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#happy early bday
movable-object · 2 years
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karkats got that transmasc transfem swag
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Time, Curious Time
And isn't it so pretty to think all along there was some invisible string tying you to me
Summary: Briar just barely survived the war with Hybern and his terrible camp. All she wants is a little peace…especially from her dreams. Nightmares plague her, urging her to return to the place that tormented her.
What lies beyond that woodland threatens to reshape Prythian and Briar?
Well, she's right in the middle of it
for @ladynestas (who also made the moodboard)
Read on AO3
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She still had nightmares.
More often than Briar could count, she woke coated in sweat. She didn’t know why her mind forced her to relive the days spent in the Faerie camp. No amount of safety would ever convince her body, her mind. Briar ought to have been right back to that spinning wheel, utterly naked for the amusement of the males. She could feel their hands, their teeth, their blades, always plucking, biting, pinching. 
She still wore the scars, hidden beneath her dresses. She’d said nothing to her parents after Viviane returned her to the now ruined wall. They’d made her swear her days as a member of the Children of the Blessed were over. 
It was an easy promise to make, harder to keep. There had been stories, when she was a girl, that to drink faerie food or drink faerie wine bound you to their land. She knew that king was dead and yet a tugging in her gut was always pulling her back. Briar had done a good job ignoring it over the last year but tonight it was too much. 
She pushed the blanket from her bed. It was cold out, the last vestiges of winter clinging to the windowpane with clawed fingers. The promise of dawn lit over the sky, casting purple shadows as Briar dressed, sliding fur lined boots over warm, woolen socks. Her parents would be furious with her, though that was hardly new. 
They wanted her to get married. Phillip. He wanted her to get married too. Sometimes even Briar herself wanted that. He didn’t know what happened in Prythian. Didn’t see how she was haunted. What would he do when he unlaced her wedding dress to find the knife marks? The whipping scars? The burns forever etched into her skin? Proof someone else had been there first, that many people had. He wouldn’t understand it wasn’t necessarily, sexual. He would assume it all the same and human men were far too willing to believe the worst of women associated with the fae. 
Briar braided her silky, dark hair from her face, cursing the beauty staring back at her from the mirror. 
Her friends had been killed on sight. She’d been preserved because one of the fae took a liking to her face. The king of Hybern doubly so. It would have been far kinder to execute her on sight, she thought. Brian rubbed the heel of her hands against dark brown eyes, wishing the fae had marred that, too.
Maybe Phillip wouldn’t be so interested, then. 
Pulling a hunter green cloak over her head, Briar stepped out of the cottage that had once been home. She’d dreamed of leaving this village behind, of finding love and beauty and something more beyond the wall. She’d found a nightmare, one Briar could not wake up from. She was cursed, trapped in that enchanted sleep.
There was no waking and whatever was calling her back would certainly only damn her further. If Briar had been smart, she would have turned back, crawled back into bed, and stayed there. As Briar trudged through snow with only a small knife–gifted from the fae princess Viviane—she considered that her curiosity had always been her problem. She wasn’t content to leave well enough alone.
It was what kept her moving. Briar had considered that she was walking straight back to her doom. She wasn’t afraid, not this time. The worst had already happened, right? Maybe it tempted fate to assume that but Briar almost hoped something was waiting for her with glistening teeth and an open maw. 
The forest was endless and massive and by the time the sun was fully up, Briar realized what a terrible idea the entire thing was. She’d brought no food, had no thought as to where she was going. Her body was half dragged, propelled on, on, on. She knew what it was.
Magic.
She’d smelled it before—coppery and metallic, like blood but worse. The wall was gone, reduced to ash and yet Briar had thought she’d see the wreckage. When Viviane had brought her home, rock and rubble lay ruined along the ground, creating division.
It had all been cleaned, removed by some unknown hand. 
