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[lzrsaugust]

You've heard of the Which Vanserra Brother Is Your Mate Quiz, now get ready for: The Ultimate Prythian High Lord Matchmaking!

→ ✨ TAKE THE QUIZ HERE ✨ ←

Reblog this post with your results or tag me! I hope you have fun and enjoy yourself as much as I did making this quiz!

A couple of notes on the quiz!

There are 23 questions in total. The quiz is designed to take 10 minutes, but it can be shorter/longer than that!

Some answers have multiple High Lords assigned to them, so you don't have to worry about always choosing an option dedicated to just one result!

Some of the questions have implied NSFW content. Please be mindful upon entering the quiz!

[lzrsaugust]

Tamlin’s Real Beast Form: A Phoenix?

Okay, so this is pure dellulu theory, born from my obsession with spring, rebirth, and mythical symbolism. But hear me out.

Tamlin is a shapeshifter, but the only form we’ve seen him use is that lion-bear-wolf hybrid that supposed to be his high lord beast form.

While impressive, that might not be his true High Lord beast form—just the one he chooses or inherited.

The Spring Court represents rebirth, growth, and healing. And when we think of mythical creatures tied to those themes, one stands out:

The Phoenix 🐦‍🔥.

A phoenix dies in fire and is reborn from its ashes, a perfect symbol for the cycle of spring.

It also has healing flames (based on Marco character from one piece), and while healing isn’t a known power of the Spring Court, Tamlin has demonstrated strong healing abilities (when he said he could’ve healed the blue-winged fae if he had his full power).

This aligns more with symbolic magic—the kind we see in other courts like Dawn except Tamlin is spring fae.

So it’s possible his true beast form reflects that magic too: not predatory strength, but regenerative power.

Now, consider this in the bigger picture:

If Tamlin's true form is a phoenix, that could be crucial in the war against Koschei, the god of death.

Rebirth vs. decay.

Fire vs. rot.

Life vs. death.

It’s not just about power, it’s about balance.

[lzrsaugust]

event was crazy

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Excuse me for being greedy but:

3 Tamcien, 34 Elucien and 17 Luzriel?

Please 🙏🏻 and thank you

Of course Nony! I hope you like this.

For microstory ask game

Edit: I WAS POSTING THIS WHEN I REALIZED IT SAID TAMCIEN AND NOT TAMRIS. Sorry, I promise Tamcien in another post nony.

Tamris, I trusted you

"I trusted you!" Tamlin roared like thunder, his voice echoing off the walls of the mansion. He was furious; it wasn't hard to tell by how tense his body was, even in his beast form. Anyone else might have been frightened by the magic filling the air, the roar, or the fact that the six-foot creature was approaching so closely that its sharp fangs were visible.

Fortunately, Eris was not just anyone. He had spent a lot of time over the years sneaking away to see him, getting news about Lucien, and just spending time with Tamlin. If there was one thing he was sure of—much more than anything else—it was that the High Lord of Spring was incapable of harming him, even by accident.

"Yes, and that's exactly why you should get off your ass and go meet him tomorrow." He replied, fed up with the argument.

"No." Tamlin was so close that his breath tickled his face.

"Can I talk to the High Lord and not Spring's beast?" Eris asked suspisciously calmly. Something inside Tamlin told him it was a trap; he clearly hadn't won the discussion and was just delaying the inevitable.

With a sigh of resignation, followed by the scent of petrichor and wildflowers that permeated the atmosphere when he used his magic, Tamlin resumed his fae form. He was naked, as always happened when he transformed. He had never been ashamed of his nakedness, but at that moment, he felt particularly exposed. Especially since Eris gave him an unabashedly appreciative look.

"Good boy."

Okay, Tamlin was getting an erection that was impossible to disguise, and Eris was holding him in place with just his presence. He couldn't think straight under that gaze; it was like fire caressing every inch of his bare skin.

"You're not playing fair," he grumbled, trying to regain the upper hand. He was still terribly irritated with him and wasn't planning to give in just because—

"I never do." Eris reached up and tangled his fingers in Tamlin's blond hair. His grin widened when he noticed Tamlin's breathing falter. This time, it was Autumn's High Lord who closed the distance until their mouths were almost touching. "Are you going to meet with Lucien to make peace? I'm sick of seeing you two miserable."

