elliemarchetti

[elliemarchetti]

Tamlin Week Day 5

I know this isn't exactly the type of content you would expect from me for the prompt shapeshifter of @tamlinweek, but as soon as I saw this coloring page by @thrumugnyr I couldn't resist the urge to open Paint and give myself a hour break to colour it like I used to do back when computers were not that accessible and made the sounds of an aerospace engine. I know it's not perfect, and that there will be at least a million people far more talented than me who will make this wonderful drawing into a true masterpiece, but you can't understand how grateful I am for the childlike joy you gave me, so I thought I'd share the result along with a short scene it inspired

Plot: War is only a distant memory, the Spring Court has returned to its former glory, and Tamlin is finally coming back to understand what it means to be loved.

Pairing: Tamlin x Elain x Lucien if you want to see it that way, just Elucien if you're not into throuples. Obviously, it's Tamlin centric.

Words: 444

Tamlin was dozing in the shade of a wisteria-covered gazebo, his large paws resting under his snout like a pillow, when he heard a disturbance in the silence of a lazy, clear afternoon. Elain must’ve noticed it too, her legs tensing a little on his side, but her delicate hands kept stroking the golden fur on his spine, the area she was preparing to be adorned with little, bright pink daphne flowers. It was one of her favourite pastimes, when he was in his beast form, to cover him in colourful arrangements.

“To make you less scary,” she had said when he confronted her after the second or third time it happened. “More approachable for the children.”

Tamlin was nearly sure it was an innocent lie to safe face, but he didn't mind the attention, or all those younglings hanging on his property, looking for advice about horse-riding, gardening, and love matters, therefore he had no intention of pressing the matter to obtain a more exhaustive answer. He didn't want to frighten her, or see her return to her sisters after the less than amicable departure from the Night Court that gave him a pretext to rebuild his friendship with Lucien. Against all odds, his best friend’s mate, the sister of the one who had broken his heart and robbed him of his subjects’ trust, had been a pleasant addition at the Manor; where Feyre was stubborn and immovable, Elain was affable and ready for constructive confrontations, and on those same occasions in which the youngest Archeron would’ve withdrawn into herself and put on a defensive attitude, the middle one had been able to remain objective and even help him.

“Have you really been lounging around here all this time?” Lucien asked, cheerfully, once he was within their field of vision. Tamlin sat up lazily, showing a hint of fangs at the emissary, a tacit warning not to interrupt the sacredness of their bonding.

“What do you think, did I exaggerate on the antlers?” Elain asked, nodding toward the intricate ivy wreath she had wrapped around the entire lenght.

“I think they’re gorgeous,” he replied, finally allowed to be soft and careless, before giving her a light kiss on the temple and dropping behind her, the back Tamlin had once been forced to whip resting on his side.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he added as he made himself comfortable, sinking down until his head was on the beast’s belly, like they used to sit in the meadow when he first came from Autumn, when Elain turned to shot him a questioning look. “I just wanted to spend some time with my favourite people.”

#tamlinweek2024 #tamlain #tamcien #tamlin x elain x lucien #i want them to live a soft life #they all deserve to heal and be peaceful

[elliemarchetti]

all descriptions gender neutral, based on vibes only

#soon-to-be-friend #now you know my evil plan #polls

[elliemarchetti]

daydreaming about writing: 🥰😍🥹❤️😊🌺✨😘

the act of actually writing: 😭😰😵‍💫😭😰😭☹️😖

[elliemarchetti]

My sad headcanon is that Lucien knew to wait on the stairs listening to what would happen inside the study with Tamlin and Feyre because he use to do the same with Lady of Autumn and Beron.

