vanserra.

There was no one in the temple with hair that color. It was braided in a loose tail down his back, though pieces of it escaped haphazardly, sticking to his clammy skin. He didn't stick out in the forest like she thought another person might. With his fox-like hair and his guarded posture, he looked like any cornered animal she might have found crouched in the sea of bluebells.

"Hello?" She called, keeping her volume hushed. The nesting birds didn't like when she raised her voice, and it was still too early for them to wake.

He lifted his head, and she saw that his russet eyes were red-rimmed, shining with tears. Snot ran down his nose, but he quickly wiped it away on his arm. His tears kept flowing, despite his efforts to mask them behind a glower.

"Who are you?" He bit out.

Thorns were never efficient deterrents to Elain. She didn't mind occasionally pricking her finger to admire a flower in bloom. Enduring the bite of stone on her skin if it meant feeling the earth beneath her feet. Tensions often ran high among the priestesses, and she'd developed a habit of meeting sharp teeth with an open palm.

It's why she didn't falter in her approach, even as the boy drew back his lips. The scent of copper stung her nostrils as she grew closer.

Elain stiffened. "You're hurt?"

"Go away," the boy sniffled, dropping his head into the knees he held bunched to his chest.

She waited, but the boy seemed intent on ignoring her. Elain recognized her youngest sister, Feyre, in the proud set of his jaw. She was too stubborn to admit when she was hurt, too.

"I'll go get help," she suggested, taking a step back towards the temple.

His head snapped up. "No!"

"No?" Elain tilted her head. "Why not?"

"They won't help me. Not my people, or yours."

She needed a moment to digest this answer, thinking through what she knew of the Vanserra family. They did not get along well with the temple. The High Priestess made no secret of her dislike, and Elain tried to recall the reasons why. How they were cruel. Scum of the earth. That they should rot at the bottom of the Mother's Cauldron. Though she had never been told why those things were said about the Vanserras, she thought the boy might be right. The High Priestess would insist on sending him back to his home on the other side of the dense forest that separated the seat of Autumn from its sovereign temple.

If they weren't willing to help, then Elain would just need to do it herself.

Check his back, the wind whispered, affirming her decision.

Elain crept along the dense carpet to find that his tunic was ripped, stripped away to reveal raw, angry flesh that had been torn into criss-crossing ribbons. Her breath hitched.

"Who did this to you?"

The boy didn't answer, his stare a sullen anchor in the undergrowth.

"What's your name?" She tried asking instead.

He glared at her. "Why should I answer? You never told me yours."

"Elain," she said, pulling a practiced smile across her lips. The scholars at the temple said pretty smiles helped alleviate tense conversations, and she would ascribe this one as such. "My name is Elain Archeron."

"Archeron," he repeated, practically spitting the word. "Go back to your temple, Elain."

"But you're hurt. Why would I leave you here?"

The boy looked at her as if the answer should be obvious. "Because I'm a Vanserra."

"Okay," she said, not letting her smile fall. "Which Vanserra?"

Not that it made any difference to her. She didn't know one Vanserra from the other, and regardless she would help him. She just thought it would be nice to know his name. He maintained his tense silence for a heartbeat. Then another. And then, Elain sensed a change, like a breeze rattling the leaves. Like a cracking branch.

The boy's expression faltered.

"Lucien," he said, voice dropping into a whisper. Like this was a secret he intended to keep from the forest itself.

"Lucien," Elain repeated, testing the new word with the same eagerness she approached most novel things. "I like that name. It sounds like…" She thought for a moment, replaying the sound in her head. "Rushing water. Or a crashing wave. Don't you think?"

Lucien looked bewildered. "What?" He dismissed the question with a shake of his head, replacing that momentary curiosity with yet another dark cloud. "Do the priestesses even know you're here, Elain?"

She had dealt with her sisters' sour moods frequently enough to recognize when someone was being intentionally difficult. It was a good thing she'd become accustomed to it.

"No," she said, coming closer to inspect his wounds. "But I gather your father doesn't know you're here, either."

"No, but I'm doing what he asked."

"And what is that?"

"Getting out of his sight," Lucien grumbled, ducking his head. "These woods seemed like the safest place to be."

Given what was said about the woods, and how gravely adults heeded those warnings, Elain took that to mean Lucien's other options of places to be must have been abysmal indeed. It had to be, if his wounds were inflicted on him there.

"I don't know much about healing yet," Elain admitted. "But I can run back to the temple and take supplies from the infirmary."

"Why?"

Elain was confused again. "Because you're hurt?"

"You don't know me," Lucien said, and he sounded a bit distressed. "You don't owe me anything."

"I know your name is Lucien. Like the sea."

His lips flattened. She didn't think he liked being compared to the sea. And she could understand why it could be an odd comparison. With his red hair and firey demeanor, water should be his opposite. But when she held her breath and listened, she knew that second beating in her chest was the sound of the waves crashing to shore. A proud, unstoppable force.

A lighthouse, guiding her here, to this moment.

She smiled at him, trying to shine that brightness back. "And I think that we owe each other kindness."

Lucien only huffed, bowed over his knees once again. Resigned to Elain's plan, or just whatever fate the forest had in store. Usually those things were one and the same.

"Wait here, Lucien. I'll be back soon."

"No one ever makes it out of these woods alive!" He called back to her.

Elain only laughed. She would prove him wrong soon enough.

-

"You came back?"

Elain beamed, which only seemed to sharpen Lucien's frown. "I told you I would."

He eyed the basket swinging from her elbow, russet eyes narrowing. In the time it took her to sneak into the palace and gather her supplies, a flush had swept across his cheekbones, gleaming under the soft moonlight.

