Shadowsinger's Mate

Hey there. Welcome to my chaotic little corner of Tumblr. I’m Shivani, a 23F from India. If you love A Court of Thorns and Roses, Love and Deepspace, or Percy Jackson, you’re in the right place! I'm into novels, music, mythology, letting my imagination run wild through roleplays and fanfics.

My ask box and requests are always open! So don’t be shy—send me your thoughts, questions, or whatever fanfic dreams are living in your head. I love to chat and create things for you.

Here is a list of my works:

ACOTAR:

Elucien Fics:

Masks (Elucien Week Day 5)

Healing (Elucien Week Day 7: AU or Tention / Healing)

Fires of Fate (Part 1) (ACOTAR Gift Exchange 2024)

Summary: In the heart of battle, amidst steel and fire, Elain is seized by a vision—her body frozen, her mind lost to the storm of prophecy. Lucien is by her side in an instant; becoming her shield, her sword, her sanctuary.

A/N: The fabulous artwork used in this fic was made by the lovely @works-of-heart . Kudos to you, I love everything you create. Link to her artwork is here. Go and show some love to her creations!

The battlefield smelled of blood and steel, of burnt flesh and magic thick as storm clouds.

Lucien had long since stopped trying to count the bodies. His blade was slick with blood, his muscles ached from the relentless dance of war, but he did not stop. He could not stop. Not when Elain was here. Not when his mate—his delicate, steel-spined mate—had insisted on coming to the front lines.

He had fought wars before. He had seen battles more gruesome than this, had survived hellscapes that would have driven lesser males mad. But never—not once—had he been this afraid.

Not for himself.

For her.

Elain.

She had stayed behind the main assault, positioned where the healers worked frantically over the wounded, where the risk was supposed to be minimal. But something had pulled her forward—some invisible force, some call in her bones that Lucien could feel through the bond. It had yanked her away from safety, had made her steps quick and desperate, her breath uneven.

And then—she froze.

Lucien saw it from across the battlefield. Saw her go still, her hands limp at her sides, her eyes wide and unseeing.

Terror slashed through him.

He ran.

His body moved before his mind could catch up, dodging spells, blades, the screams of dying soldiers. He cut down anyone in his path, uncaring of how many fell before him.

Because Elain was not moving.

He reached her just as an enemy lifted a blade to strike—

Lucien’s roar tore through the battlefield.

The male did not even have time to register his mistake before Lucien was upon him. With a brutal, vicious slice, he severed the soldier’s hand from his wrist, then drove his sword into his chest. Blood sprayed across the dirt, the male’s body crumpling at Elain’s feet.

She did not react.

Lucien barely noticed as he turned, blade flashing, cleaving through another enemy that dared step too close.

Elain was still standing there. Lost. Her pupils were blown wide, her chest rising and falling in short, rapid breaths.

A vision.

Lucien had never seen one take hold of her this way. Never seen her so utterly consumed, so paralyzed by whatever images had seized her mind.

And she was defenseless.

A war waged around them, soldiers surging in from every direction, and she stood in the middle of it all, an unmoving target.

Lucien moved.

He grabbed her, his arm a band of iron, sweeping her into his arms, pressing her against his chest, shielding her from the chaos. His other hand lifted his sword once more.

"I've got you," he murmured, his voice thick, wild, as he pressed his lips to her temple.

She did not respond.

Lucien braced his legs and fought.

With one arm locked around her, he became a living, breathing shield, swinging his blade with deadly precision. His muscles burned, his wounds screamed, but none of it mattered.

Because his mate was in his arms, vulnerable, and there was nothing—nothing—he would not do to protect her.

A spell arced toward them—dark, curling magic meant to kill.

Lucien snarled, twisting them both so his back took the brunt of it, fire licking along his spine. His teeth ground together, the pain sharp, searing—but Elain did not feel it.

She did not so much as flinch.

"Come back to me, sweet girl," he rasped against her hair, his voice barely audible over the din of war.

He could feel the vision holding her captive, could feel the distance in the bond—like she was slipping further, further, into something he could not reach.

"Elain." His voice was raw, desperate.

Another soldier lunged. Lucien pivoted, his grip tightening around her waist as he swung his sword in a deadly arc, slicing through the male’s throat. Blood splattered across his face, hot and sticky, but he did not loosen his hold on her.

Never.

Another attack. Another. They came like a tide, relentless and hungry, and Lucien fought them all, his body a barrier, his blade an executioner.

His breath was ragged, his heartbeat wild, but he did not stop.

Because she was in his arms. And he would burn the world before he let it take her from him.

Another arrow shot toward them. Lucien barely had time to shift, taking the hit to his shoulder with a sharp grunt.

"Come back," he growled against her ear, tugged at their bond. "Come back, Elain. I need you."

She did not respond.

Fear crawled up his throat. His grip on her tightened. What if she did not return? What if whatever had stolen her away would keep her?

Lucien’s chest ached, but he only held her tighter to him, his voice breaking as he whispered, "You are mine, Elain. And I am yours. Come back to me."

A gasp.

Her entire body jerked.

Lucien’s heart nearly stopped.

Elain’s fingers curled into his armor, her breath sharp and uneven. He felt her return to him through the bond, felt the awareness slam back into her fragile frame.

And then—her voice. Small, shaking.

"Lucien?"

The breath he released was shattered. His forehead dropped against hers, his chest rising and falling in frantic, desperate relief.