Tamlin swallowed hard. A small part of him told him that he had fallen right into an ambush. The other part was willing to do whatever it took to taste those lips again. “All right.”

Eris smiled wickedly and finally gave him a kiss that made him forget his own name.

Luzriel, empty

He couldn't explain why, but when he turned to look at that broken expression, his chest tightened, making it hard to breathe. Lucien was always a living flame, a ray of sunshine breaking through any darkness with his courtier's manners and silver tongue. But the man before him was an empty shell, a shadow to whom he couldn't whisper to extract secrets or coax into doing something to lift the weight of sadness.

"Train with me." Azriel threw a roll of bandages that Lucien caught in midair with ease; always graceful. He could no longer bear to watch him shut down like that. In his experience, physical exercise could work wonders for clearing one's mind.

Lucien was ready to protest, but the words died on his lips when he noticed the Shadowsinger's unwavering expression. Why did he always plague his thoughts? Even his shadows seemed to entangle themselves in Lucien's hair and clothing as if seeking to hide in the darker spots where his skin was less bright. He would never admit it aloud, but he was grateful for Azriel's presence, even if he wasn't sure why.

The heir to the Day Court sighed dramatically, wrapped his fists in bandages, and rose from the couch. "Where are we going to train, in the living room? I'm sure Feyre told Cassian that if he broke another one of his precious chandeliers, she would forbid him from entering.” Without realizing it, Lucien had been following Azriel as he spoke. He just noticed they were outside at the entrance.

"No, we're going to the House of Wind."

“Do I have to remind you that I can't winnow there?” Lucien rolled his eyes.

Azriel said nothing, simply stretching out his arms with a look that was a mixture of amusement and defiance. The last time they had gone to that place, the Shadowsinger had taken him there. He wanted to say no, but that sideways grin, as if to say, "What? You don't dare?" nagged at his pride.

So, with his head held high and without blinking — and without breathing, if he's being honest — Lucien reached over and let Azriel lift him off the ground. His arms closed around Azriel's neck out of reflex. If either of them noticed how fast their hearts were beating, they said nothing.

Elucien, bauble

The aroma of freshly baked cinnamon cookies flooded the house, and Lucien took a deep breath, filling himself with the delicious fragrance that brought back happy childhood memories. His mother used to sneak into the kitchen to prepare them, and now Eris was making them with Azriel's help.

This meant that his mate was free of cooking duties. However, he couldn't find her in the gardens or their room, so he reached into his chest for the connection they shared. The bond guided him to where Elain was tiptoeing, trying to put one last bauble on the winter solstice tree.

Lucien, being the perfect gentleman, reached over, grabbed her by the waist, and lifted her a few inches so she could settle the ornament.

"Lu!" she complained, but the fondness in his voice was evident.

His mate smiled mischievously, and when he set her feet back on the floor, he pulled her close to his chest. Lucien began to leave kisses on her temple, cheeks, and nose, finally reaching her lips. Her giggles were a melody that echoed in his heart and brought him pure joy.

"You are a menace, Lucien Vanserra." She scolded him affectionately, her gaze sparkling.

Lucien gave her another kiss until she was breathless.

"But I am yours, Elain Vanserra."

At his words, Elain's smile lit up like the sun, bathing him in warmth that seeped into his bones.

I had to google what a bauble was.

Ps: please, if you send an ask, make it a number other than 2, 3, 7, 10, 13, 15, 17, 24, 25, 26, 28, 33, 34, 41, 43 or 47.

[lzrsaugust]

outlaw cowboy tamlin for the deranged and unhinged (me and you 🤝)

i had a saddle on the horse but the ppl have spoken and claim tamin rides te horse bareback, and so i follow the ppl....

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yknow what they say abt saving horses....