[elliemarchetti]

every time i get reminded of Feyre Archeron’s age I’m just like “damn…my girl should’ve been at the club…my girl should STILL be at the club” 😭😭

[elliemarchetti]

A Court of Thorns and Roses Characters

Artist: @/eburnsillustrations

#i don't want to sound rude or whatever #but we all see that the inspo behind tamlin's face is john cena right? #and nesta is rebecca ferguson #acotar #feyre archeron #rhysand #nesta archeron #cassian #elain archeron #azriel #amren #mor #lucien vanserra

[elliemarchetti]

gwyn spends one night outside the library and ends up in the fucking hunger games

#i would go back to the library too #tbh i would disappear from the night court completely #fuck everyone #see you in day #or dawn #where they're less psycho

[elliemarchetti]

Sorry I have another petty thing to say about Nessian. This quote:

Cassian had heard enough. He wanted to return home—to the House, to Nesta. His fierce, beautiful mate, who had saved his High Lord and Lady and their son. He’d never stop being in awe of her, and all she had done. How far she’d come.

The way he chooses to praise her in his FINAL pov chapter in the whole book, not by highlighting anything about Nesta herself and what makes her special, but instead how she was useful to Feysand… I’m sorry your honor this “love story” sucks

[elliemarchetti]

It's always risky killing off a character but if you have to, you must have them HAUNT the narrative. Let their death and absence be constantly felt at some level.

[elliemarchetti]

#can we please unite and hate on the real enemy? #cassian and his lack of spine is right here #rhysand and his abusive ways? just a few positions up #who the fuck dislikes jurian?! #he's insane and he's the only sane person in the whole series

[elliemarchetti]

[writing]: god this is the worst. this is garbage. this is awful. it needs to be burned before anyone else can see it and my reputation is ruined forever

[reading back my writing]: oh this isn't so bad actually

[elliemarchetti]

The Prettiest Fuck You

Summary - After the birth of Rhysand and Feyre's 3rd child, Tamlin sends a coded message with the help of his mate

Warnings - slight jealously, mentions of breeding, little IC slander, Tamlin is in a goofy mood

Prompt Day 3 - Mate/Flower Language

A/N - just a short little silly for @tamlinweek I'm so excited for the masterlist for today to pop up. I'm going to eat it all up. I fell in love with the idea of a fuck you bouquet after several reddit posts and a few on here, and Tamlin would seriously love to send one. I just know it.

Tamlin Masterlist

You blinked at Tamlin as you looked over the list of flowers that he had given you. Fox glove, yellow roses and carnations, Cyprus, babies breath, and marigolds?

Insincerity, congratulations, disappointment, death, and jealousy? You put the list down on your work table, silently hoping it would somehow magically disappear under the thousands of stems and ribbons from all the arrangements you had worked in today. “Tamlin-”

“Just do it.” He tucked your hair behind your ear and kissed your nose, trying to convince you with that signature smile.

“Tam-” You wanted to object to what the bouquet said, even if you would be able to make it absolutely stunning.

“It's fine.” Both hands were on your face as he kissed you softly.

“Ta-”

“It will look beautiful. You make everything so beautiful, dearest.” You couldn't help the soft smile. His words were not a lie. You were the most sought-after florist to the 7 courts for a reason.

You shook it off, focuing again. “Tamlin, this is-”

“Perfect to congratulate them with!” He walked away from you, chuckling as he did. You had little choice. It was a done discussion.

Your mate wasn't a bitter male all the time. Life shined in those bright green eyes, and they were always full of wonder, amazement, love, joy. But the Lord and Lady of Night announcing the birth of their 3rd child and waiting for the praise and attention that was bound to come with it? That made Tamlin bitter, sick, angry.

He had been too stuck in himself, too trapped in years of trauma, to offer Feyre the life he had offered you. One safe from any duties you did not want. One safe from politics. One where you were free to give him a child at any point. One where a family was wanted, but in due time, instead of an expectation to prove your court was moving on.

You were not Tamlin's symbolic incubator. Your womb was not meant to be used to send a message. You were his wife, his love, the one he showered in red roses and baby's breath, a sign of his eternal love and devotion. You two would have children someday. You would have an army if he'd allow it. But for now, until this lingering bitterness passed, you two would just continue to learn and grow together.

You went back to the task at hand

Gathering the buds he had requested and inspecting each and every single one to ensure its perfection and beauty. If you were going to do this. You were going to do it so well that Rhysand would not come mist your mate and then trap you in that damned Stone City. Tamlin learned through you to speak through flowers when they were sent as gifts or placed in his home. He had learned to say congratulations, to say his sympathy, to say his love, to show support. He had learned a new form of expression through you, and as intricately laced and weaved the flowers he had picked into an arrangement, you realized you thought him too well.