"I'll have to be quick," she said. "You're starting to become feverish."

Lucien scoffed. "How do you know the first thing about treating wounds?"

"I don't." But the forest does.

Stalks of bluebell tickled her exposed knees as she knelt beside him. Nesta would scold her for wearing a nightgown in the unattended company of a boy, but Nesta wasn't there and Lucien was hardly paying attention. He looked like he was barely keeping himself upright.

"Drink this," Elain said, offering him a leather flask.

His fingers were shaking, but he had enough strength to snatch the flask from her hands and give it a distrustful sniff. "How do I know it isn't poisoned?"

"Because it would have been easier to leave you in the woods."

Lucien's nose wrinkled as he took another whiff. "What is it?"

"Willow bark tea."

She leaned closer to him, expecting he would retreat. His eyes only flicked to hers over the flask, monitoring each motion, each breath. The forest used to watch her like this too, when she first entered its mist as a curious intruder. Now she knew to keep her eyes on his, letting him read her intention as she slid her fingers into his hair.

Soft, she thought, absently spreading her touch to admire the thick tangle of silk. Like dipping her fingers into sun-warmed water.

"Drink." She tapped her other hand to his wrist, helping to guide the flask to his bloodied lips. "This will ease the pain of what comes next."

They held each other's gaze. Red and brown. Colors of the earth, clashing to determine whether it was easier to be soft or rigid. To fight the pain or yield. She understood why he resisted as staunchly as he did, because the moment he stopped, she watched the fear set in.

"It will be okay," she soothed, watching his throat bob around each determined swallow.

Lucien blinked at her in the aftermath. His scarlet brows drew a crease in the middle. "What… else was in the tea?"

"Shh." Elain hummed as she took the flask from him, setting it aside. She pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the strong heartbeat that she could hear in the back of her mind. It was slowing now. "All will be well, Lucien."

The look he cast her was stark with betrayal. His weight was beginning to slump against her.

"What did… you give me?"

"Sleep drought," she said, hushed. Like the voice her mother once used for singing lullabies. She stroked her fingers through his hair. "Just enough to knock you out, I promise."

His hand covered hers. She was sure the grip would have been crushing, if he had the strength for it. But all he could manage was a squeeze, a soft raking of his nails that was overall pleasant. She'd never minded thorns.

"I won't forget this," he swore.

"That's right." Elain began rocking him, imagining they were a ship lost in a sea of bluebells. "You will live to remember this, Lucien. And perhaps one day, you will thank me."

Elain waited until his body went limp and his heart became a slow timekeeper in her chest. Then she laid him down on his stomach, opened her basket of supplies, and began tending to his wounds under the instruction of the wind.

-

When Lucien finally woke, the afternoon sun was at its peak. Its dappling light filtered through the trees, shining over his body in warm clusters. Elain watched him stir from her hiding place in the trees.

He groaned as pushed himself up, and she winced to imagine how doing so would pull on those terrible lacerations at his back. She'd spent the early hours of the morning cleaning and packing his wounds, and though they were now dressed, they would still be tender.

Half of her was tempted to drop down from her hiding place and insist he put aside his pride so she could continue treating him. The other half knew that he would never agree after she had tricked him into drinking a sedative.

Surely, someone from his home would help him? If he could make it home, that was.

Elain held her breath as Lucien craned his neck to assess her work. He sent a searching hand over his shoulder, feeling at the bandages and the sticky poultice just underneath. A disgusted sound rose in the back of his throat, and he withdrew his hand to sniff at his fingers.

Would he smell the honey and yarrow? She wondered.

With a grimace, Lucien wiped the residue on his sleeve. She ducked behind the tree when his gaze pivoted, searching the clearing for any sign of his fraud healer. Only once she heard him shuffling through the remains of the basket did she allow herself to peek again.

Lucien quickly discovered the food and water she had left for him, but—as she suspected—his trust had vanished. With a huff, he cast her offerings aside.

"You want to help me, priestess?" He sneered. "Show me a way out of this Cauldron-forsaken forest."

I already have, she thought, removing the primrose tucked behind her ear. With an open palm held to her lips, she blew a gentle breath and watched it float into the air. Her timing was precise; it took only seconds before the flower was swept into the wind, coasting back-and-forth before it landed atop his crown.

Lucien immediately grabbed at the foreign object, crushing it in his first before he saw that it was not a bug. His tension relaxed, but rather than dismiss the crumpled flower, he continued to study it. Did he see that it was unlike any flower in the woods—all except the one Elain had tucked in the hollow of a nearby tree?

He tipped his eyes up, trying to track the flower's origin, as if it may have fallen from the trees overhead.

Keep looking, she urged him. Keep hold of that curiosity; it will be your salvation.

At last, he saw it.

Another primrose, its bright petals catching light from the dark cavity that had become its pedestal. Lucien went to it, plucking it from its intentional hiding spot with a scrutiny that she could tell was just bordering on a revelation.

With a frown, Lucien returned to the basket. He flipped it open, discovering the handful of other flowers just like it.

Well done, she wanted to say. You've discovered the source. But do you understand what I'm telling you?

Lucien's eyes were narrowed on the basket, then on the flower in his hand. He grumbled something under his breath, too low for even her sharp hearing to decipher. The forest must have heard, but it did not see fit to carry his words to her.

She almost laughed. Curse me all you want. I am the reason you will walk out of these woods.

His sharp eyes swiveled to her, and Elain quickly ducked out of sight.

"I'm choosing to trust you, Elain Archeron," Lucien announced. She bit her lip and gathered the courage to sneak another glance.

