ash - i love to read

i write things sometimes too || mostly ACOTAR she/her || 20s

[clockwork-ashes]

Masterlist

Outsider - Lucien Vanserra one-shot

Son of Autumn - Eris Vanserra short one-shot

Daylight - (Eris Vanserra one-shot) The smallest of stones, the greatest of ripples. Eris learns that Beron is not Lucien's father.

Only Embers - Eris lies to Beron to protect his mother's secret (short one-shot).

Wildflowers - Eris goes to visit Lucien in the Spring Court and instead just bothers Tamlin (one-shot).

Mirrors - The Lady of Autumn has a difficult conversation with her eldest son (one-shot).

First Date - (Gwyn x Az one-shot) Gwyn and Az go on their first date.

The Little Things - (Elain x Lucien one-shot) Elain knows how important the little things are when it comes to her relationship with Lucien.

Unknown - (Helion x LoA one-shot) The Lady of Autumn meets with Helion.

All Things End - (Helion x LoA) Part I // Part II

All You Have is Your Fire - (Elain x Lucien multi-chapter, in progress)

Part I // Part II // Part III // Part IV // Part V // Part VI // Part VII // Part VIII // Part IX // Part X // Part XI // Part XII // Part XIII // Part XIV // Part XV // Part XVI // Part XVII //

[olenvasynyt]

Fluttering Wings CH 5: Dahlias

Elain x Lucien | Rated Explicit | 5/25(?) chapters | 21,819 words

Summary:

Plagued by mysterious visions and war on the horizon, Elain Archeron must challenge herself and her usefulness to the Night Court. So when Lucien is called back to his estranged home to stop Beron from gaining territory in Spring, the two mates find themselves confronted with similar paths, forced to address the mating bond they've been avoiding for two years.

Read chapter 5   ||   Start from the beginning 

Snippet below cut:

The male with the braid rested a bruised hand on a tree trunk.  “Are you lost, my love?” he crooned, tilting his head at Elain.

With her heart daring to leap out of her throat, she pressed closer to Kohana.  “No, sir.  We’re travelling.”

The male smiled, his genial air so in contrast with his cruel, amber-colored eyes.  “Quite an unusual road for a Spring female to travel on.” He gazed leisurely down the empty path, then onto her green dress peeking from underneath Kohana’s borrowed coat.   His smile grew wider.  “So far away from home.”

Hoping she sounded calmer than she felt, she replied, “That is the circumstances of travel.  One will be far from home before traversing closer.”

The cronies around them chuckled, their voices like crackling embers.  In Elain’s periphery, one pushed aside his tattered cloak to reveal a knife—not the jeweled weapons she had seen on Lucien’s person, but the plain metal looked just as sharp.

The leader with the auburn braid chuckled at her retort.  “Indeed, my lady.  But I didn’t realize such esteemed High Fae associated with disfigured rabble such as this one.”  He raised an eyebrow at Kohana.

Kohana squeezed her arm, as if to warn her to stop talking.  All of the faerie’s teasing and confidence seemed to be buried in the presence of the High Fae males: the female kept her eyes down, though Elain couldn’t help but notice her other hand slipping beneath her cloak.  

Two females—one unarmed and frankly useless in the foreign court—against three males with already bruised fists and weapons hanging at their belts.  They would lose, surely, before Elain’s sisters or Lucien could even realize she was missing from Night.

Lucien.  He would surely become aware of her absence in Night, if he hadn’t already.  Amidst the fear weaving its way inside her, the bond tugged hard and heavy.  

He had held you before the Cauldron, a small voice said.  He had fought through the battle for you, blood staining his hair and skin.  And he would do the same now.  

A small twinge of hope.  Despite the illogic of it, despite the miles between them, despite everything…her body screamed for him.

But he had not saved her then.  It had been her to wield the knife.  And he had certainly not saved her before, when her mortal life had ended and her immortal one forced upon her.  If anything, it had been his fault it had happened, she thought, a bitter sadness and desperation fighting against the cursed bond.  The Hybernian soldiers who had taken her and Nesta from the beds: their leering faces, their hands wrapping around their wrists and ankles—

Now, she was on some country road in the heart of Autumn, miles away from the border with Spring, and again forced to face males she would no doubt lose against.

[erisweekofficial]

Here are some prompts to help you brainstorm ways to contribute to Eris Week. Whether you're into writing fic, creating art, crafting quotes, developing headcanons, theorising, making playlists, or anything else, these questions can help spark your creativity! Remember, we're all here to support each other's ideas, so feel free to step out of your comfort zone and try something new!

Read more below the cut.

Siblings

How have Eris’s relationships with his brothers shaped who he is?

How deeply does Eris actually care for his siblings?

How deeply does he care for Lucien? Or not at all?

What lines would Eris accept to cross when it comes to his siblings?

Is there any genuine loyalty between the Vanserra brothers?

Is there a competition for power between Eris and his brothers?

What memories bind the brothers together despite everything?

Does Eris see his siblings as allies, rivals, or something in between?

What would it take for Eris to truly trust one of his brothers?

How did growing up under Beron shape their idea of brotherhood?

Would Eris choose his brothers over power, or power over his brothers?

Father Figure

How will Beron’s influence shape Eris’s approach to fatherhood?

Can Eris care for someone without turning that care into control?

What kind of mentor would Eris be to someone young and vulnerable? To his brothers?

How does Eris respond when someone places their trust in him?

In what moments does Eris act most like the father he never had?

Does Eris want to become a father himself or is he afraid he’ll turn into his father?

How does Eris’s relationship with his father influence Eris’s relationship with other people?