She forced herself to keep going. It was too late now to turn back no matter how she might like to. Her heart fluttered in her chest, smashing up against her ribcage until she was panting with the effort it took to keep air in her lungs. Whatever corded around her now yanked, causing her to stumble and trip. More than once, Briar fell to the cool ground, cognizant that the snow had melted into the crisp afternoon of spring. 
She remembered the High Lord of this place—not by name, but face. He appeared in her dreams as often as the rest of them did. The monster who’d come at the last minute, who’d fought those vicious dogs she’d been certain would kill them all. His face should have been the worst given how beastly it was. Furred and horned, with vicious fangs and a body as large as a moose. 
She would have taken one hundred monsters like that over the beauty of Hybern’s soldiers. 
The ripping in her body ended abruptly before a tree. Spiked and vicious and so utterly out of place with the tall oaks that swayed around her. This tree was something else—old and ancient and utterly magic. She almost laughed out loud.
“This?!” she called out to the world, looking skyward at the cerulean blue peeking through treetops. “All this effort for this?!”
Briar reached her fingers through the thorny branches for one of the golden pieces of fruit. Maybe the magic was offering her a way out. A reprieve from the hellish nightmare she’d been trapped in. The fruit was squishy and not firm like it appeared. Slimy, even, as if it were rotten. Briar ripped her hand back, pricking her hand in the process
The world seemed to tilt and three drops of blood rolled down her wrist, dripping to the earth.
Briar. 
Briar.
Briar.
The wind wrapped around her throat.
Welcome home.
She let it take her. 
~*~
Tamlin had been living in the forest for too long. Three years since the war, surfacing only when the insufferable Night Court came to pay him a visit. Lucien was the usual suspect but sometimes it was Rhysand. Lucien wanted things to go back as they were and Rhysand? 
Tamlin understood the High Lord of Night merely wanted to know if he was alive or not. Perhaps he meant to fight Beron for the remainder of Tamlin’s land when the world finally took him. He’d felt it, that pull, that aching tug. Dragging him towards the wall, towards the place the Cauldron had sat before it pulled that ancient magic apart. Tamlin refused.
Usually, anyway.
Not today. He could sense Rhysand prowling about, nosy as always. He’d drag Tamlin back and pretend he cared while digging through Tamlin’s mind. It was all so tedious. Exhausting. He simply lacked the energy to watch Rhysand preen about, hero in his own mind. He’d vanquished the terrible evil that tried to take his mate. 
Wasn’t that enough?
Apparently not. Tamlin knew Rhysand wouldn’t truly be satisfied until he was dead. Maybe he deserved that for what he’d done to Rhysand’s mother and sister. Maybe that was a fitting punishment for giving in to his father, to his brothers. Tamlin had made peace that made blood demanded blood and though his own mother had paid for his mistake, perhaps the world wouldn’t be right until he was dead too.
He plodded forward, nails digging in the ground. Some days were better than others. Some days he could take on the shape of the male, could bathe and dress and clean up the estate and turn his attention to the land.
Other days he couldn’t bring himself to eat, let alone walk on two feet. Today was one of those days. Tamlin pushed deeper in the woods, wondering if this was the route Andras had once taken. So much death was piled around him, their bodies scattered like ashes. What had it been for? What had he accomplished? 
It was all for nothing. 
Nose practically dragging against the leaf strewn ground, Tamlin didn’t notice the tangled thicket of thorns and brambles that stretched like a wall in both directions. He reared back, slashing his nose against the sharpness, dragging three drops of blood against the ground. Around him, the air hummed with approval and that ancient, whispering voice murmured a greeting.
Welcome home, High Lord. 
He snuffed in response, stamping his foot impatiently. These were still his woods. The Mother, ancient and wise as she was, had no right to interfere this way. Another metaphor, he nearly asked. He simply lacked the energy. 
A soft, whispering laugh made every hair on his body stand on edge. He disliked the way the gods still played their little games, no longer content to watch from above. Using the Cauldron had awoken something primordial and Tamlin was certain he wasn’t the only creature that felt it. 