The flowers were beautiful, varying shades of yellows, oranges, whites, reds, and you had mixed your favorite feather-like greens in. It seemed so innocent to anyone who didn't know what the flowers symbolized, the language they spoke. It said “Fuck you and die,” in the most beautiful way possible.

You signed as you picked the vase, enchanting everything to last and stamping the card with the sign of the Spring Court, a rose and thorns. You sent it, hugging yourself slightly before walking into your shared room. it was quiet behind that door, and when you opened it, you could not help but to smile.

Centered on your vanity sat a bouquet of White tulips, red roses, and red spider lily. You knew immediately who they were from, who had made the arrangement, and who may be missing her favorite flowers from her garden.

It was stunning. Shades of red and white mixed with greenery that it was so perfectly balanced. It was huge, occupying most of the corner it sat on. He had surrounded it with poetry and chocolates. "Tam," you took one of those soft roses in your hands, smelling that familiar scent and sighing so happily.

You jumped as arms went around your waist, and kiss was placed to the side of your head. “How did it turn out?” His voice was laced with pride over his own creation.

“Gorgeous. I wouldn't make it any other way. Regardless of what you wanted it to say.”

“Elain lives in Day now, right?” You hummed and nodded. “But she will come visit them, won't she?”

“Of course.”

“Perfect. Perfect. And how about your flowers? How did they turn out?” Your mate, so handsome and strong, tended to need those compliments, and you were eager to hand him praise.

You turned into him, pressing a soft kiss on his lips. “So beautiful. Thank you for including Spider Lilies. This has to be the most stunning arrangement you've made so far." You touched the spider lily, fingers lingering on the off shoots as you did.

“Growth and new beginnings,” he whispered the meaning to you and watched as you nodded, looking up at him through watering eyes.

“And purity and true love.”

“To symbolize us, y/n.”

“To symbolize us,” you repeated.

Rhysand placed the bouquet from Spring centered on his table. He always admired y/n's work. Yes, Elain did wonderful things with flowers, but centuries of practice and studying had allowed you to create masterpieces with the blink of an eye. He smiled before walking away. Leaving a stunned Elain and Lucien to silently laugh.

Her mate leaned into her ear, red hair falling over her shoulder. “He really out did himself with this one.”

Elain had tears forming, “She made it so beautiful.”

“Do we tell him?”

“No,” Elain fixed the flowers from where they had been resting on Rhysand's chest. “Let Tam have this. I have enjoyed him alive lately. His gardens are exquisite."

"You're exquisite," Lucien squeezed the now supple hips of his mate, loving their new plush. "We should really visit soon."

"We should."

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria

#petty tamlin my beloved #and the way he makes bouquets for his florist mate? i'm in love #elucien being neutral in this is pure gold #kudos to them #i'm a sucker for rhysand making a fool of himself #i hope a lot of people versed in the language of flowers visits them and sees the composition and is like “what?” #tamlin x reader #elucien #feysand #tamlin #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #rhysand #feyre archeron

[elliemarchetti]

And for the second prompt of Day 3 of @tamlinweek: Flower Language.

Content warning: Grief, war, allusions to torture, graves/graveyards, depression and PTSD.

Read Potentillas on AO3 or beneath the cut:

Where are you?

Days, months, years have passed, and he still cannot find him. Through the thicket and into the brush, Tamlin speaks to the whispering moss and the little creatures hidden within. The smallest things carry the greatest knowledge, often unseen and unheard, but Tamlin listens.

He’s always listened.

They tell him of the eagle and the bobcat, and of the new silver lace vines that have taken root in the North. He follows the trail they lead towards all the changes of his father’s Court. Maybe today, he’ll find what he’s looking for.

White flowers on shining pale gray stems greet him, honoured to be noticed by Spring’s prince. They bloom, showing their very best side. He asks their name, and though he is kind and caring, his heart shutters with disappointment. Not here.

The forest is his home; the war has made him restless and he rejects stillness. When the body does not move, the mind begins to race, and his mind lives among the dead.