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if you are doing the ask game, I NEED 8 and 37 tamris and 1 and 46 Lucnes, because you are amazing and anything you write is awesome

Sending you lots of hugs, smooches and love

Ashdndjd thank you so much, I'm sending heaps of love your way 💗 ( this is not micro at all )

From the Microstory Asks!

The Art of Defiance - Tamlin x Eris - Defy and Sunbathing.

. . .

The sun hung low over Spring, the last burnished rays filtering through the canopy in slats of molten gold. Tamlin lay sprawled on the soft grass beside the lily-dappled pond near the manor, one arm thrown over his eyes to block the glare, the other idly curled against the curve of his chest. His tunic was discarded somewhere behind him, abandoned in favor of the lazy warmth of late afternoon sunbathing. He looked, Eris thought, as if he belonged to the earth—etched from oak and sunlight, carved by ancient winds.

Eris remained standing in the shade of a cypress tree, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. His armor gleamed faintly, but he hadn’t bothered with a cloak. Spring’s weather was kinder than Autumn’s bitter winds. And Tamlin—well, Tamlin wasn’t exactly doing much to preserve propriety.

“I assume there’s a reason I was summoned to witness your sun-drenched display of decadence,” Eris said dryly.

Tamlin shifted, just slightly. “You didn’t have to come.”

Eris scoffed. “Oh, please. If I defied a direct invitation to Spring, you’d start brooding in a field somewhere and everyone would be forced to suffer through the resulting weather patterns.”

Tamlin chuckled low in his throat, the sound muffled by his forearm. “You say that like I haven’t already brooded in every field within five leagues.”

Eris rolled his eyes and finally approached, stepping over fallen petals and letting the sun lick his skin with reluctant admiration. He crouched beside Tamlin, arching a brow as he took in the relaxed, open sprawl of the High Lord’s body. Tamlin peeked at him through sun-golden lashes.

“Take off your armor,” Tamlin said, voice too casual.

“Are you giving orders now?” Eris replied, one brow still raised.

“Consider it a suggestion. Or a challenge.” Tamlin stretched with feline satisfaction, muscles rippling in a way that was very nearly smug. “I dare you to defy it.”

And damn him, he would frame it that way.

With an exaggerated sigh, Eris unfastened the clasps of his armor, shedding the chest plate and bracers with sharp, efficient movements. When he settled down beside Tamlin, still half-dressed but significantly more at ease, the sun immediately warmed his skin. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes.

A few moments passed in silence, save for the gentle buzzing of bees and the occasional rustle of the breeze through high branches.

Then, quietly: “He’d have hated this.”

Eris opened his eyes. Tamlin was staring at the sky, unreadable.

“Beron,” Tamlin clarified, after a beat. “He’d have hated seeing you like this. At peace.”

Eris didn’t answer for a long while. He simply breathed in the Spring air, which smelled of hyacinths and earth and faintly of Tamlin.

“That’s why I’m here,” he said finally. “To defy him. Even now.”

Tamlin turned his head toward him, their faces close enough for the sunlight to bridge the gap like a kiss.

“Then stay,” Tamlin murmured. “Defy him with me.”

And for once, Eris didn’t make a joke. He simply reached out, laced his fingers through Tamlin’s, and lay back against the grass.

Neither of them moved, except to breathe.

The sun bore witness as the sons of cruel fathers learned, inch by inch, how to reclaim the world together.

. . .

What Burns Beneath - Lucien x Nesta - Don't leave and Defy.

. . .

The fire crackled in the hearth, a soft roar swallowed by the storm raging outside the small manor house. Nesta stood at the window, arms folded tightly over her chest, chin lifted as if daring the wind to shatter the glass. Her spine was rigid with a practiced defiance—sharp, unforgiving. But her eyes betrayed her. Always, it was the eyes.

Lucien leaned against the edge of the doorframe, quiet, watching. The silver of moonlight caught the strands of her hair, turning them to molten steel. He could sense the war within her even before she turned her face to him—half-shadowed, utterly unreadable.

“You’re not going to say goodbye?” she asked coolly, not quite turning. Her voice trembled—only slightly.

Lucien hesitated, the weight of a thousand unspoken things pressing against the back of his throat. “Would it matter if I did?”