The vines retreated into the earth, filling his body with the sensation of life reborn filling his chest. He’d forgotten, if only for a moment, how the magic of Spring truly felt. He was more than just the vicious beast. 
Tamlin hesitated when the last of the vines vanished, revealing a tree that certainly did not belong. Stepping forward, he snuffed at it, snarling at the violent tang of magic. He’d wondered what would happen when Daglan and Brannagah had set the Cauldron on his land. What might rise up when they spilled it to the ground? The tree was rotting and yet somehow brimming with life. 
Tamlin sighed. He’d be forced to tell the other High Lords who would be rightly furious. Tamlin took another careful step, his clawed foot colliding with something soft beneath a layer of fallen leaves and other debris he’d mistaken for the ground itself. Sighing, he lowered his snout, certain’d find more rotting carcasses from the unfortunate creatures that dared to try and eat from the tree.
The scent clanged through his body like a bell, rippling through his blood like a brand. He didn’t realize he was digging against the earth, trying to find the source of this new thing. He shifted without meaning to, utterly naked, to reach for the female laying in that soil filled grave. He recognized her face though her name eluded him.
She’d been the human in Hyberns camp. He still thought of her from time to time, wondering what had become of the human who’d survived the camp. He supposed now he knew—she’d come back, had eaten from the tree.
Cursed, was his first thought as he gently pried her from the earth's loving grip. How long had she been there? She had a distinctly immortal glow to her, though the arching ears tipped through her brown black hair was a dead giveaway. 
Lowering his ear to her breast, Tamlin could hear her steady, soft heartbeat. Alive but only just. Enchanted sleep was rare, not because the spell was difficult but because the curse was easily broken. True loves kiss, according to the ancient grimoire but in truth, the fae had learned any kiss would do. 
Maybe not a naked male, he decided wryly. He’d take her back to the estate, break the spell, and send her on her way. She could stay the night but after that Tamlin wanted her gone—out of his estate, off his lands and ideally, out of his mind, too. 
He took his time on the trip back, sensing Rhysand’s departure mere moments before he emerged from the woods. It took no great effort to winnow directly into the estate itself given he hadn’t used his magic for anything significant in years and his wards were no longer maintained. Lucien occasionally came by and threw one up and Tamlin always pulled it down the minute the Autumn court male—Night court, now—vanished. 
Rhysand’s scent lingered in the dim halls, taunting Tamlin all the same.
Look what’s become of you.
Pathetic. 
Tamlin knew all too well. 
He took the female up the stairs to the one bedroom still in good condition—his own. She could have it, at least for now. Tamlin had no intention of sleeping here. He set her among the white and gold duvet without a second look. He had to dig through his things for a pair of pants, a shirt, and tunic. Good enough, he thought, sweeping his long, blonde hair off his face. He doubted he looked less mannerly but clothed and semi-groomed was far better than letting her wake to a naked male hovering over her.
Tamlin hesitated at the edge of the mattress, eyes locked on full, pink lips. She truly was lovely. He hadn’t thought so when he rescued her, had been too busy to care for such things but now? He understood why Hybern had chosen to torture her. All faeries coveted lovely things and given the reputation of humans for being dull, ugly creatures, this female was a gem among rocks. 
Blowing out a breath, Tamlin leaned forward and brushed his lips across her own. She was warm, practically asleep for all he could tell. He stepped back and waited, fascinated at the rippling gold and green shimmering off her. How long had she been down there for? It took her a moment to shake it off, to inhale sharply. Long lashed fluttered, revealing the warmed set of brown eyes set in her heart shaped, moon-pale face. She blinked, brows pulling into a frown. 
She turned her head to look at him, detonating a vicious, ripping explosion in his chest. Tamlin choked, stumbling back a good four steps before he regained his balance.
The reverberating snap in his chest was an answer to the question he’d been asking ever since he’d met Feyre. 
Mate, that laughing voice murmured against his cheek. 