"I’ve got you, sweet girl," he whispered, his hand cradling the back of her head, his fingers curling into her hair.

Her entire body trembled against him.

Lucien swallowed hard, pressing another kiss to her forehead, then her temple, then the corner of her mouth—quick, frantic kisses that were more reassurance than anything else. "You are with me. You are safe," he assured her.

But there was no time.

The battle was not over.

Lucien lifted his head, scanning the battlefield. He was bleeding, panting, but he did not let her go. He would never let her go.

His free hand lifted his sword once more.

"Stay with me, Elain," he said, voice dark, fierce, trembling with everything he could not say.

Her fingers curled tighter into his armor. "Always."

And with his mate clutched against him, Lucien turned back to the battle.

A/N: This is the first part of the long series i wrote for the talented and lovely @cauldronblssd I'm your secret santa! Next parts are coming soon, i hope you like it!

Summary: Bound by fate, but driven by desire, Elain and Lucien are drawn together by a force neither can resist. In the quiet pull of their hearts, they will uncover a love and passion that transcends the bond and sets them both aflame.

The Winter Solstice celebration was in full swing, the manor alive with music and laughter, the warmth of the hearths battling the crisp chill that still lingered in the air. Tables groaned under the weight of decadent food and drink, while High Fae from across the courts mingled beneath the golden light of crystal chandeliers. Elain stood by one of the grand arched windows, her back to the frost-laced panes, watching the revelry unfold. The goblet in her hand was cool against her palm, its contents untouched, though her fingers clutched it as if it might steady her.

She wasn’t paying attention to Nesta’s pointed commentary about the Autumn Court delegation, wasn’t even listening to the music that swirled around her. No, her focus was elsewhere. On him.

Lucien stood across the room near the roaring hearth, the flickering firelight gilding him in molten gold. He was speaking with Kallias and Viviane, his red hair catching the light like freshly polished copper. The deep green velvet jacket he wore fit his broad shoulders and tapered down his lean frame as though it had been sculpted for him, the intricate golden embroidery along the cuffs and lapels catching the glow of the chandeliers above. Beneath, a pristine white shirt was undone just enough to reveal a teasing expanse of bronzed skin, the hollow of his throat, and the strong curve of his collarbone.

Elain’s breath hitched as her eyes drank him in. She told herself she was simply observing, simply admiring the way the firelight softened the scar that slashed across one side of his face. But her gaze betrayed her, slipping lower, to the line of his throat and the way the muscles there shifted as he tilted his head slightly to laugh at something Viviane had said.

And then he raised his glass.

Her heart stumbled as he brought the rim to his lips, his long fingers curling around the crystal. He took a slow sip, and her eyes followed the motion, helpless against the pull. The liquid caught the light as it passed his lips, and her breath stilled as she watched his throat work, watched the muscles of his neck flex and move. His Adam’s apple bobbed with each deliberate swallow, the firelight glinting off the faint sheen of sweat along his skin. The teasing glimpse of his chest beneath his undone collar felt almost indecent, though it was she who couldn’t stop staring.

Her pulse thundered, her stomach tightening with a heat that spread lower, deeper, until her thighs clenched of their own accord. A soft gasp escaped her, unbidden, as her abdomen throbbed with a need she didn’t dare name.

It wasn’t just him—it was the bond. That shimmering, unrelenting thread that connected them, that hummed between them like a second heartbeat. She could feel it now, stronger than ever, pulling her toward him, begging her to close the space between them.

And then, as if he had heard the plea she hadn’t spoken, Lucien turned his head. Slowly. Deliberately.

His mismatched eyes locked onto hers from across the room, molten and unyielding. The bond flared, hot and insistent, as his gaze swept over her. Thorough. As though he were cataloging every detail of her, from the flush staining her cheeks to the way her lips parted as their eyes met.

Her fingers tightened around her goblet, her entire body trembling under the weight of his attention. His lips, still glistening from the sip of wine, curved into the faintest, most devastating smirk. It was a look that felt like a caress, like the whisper of his fingers along her skin, a promise unspoken but loud enough to leave her breathless.

Lucien raised his glass again, the movement so slow, so confident, that it sent a shiver down her spine. He tilted it slightly, in acknowledgment. To her.

Her throat went dry, and she turned quickly, pretending to be engrossed in whatever Nesta was saying. But it was a lie. Her thoughts were a riot of heat and longing, of aching want that pulsed in time with the bond thrumming in her chest.

And she wasn’t alone.

Lucien's hand clenched on his glass, his jaw flexing as he forced himself to look away from her. He felt her just as strongly as she felt him, the bond tugging, demanding he close the space between them, demanding he take what was his. But he didn’t move. He wouldn’t.

Still, his heart pounded against his ribs, his blood hot and restless as he fought the pull. It was a losing battle—he knew it, and judging by the way she’d looked at him, she knew it, too.

Flushed and breathless, Elain excused herself, murmuring a half-hearted excuse as she hurried from the crowded hall.

Lucien’s eyes tracked her departure, though he made no move. He remained where he was, his body taut as a bowstring, trying to temper the surge of emotions that roared through the bond. Her unease, her nervousness—it wasn’t his to fix, not unless she wanted it to be.

But then the bond shifted—softened. A quiet hum of something like… hope? Or invitation.

Lucien set down his drink, murmured an excuse to Kalias and strode towards the doors Elain had disappeared through.