That made her spin, eyes flashing. “Of course it would.”

He stepped forward, slow, measured. “You told me I wasn’t allowed to matter.”

“And you listened,” she spat, bitterness coiled in her voice like a whip. “You always listen when it comes to leaving.”

He reached her then, close enough to feel the fury rolling off her like heat from a forge. Close enough to see the fear behind it.

“Nesta,” he said softly, “don’t leave me behind in your silence.”

Her breath caught.

“I have never asked you to yield,” he continued, voice low, raw with truth. “I’ve never asked you to be less. But I’m standing here, asking you not to make me the casualty of whatever war you’re still fighting with yourself.”

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Her fingers twitched at her sides.

“I’m not Rhysand. I’m not Cassian,” he said, eyes locked to hers. “You don’t have to defy me to survive.”

Something cracked in her then—something quiet but deep. Her shoulders fell an inch. Her mask, that familiar iron-wrought thing, slipped slightly.

“Then what do you want from me?” she whispered.

Lucien reached out, brushing his fingers against hers. Not a demand—an offering.

“Just this. You. Here. With me.”

Nesta stared at him. At the outstretched hand. At the scarred fingers that had seen too much and offered anyway.

“I’m not good at staying,” she murmured.

“Then defy that,” he said gently. “Stay anyway.”

She took his hand.

And the fire roared.

. . .

[lzrsaugust]

I generally like the idea of Tamlin having a son mostly because it's a do over for rhysand and Tamlin.

The courts are at peace, Nyx is still a Fae child and meets another Fae child in court. He's not his cousins or any of the other court. He is ignored because people used to eye his Illyrian wings with discontent but for the first time it's just ignored.

At first nyx doesn't understand until he learns half high and lesser Fae children are common in spring. That Tamlin's son doesn't see him as less just because he's part lesser Fae, he just ignores him cause NYX is rhysand's son.

Nyx and Tamlin's son have a weird rivalry. Nyx tries to get under his skin but using comments he heard his parents made about Tamlin only to be dragged to filth by a kid younger than him.

"can't imagine having Tamlin as a father, does he trap you inside his manor?" NYX says cooly

"doesn't your father trap hewn city woman and only let them out during nynsar? Also weren't you sent to a Illyrian children soldier camp?" Tamlin's son answers without a hint of emotion.

The two become friends and Tamlin worries but accepts it. Rhysand and feyre try to stop it but NYX keeps sneaking out to meet him. Nyx learns more about being with lesser Fae and accepting that not everyone will judge him for being lesser Fae but for himself.

To their parents horror, the first time this two boys kiss the mating bond snaps. Feysand panics and began trying to think to break the bond. Tamlin is just thinking on how to help them both. It's like rhysand and Tamlin love story but it ends up alright because the two are functional and NYX will kill anyone who tries to take his rose flower from him

OOHOOOHOOHOHOO, the karma that would come from their sons who look IDENTICAL to Tamlin and Rhysand falling in love and actually finding happiness together???

I fear Rhysand would go insane.

---

Tamlin's son doesn't see him as less just because he's part lesser Fae, he just ignores him cause NYX is rhysand's son.

Tamlin's son: Eugh, just stfu

Nyx: Oh my god, you hate me cause you're RACIST

Tamlin's son: what

That visual is too funny 😭

Nyx and Tamlin's son have a weird rivalry. Nyx tries to get under his skin but using comments he heard his parents made about Tamlin only to be dragged to filth by a kid younger than him.

DYING. Nyx is trying so hard to insult him but all that comes out is

Nyx: HA, your father is so stupid and awful, I bet that's who you inherited your stunning emerald eyes from, and your long, long golden hair that shines like the sun on silk, and-

Tamlin's son: ...🤨

---

Tamlin and Feysand are looking on with equal parts horror and amusement, like 'yep... that's my boy 👍🏼go get 'em kid'

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happy mermay everyone 🧜‍♀️🧜‍♀️🧜‍♀️ happy mermay beautiful tamin ppls 😗❤❤!! i present thee.. fishlin 🎉!!

do u think he likes 2 sunbathe.... AND NO HIS HAIR STILL POOFY AFTER EMERGING FROM WATER, i rlly stopped drawing straight hair tamin and never looked bAcK

[lzrsaugust]

Hey girly pop, I come bearing more tamcien angst.

as we all know, feyre basically used Lucien as her revenge prop to push Tamlin further into a downward spiral but also to ruin Lucien and Tamlin's friendship so Tamlin would be isolated.