She was staring at him too. Tamlin came towards her, halting when she scrambled away, her whole body trembling violently. “Where am I?” she asked him, fingers curling in the blanket. How did he explain when the walls were covered in curling ivy and the windows were shattered husks? Ruined floors from years of rain water and sunlight weren’t any more inviting. Only the bed was intact given he still slept in it on occasion.
He could fix this. 
“Spring Court,” he said, speaking for the first time in months. His voice was hoarse, a terrifying grunting even to his own ears. “You’re safe.”
“Safe,” she whispered, looking away from him with hollow eyes. “Safe in Prythian.”
He nodded. “I…” Gods, he didn’t know what to say. “My name is Tamlin.”
She looked back at him, recognizing that, at least. “The monster?”
He cringed. 
“The monster,” he agreed, swallowing hard. Her shoulders relaxed, filling Tamlin with the strangest mixture of hope and fear. 
“Will you take me home?” she asked him. 
He hesitated. This was his mate, after all. Returning her back to the humans was risky. They were likely to kill her.
“Home?”
“I live in the village beyond the wall,” she said earnestly, scooting closer. Pretty eyes, he thought. The same as lightning churned earth, of rough bark branching into green treetops against a clear blue sky. 
“For how long?” he asked her. Maybe the humans were softening, were willing to tolerate her because she’d been one of them. 
She frowned. “My whole life. My parents, they’ll…” she bit her bottom lip.
They’d be worried. Tamlin’s whole body rebelled at the notion and yet to force her to stay was merely replicating all his past mistakes. He nodded and the female stood. He needed, at least, to know her name.
“What do they call you?” he asked her softly. She passed by a mirror, turning her head to look. 
“Briar,” she whispered, halting in front of the cracked surface. Her hair was unbound, falling in soft ringlets down her back, her eyes dark and wide and utterly lovely. Her lips parted and, with trembling fingers, she reached for those delicate, arched ears. 
“I…” she trailed off. “Is this a trick?”
He didn’t know what to make of that. “A trick?”
She looked at him with such anguish though Tamlin didn’t understand the cause of it. Gesturing down her body, Briar said, “My body.”
He didn’t dare comment on that, though he couldn’t pretend he didn’t appreciate it. Tamlin merely shook his head back and forth.
“I went into the woods human!” she said, a tear sliding down her face. Tamlin truly studied her in that moment, drinking in her fur lined cape and her waterproof boots. At best she’d been in the woods for almost a year. At worst…he cleared his throat.
“Did you eat from the tree?”
She shook her head back and forth. “It was rotting.”
Tamlin closed his eyes, thinking of the offering he’d made in order to gain entrance to the thicket itself. What a cruel joke, offering up his blood without knowing what was waiting. He’d thought, foolishly, it was merely to signify he was High Lord.
Like called to like.
“Did you spill blood?”
She looked down at her unblemished hand and without hearing her answer, Tamlin knew the answer was yes. 
“Take me back–”
“They’ll kill you–”
“Take me back!” she sobbed, sinking to the ground. He caught her before she crashed, lowering her gently. “Please. Please take me back.”
Tamlin resisted the urge to run his nose along the back of her ear, to inhale the soft scent of hyacinth and honey clinging against her skin. This was close enough, gripping her slim arms while she trembled mere inches away.
“Winter was nine months ago,” he whispered, earning another strangled sob.
“They need to know I’m not dead,” she said, turning those beautiful, tear soaked eyes on him. He would have done anything in that moment to see her happy. Without considering what kind of male he was or even if she even wanted a mate, Tamlin nodded his head.
“You won’t be able to stay,” he warned her. She wiped her face with the back of her hand.
“Where will I go?”
“Here,” he said, his own voice breaking at the thought. 
Their eyes met again and he prayed that she’d feel that snap, too.
Nothing.
“Take me home.”