In what ways does Eris embody the idea of a father figure?

Does Eris see his father as someone to look up to or reject? How will this develop in the future?

[eluciey]

🍁Lady Of Autumn🍁

[olenvasynyt]

Mor x Andromache: for @sjmsapphic Day 3: Identity + Slice of Life

"During the War, I finally took my first female lover. Her name was Andromache. And she was...so beautiful. And kind. And I loved her...so much. But she was human. And a queen---who needed to continue her royal line, especially during such a tumultuous time. So I left---went home after the last battle. And when I realized what a mistake it was, that I didn't care if I only had sixty more years with her...The Wall went up that day."

Made with procreate! Ramble and timelapse below cut

Dana likes her doomed lovers surprise surprise😩 but Mor and Andromache man...🥺 of course it makes my heart ache.

I included pansies as a queer symbol for their secret identities, Andromache's long golden hair and tiara for her royalty, the Night Court sigil on Mor's shield, and idk insert something about Mor holding on, shown in her eyes on Andromache, while Andromache has her eyes closed, maybe representing her dreaming of her freedom...I picture this scene sometime during the War when they meet in secret as a little slice of life. Battles have died down but tensions are of course there, and they find a place where they can have a safe moment, even if it’s just for a little while.

[chunkypossum]

[clockwork-ashes]

In Love with a Stranger - Part I

Read on Ao3

Summary: When the Night Court sends Elain Archeron and Lucien Vanserra to the Spring Court as its representatives, Prythian is given a carefully crafted story: the two are engaged, a symbol of unity and stability.

Note: SURPRISE!!! this is for the amazing @clarafae for the 2025 @acotargiftexchange!!! i was so happy to get to write something for you over the past few weeks, and it was so nice getting to know you a little as i worked on this fic <3 thank you for answering all of my questions, i hope you enjoy the regency vibes ;)

The Spring Court had always been beautiful in Elain’s dreams.

During the Winter Solstice celebrations, that beauty felt hand-painted, intentional.

Frost edged the wrought-iron gates of the manor in delicate filigree, as though the cold itself had been careful to lay only the prettiest designs. Lanterns hovered along the drive, glass spheres lit from within by the flickering glow of fireflies, their colours shifting subtly from gold to green to pale blue. The light reflected off dew-damp petals and marble statuary, lending the estate an air of quiet enchantment.

Elain felt the land’s attention settle on her the moment the carriage crossed the wards onto the Rosehall estate. A soft pressure bloomed behind her eyes, not yet a vision, a simple awareness for the moment. 

She clasped her hands together before she could fidget.

Her gloves were pale cream leather, soft enough that she could feel the faint warmth of her own skin beneath them. Her gown, silk in a shade between pearl and moonlight, fell in gentle folds rather than rigid structure, the waistline high, the neckline modest but elegant. Feyre had insisted it would read as approachable, and not as submissive. Elain had trusted her sister’s instincts.

Lucien, she knew without looking, read as neither approachable nor harmless.

“You’ve been very quiet,” he remarked at last, his voice easy, almost lazy, as he lounged across from her. One ankle rested atop the opposite knee, posture relaxed in a way that was entirely deliberate, cultivated over centuries of court life. “I find myself wondering whether you are calm, or whether you are planning something.”

Elain’s ears caught the soft, familiar click of his golden eye adjusting, the sound oddly intimate in the enclosed space of the carriage.  

“I am rehearsing,” she replied. “Which you would do well to respect.”

She heard the smile in his voice before he spoke. “I respect it immensely. I simply enjoy pretending otherwise. It keeps people uncertain.”

“It keeps me uncertain,” she said. “And that defeats the purpose.”

That earned her a quiet laugh.

Elain finally looked at him.

He wore Spring green as though it had been woven for him, deep wool, impeccably tailored, embroidery so fine it vanished unless the light struck it just right. Gold traced the cuffs and collar, not ostentatious, but unmistakably courtly. His copper hair was tied back with a simple ribbon, no clasp, no insignia. A careful choice, Elain was sure. 

A male presenting himself as unattached, and yet unmistakably claimed.

“You could stand to look a bit more concerned,” Elain said, perhaps more sharply than she intended.

“And spoil the illusion?” Lucien asked, one dark brow lifting. “Never.”

She frowned faintly. “This is not an illusion. This is—” She faltered, searching for a word that did not sound fragile or foolish, and finally settled on, “—diplomacy.

“Ah.” Lucien inclined his head, mock solemn. “My favorite kind of performance. One with consequences.””

Elain exhaled slowly through her nose, counting the breath. “The other courts will be watching us. Closely. Rhysand and Feyre want unity. They want stability.” Her gaze dropped to her clasped hands. “Especially now that we no longer have to worry about Briallyn.”

“And nothing soothes political nerves like a respectable attachment,” Lucien said lightly. “Especially one that discourages certain familial ambitions.”

Elain’s fingers tightened together. “Your family has not arrived yet, at least not according to Azriel’s shadows.”

“No,” he agreed, shifting in his seat. “But Autumn never misses an opportunity for spectacle. If not Eris, then another brother. Or my father, if he wishes to make a statement.”

His knee brushed her skirts as the carriage jolted slightly over the drive’s stones. The bond stirred at his nearness, insistent. Elain ignored it with practiced precision, fixing her attention on the window instead.

“And Tamlin,” she added. “He’s hosting. That alone makes this precarious.”

Lucien’s expression sharpened, not darkening, but honing. “My father has made Autumn’s intentions clear enough. And Tamlin—” He paused, considering. “Tamlin is reminding the courts that Spring still stands. That he still stands.”