A smile was creeping at the corner of his lips. He was looking directly at her, and though she knew she was caught, he did not demand she come out of hiding.

He raised the primrose between two fingers, pointing it at the next flower she had laid for him. Just three trees away from the last one he had found, balanced on a branch. Then another, tucked under a rock. And another, all leading east.

A path of primrose, laid to guide him home.

"I won't appreciate being made twice a fool," he warned.

"Refusing my help will make you one," Elain called back. "If you're twice a fool, then that's twice I'll have had no hand in it."

She was surprised to find this made him laugh. Doubly so, when he finished chuckling to himself and smiled at her. A full, genuine smile that was so unlike the ornery glares she'd come to expect from him that it stunned her to silence.

"I hope we meet again, Elain."

Lucien turned, his gait stiff with pain as he followed her path from one primrose to the next. He didn't glance back at her, despite the uproar of birdsong and the chattering leaves. The sounds had no meaning to someone like him, but to Elain, they were an echo of the promise she could already feel pounding in her chest.

We will.

We will.

We will.

Present Day

Elain swallowed down the cold night air, raw against her throat as her lungs struggled to take in more, to expel it faster as she pumped her arms in tandem. She wasn’t wearing the right shoes for racing down a cobblestone alleyway—her ankles threatened to twist as she took a turn too sharply. She couldn’t afford to stumble now. She had to escape, had to—

“Clare?”

Elain whipped her head in the direction of the washroom door. A barmaid stood in the frame, one hand braced on the handle while the sound of music and raucous laughter flooded behind her.

Water dripped from Elain’s face. An odd sight, she was certain. She released the pooled liquid still cupped in her hands, listening to the water splash against the porcelain. It was how she grounded herself back in the moment. The caress of air against her wet face, the cool porcelain against her fingers.

Real. This was real. The alleyway, the chasing, the sore throat… she placed a wet hand against her neck, swallowing to ensure there was no pain.

All she could feel was her hammering pulse.

And the second, steadier heartbeat echoing underneath.

"I thought I saw you run in here." The barmaid clicked her tongue in a sound of pity, tossing a washrag over her shoulder as she rushed to Elain's side. "Did one of those drunken swines say something to you?"

As Elain began to shake her head, the barmaid caught her face between both sets of plump hands. She cooed and tutted under her breath, squishing Elain's cheeks together while she conducted her inspection.

"You're too pretty for a place like this," she said on a sigh. "It was bound to bring trouble eventually."

Elain maneuvered out of the barmaid's grip as gently as she could. "There's no trouble to be had. I was just taking a moment of respite."

There was something about a lie that could never sit comfortably on her tongue. They were like flightless birds stumbling from her lips, always a graceless plummet that drew everyone's attention.

"Mhm." The barmaid's eyes narrowed. She took a step back to re-examine Elain, paying close attention to her flushed cheeks. The damp around her face. She pursed her lips. "You're not pregnant, are ye? If you are, I can help."

"No." Elain waved away the suggestion with perhaps too much conviction. "Absolutely not. I've not—I'm not… There is no person like that in my life."

The barmaid snickered. "Well don't go around sharing that, duck. What good is a matchmaker who can't find herself a match? I'd tell people my husband died at sea." She grabbed the washrag off her shoulder and tossed it to Elain. "Now, clean yourself up. Innkeeper was asking for ye. Something about unpaid coin."

-

It was a busy night at the tavern. A group of traveling minstrels had just docked at the large port town, and that always drew crowds to the local drinking holes. Elain had been drawn, too, unable to resist her curiosity when she'd seen the fliers.

The Primrose Players were on stage, enrapturing the crowd with their story told through ballads, lutes, and fiddles. They were detailing a prince's journey across a treacherous sea, but she'd stopped listening when she felt that unmistakable sensation in her chest.

A second heartbeat. A battle drum.

A warning.

I'm coming for you.

It wasn't the first time she'd felt that pull over the years, but it was the first time it had been strong enough to send alarm bells peeling through her skull. She'd rushed to the bathroom when she'd felt the vision encroaching, and now she didn't know what to do with herself.

She'd been running in the vision, and she knew exactly who she was running from. But if she ran now, would she be careening herself straight into that destiny, or avoiding it?

"Clare!"

Elain turned to see the Innkeeper waving her down from behind the bar. With a sigh, Elain wedged her way through the crowd of people until she stood at the other side of the bar. Before the Innkeeper could open his mouth, she placed a stack of coins on the counter.

"Payment for yesterday, today, and tomorrow."

The Innkeeper fanned out the coins on the bar, counted the total in his head, then grunted his acceptance.

"I should be charging more, ye know." The coins scraped the wooden counter as he swept them into his apron pocket. "Do ye see how busy it is?"

"And how many are paying you in advance?"

His silence was the closest to agreement she would get. But seeing as how she'd be staying at his inn for another two nights, she decided to sweeten the deal by offering, "How about I add a free fortune telling?"

There was a staggering slap as the Innkeeper dropped his wet washrag on the counter. "I don't need yer quack fortunes," he said through a snort, focused on his task of rubbing the rag in wide circles. She wondered if he wasn't cleaning so much as dispersing the sticky residue across a wider area. "Just don't go scaring off my customers with bad news, witch."

Because Elain believed in the importance of regulating one's temper, she managed to excuse herself from the conversation with a deep breath and a tight smile. It also helped to imagine taking one of those tankers of watered-down ale and dumping it on his head.

Patience, she reminded herself. Causing a scene over a petty remark was not in her best interest.