Now Lucien is basically courtless, people distrust him cause just a few months ago, he almost died protecting Tamlin. Last he was seen in the war wearing night court colours even by Tamlin who now fully believes Feyre's lies, that Lucien did slept with feyre, that he chose the night and to serve rhysand. The final nail in the coffin of their friendship.

lucien goes to spring a few weeks after the war, hoping maybe he could try to talk some sense into Tamlin. That he was getting too much. However when he enters the manor, everything is in ruins due to one of Tamlin's anger issues. "I didn't....I didn't leave because I want to. I wanted to stay, I would never betray you." Lucien tries to plead his case as Tamlin's forest green eyes who always look to Lucien kindly, with love was only filled with rage and loathing. Lucien realise at that time that Tamlin didn't believe him. "Yet you wore their colours during the war. After centuries did we mean nothing?! I took you in. Gave you a home....yet you slept with her. Yet you chose to follow her." Lucien tries to argue back that he didn't, that feyre used him, that he followed because he wanted to see elain, to be with his mate. Then Tamlin charges and punches so hard in the face. "Leave traitor. You are no longer here.....I should have let your brothers kill you....because you hurt me more than feyre ever could." Then the manor door is shut. Lucien realises just how badly he lost his friend because Tamlin believed he let feyre escaped, that he betrayed Tamlin like that.

The people of spring saw tamlin as a monster who hurt feyre and allied with hybern because of feyre. To them Lucien was the traitor who allowed it and also betrayed spring so no one there wanted him. He returns to velaris with a black eye.

He tries to move on but keeps going to spring when he could. Seeing Tamlin get worst and worst, each time he tried to talk tamlin roars or uses air magic to make walls. Each day he gets further away from his friend. He tries and tries but Tamlin is stubborn believing that Lucien betrayed him.

Then one day when Lucien visits Tamlin, it's been so long. Last time he tried was during solstice only to be met with an air wall. Spring is overgrown but it looks wild. He comes face to face with beast of spring. No longer a golden haired beast but a gigantic beast of the forest, a lion like beast made out of wood, it's mane of wild flowers with a wolf tail of vines and flowers. Lucien tries to speak but the beast ignores him. Lucien follows him desperate because Tamlin doesn't do this, Tamlin isn't acting like him at all. He sees the beast guarding spring, healing it's people, helping in anyway it can but it doesn't speak. Lucien tries for weeks maybe months. Until one day he just breaks and cries because this feels like Tamlin died and something else is using his powers. The beast sees him and ignores him, Lucien begs him to talk to do anything but the beast continues its daily ritual of wandering spring and helping the people.

Lucien is alone in the forest, no one in spring cares for him, his home is gone and he wished Tamlin was there like before. Comforting him just like when jesmienda died. Being there with him just like they used to be and not ignore him. Cause this hurts.

OH MY GOD NO, THE FUCKING ANGST

TAMLIN BEING TOO PROUD TO EVER SPEAK TO LUCIEN AGAIN, BUT HIS HEART BREAKS EVERY SINGLE TIME HE TURNS HIM AWAY

LUCIEN KEEPS COMING BACK UNTIL IT'S TOO PAINFUL AND HE FINALLY LEAVES.