“And we are here to help him do so,” Elain offered. “Publicly. Peacefully.”

“Sounds perfectly manageable.” Lucien’s russet eye flicked to hers. “Peace has never been uncomplicated.

She frowned deeply at his words, biting the inside of her cheeks as the carriage slowed.

Elain felt the land shift, felt Spring’s magic curl cautiously around the carriage like a vine, a whisper of attention.

Lucien noticed her stillness. “You feel it.”

“Yes,” she said. “The court… Is it listening?”

“One can never be entirely certain,” he replied, a grin on his lips, canines sharp. “Welcome to Spring, Lady Elain Archeron.”

The carriage came to a stop.

Lucien offered her his hand.

Elain hesitated only a heartbeat before placing hers in his palm, her gloves the perfect, polite shield between them.

The bond flared anyway.

Lucien’s fingers tightened once, just once, before he smoothed the contact into something courtly, something acceptable. He did not look at her as he helped her descend, but his thumb brushed lightly across her knuckles, as though grounding himself as much as her.

“Remember,” he murmured, too low for any ears but hers. “We are absurdly fond of each other.”

“Absurdly,” she echoed.

Servants lined the steps in symmetrical perfection, their gazes quick and curious. Elain felt them assessing her worth in half a breath. Her posture. Her expression. Who she stood beside.

Tamlin waited at the top of the steps, clad in winter white and pale gold. He looked… steadier than she had expected. Quieter, too. His gaze flicked first to Lucien, something unspoken passing between them. Regret, perhaps even forgiveness, though Elain doubted that word came easily to either of them.

“Lucien,” Tamlin said at last.

The single word carried the weight of years, a friendship fractured but not forgotten.

“Tamlin,” Lucien replied, bowing deeply, every inch the polished courtier. The gesture was formal enough to satisfy onlookers, but not so stiff as to imply estrangement. “It has been too long.”

“Yes,” Tamlin agreed. His voice was even, his posture carefully composed. If there was strain there, it was buried beneath layers of restraint. His gaze slid past Lucien then, settling on Elain, and something in his expression softened, not warmth exactly, but courtesy edged with sincerity. “You are welcome in Spring, Lady Elain. May your stay here be a pleasant one.”

Before Elain could decide how best to respond, whether a curtsy or a bow would be most appropriate, Lucien’s arm curved around her waist.

The motion was smooth. Unassuming. 

Deliberate.

Her breath caught despite herself.

The warmth of him bled through silk and velvet, steady and unmistakable, anchoring her in place. His hand rested at the small of her back, not possessive, not loose, precisely where it ought to be, as though he had rehearsed the placement. The bond stirred in response, humming low in her chest, a quiet vibration that set her pulse just a fraction off-beat.

“We are honoured to attend your Solstice celebrations,” Lucien said smoothly, his tone warm without excess. “The Night Court sends its regards.”

Tamlin inclined his head in return, his attention turning briefly to Lucien’s hand at Elain’s waist.

He may have said something after that. A polite reply, no doubt. An appropriate welcome, carefully chosen for public ears.

Elain did not hear it.

She was far too aware of Lucien’s palm, of the subtle pressure there as he guided her, not away from Tamlin precisely, but past him. A gentle nudge, a redirection that carried the unmistakable message of movement and unity. 

Of not lingering. 

Of not inviting scrutiny.

Whispers followed them as they stepped onto the terrace.

They came in the familiar cadence of court intrigue. A murmur here, a breath there, glances flicking toward their joined figures before darting away again. Elain felt herself catalogued in pieces, the curve of her posture, the colour of her gown, the intimacy of Lucien’s escort.

Lucien did not slow.

He guided her forward with quiet assurance, his touch constant but impeccably respectful, his head dipping toward hers as he murmured observations meant for her ears alone.

“That lady favours gossip over loyalty,” he said softly as they passed a cluster of courtiers arranged too carefully to be innocent. “Smile, acknowledge, but do not linger.”

Elain obeyed, offering a brief, pleasant expression before allowing Lucien to steer her onward.

“And that one?” she asked in a low voice, nodding subtly toward a flamboyantly dressed fae gesturing animatedly with a goblet of wine.

Lucien glanced once. “Harmless. Loud. Will remember what you wore, not a word you said.”

She hid her smile behind the careful neutrality expected of her.

They reached the far end of the terrace, where the noise softened and the winter air carried the scent of flowers and snow not yet-fallen. An arch woven with white roses and glossy holly framed the space, petals pale and perfect despite the season.

Lucien finally paused.

“You’re doing well,” he said quietly, his voice stripped of its earlier levity. “Better than most would, in your place.”

Elain turned to face him fully.

The bond pulsed.

Not painfully. Not urgently. Just enough to make itself known, a steady thrum beneath her ribs.

“I feel…” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “Pulled. As though the land itself is nudging me toward something I cannot yet see.”

Lucien’s expression softened, the sharpness easing from his features. “Spring does that,” he said gently. After a beat, he added, “And so do mates.”

She stiffened at once, spine impossibly straight. “Lucien.”

“I know,” he said quickly, lifting his hands in a placating gesture even as his arm remained around her. “We are pretending.”

The solstice bells began to chime then, deep, resonant notes that rolled through the gardens and into her bones, ancient and solemn and impossibly loud in the quiet between them.

Elain did not step away even though no one was looking.

[buffy-vanserra]

In Your Embrace

Elain Archeron x The Lady of Autumn | E | 2.6k

some mommy kink pwp (w/ a side of angst sry not sry) for day 2: maiden, mother, crone for @sjmsapphic <3

big smooches to @musty-old-claptrap and @tovibeornottovibe for beta reading <3

snippet below; read it on ao3 here

"Tea?" The Lady Mother of Autumn waves her hand, and a set appears on the table before her.