On the other side of the tavern, The Primrose Players continued their story of the exiled prince, traveling the world in search of a way to reinstate his place by his father’s side. His ship finally made port, and it was there he would encounter the object of his desires. A quick glance around the crowd showed the most tavern-goers were transfixed in the story.

Having no interest in competing with the players for coin, Elain settled herself in a quiet corner and signaled at the barmaid to bring her the meal included with her stay. After dinner last night, she knew the Inn's stew was as cheap and watered down as the ale, but it was food.

She was halfway through her meal when a woman approached, her eyes wide and hopeful.

"You're the matchmaker?"

Elain forced herself to swallow the tough cut of meat she'd been grinding between her teeth.

"Yes," she said, wishing she had a napkin to wipe off the grease on her hands. "That's me."

"Please, will you tell me if I'll find a husband?"

The woman thrust her hand forward, not the least bit bothered by the mess. Elain still took the time to wipe her fingers off on her dress before she took the woman's hand.

Doing this always reminded Elain of the forest she'd walked through so long ago, as if by touching the woman's hand, she was transported through its mist. At once, the tavern faded. The music of The Primrose Players reduced into a distant hum. There was nothing here but the raw presence of nature.

Elain shut her eyes, listening as birds flitted overhead, darting from tree to tree. They sang to her as they passed, telling of the present, the future, the past. The wind swept her forward, taking her by the hand.

What do you want to know?

…Does this woman find a husband?

The birdsong tapered. Elain opened her eyes and saw a magpie perched before her, its head tilted to the side as it watched. She took a cautious step forward. The magpie shot into the air, letting out a call that was answered by another, further down the path. Elain followed as it darted through the trees, returning to the large nest where its mate waited.

The flight was short. This would be coming to pass in the near future.

"You will," Elain said, though her voice sounded so very far away. "Keep your heart open, and you will find him soon."

The woman dropped her hand, but not before Elain saw a primrose sitting in the hollow of the tree where the magpies nested. When her eyes rested on it, she heard a voice, bubbling up from a distant, forgotten memory.

I hope we meet again, Elain.

Her breath caught.

"What is it?" The woman asked, sounding stricken. "Did you see something bad?"

Elain was still staring vacantly at the spot the primrose had been, though the forest had vanished. There was only the crowded tavern and the minstrels still telling their story on stage. Her gaze had fixed on one of them, a player in a bronze mask whose only job seemed to be clapping and dancing along to the others.

"Not at all," Elain said, still waiting for the mist to clear from her vision. "I saw a future of mirth."

The woman followed Elain's gaze and made a knowing sound in her throat. "I see now. You're caught up in matchmaking of your own."

"Huh?" Elain frowned. "What do you mean?"

"That charmer in the fox mask." The woman shot her a conspirational grin. "Have you two been eyeing each other all night? Explains why he asked me to give this to you."

A primrose, as bright and delicate as she'd always known them to be, was cupped in the woman's palm. She extended it to Elain with a smile, and Elain shrank back as if she'd been met with a pointed blade.

The women's smile fell, but Elain no longer cared for keeping a pleasant image. There was no time for an explanation, let alone a goodbye. Her chair made a horrible screech as she scrambled to her feet, and she knew she was turning heads as she raced for the door, but it was already too late.

He would follow.

No matter where she went, he would follow.

Her only hope was getting a head start. With two heartbeats racing in her chest, Elain raced down the cobblestone streets of the small town, listening to her ill-suited shoes slap on the stone as she searched somewhere to run, somewhere to hide. Night had fallen, and most shops had already closed their doors, but there had to be somewhere to go. A horse, a ship, an unlocked cellar?

Elain turned down a dimly lit alley, feeling each of her great, gasping breaths saw down her throat. She wasn't used to running. It had been years since she last needed to.

Another break-neck turn at the end of the alley brought her to a dead-end. Elain swore under her breath. She'd go the other way, then. Whipping around the corner without looking, she crashed—hard—into the warm, tall body of the fox-masked player.

His arms stretched out to catch her from stumbling. The fox-mask was gone, leaving nothing to hide the smile already stretching his full lips. His scarlet hair was braided back from his face, the same way he'd worn it the last time she'd seen him.

In many ways, he was the same. Only older. Sharper. Wiser.

The scar across the left side of his face was new—new to her, at least. As if an animal had clawed his skin from brow to jaw. The russet eye she knew from memory had been replaced with a mechanical one that clicked and whirred as it focused on her.

She wanted to touch it. She wanted to scream at him. To weep in pity, to claw a matching scar on the other side of his face.

But most of all. Most of all. She wanted to pull this second heart out of her chest and give it back to him. It was too much of a burden to bear them both.

"People at the tavern tell me you're a fortune-teller." He smirked. "I've been looking for someone who fits that description."

Elain tried to shake away his touch, but his grip was iron-clad. "You shouldn't look for people who don't want to be found."

"But how can a fortune-teller be caught if she doesn't want to be?" Lucien leaned forward, exactly as warm and imposing as she remembered. His voice was a caress on her neck as he whispered, "Does that mean you missed me too, wife?"

[renehart13657]

A little Elucien one-shot for the Heartbeat prompt to celebrate the start of Elucien Week 2026. (And my headcanon of why Elain sat so far away from Lucien.)

Read The Cloak on A03

@elucienweekofficial

[elucienweekofficial]

[separatist-apologist]

Midnight Sun

Summary: Everyone knows Earth is lost to humanity, a wasted rock destroyed by nuclear war five hundred years before they fled to the stars.

Or, that's what Elain Archeron believed right until she crash landed on Earth's surface.