AND THEN THEY BOTH HAVE TO LIVE WITH THEIR REGRET

I'M -

[lzrsaugust]

Send me a number and I’ll write a micro story using the word or phrase

(creator note: I recommend 3-10 sentences but go for a longer piece if you really feel it! Replace pronouns as needed for the character / point of view)

don’t leave 

this was a mistake

[I] trusted [you]

one chance

help

illusion

silent fury

sunbathing

falling

righteous

drastic

candles

too loud

overgrown

trembling hands

in dreams

empty

flinders

sea change

alone, finally

collapse

nap

sated

tender

senseless

how dare [you]

hide

something about [them]

sweat

harsh whisper

breeze

dust motes

saccharine

bauble

filthy

total control

defy

soak

accursed

pet

comfort food

savior

undone

cheap

svelte

shimmer

crave

rampage

nightfall

accost

[lzrsaugust]

𝐀𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬, 𝐄𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫

To @irithiadourden,

Summary: Eris buried his tyrant father, spiraled into an emotional crisis, and accidentally made out with Tamlin by his grave—because grief and unresolved sexual tension always go hand in hand.

WC: 2K. Read On AO3 Here or below the cut.

. . .

The funeral pyres had long since guttered out, leaving only the scent of char and cypress drifting through the amber-drenched glade. The ceremonial rites were over, the courtiers had dispersed, and still Eris stood—alone beneath the arching limbs of a dying oak, its leaves curled gold and rust-red like embers captured mid-fall. His posture was statuesque from a distance, regal even, but up close, there was a subtle tremble to his fingers, as though he couldn’t quite let go of something he no longer needed to hold.

He was not mourning Beron. Not in the way a son typically mourns a father. But grief, he had learned, did not always follow logic or tradition. It could be sharp in strange places. Cold where you expected heat. And on this particular dusk-tinted afternoon, with the world quiet around him and power freshly laid across his shoulders like an ill-fitting mantle, Eris felt… unmoored.

He didn’t hear the footsteps. Didn’t register the soft crunch of twigs behind him or the breeze stirred by another's presence. Only when a firm hand tapped his shoulder did he jolt, whirling so fast that a dagger of flame flickered at his palm before flickering out just as quickly.

Tamlin stood there in a dark green tunic that matched the forest shadows, gaze steady and warm despite the cool edge to the air.

“Sorry,” he said, not flinching from the sudden magic. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

Eris blinked, heart thudding erratically, though not from the scare. “You didn’t,” he murmured, voice rough. “I just wasn’t… paying attention.”

Tamlin tilted his head, the early evening light casting gold through his hair. “How are you doing?”

The question hung between them like mist. Eris opened his mouth to say fine, to brush it off with his usual sardonic flare, but the lie caught in his throat. Something about the way Tamlin looked at him—patient, solid, real—unraveled the easy evasion.

So he shrugged, helplessly, like a leaf giving in to wind.

Tamlin’s hand slid from his shoulder to his palm, and Eris startled at the contact. Not because it was unexpected—Tamlin had touched him before—but because the warmth felt like an anchor he hadn’t realized he needed. The fluttering in his chest was instant and unwelcome. Or perhaps… far too welcome.

Without a word, Tamlin guided him down to the forest floor, the moss cool beneath their legs, dappled with fallen leaves in ochre and flame hues. With a flick of his fingers, Tamlin summoned two bottles of scotch from wherever he kept such comforts hidden. Autumn clung to them both: in the chill threading through their clothes, in the breath-fog between them, in the color of the liquor itself—rich as burnt topaz.

Tamlin unscrewed the cap and handed Eris a bottle. “Try again,” he said softly, watching him closely. “How are you, really?”

Eris stared down into the bottle, the liquid trembling slightly with the unsteadiness of his grip. He swallowed hard—once, twice—and Tamlin, ever observant, watched the movement of his throat with more attention than was strictly platonic. His own breath caught. Gods, he thought, let me be what he swallows next.

“I should be happy,” Eris finally muttered, voice cracking around the confession. “Beron is dead. I’m High Lord. I have what I wanted. But I don’t feel… anything. Or maybe I feel too much. I don’t even know.”

“That’s still a feeling,” Tamlin replied after a long pause, his voice gentle but certain. “Emptiness doesn’t mean you’re broken. It just means you’re clearing space for what comes next.”

Eris turned to look at him, a faint smile breaking across his otherwise solemn features. “That sounds like something Lucien would say.”

Tamlin smirked, taking a sip of his scotch. “Probably. I listen, sometimes.”