BRIAR: 
Tamlin was terrifying to look at. He’d clearly seen better days if his rough shaven face and the smudging purple bruising beneath his eyes were any indication. He spoke very little as he walked her across the overrun grounds. Everywhere he went the world seemed to right itself a little. The grass shrank, the vines retreated. Floors reknit themselves, the glass repairing. If he put any effort into this strange clean up effort, Briar genuinely could not tell. His face was utterly impassive. 
She was tempted to ask how it became this way. It looked as if a war had ripped through the land. He’d said she could stay, but Briar didn’t think she wanted to. 
When they reached the edge of the forest, the man beside her offered her a calloused, broad hand. “We’ll winnow,” he murmured. “So you don’t have to stay the night in the woods.” Brian sucked in a breath. Viviane had done this, too. She nodded, sliding her hand against his own while bracing herself for the crushing wind and the darkness that accompanied that shift through time. Viviane had explained it to be like stepping through the world and Briar supposed it was. 
Tamlin’s magic was warmer, softer than the princess of winter. Maybe Viviane would let Briar return, seek refuge in her icy palace. Briar hated the cold and yet a friendly face felt like a gift in the midst of her panicking uncertainty. 
Tamlin squeezed her hand as they reappeared just inside the treeline where no one would see. Nervously, Briar unbraided the rest of her hair, carefully arranging it against her ears while Tamlin pretended he wasn’t watching. Forest green eyes surveyed their surroundings with a mix of interest and disdain. 
“They all look the same,” he murmured, catching her watching him. “Nothing changes.”
She didn’t agree. It looked to her as if everything had changed. Roads, once little more than dirt, had been repaved with concrete. Houses had been remade with nice brick and stone. It was autumn now, evidenced by falling leaves and little candles and pumpkins on the front porch, carved with scary faces in hopes they would ward off trickster spirits. Tamlin had been right—she’d been gone nine months.
“I’m coming with you,” he said when she didn’t respond. He straightened out his spine, standing his full height. She felt small beside him, the top of her head coming to the swell of his shoulder. 
“You’ll scare them,” she whispered. He glanced at her again, lips pressed into a thin line. She knew what he was thinking and was grateful when he didn’t say it.
She’d scare them, too.
That was evidenced when she stepped onto the road. No amount of clever hair could hide what she was now. The once bustling streets died as the people she’d once known scrambled out of her way. Men held swords though they didn’t dare point them. She supposed she ought to thank Tamlin for that. His broad, muscular frame was a threat all on its own. Any man untrained in the art of battle might think twice before going up against the faerie. 
Her parents' home had not been spared the remodel of the village. It had always been nice—her father was a blacksmith and their life, while small, had been comfortable. Two stories, three bedrooms and running water had always been a feature of Briar’s life. Everything looked nicer, she thought. The door had been replaced and repainted navy. Yellow shutters hung cheerfully against clear windows and a plot of marigolds lined the path from the street to the door.
Briar knocked, pretending Tamlin wasn’t standing at the edge of the yard watching. Would he let her go inside? 
The door opened and too late, Briar realized it had been more than nine months since she left. Her father’s face was aged and lined. His once dark hair was silvered at the edges and his whole body seemed to sag. He halted at the sight of her, sighing heavily.
“Two years, Briar,” he said by way of greeting. That stunned her.
“I…two years?”
“Just like before,” he added, his gaze hard. “You’re missing from your bed. We searched the woods for you, but I knew. You went back and now look at you.”
His eyes found Tamlin just behind her.
“She’s your problem now. I don’t want to ever see her again.”
“Where is mother—”
“Dead.” His voice was hard, unforgiving. “You sent her to an early grave. She was so sure you were hurt. Begged me to keep looking long after it was clear you crossed the wall. How disappointed she’d be, to see you like this.”
Tamlin snarled softly behind her. Briar wiped the tears sliding down her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she told him. 
It wasn’t my fault, she wanted to add as he slammed that door in her face. “Where is she buried!” she screamed at the wood, lunging forward and slamming her palm against the solid mass.
“Tell me where she’s buried!”