Notes: Massive, important, MAJOR thanks to @chelseamorninggirl and @limeandorange for letting me bounce this fic off of them, and for reading whole chapters of it and giving me their thoughts. It wouldn't exist without your encouragement- thank you.

for @elucienweekofficial | Read on AO3 | Chapter 1

-

Elain woke to hands on her face, her shoulders, her arms. From faraway, a woman’s voice was calling her name. They may have been screaming it from underwater. Elain allowed herself to bask for just a moment, floating in a hazy dream.

Reality came rushing back in as quick as anything else. The Station, the invasion, the pod— Elain gasped, sitting up quickly. Elains senses were quickly overwhelmed by the scent of loamy earth, the sound of wildlife, of insects, of a world she’d only ever read about in books and seen in videos. 

“Are we…?”

A smear of blood stained the bridge of Arina’s nose, making her look far fiercer than Elain was certain her friend felt in the moment. 

“Yeah,” Arina said, sitting fully down in the grass. “We’re on Earth.”

For a moment, the pair stared upward at the sky in wonder. They were beneath a canopy of swaying trees, taller than anything Elain could have ever imagined. Scooting ever so slightly, she ran her injured palms against the rough bark.

“Is that how it feels in the lab?” Arina asked with an awed reverence.

“No,” Elain replied, though truthfully she wasn’t sure. It must, though, because nothing like the wide tree before her could have ever grown in space. She saw, then, how woeful her attempts at growing bananas had been.

Of course they’d grow here. There was nothing but an endless expanse of blue sky to reach for. What was there in space? Artificial lights that hummed all the time? Recycled air pumped in and scrubbed on an endless cycle? Carefully measured nutrients and water that wasn’t even real—

“I can’t believe we’re here,” Elain said, rising to her feet. She winced, pushing aside the fabric of her jumpsuit to reveal a nasty gash cut deep into her thigh. In her excitement, she hadn’t noticed but now as she stood, the wound began to burn angrily with pain. 

“No one knows,” Arina reminded Elain, bending before her friend to tie a strip of cloth over the oozing wound. It would do a passable job of keeping out infection…until the virus took hold of them, anyway. Elain had forgotten why humanity had abandoned Earth in the first place. In textbooks, it was said the virus killed ninety nine percent of people and began killing after forty eight hours. It was airborne, which meant they could have begun inhaling it the moment they crash landed.

That thought didn’t provide Elain with any comfort. It was too late to go back, too late to undo it. Elain glanced upward at a clear, blue sky devoid of even clouds. The moon was visible faintly, an anchor of the home in the sky she’d left.

“Someone might come looking for us,” Arina began, eyeing the wreckage of their pod. Her suit had been sliced along her abdomen before she’d carefully ripped it away, revealing her toned abs smeared in more blood and bruises. 

“They won’t,” Elain replied, not willing to pretend anyone would risk a virus they still knew so little about to rescue the pair of them. Maybe if Elain had been Nesta, or Graysen, but… “I want to see what we can before…”

“Can you walk?” Arina asked. Elain braced her weight against the tree for a moment before staggering forward. She could, though she was slow. Arina scrounged around a bit until she found a sturdy branch that could double as a walking stick for Elain. It was large enough that Elain could press her entire bodyweight into it if she needed to without risking it snapping. 

They were surrounded by dense, oak forests. Elain could catch the scent of something in the distance—something strangely foul, like an onion gone bad…or a skunk, which she’d only ever read about, but never seen. Anyone with sense would have turned the opposite direction, but Elain wanted to see what, exactly, was waiting on the opposite end of the forest. 

Elain found yarrow dotting the forest floor and spent a good deal of time plucking them from the root so she might make a poultice for her wound later on, but otherwise nothing that stood out as particularly helpful or edible. 

Earth was diverse, and depending on where they’d landed would depend on what was available to them. Elain was hardly an expert on the biomes of her home planet, which meant finding yarrow didn’t help her much—yarrow was native to north america, europe, and asia. 

They broke through the tree line when the sun was high in the sky beating down on them. Elain finally understood what humidity was meant to feel like and it was brutal. Sweat pooled beneath Elain’s heavy suit, designed to keep humans warm in the cold vacuum of space. Here, however, it was too hot. Arina had unbuttoned hers, tying the arms around her waist while using her undergarments as a make-shift shirt.

Even knowing they were alone, Elain wasn’t brave enough to do the same. What if they came upon someone? A new version of humanity evolving slowly over the years? It was something she spent a lot of time thinking about. Surely the whole planet couldn’t be uninhabitable? And looking around her, Elain saw scurrying creatures on the forest floor, birds overhead, and bugs everywhere. 

She’d always wondered what a mosquito bite might feel like. Now Elain was aggressively smacking them between her palms anytime one got close. When she died, she was certain it would be the mosquito that devoured her corpse. 

“Elain, are you—” Arina stopped speaking, head whipping to the side. Elain had heard it too—a branch snapping so loudly it sounded like a gunshot. Up until that moment, Elain assumed they were the largest things moving through the forest. If humans had all been killed, surely the large land predators had, too? Neither of them moved from fear, waiting to see if anything would happen. Was it Elain’s imagination, or had everything gone still? Quiet?

“Arina,” Elain whispered, “should we run.”

Arina held out her hand, gleaming gold in the sun. “Don’t let go.”

The pair took off just as something—Elain was too scared to turn behind her and look—came rushing through the foliage. 

“Wait!” 

A man's voice called for them, but that was wrong, too. Everyone was dead. Maybe a predator had learned to mimic the sounds of human speech? Elain gripped Arina’s hand, running as fast as they could. All she could hear was her pounding ears and her heavy panting. The thick, warm air wasn’t making things easier, either. 