Today's tea set is reticulated porcelain. Pot, cups, and sugar bowl are painted with elaborate scenes of the Autumn countryside—pixie-filled vineyards and bountiful harvests, starlit bonfires and woodland hunts on horseback—each set within a latticework framed by gold-painted cartouches.

The lady pours two cups. In one, she places two sugar cubes, then hands it to Elain.

"Thank you, lady." Elain bows her head. When the lady raises hers to her lips, Elain watches her tip the cup to her mouth, the long column of her throat stretching as she swallows. Elain lifts her cup to do the same.

"Cake?" Another wave of her slender hand. The light catches on the gold and ruby rings that adorn her fingers.

A tray of tea cakes appears before her, each identically cut into small hearts. Elain's mouth waters at the sight.

But she pauses, lowering her teacup to her saucer. This is not why she came. "I shouldn't."

"I've had them make your favorite," the lady insists. "Honey-glazed maple."

At the lady's gentle encouragement, Elain relents. They look delicious, and she finds she cannot let go of the desire to please her. Elain picks one up, and bites into it. The cake melts against her tongue, sticky and sweet.

dividers here

[laxibbeb]

🍂 @sjmsapphic

[buffy-vanserra]

Mistruth

Mor x Nesta | E | 5.7k

Mor has always gotten under Nesta's skin, and Nesta has the same effect on Mor. That's all there is to it; there's nothing else going on. Or: five times Nesta lied to herself + the one time she didn't

written for @sjmsapphic day 1. there is mutual pining if you squint. but also mutual loathing. it's toxic yuri time >:)

thank you to @olenvasynyt for beta reading she saved my life!!

snippet below; read it on ao3 here

Nesta scans the room for her next conquest. A few familiar faces make to catch her eye, but she turns away quickly. She prefers to avoid repeats. But Velaris, no matter its size, is an isolated city; there are never travelers passing through to entice for a single forgettable night. The pool of prospects has begun to ebb.

When she catches glimpse of a head of sun-gold hair, she finishes her drink. The color is one of a kind, just as the faint scent of citrus and cinnamon that wafts amongst the must and sweat and old, stale beer soaked into the floorboards.

Recklessly, she pushes her way through the crowd.

"Morrigan," Nesta says with mock sweetness, flashing her teeth as she approaches. It's too pretty a name for someone so unpleasant. "I didn't think this was your sort of tavern."

"It isn't." Morrigan's nose wrinkles, the long curve of it pinching with disdain.

"Following me around now, are you?" Nesta asks, not caring that the words slur together as they tumble out of her mouth.

Morrigan says nothing, only looks at Nesta down her nose. She's always looking at Nesta like that—like an annoyance she'd rather not put up with. Like something inferior.

She's dressed, as usual, in bright red. Something tight and low-cut that hugs every curve of her body, leaving little to the imagination. Scandalous in a way that's hard to look away from.

"If you were trying to go unnoticed, this"—she gestures to Morrigan's dress—"was an odd choice."

"Maybe I wanted you to notice me," she says, her voice sensuous as silk, a long nail tracing the rim of her drink.

dividers here

[eluciey]

Elucien in the day court ☀️

[chaol-apologist]

💎 Rhinestoned

“Just a couple nobodies, getting lost and found.”

Elain didn’t plan on smoking a joint with a gorgeous stranger after falling off a mechanical bull at Feyre’s “Rhinestone Cowgirl” bachelorette party. But she didn’t plan on letting him eat her out in the back of his Mustang, either.

Chapter 2 here!

Birthday gift for @musty-old-claptrap 💗🪩🤠

[lucien-archeron]

Broken Wings and Healing Hands

https://archiveofourown.org/works/85807521?view_adult=true

Pairing: Emerie x Nuan

Rating: E

Written for SJM Sapphic Showdown 2026!

@sjmsapphic

Also has Nesta Archeron and Gwyneth Berdara!

[buffy-vanserra]

Linger for Nesta x Mor!

:)))

linger | Mor x Nesta for scent for @sjmsapphic

There's no escaping Nesta Archeron it seems.

Nowhere is safe. Every place where Mor once found refuge is now permeated with the searing scent of heated metal, of cold smoke and brumal flame. It seeps beneath Mor's skin and lingers there, taunting her in the late hours of the night when Mor pleasures herself and pretends she's imagining anyone else.

In the River House, Mor drinks glass after glass of wine. As usual, inexplicably, no amount is enough to numb her senses. Her nails tap-tap-tap along the stem of her glass, chiming dully.

At the other end of the house, the front door opens. Then slams with a thud. Mor's heartbeat quickens.

She's here.

The scent overwhelms her. Like a forge, like winter wind. Something steel and sharp enough to cut.

She can't stand it.

When Nesta enters the room, Mor finishes her wine.

When bright-flamed silver eyes meet hers, and lips part downward with intent, Mor glances away.

[chunkypossum]

So.... Hi

Chapter 13 on ao3

9800 words

divider by: @uzmacchiato

He could see the moment Eris realized what Azriel had discovered.

Did you know?

He wanted to ask, but didn’t. 

“Azriel.” Spoken with reverence and a tinge of fear, his name was a near-silent admission. His fingers traced Azriel’s lips as Eris trembled slightly beneath him. 

“You lied to me,” Azriel repeated for a third time, heart pounding so loudly in his ears he barely heard himself speak the words.