He knows every inch of this place, from the growth of the trees, to the war of the weeds. He wakes his great-grandmother from her willow, and asks if she has seen anyone new, too. The souls always come home, so why isn’t he here? He loved the forests just as much as Tamlin did. He taught Tamlin to look, to listen and to respect. The Green should have welcomed him by now.

It has been days, months and years since Tamlin failed to bring Iolin’s body home, and he will not rest until he’s found his spirit.

***

The Middle is a barren place, ravaged by war. The soil is dead, poisoned by the iron of blood and the toxicity of faebane. Few things grow here, but they do not bloom—they claw their way out of the ground, all sharp edges and dark stems. Their leaves are shades of black, gray and rotted brown.

It has been a long time since Tamlin dared to venture here, and he does so against his better judgement. Shame isolates him, making him too afraid to reach out for help in this desperate endeavour. What will his friends say when the realize his crime?

I let my brother die.

That’s it.

Tamlin knows it, his family knows it and it’s only a matter of time before everyone else knows it, too. Cold seeps into his bones, a needling sensation that only ever takes place here. He pulls his cloak closer to himself and begins the trek.

Bones litter across the ground, half-devoured by vicious plants who thrive not on sun, not on song, but on the hard calcium of the dead. His mind shutters, withering under the weight of memories. This graveyard is of his making.

But Tamlin does not sop. He never learned how to. He only ploughs forward.

Further, and further, until he reaches the western shore close to where the King had stationed his temporary palace. The air grows thick, and Tamlin has to stop.

I can’t—

I can’t do this.

He promised he would bring Iolin home; he failed the first time, and he will let this attempt kill him before he fails again. Tamlin forces himself back to his feet, and keeps walking. He remembers exactly where he collapsed, where Iolin’s body had slipped from his arms and rolled down an incline, breaking him even more than he was already broken. He was already dead by then, succumbing to Amarantha’s wrath.

He was already free by then, leaving Tamlin in this interminable hell.

The gnawing in his chest is too much; he clutches it, as if he can reach his heart and throttle it in hopes of making it work again. It keeps failing, just like his lungs that can’t ever find enough air.

Please, please, please, I don’t want to be here.

Out of the corner of his eye, a glimmer of bright yellow sings softly to him. He knows that voice, and its gentle cadence. Iolin had always been kind, even when he was hiding from his father’s harsh gaze beneath the mask of duty. Iolin had always been the one to find Tamlin when he was running from something. He was courage itself.

Tamlin picks himself out of the dirt, walking with heavy steps towards the only bloom in the heart of this hellscape.

“Potentillas,” he whispers, touching the five petals lightly. “Of course.” His voice falters, and the breath that escapes him is shaky. He sits beside his brother’s resting place, and lets the relief wash over him. Iolin had always been his safe haven.

“The flowers of resilience. Crush the petals and steep it in tea, and you’ll find strength for another day,” he recites his brother’s words back to him. “I miss you, I miss you so damn much.”

#DON'T MAKE ME CRY AT WORK #ik it's my fault i'm reading instead of doing what i should do #but boss makes a dollar i make a dime that's why i'm on tumblr on company time #on a more serious note #ik sjm said tamlin's family was as bad as lucien's but i can't imagine brothers who live under the same roof just ignoring each other #and always be awful #even if they weren't like best friends he should feel something about their death #and have a favourite too #the one he misses the most #the one he played with when he was a child #the one he respected and admired because as the youngest it's only natural to see your elder brother as an exapmple to follow #he must have a brother he disliked the most too #someone too similar to his father to click with his character #someone more cunning and less honourable #these fae are all around 500 yo and you're telling me the most important things in their lives are wars? #depressing #this on the other hand is exactly what i want to read in my fantasy book

[elliemarchetti]

Time for Day 3 of @tamlinweek, and the first of two prompts: Mates!

For an angsty-er reading: keep in mind that this scene is set in a universe with the same 'canon' events that ended Rhysand and Tamlin's friendship 🙃

Otherwise, pls enjoy the softhearted feels~

Read Mates on AO3 or below the cut:

“What do you think it’s like, wildflower?”