A moment later, something solid and hard slammed into her, knocking her to the forest floor with such force, Elain couldn’t breathe. Her mouth opened instinctively for air, but all she managed was a few mud coated twigs and grass. 

Arina turned, slowly raising her hands in the air, eyes pinned on Elain. “Get off her,” she whispered.

A man—a fully formed, human man, rolled off her body, his gun discarded a few feet away. Another man stood a few feet off, his own weapon loose at his side though Elain noted his finger was still on the trigger. They’d kill her if they felt threatened. 

Elain looked at the man with the mop of brown curls dusting the mud from his knees. Quickly, Elain scrambled to her feet, wishing she had her own weapon. Even a piece of shrapnel from the ship would have been better than nothing at all.

“Who are you?” Arina demanded, hands on her hips. “Where did you come from?”

The brunette spluttered, turning toward his friend with braided, auburn hair as if to say, who does she think she is?

But he answered. “Earth. Where did you come from?”

“Space,” Elain whispered, squinting upward. “Our space station was attacked.”

Both men turned to look at one another again. “Excuse me?”

Elain took a step back, suddenly unsure.

“What do you mean, you can from space?” the red haired one asked. He stepped into a patch of sunlight, revealing four horrific gashes that sliced from forehead to jaw, right through his left eye. Both of them were a warm, russet colored brown, and Elain was willing to bet he was blind in at least one of them. 

Elain didn’t know how to answer that, so she asked a question of her own, “You’re from Earth?”

Arina reached for Elain’s wrist and pulled her back, creating a sizable distance between the two groups.

“Tell me everything,” the first man demanded. Arina took a step backward.

“I’m not telling you shit,” she swore, holding his gaze. “You tell us how you two managed to survive.”

The first man’s jaw fell open. “Survive what?”

“Earth isn’t habitable,” Arina told them, as if they ought to know it. “Disease, war, famine…”

“Sounds like another Tuesday to me,” the dark haired man quipped. “But we’re still here. We never left.”

“How many?” Elain asked. Had Nesta known the whole time? Had Graysen? How many people had known and simply concealed it from her, from everyone? “How many people are still here?”

“Billions,” the second man said, head slightly cocked to the side. Tendrils of thick hair floated around an admittedly handsome face, brushed away by impatient fingers only to cling to his sweaty skin. 

“Billions,” Elain repeated, turning to look at Arina. “Billions, and I’m trying to grow a banana!”

“You’re doing what?” the second man interrupted, as if she’d been talking to him.

“We don’t know if they’re telling us the truth,” Arina reminded Elain, looking over her head at the two men. “They could be—”

“Get down!”

Overhead, a loud woosh of something flew over them. Elain flattened herself to the ground, throwing her arms over her head. The sound was deafening, like standing in front of the fuel propulsion in the dead of night. Her ears rung from the violence off it even with her fingers stuffed inside.

“We need to go,” the first man yelled over the noise. “If Vanserra finds them—”

“Go? No, we need a way home,” Arina yelled in response. The chaos was overwhelming to Elain. 

“You are home,” the second man said just as something shook the ground beneath their feet. Elain fell backward into the red heads arms. 

“What is that?”

“Your worst nightmare,” he told her seriously. “You have a choice to make. You can stay or you can run.”

He held her gaze, his expression foregoing the earlier curiosity for urgency. Decide now. Elain didn’t want to go back—she knew it the moment she’d woken on the planet she’d long dreamed of, and she knew it now. Jerking her wrist from the man's grip, she took off running beside him. His legs were much longer and more attuned to the exertion. Elain could not keep their breakneck pace indefinitely—she had another thirty seconds in her before she was winded.

The other man flanked the other side of her, pushing into her to turn the three of them in a specific direction.

“Wait! Where is Arina?” Elain yelled, but it was too late. Elain had decided, and so, too, had her friend. Stars. Being separated was a mistake more than staying—what if they hurt her? Killed her? “I have to go back—”

“Nope,” said the first man. “Lucien!”

Lucien’s arm swung out faster than Elain could react, swinging her upward and over his shoulder. He grunted beneath the deadweight but his pace didn’t slow for a second. 

“Where are you taking me?!” she demanded, her panic rising in her throat. They were strange men who was now captive of strange humans on a strange planet. 

Lucien’s pace slowed until he loosened his hold on her, dropping her back to her feet. “We’re not going to hurt you,” he said.

“What’s your name?” the second one added.

“You first,” she replied, wishing she sounded half as confident as Arina had. All alone, now Elain’s voice had an unmistakable quaver to it. 

“Jurian. And this is Lucien,” he replied, hesitating for a moment before holding out his hand. Elain had no intention of shaking it—she didn’t believe they didn’t have some horrible infection that they’d already given her, ing her as liberally as they had. His hand hung there for a moment before he pulled it back looking a little sheepish. 

“My name is Elain,” she told them, choosing not to share her last name just in case they were lying to her. The last thing she needed was hostage negotiations when Nesta was…where was Nesta? Elain was ashamed to realize she hadn’t thought of her sister once that day. Either of them, actually.

“Elain,” Lucien replied, far more charming than Jurian. “It’s a tall ask, but I need you to trust me just a little bit.”

“I don’t,” she admitted, wrapping her arms around her body. “Why should I?”

“You’re not dead, are you?” Jurian snapped, his patience at an end.

“Is Arina—”

“No,” Lucien interrupted smoothly just as Jurian said, “Probably.”

“She’s not. She’s not, she’s fine,” Lucien told Elain, but she didn’t believe him now. “You can’t go back.”

“Who are you?”

Lucien knocked on a large tree trunk. A moment later, a door pushed open, revealing nothing but more darkness. 