Holla at ya boi if you want on or off the Azris tag train:

@talibunny30 @iftheshoef1tz @born-to-riot  @fieldofdaisiies  @skyesayshi @acourtofladydeath @pippsmcgee  @yams-77 @ninthcircleofprythian  @jules-writes-stories @the-darkestminds  @yourlazykitkat  @shadowsandlint @acourtofbatboydreams  @mistandmemories @chairofchaos  @brunetterebel010 @astro-h0e-4azris @queercontrarian  @molcat07 @baileybird71  @stargazingmellon @hornysadfrog @ejkreader  @thesourcabbage  @tessville @jolenes-library @betweenthelines888 @irithiadourden @theiudices @werehorsebite  @skies-for-eyes-trees-for-knees @fourteentrout @frostystarlight  @nus4y @ysmtttty   @lizzo78 @vanserreneity @krowiathemythologynerd @alexof90s  @snugglesandsmut @clarranam  @disney-acotar-hp @wrraccountant  @theeternalstruggle  @hieragalbatorixdottir  @g00seg1rl 

[climbthemountain2020]

One Day, I Am Gonna Grow Wings - Ch. 11

Elucien | Ao3 | Ch. 11/22

After the death of her father and the disappearance of both her sisters, Elain Archeron resigns herself to a quiet, joyless life bound to a man she doesn’t love. But when her betrothed decides she is worth more to him dead than alive, Elain flees into the night with nothing but the shoes on her feet and the desperate hope that she might survive until morning.A strange voice leads her beyond The Wall to a land she thought only existed in storybooks, where she runs into the male who has lived in her dreams for as long as she can remember.

Elain

The air was a little cooler tonight, and Elain could feel the sheets tucked beneath her feet to keep them warm. She wiggled her toes. Despite the low temperatures, she could still hear the gentle hum of the cicadas singing outside in the dark trees. She’d left just one balcony door cracked open for the fresh air, and she was thankful for it.

She had been dreaming of her sisters, which wasn’t out of the ordinary. But she’d been dreaming of them in the lake behind the manor—the one beside the towering willow tree. She hadn’t been out there in years, even before she’d fled. The dream hadn’t felt like one of those dreams, but sometimes they didn’t. Still, she hadn’t woken up feeling like it meant something was coming. The details had been vivid, but they lacked that strange sheen that she could hardly define around it. 

Perhaps it really had just been more of a memory. She’d been sitting on the cold marble bench beneath the trees sweeping branches—perhaps her trek to the woods had triggered the memory—and watching her sisters play in the water. That in itself made her think it wasn’t a memory, if only because the two hadn’t been screaming at each other.

In her soft bed, Elain tucked her chilled fingers beneath her cheek, grasping the threads of the dream before it was gone. She couldn’t make out the words her sisters had been saying, too far away for her ears. Nesta had been braiding Feyre’s hair into a crown, the strands dripping into her sister’s freckled face, though neither seemed to notice or care.

In the waking consciousness she had now, she wondered if that wasn’t just the perfect interpretation—her sisters together, though they never wanted to be in real life, if only to be away from her. She’d tried and tried to push the feeling away, but with still no word from either sister, it was getting harder to do.

She could still feel the press of the cold marble beneath her while they’d stood in the sun, a small smile pressed onto both their mouths.

Had they really cared for her so little?

She shook her head against the pillow, physically trying to banish the thought—trying to not let it swell and combine with the rejection she felt from Lucien, too. 

She certainly wasn’t getting back to sleep. Since she’d left her old life, she rarely slept a full night through anymore. Oddly enough, it didn’t leave her feeling as tired as she thought it might have. Elain used to always be a deep sleeper, aching for hours and hours of time asleep and still feeling exhausted as she dragged herself from bed. Here, though, she often spent her nights wandering or reading, and even then she didn’t feel the exhaustion that had once plagued her.

Maybe Graysen had truly been the problem all along.

The night was crisp as Elain stepped onto the balcony, wrapping the sheet around her shoulders and pulling it tight. Her sisters were fresh on her mind, and it was hard to not wonder where they were. She’d seen a map of Prythian in the library when she’d returned her books—watched how far north from here it stretched. She remembered being a child and staring at a very different map in her father’s office, wondering when he might come home again. She had been young, but even now she remembered the way the house had smelled of new spices for days after he’d return, everyone in the house practically buzzing. But before all the excitement coming home, there had been the quiet of the house, and she’d stared at that map, wondering where on it her father might be.

Now, as she looked over the hills and forests as far as the eye could see, she wondered if her sisters were out there, just beyond the horizon. She wondered where they were, who they were now. She wondered about the men they loved—the males, she supposed. 

Vilja had said that Elain already had everything she needed, and she’d spent a good bit of time thinking about it in the days since. 

“There is nothing to give you that you do not already possess.”

Elain was happy enough here—far happier than she’d ever remembered being—but the knowledge that she’d been left behind wasn’t a wound that was going to heal on its own. She wasn’t sure she had any gifts unless you counted a strong sense of deja vu. The visions weren’t something that she could make heads or tails of half the time, and it wasn’t like she could control them. Though occasionally, she thought of the flower that Ianthe had crushed in the gardens…

Something shifted in the corner of her eye, a presence down below and Elain’s gaze followed it.

Down where she could see the lower deck, bathed entirely in moonlight, she could now just barely make out the dying embers of a fire—and the towering frame silhouetted beside it. Her eyes adjusted quickly for how dark it was, shifting until she recognized Tamlin, his face tilted back up and looking at her.

“If you’d like to come join me, I can stoke the fire back up,” he offered. Elain, still surprised to find she wasn’t the only one awake at all hours of the night, simply nodded, pulling the sheet more tightly around her and stepping back indoors to wind down the inner manor and back out to the deck below.