“Hmm?”

“Being mates?”

The cool breeze of the Illyrian mountains skirts across his broad back, a soothing touch across the litany of scars there. He’d fallen asleep under the sun, basked by the peace and quiet that comes with being around the person he loves. It takes Tamlin a moment to stir, to lift his head from the faceplant he’d dozed off in. He rests his chest on his arms, looking at the dream beside him.

Handsome in a sly way, Rhysand is crafted like finery—unique, sharp, and well-thought out, like the Mother had been inspired to bring life to the word striking. There is no one like him, save for his father, but Tamlin believes that Rhysand could not wear the moustache or the goatee the same way as the High Lord of Night does.

Tamlin reaches out to touch this High Faerie who is so different from him, yet the same. He is the dark to his light, the lean to his broad, and the cleverness to his strength. They are the unwilling heirs, and the reluctant soldiers, to their father’s brutal wills.

He shifts in the grass, leaning over Rhysand, and presses a generous kiss against his liss. He suckles at that bottom lip, and coaxes him to open—to let him in. The answer to the question is etched directly onto Rhysand’s tongue, a secret language only for him.

“Like that, probably,” he whispers, breathless. His fingers are still tangled in those raven locks, curled and caressing.

“What? Like kissing?” Rhysand snorts, a beautiful imperfect sound. Tamlin lives in those little revelations, the Faerie behind the facade who makes mistakes, and who falls every now and then. He lives in the moments where he can help, not only the times where the young Lord lets him in.

“Like kissing you.���

“Are you kissing anyone else?”

“Well, no.”

“Are you planning to kiss anyone else?”

“Obviously not.”

“So, technically, it’s just kissing,” Rhysand teases.

Tamlin leans on his elbow, raising his brow curiously, but the smile on his face is a mild mix of unimpressed, and cocky. He lets his touch dance across Rhysand’s skin, daring even to tickle the soft hairs that trail down towards…

“Just kissing, huh? Here I was, trying to show you how I feel and you mock me? Perhaps I should stop putting my mouth on you, stop curling my tongue around your nipples and your c—”

“My, my, wildflower. How you’ve improved your dirty talk.”

Laughter is free here, in the valley of dreams. They exist outside of their roles, and far beyond any expectations. It is a very lazy state of being, one that both Faeries embrace all too willingly.

“But really… Do you think it’ll change anything for us?”

“For us, no. We found each other before the bond, so I don’t think it’ll change much, but for others…” Tamlin trails, thinking of his mother, and of Lilith who’s love is vastly different when it comes to her son and her husband. They gave everything to their husbands and their sons—for what? The hurt they carry, he’s not immune to it. He’s not immune to the guilt, either. “I think it’s a prison.”

Rhysand’s agreement is a hum. “My mother says the bond is less about love, and more about balance. The bond gives you what you need. For her, it was protection and a way out.”

“For mine, it was purpose,” Tamlin chimes in. It’s not that he doesn’t believe his mother would have found her purpose, but more that the circumstances in their world… It’s limiting. The males are favoured, and even then, only the strong. He thinks back to an old memory, the time where he met the Ladies of Prythian.

This is where the real power is, he recalls Hyacinthus’ words. Who else has the ear of the High Lords in such a way?

“Make a bargain with me, wildflower.”

“Again? What are we at, three?”

If Tamlin didn’t know any better, it feels like Rhysand is trying to forge a bond.

If the Cauldron won’t give them one, Rhysand will make one.

Of all things, Tamlin cannot think of anything more like him. He is spoiled in his own way, taught to think that he can have whatever he wants as long as he can outthink the laws of this universe. It’s a wonder, truly, to someone like him who has wanted nothing more than to do the right thing.

“Two,” Rhysand corrects easily. “But I just need your word for this one.”

“Good because the tattoos would have been hard to cover up.” You know, because he is naked more often than not. No use wasting fabric if he’s to tear them every time he shifts. More importantly, Tamlin has always believed that his word means more than any magic in Prythian. It is a choice he will have to make, continuously, to live up to his promise. That’s what love should be like.

A choice.