“I’ll go first,” Jurian grumbled. “Follow behind her.”

“Are you going to kill me?” Elain asked him. 

Lucien only sighed. “No, Elain, we’re not going to kill you. We’re bringing you to the resistance.”

—

In retrospect, Arina should have run when Elain did. How far had she gotten before she realized Arina wasn’t behind her. Arina didn’t want to stay on a polluted, filthy planet that was likely so toxic it was slowly killing her. When the two strange men took off, Arina was convinced staying and waiting out whatever was coming was the only correct choice.

She hadn’t expected Elain to take off with them. That was a mistake, in retrospect, to assume Elain wouldn’t want to know more about Earth. She’d been obsessed with it for as long as Arina could remember. If there was a possibility that Elain could remain, Arina knew she would.

She’d expected more rough looking men. Not…men in sleek black uniforms, visors obscuring their eyes, and chrome weapons all pointed directly at her.

Six on two sides, slowly moving around her to encircle her. Trap her. Another man, dressed in all white with a draping red cape, stepped into view. He looked evil, she decided. His hair was pushed off his face, cut neatly into a clean taper at the nape of his neck. His collar was starched, his military adornments neatly pinned to his jacket. He tugged on one of his leather gloves before looking up at her.

Arina recognized that face. Paler, and more freckled, but otherwise a near match for the long haired man that had just absconded with her friend. Brothers? Cousins? Incredibly inbred? There was no way to know for sure.

“You’re getting sloppy,” he drawled, his voice deeper than she’d expected. Arina imagined some nasally, reedy voice erupting from his throat–it seemed only fair given his face seemed to have been sculpted by a loving god. 

“What?” she heard herself ask. Get yourself together before he kills you. “You don’t know me?”

“Oh, but don’t I?” he questioned, eyes sliding up and down her body. A crease formed between his brows when he realized she’d undone her top and tied it around her waist to try and keep herself from baking in the heat. Even then, Arina would have killed everyone in that forest for a shower and some H2More. “You’re all the same. Unwashed, illiterate, and brimming with hope that you can take down the Imperium.”

“The what?” she breathed before her anger caught up with her. “Illiterate?” 

His eyes focused on her face before he raised his gun, letting it rest a whisper's breath from her forehead. “I’ll make you a deal. You tell me where Lucien and Jurian are hiding, and I’ll give you a quick, clean—”

Arina surged forward, moving her head so the barrel of his weapon was resting in the tangled mess that was her hair, and in one fluid motion put her hands on his shoulders despite the height distance between them, and kneed him brutally hard between his legs.

Twelve identical whines lit up the air around her. At her feet, the man groaned, doubled over, palms flat on the ground as he desperately tried to catch his breath. Arina didn’t care if they killed her, she decided. It was worth it to see that smug expression slide off his face, replaced by furious agony.

She crouched beside him, ignoring all the lasers illuminating her skin. “I’ll tell you one thing right now,” she murmured before gripping his chin roughly, “I don’t let men talk to me however they like, gun or not.”

“Is that so?” he choked out. “You’re going to die here, you know.”

She pushed his face away from hers, well aware she was still bulletless. “I need to go home.”

He stood, taking a shaky breath. His cheeks were ruddy with unmistakable hatred. He strode forward, fisting her hair until her neck was bent at an unnatural angle. With his free hand, he pressed his gun to her temple.

“Tell me where they are.”

She wasn’t going to tell him shit if Elain was with them. “I’ve come from The Tuscon,” she said instead, praying Lucien and Jurian had been lying about humans in space, just like they’d lied about humans on Earth. “We were attacked, and my pod crashed here. You have to send us back.”

“Us?”

Lie, she decided, catching the fury in his amber eyes. “She’s been…taken. By forest men?” Arina didn’t know who they’d been. “We need to go back, her sister is military—she’ll be looking for her.”

He understood enough judging by the way his grip slackened in her hair. He craned his neck upward for a moment, as if he could see the wreckage through the clouds and atmosphere. Raising his hand, he motioned for his soldiers to lower their weapons.

“It’s your lucky day,” he told her, his expression telling her she’d run out of luck long before he’d shown up. She should have ran with Elain. It was too late for regrets when his gloved fingers wrapped tightly around her upper arm.

“Where are you taking me?”

“You want to leave the planet? You’ll have to ask the Governor," he told her. 

“Governor?” she asked dumbly. They had a society here. Something elegant and well-oiled, and large enough that twelve soldiers and…whoever this man was…could just come and scoop her up.

“Whats your name?”

“Eris Vanserra,” he replied in clipped tones. He didn’t ask her name.

She decided to tell him anyway. “My name is Arina.”

He glanced over his shoulder, gaze holding hers for just a moment. He looked like it interested him, if only a little bit. He walked her toward a sleek ship with three pointed sides, similar to large, misshapen triangle. His soldiers did not get in with them.

“Sit,” he demanded, all but shoving her into the co-pilots chair. “If you  anything I’ll cuff you to the toilet.”

“Are all Earth men this charming, or just you?” she grumbled, yanking her arm so roughly from his grasp she knew it would leave a mark. 

“Your friend…” he began, flipping switches with barely a thought. She wondered if he was any good, or if he was just used to it all. 

“What about her?”

“She’ll need to return with you.”

“Well, I don’t know where they took her.”

“Why didn’t they take you, too?” he asked, eyes narrowed again.

“I’m hard to move against my will,” she replied. He shifted in his seat as though trying to soothe his aching balls. Good. Next time he’d think twice before getting so close to her or speaking to her so roughly. She’d survived her father, and she wasn’t about to let some stranger revive his methods. 