Tamlin was in the same position he’d been in when she emerged, but the flames of the fire were roaring high, the light bouncing off of him. The fire only made her mind wander to Lucien.

She settled into the chair beside his, pulling her feet up beneath her and tucking them under the sheet. She’d forgotten slippers.

“Why are you still out here? It's so late.” Tamlin almost smirked at her question, his eyes shooting up just momentarily to the balcony above where she’d been just moments before. Then, he eased back in his chair, his gaze shifting to the night sky.

“I often find I can’t sleep anymore.”

“You seem sad.” The words were out of Elain before she thought better of them. But truly, she was comfortable with Tamlin now—it didn’t seem too strange to point out the obvious. In fact, when she said the words, his eyes closed and lips twitched at the edges, face still turned up to the stars.

“I’m working on it,” he replied, a tinge of humor in his otherwise low demeanor.

Elain had had dreams of Tamlin too since she’d arrived. Smidgeons of what she guessed were from under the mountain. She hated these dreams, these glances of pain and grief and fury. It felt like looking into a bedroom that belonged to a stranger, spying in on their worst moments. 

She wasn’t one to pry, hadn’t questioned any of them past what they were willing to offer. But she knew their time under the curse had been horrific for all those involved. And Tamlin seemed to have been at the very center of it all. She was just about to offer him the chance to talk about it, if he ever wanted to, when he spoke.

“I thought, for a while, I might have loved your sister.”

For whatever Elain had expected to come out of Tamlin’s mouth, it was nothing even remotely close to that. He cracked open an eye and looked at her, smiling shallowly again to see what she imagined was the shock across her face. 

“I thought you loved the other human girl. The one who…” Elain didn’t want to say it. For as little as she knew, she did know that a human girl had gone beneath the mountain with Feyre and not come back out.

“Calla. I was confused. For a while, I thought I might have loved her, too.” He reached a hand up, massaging the bridge of his nose with his fingers. For his size, Elain had the strangest sensation suddenly that he was just a small child. A small child in a big world that hadn’t been kind to him.

“I think I was seeking to be loved without really knowing what that meant. And I don’t think I would have known what it looked like, even if it had been as clear as day.”

The words fell like stones into Elain’s chest, one by one. 

“I understand.” Her agreement was quiet, but something in her tone was enough for Tamlin to look up. “I know that sounds trite, but I understand.” And the way his expression shifted in front of her, she could tell he believed her.

“I didn’t grow up in a loving home. My parents did not love each other, and there was no love between my brothers and I either.” 

That, she also understood well. “It’s hard to mimic what we haven’t seen,” she added, and he nodded, looking away. She understood he wasn’t the type to share a vulnerability, that this meant trust to him. She wanted to offer something, too.

“I thought that the man I was engaged to marry was going to be the love of my life.” Tamlin turned his face up, giving her a look she couldn’t quite decipher. She pressed on. “I thought it would be like all the books. That he might be the other half of my soul,” she continued on, waving her hand with a self-deprecating flourish. 

“I grew up reading all about it. Knights and princesses, kings and queens, soldiers and their paramours.” She looked down at her lap, her voice quieting. “I think the disappointment hurt more than anything else, like my chance was gone once I realized what kind of man he really was.”

“I certainly understand that,” Tamlin responded, and his tone told her she should believe him. “I thought—I wasn’t sure what I thought. I didn’t want to be like my parents. I always thought I would marry for love one day. I never thought I would be High Lord. Never thought I would end up in the middle of a curse that—” 

He cut off his own words abruptly, his face still turned away. “I did care for Feyre. As a friend in the beginning, and as something more complicated by the end. There was never a way there. She had a mate, and I think more than anything, I was confused. By the time Calla came, I thought that, maybe, it was my last chance. For the curse. For someone to…” He sighed, letting his words drift again. Elain fought the urge to reach out, to tell him how thoroughly she understood. That crushing panic that everything you’d wanted had actually amounted to very little. How it felt to get left behind, to watch the last ship out creep away without you on it. 

“I’m so sorry you went through that, Tamlin.” It was all she could seem to say without looking too deeply into herself, without letting someone else view the ugly, gaping void inside of her.

“Thank you. It’s not perfect now, but it is better. I think losing the expectations, as painful as it was, helped.” 

Maybe that’s what she needed—to accept that it was just her. That it was just going to be her. But she wouldn't say that to him. He didn’t need to hear the words.

“At least that's something good to hope for then,” she offered instead. Tamlin turned back to her, and though she could see the lightest traces of silver lining his eyes still, the smile on his face was earnest now.

“Sometimes, being broken isn’t the end, you know? If something breaks, it has the chance to be made into something new.” The words echoed in Elain’s head, the meaning feeling weightier than she could parse out. She was here, in this new and foreign land. Her old life was gone—and with it all the expectations that had been laid out for her since birth. It might have nearly broken her to live that life, but she was here now. She could be something new.

“How do you live again?” She hadn’t realized how badly she’d needed to ask. The look on Tamlin’s face told her that he understood the desperation.

“I don't know, truthfully. It’s been one day at a time since then, and sometimes, if I’m lucky, I notice things have gotten better without me even noticing.” 

The next question seemed even more strangled. “How can you bear it?” His smile stretched a bit more at that, though the sadness lingered in his eyes. 

“What else is there to do but hope for better?”

Elain supposed he was right about that too. She had been making the most of Spring, but the thoughts of home and disappointment mixed with grief had still plagued her. She’d thought more than once about how happy she was here—why was she letting everything that had been keep her from living again? From taking advantage of this second chance?