“What do you want then?”

“I want you to promise me that if you need something, anything, you won’t leave it up to chance. You’ll talk to me. You’ll let me bet there for you. Mates or not, you’ll have me. I want you to know that. Promise me, wildflower?”

Tamlin laughs, the sound a low rumble in his chest, like an amused lion. “That’s an easy promise. I, on the other hand, am observant. You said it yourself, so I just want you to love me forever.” He shrugs, grinning because he doesn’t really expect Rhysand to always love him. They’ll have ups and downs, but that’s the beauty of it. Their love will be what they make of it.

“Done. You and only you will have my heart. Now, can you elaborate more on the kissing? I’m not sure I understood what you were trying to say before.”

“Mhm,” Tamlin grins, wolfish, as he leans over Rhysand and shows him all the things he can do with his mouth.

#tamsand #the younger version of them being in love vs the older version of them despising each other is so poetic #i hate the explanation sjm gave us in canon but still #even in this soft scene you can feel they're doomed #star crossed lovers at its finest #tamlin #rhysand

[elliemarchetti]

Tamlin Week Master List: Day 3

Fanfiction

Mates (Tamlin/Lucien) by @umthisistheonlyusernamenottaken

Flower Mischief (Tamlin/Lucien) by @shi-daisy

Wildflowers: The Lost Chapters, Mates (Tamlin/Rhysand) by @mathiwrites (AO3 link)

Tamlin's Life Story: A Tragedy (Tamlin/Amarantha) by @lorcandidlucienwill (AO3 link)

Chapter 19 from Tamlin's POV (Tamlin/Feyre) by @elliemarchetti

Wildflowers: The Lost Chapters, Potentillas (Gen Tamlin) by @mathiwrites (AO3 link)

Hedonism (Tamlin/Lucien) by @achaotichuman (AO3 link)

Bloom (Tamlin/Nesta) by @praetorqueenreyna (AO3 link)

Spring Fever (Tamlin/Reader) by @thisblogisaboutabook (AO3 link)

Second Bloom (Tamlin/Lucien) by @songofthesibyl (AO3 link)

The Prettiest Fuck You (Tamlin/Reader) by @readychilledwine

The Flowers Speak (Tamlin/Tarquin) by @duaghterofstories (AO3 link)

Pollen Allergies (Tamlin/Reader) by @thelov3lybookworm

A Court of Chaos and Darkness (Tamlin/Nyx) by @ohnyxlin (AO3 link)

The Rockrose and the Thistle (Tamlin/Reader) by @b0xerdancer-writes

A Rose by Any Other Name (Tamlin/Lucien) by @goforth-ladymidnight (AO3 link)

The Sorcery of Slumbering Secrets: Lillies of Good Will (Briar/Tamlin) by @booksnwriting (AO3 link)

Fanart

Mates (Tamlin/King of Hybern) by @lordofhaterism

The Spring Court Break-Up Bouquet (Gen Tamlin) by @taymartiart + worm update

Primrose and Bougainvillea (Tamlin/Tarquin) by @goddessofwisdom18

Tamlin ships (Tamlin/Andras, Tamlin/Eris, Tamlin/Beron) by @copypastus

To Those I Miss (Tamlin/Feyre, Tamlin/Rhysand) by @arson-09

pretty boy Tamlin (Gen Tamlin) by @loonylooly

Coloring Pages

N/A

Miscellaneous

Tamlin mates meme (Gen Tamlin) by @szalonykasztan00

Yellow Hyacinths (Gen Tamlin) by @sonics-atelier

Limericks (Gen Tamlin) by @rin-u-pos

#working my way thought all tge fantastic works as we speak #if i'm unable to read them all or if you have a tamlin centric fic you think i might like don't be shy and dm me tjr link #oh i'm here too if you're interested in some canon compliant content #that's the only canon compliant thing you're going to get from me for this tamlinweek #acotar #tamlin #feylin

[elliemarchetti]

This is Feysand in a nutshell

Even more proof? Just check out any feysand written by @the-lonelybarricade or @separatist-apologist

Case closed

[elliemarchetti]

Clare Turlay Newberry - Cat Napping