They sat like that for a while, side by side, as the wind carried the scent of woodsmoke and the last flowers of summer into the hollow. Eris drank, slowly now, his long fingers curling around the bottle like it was a lifeline.

“I’m afraid,” he admitted, so quietly Tamlin barely heard it. “That I’ll be worse than him. That I’ll turn into something like Beron without even realizing it. I can’t—” He broke off, eyes clouding.

Tamlin turned to face him fully, one knee brushing against Eris’s thigh. He reached out and placed a firm hand on Eris’s bicep, grounding him.

“You won’t,” Tamlin said, and there was iron in his voice now. “You are already more than he ever was. You’re not cruel for sport. You don’t rule by fear. You care. That alone sets you apart.”

Eris’s throat worked again, but no words came. He simply tipped the last of the scotch down his throat and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand.

Tamlin smiled softly and leaned closer, the weight of him reassuring. “And for the record,” he added, voice dipping low, “you’ve never needed to be him. Or better than him. Just be yourself. That’s already more than enough.”

Something in Eris cracked. A breath trembled out of him like a released spell, and he turned his head away, not wanting Tamlin to see the red at the corner of his eyes. But Tamlin only nudged him gently with his shoulder, and they sat there until the sky faded to violet and the first stars began to blink through the canopy.

“Remember that time you threatened to incinerate my entire orchard because I made fun of your hair?” Tamlin asked suddenly.

Eris huffed a laugh, caught between mortification and amusement. “You deserved it. You called it a ‘burnt broom.’”

Tamlin grinned. “It did look like one back then.”

“And you were a walking haystack with muscles.”

“I still am.”

Eris snorted into his sleeve, and for the first time all day, something like genuine warmth curled through his chest—not fire, not duty. Just the comforting kind of heat that came from someone knowing all your worst parts and still sitting beside you in the leaves.

And when Tamlin passed him the second bottle, their fingers touched again, lingering just a beat longer than necessary.

The stars kept coming. And so did the memories, tumbling one after another as they drank and laughed, wrapped in the wild hush of a forest preparing for its long sleep. And maybe—just maybe—Eris began to believe that he wasn’t alone in the weight he carried.

Not anymore.

. . .

Night had settled fully now, laying its velvet shroud over the forest. The stars had multiplied above them, shimmering like frost caught in black silk, and the air had taken on that unmistakable edge of late-autumn chill—crisp, bracing, smelling faintly of woodsmoke, damp bark, and the faded sweetness of decaying leaves. Somewhere, an owl called—low and mournful.

They were still talking. Quietly, slowly, like neither of them wished to acknowledge the hour. The second bottle of scotch sat half-drained beside them, forgotten. Eris leaned back against the twisted roots of the oak tree, his flame-red hair a striking smear against the dark bark. Tamlin was cross-legged beside him, arms folded over his chest, breath misting faintly in front of his mouth.

The silence between their words wasn’t awkward—it was worn in, comfortable. Sacred, almost.

Then Eris noticed it—the slight tremble in Tamlin’s shoulders. Barely visible, but there. The night air had turned colder still, curling with the promise of frost. Tamlin exhaled again, a little more shallowly now, his jaw tensing for a beat as a shiver visibly rolled through him.

“You’re cold,” Eris said, more a statement than a question.

Tamlin blinked, surprised to be caught. “It’s fine—”

“Shift closer,” Eris interrupted, already moving an inch to the side, creating space in the cradle of roots. “Come on. I can share heat. You forget who you’re sitting next to?”

Tamlin hesitated, just for a moment. But the cold was getting in, and truth be told, he’d wanted to be closer to Eris all evening. He cleared his throat and scooted over, settling beside him until their thighs were pressed together. The warmth that bled from Eris’s body was instantaneous—he radiated it like a hearth, molten and steady, the magic in his blood humming just beneath the surface.

Tamlin all but sighed at the contact, his body instinctively leaning toward the heat. “Gods,” he muttered, “you’re like a living bonfire.”

“You’re welcome,” Eris murmured, a smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth.