Tamlin spoke again. “You know, Lucien has been hurt, too.”

She wasn’t sure how she was meant to react to the words, but she felt the blush creep up her neck all the way over her cheeks and ears. 

“Oh?” She chanced a look at Tamlin to find his grin pulled farther now into something much more smug. 

“It’s not really my place to say—”

“Oh, of course not—”

“But, you might find the two of you have more in common than you’d thought.” The exchange had left her breathless, and she wasn’t sure how much Tamlin knew already, or how much she wanted him to know if he didn’t already suspect. But he’d been open with her, kind and vulnerable, sharing his own experiences.

Somehow, the firelight in the dark felt more anonymous, comforting even. 

“I…” She wasn’t sure where to start, adjusting the sheet around her and pulling it more tightly. “I’m not sure Lucien would be willing to share with me.”

Tamlin’s brow furrowed a bit as he pushed. “Why’s that?”

“Well, he’s certainly always very polite with me. But I don’t think he’d feel comfortable enough with me to share all that.” She waved a hand around emphatically, trying to emphasize the levity of what she meant.

Tamlin smiled. “I did.”

“Well, yes, but we’re friends.”

“And you don’t consider Lucien a friend?” The wicked smile that had morphed on Tamlin’s face was enough for Elain to understand he was goading her.

“There is…a certain type of feeling when Lucien is around,” she admitted. How much could she tell him? How much should she? She couldn’t mention the bond—it was sacred amongst fae. Could Tamlin keep that a secret from his best friend? His loyalties would always be with Lucien, and Elain wasn’t sure she wanted Lucien to know.

As soon as she even thought the words, she knew with startling clarity that she didn’t. She didn’t want Lucien to feel pressured to do…well, anything involving her, really. He didn’t feel that way about her, and he certainly didn’t feel the bond. It would be cruel to force something like that, to have him feel obligated in any way.

 But Gods she wanted to know more, wanted to understand this thing that connected them. 

As if sensing her hesitation, Tamlin spoke again. “You can trust me, Elain. I won’t tell him anything you don’t want him to know unless his safety is concerned.” Her heart warmed at his protectiveness over Lucien, but she could also feel the sincerity in his words. 

“Is there something you’d like to ask?” he prodded, the smile audible in his voice.

Oh, damn him. But she wanted the answers so badly.

“I heard something once, from a friend back home.” Her heart ached to think of Fiona.

“Oh?” he encouraged.

Elain nodded. “My friend Fiona. She was the daughter of the cook, and eventually the cook herself. She got me out.” 

Tamlin didn’t speak at that, and Elain didn’t lift her gaze to look. She was busy thinking about Fiona, her dark hair and strange eyes. It was so clear to her now looking back that she’d been something other. 

“We grew up together. She was a bit too wild for Nesta, a bit too calm for Feyre’s wilds. But she was perfect for me. We would spend hours together reading in my window.”

“She sounds lovely.” Tamlin’s voice was soft.

“She was.”

Is? Could she have made it out? Elain shook her head—she could still barely stand to think of it.

She cleared her throat. “There were books, stories she told. Back then, of course, I thought they were all fairytales, but now I wonder.”

“What is it you’d like to know, Elain?” he asked, almost as though he already knew and was daring her to say it.

Her throat was suddenly so dry, the words itching to get out, but stuck there. “The thing you mentioned when I arrived. A mating bond. Could that—does that ever happen? A human and a fae?”

Tamlin didn’t speak right away, and when she looked up, his green eyes were still focused on her. The smile hadn’t left his face, and it felt almost understanding. 

“It’s happened once before, perhaps twice, if you believe the rumors.” Something about the look on his face made things click into place for Elain. 

“My sisters?”

He nodded. “It wouldn’t be entirely out of the realm of possibility for someone who was born human to be bound to a fae. Especially not if two of her sisters were, too.” His eyes flashed upward quickly toward the manor like he’d heard something, then shifted back to her.

There was no denying Tamlin knew what she was asking, clearly had already suspected it himself. The understanding on his face was so reassuring that Elain felt the slightest burn of tears in her eyes.

“I think…I feel like he belongs to me.” The words were hoarse, but they felt true as she said them. 

“Then I wouldn’t discount that feeling. The library here certainly has more information than I possess. Maybe you should look into your questions past what I can answer,” he suggested.

“Am I allowed to borrow the books?” she asked, wondering already what she might find.

“Elain, you’re welcome anywhere, and allowed to do anything.” He chuckled, and she smiled for the first time since she’d woken.

“And for the record, this can be your home as long as you want it. We all love having you here. Lucien, too.”

Though she'd always had a place to live, she’d never really had a place that felt like home. But the welcome here felt like something entirely different. It felt both like coming back to someplace she cared for, and experiencing someplace entirely new simultaneously.

“What can I do in return?

“You're planning the ball,” he deadpanned, raising a brow.

“Yes, but what else?” It hardly felt like enough. She saw him go to brush her off again, but then pause right before. He hesitated, eyes shifting away almost as though he was embarrassed.

“Anything, Tamlin. What can I do to help?” she encouraged.

“Perhaps,” he paused, taking a deep breath. “Could you tell me more about your friend in the gardens?” 

Lucien 

Lucien woke up for once without his hand on his cock, but nevertheless, Elain was on his mind. He’d been dreaming of her, her curls swaying in the breeze under the branches of a weeping willow. It looked smaller than the ones here, the branches thinner, but she looked almost at home beneath it, the arch and sway of them surrounding her as though keeping her safe.

She’d been looking at something else, neglecting the cross stitch in her lap in favor of looking out into the distance. Somewhere, Lucien could hear laughter echoing, but no part of him wanted to look away from her. In his dreams, he was free to look. To feel deeply and to want openly.