The ship began hovering, engines whirring softly beneath them. Eris looked over at her again, appraisingly this time. “You need to clean up before you meet with Beron.”

“What does that mean?”

He gestured toward her, reminding her she was technically wearing pants and a bra. “You need a shower.”

She wouldn’t argue with that. “Alright. A shower, and then I’ll talk with Beron.”

He looked out the large view port, and if that was because it needed his attention or he didn’t want to admit that talking with Beron was not going to go as smoothly as she was hoping, he didn’t say. Cool air brushed against her face, cooling her flushed skin for the first time since the Teryx attack. 

Arina rubbed her eyes, more exhausted than she’d been in months. Reclining in the leather chair, she tried not to let her anxiety get the better of her. She wasn’t dead, was she? It seemed like that was the most she should hope for, given the circumstances.

He rose high above the trees and Arina gasped. Buildings, taller than anything she’d ever seen, stretched like long limbs toward the sky. It was as if they too were trying to return to the stars. Sleek and modern, reflective of the sunlight, Arina understood that Earth wasn’t abandoned. It never had been—it had simply continued on, the same as everyone else.

So why did the galaxy think it had been abandoned.

She’d have to find out. 

[qwilla-art]

"I can hear taste your heart beating..."

Elucien Week Day One: Heartbeat

We all love a good Vampire AU (I know I do) and I thought it would be a fitting twist on the "heartbeat" prompt this week! Stay tuned for more art from me this week and make sure you check out @elucienweekofficial for tons more art, moodboards, playlists, fanfiction, etc!!

[tinyy-jj]

Elucien Week 2026

Day 1- Heartbeat

1/3

Read me on ao3

The self made, independent, Elain Archeron is happy with her life. She has a newly acquired house, a stable job, and a boyfriend. She is happy in her “living alone era”. At least that is what she tells herself as she holds tight to the strange warmth that greets her whenever she feels most alone… which is most nights. The last thing she expects is a ghost with hair like a living flame and alluring russet eyes trapped within its walls. So, what is she to do when he appears, as cunning as a fox, to upturn her life?

Thank you @zenkindoflove , @gooseyjossip , and @chaol-apologist for all your help on this fic! You are all so wonderful :)

@elucienweekofficial

[norabraveseeker]

Day 1: Heartbeat | @elucienweekofficial

You can support the artwork here: Elucien Day: 1 Heartbeat

Soulmate is too soft a word for the string that tied my heart to yours.

@goghwilde , @miseryreads , & I wanted to kick things off with this beautiful artwork by @penpapernaiad. We absolutely love the way you drew them and showing the love and tenderness displayed by these characters.

Art 🎨 by @penpapernaiad

Commissioned by @goghwilde , @miseryreads , & myself

Characters belong to @sarahjmaas & @bloomsburypublishing

✨Please do not alter, edit, or use for anti content✨

[sofiameriggiart]

Day 1 in the Elucien Week: “Heartbeat”

@elucienweekofficial

I made this mini comic based on their first interaction in the House of Wind, where Elain tells Lucien that she can hear his heartbeat, but with some changes of my own. 😉💜

[termagax]

"you only like her because shes a woman" yup "you let female characters get away with too much" yes "if a man did this you would hate him for it" indeed

[lucychanart]

demon Lulu🖤🩸✨️

[luciensdefenseattorney]

Happy Birthday, Elain 🍰

A commission I did for thefoxthefawn on ig

[unhealthyfanobsession]

I really think everyone who has any feelings whatever way about any of the Archeron sisters could really help to be reminded that they are 22-26 and every other character in the series is like 500.

“Feyre committed war crimes” - Feyre was a 20 year old going through a bad breakup who girl bossed way too close to the sun. Take your Spring Court falling apart issues up with the 500 year old High Lords who watched and allowed it. If the man I thought I was going to marry at 19 had a Court I probably would’ve crashed that shit too. FRONTAL LOBE NOT YET DEVELOPED!!

“Nesta is a bitch/abusive/mean” Nesta is a teenage girl with a sister and they have all been put into horrible circumstances (reminder: Cassian physically beat Rhys up and no one calls him “abusive”) and then she is a traumatized S.A. survivor who literally died and is being constantly put in situations she is very uncomfortable with and has frankly incredibly tame reactions (I mean, it’s not like she goes around telling people they are unlovable and that everyone hates them).

“Elain is useless/boring/doesn’t do anything.” Oh so we hate Feyre for fucking shit up and we hate Nesta for being “mean” and now we also hate Elain for *checks notes* “nothing.” Elain is a girl whose entire life was turned upside down twice and she is quite literally navigating her mind no longer being entirely her own as well as a weird new bond she doesn’t understand. What do you want her to do, exactly? She picked up a knife when the situation call for it OK. Not to mention that we seriously have enough centuries old warriors taking up their swords we don’t need Elain and her rolling pin bonking the enemy now the war is over ok GOD FORBID A GIRL HAVE HOBBIES AND ENJOY THEM

Anyway thank you for coming to my ted talk on the infuriating state of misogyny in a series with a largely female fan base. Be mad at the men. They’re all insane frankly - and sometimes hot, and it’s fantasy, so it’s fine but GOOD LORD PEOPLE.

[illyrianbuck]

my children……how I’ve missed you…

[areyoudreaminof]

I hope Elain is actually growing weed. That’s why she’s sneaking off. Let our girl get some bud growing. Making some edibles for the elderly fae in Velaris. I know she makes a bomb ass weed brownie.

[2886beaconstreet]

ao3 asking if i want to see mature content. do i want to see birds in the sky. do i want to feel the wind in my hair and the grass under my feet