Tamlin rubbed his hands together absently, trying to coax warmth back into his fingers. Eris noticed. With a quiet sigh, he reached out and took Tamlin’s hands in his own.

“Here,” he said simply.

Tamlin stilled.

Eris’s hands, elegant and callused in places, were hot—deliberately so, like sun-warmed stones. He cradled Tamlin’s much larger hands gently, rubbing slow, rhythmic circles into his palms, coaxing life back into every stiff joint and cold knuckle. His magic flared softly, subtle but deliberate, threading warmth into Tamlin’s skin like fire winding its way through roots.

Tamlin was quiet, breath caught somewhere in his throat. The touch was so careful. Reverent, almost. His gaze slid up, slowly, irresistibly—and there Eris was, brow furrowed in concentration, flame-touched lashes lowered, cheeks flushed faintly from the cold and the scotch and perhaps something else.

He was beautiful.

Gods, he was beautiful.

Eris looked up—and froze. Because Tamlin was staring at him with such naked softness, such honest yearning, that his words caught on the edge of his tongue and dissolved into the night air.

Their hands were still entwined.

The silence cracked, wide and fragile.

Tamlin’s voice, when it came, was a rasp of breath more than sound. “Can I kiss you?”

Eris’s heart stuttered, then surged so hard he swore Tamlin must have felt it through their hands. His lips parted. “Yes,” he said, breathless. “Yes.”

The kiss began with careful gravity, like they both knew how much it meant. Tamlin leaned in slowly, letting Eris meet him halfway. Their mouths brushed once—featherlight, testing. Then again, deeper. A shared exhale warmed the space between them before their lips met more firmly.

Eris made a soft, broken sound as Tamlin tilted his head and kissed him with deliberate slowness, like they had all the time in the world. Their mouths slid together, warm and tentative, reverent. A whisper of scotch and magic lingered on both their tongues. Eris reached up, fingers threading into Tamlin’s hair, drawing him closer. Tamlin’s hand cupped Eris’s jaw with aching gentleness, thumb sweeping over the flame-burnished curve of his cheek.

The kiss deepened, became something else entirely—something molten and quietly desperate. Tamlin kissed like he was starved for it, like he’d been dreaming of this for years. Eris responded in kind, gasping softly when Tamlin’s mouth parted against his, when their tongues brushed, slow and exploratory.

They kissed like autumn itself—slow-burning and rich, full of colors you could only see in the right light. All around them, the forest held its breath. Even the wind stilled.

And there, not far behind them, Beron’s grave sat in silence.

It should have felt morbid, almost sacrilegious. But instead, it felt like defiance. Like a promise that something better could bloom where rot had once ruled. A fire born not of destruction, but of warmth.

When they finally pulled apart, barely an inch remained between them. Tamlin’s pupils were blown wide, his chest rising and falling a little too fast. Eris’s lips were kiss-bitten, parted, the faintest smudge of pink brushing the corner of his mouth.

Neither of them said anything for a long while.

Tamlin finally broke the silence, voice rough and low: “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

Eris laughed—softly, breathlessly—and leaned in again, his forehead brushing Tamlin’s. “Then don’t stop.”

And he kissed him again—under the brittle stars and the ancient trees and the hush of a world not quite ready to speak.

And for once, Eris let himself feel everything.

. . .

[lzrsaugust]

...Cowabummer 💔

[lzrsaugust]

rip feral feyre

One thing I hate more than drawing clothing, is expressions I can't ever get the dam thing right

I'm not too big of a fan of feylin... but I saw something that reminded me of them so....

Ref btw:

[lzrsaugust]

which trope do you think suits tamris the best?

Oh I like this ask. Friends to lovers.

Because in my head it's canon that Tamlin is one of those few people who know that Eris is not what he lets the world see. They've been friends for years, never really stopped being friends (not that close because Beron) but definitely not strangers. And also unrequited (actually very much reciprocated) love, because they are a little bit dumb in terms of romance.

[lzrsaugust]

More of Nesta moving to the Spring Court instead of the House of Wind.

[lzrsaugust]

A tiny AU where Kaeya is the darknight hero and Diluc the cavalry captain #Ragbros 🍓🫐