But still, he couldn’t help but feel that she’d looked so sad. He felt it in his chest, that echoing that he often did. But just as he’d gone to walk to her, to hold her perhaps—chase that feeling somewhere far away where only love and joy and peace remained—he’d blinked awake in the darkness of his own room. 

It was far too dark to be even approaching morning, and stiflingly hot. Lucien was, as always, twisted into the sheets, the fabric pressed against the sweat of his mostly naked body. Without thinking about it, he reached out to feel for her, to make sure she was safe.

Often, it was just brushes of feeling, and if he pushed it away enough, he could get used to feeling almost nothing at all. Other times, when Elain felt things strongly, it was like a punch to the gut. She couldn’t possibly know, but gods, the way she sent him her feelings sometimes…The other night, when she’d walked in on Ianthe harassing him, the possession he’d felt intertwined with his ribs had nearly consumed him wholly, his fire itching and aching to shoot from his hands. He’d felt her jealousy in every piece of his being, every fragment of his soul. It had been all he could do to rein his own feelings back in. 

Her possession, her protectiveness over him had nearly bowled over any walls he’d erected to keep her out. He’d wanted it in that moment. He’d wanted her.

But now, now it was mostly quiet. There was a low hum of melancholy, a tangible sadness that seemed almost permanent in Elain’s side of the bond. Lucien hated it. He yearned to rid her of it, and hated himself more when he couldn’t. 

Wouldn’t let himself, he corrected. Angrier even still about that.

He was the one standing in his way. But in either situation, that would be the case.

Still, he was losing this battle.

He tried desperately not to think of her as he tossed and turned, shaking his sheets out and trying desperately to get comfortable again. He got up and tossed open a balcony door, hoping the fresh air would coax him back to sleep. It didn’t. 

Instead, every time he began to drift, it was her face again. Her smile. Her blush. Her stubborn will and knife-sharp wit that he wasn’t sure she’d had much time to show off. He loved watching her bloom here, despite the fact that he hated not allowing himself to be a bigger part of it. He yearned to show her more things, to bring her into this world.

Elain. His Elain. His mate.

Her muffled, lilting voice filtered in as he began to dream again. Then, louder, before Lucien realized he wasn’t dreaming at all. He shot up in the bed, all senses on alert until he heard it once more, trilling lightly through the open door.

Slowly, quietly, he crept to the doorway, trying not to make a sound. He could hear two voices, both of which he would know deaf. Tamlin and Elain were talking below. 

He calmed the instinct he had to snarl, tried to staunch the emotion in his chest as he crept, ridiculously, on hands and knees to the open night air. As he came to the edge, hidden fully by the stone and vine bannister, he could hear them more clearly, bits and pieces of words floating up to him. 

“It wouldn’t be entirely…realm of possibility for someone…born human....Especially not…sisters.”

There was a beat of quiet as Lucien shifted closer, just barely knocking a planter on the balcony and righting it before it could make any more noise. 

“I think…I feel like he belongs to me.” The words nearly bowled him over, the flowering bond in his chest suddenly wide open as though he’d blown through a set of doors to unleash whatever was inside.

It was just a simple sentence, but the truth in it had nearly taken Lucien out.

I feel like he belongs to me.

She felt the bond, whether she understood it or not. She felt him—that need and want and connection. He’d assumed, as a human, that there wouldn’t be any recognition. That she might have gone forever not knowing, and Lucien could have lived with that. Would have fought to live with that.

But knowing she felt it too changed everything.

I feel like he belongs to me.

She had felt like his since he’d seen her that night, blurred by smoke from the fire and the alcohol in his veins and whatever mystery potion Helion had given him. He’d fought against it with every scrap of will, but he had felt that way.

His. His Mate. His Elain.

I feel like he belongs to me.

There, leaned against the balcony’s edge, Lucien realized how much he truly, earnestly wanted to be.

[sjmsapphic]

⚠️⚠️ ATTENTION ⚠️⚠️

only TWO MORE DAYS (or one depending on where in the world u live) remain until the SJM Sapphic Showdown begins!!! WHO will be coronated as the Maasverse's 2026 Carabiner Queen and receive this beautiful crown??

that's up to YOU 🫵🫵🫵

here are a few helpful reminders before the event:

❤️ please tag the account @sjmsapphic and add the #sjmsapphic2026 tag on your submission post so we can find and include in the scoring and event masterlist! please make sure the names of the featured character(s) + ship(s) are clear in the post and/or tags. you can also add any ao3 works to the SJMSapphicShowdown2026 collection

🧡 please tag anything sensitive or potentially triggering appropriately <3 aside from what is outlined in the rules there are no restrictions on what you can submit

🤍 this is a competition! for fun! the one (1) character who collects the most points during the event will be crowned our Carabiner Queen. how will characters gain points you ask? check out the scoring guidelines!

🩷 running late? we will not be able to accommodate any works submitted later than 6/1 in the scoring BUT we'll accept works for up to 1 week after the event ends (aka through 6/8) for inclusion in the master list and ao3 collection. WE WANT TO SEE YOUR SAPPHIC WORKS :D

💜 looking for inspo? start here: prompts | pose inspiration | drabble + sketch ask game

finally! if you aren't planning to create anything for the event, you can still participate in the competition + cast votes toward characters of your choosing by commenting on fics! we love community! check out the scoring guidelines for more details

that's all for now! can't wait 2 see what you all create and 🌈 HAPPY PRIDE 🌈

beautiful dividers here | event announcement post with organized tags + linky links here