The door groaned and cracked at the force of her hand. Briar didn’t care. She’d break it down, destroy the whole thing.
“Tell me—”
Hands on her shoulders pulled her backwards. “Briar,” Tamlins voice whispered. She yanked, even as that crushing warmth swept around her. He deposited her on the lawn just in time for Briar to swing, catching him upside his chiseled jaw. He stumbled backwards, caught off guard, and Briar, horrified she’d hit him, pressed her palm against her mouth.
“It’s fine,” he told her. It wasn’t, though. Shaking her head, Briar meant to apologize but the words came out as an anguished scream. He caught her again, arm sliding around her middle so she didn’t face plant into the ground.
“Two years,” she sobbed as the two gently tumbled to the ground. “I was gone for two years.”
He released her, sitting close enough she could feel his warmth while she sobbed viciously into her hands. Briar dug her fingers into the earth, furious Prythain had played this little trick on her. Hadn’t she been through enough? Hadn’t her body suffered enough?
All her hatred, her anger and pain and anguish seemed to slide like viscous liquid, tangible to her somehow. The world itself drank it down like an elixir…and then pushed something back. A daisy. White and bright and swaying in the breeze. Another popped from the ground, and then another, until there was a blanket of them stretched between her and Tamlin. 
“I want to go to winter,” she said breathlessly, knowing full well he was going to tell her no. Already, Tamlin, his eyes round and wide, was shaking his head. He merely sighed, skimming his hands over the delicate petals with obvious wonder. Briar had stopped crying, at least. Small mercies, she supposed, wiping her face on her shoulder .
“This is all Spring,” he told her, those grassy colored eyes finding hers. 
“I didn’t ask for it,” she replied softly. Tamlin nodded, biting his bottom lip.
“No, but…we haven’t had magic like this in centuries. It was bred out of my family line in favor of strength.”
She yanked her fingers out of the dirt and dropped them in her lap. “I suppose the world has a sense of humor, then.”
“You could say that again,” Tamlim mumbled. 
“I know Viviane,” Briar tried again. “She was nice, I…”
He sighed, all his wonder shifting into some new emotion she didn’t recognize. “I’ll write to her. Will you come back with me in the meantime?”
“What happened?” she asked, pushing off the ground to rise to her feet. His expression tightened, that same, unreadable look still ghosting his face. Tamlin merely shrugged his shoulders.
“Too much to say.”
She didn’t understand it.
But Briar knew exactly what he meant. 
TAMLIN:
She asked to keep the room she’d woken in. Who was Tamlin to tell her no? Could he have mentioned it just so happened to be his bed? Sure. Did he? Absolutely not. It was, perhaps, selfish and yet Tamlin rather liked the thought of his mate in his bed. It was certainly the nicest chamber in the entire estate, at any rate, and after her ordeal, Tamlin thought Briar deserved it. 
There were other, more pressing problems outside of his mate lying beneath his sheets though everything seemed to go back to that. The estate was ruined, the grounds in disarray. Autumn was pushing on his border, his people were scattered and impoverished and Tamlin had no idea where to start. He had no friends he could call on anymore, no support or allies. Just a terrified mate—asleep in his bed—and himself. 
Grinding his teeth, Tamlin was forced to make a choice. 
Fucking Lucien Vanserra.
Writing his once best friend felt like being kicked in the face repeatedly. Lucien, the traitor. Lucien, who’d hung him out to dry and joined Rhysand. Lucien, who’d taken Feyre’s side on everything despite the centuries of friendship between them. Lucien, who had abandoned him to lick Rhysands boots all so he might one day be allowed to speak to the female Tamlin heard was kept far, far away from him.
Did he prefer it, Tamlin wondered? Did it feel like freedom to his old friend? They’d once rode all over the countryside, had dreamed of a better way of running things. They’d tried, briefly, before Amarantha, even. What had Rhysand done, other than reinforce the same tired system that kept too many broken and impoverished? 
Tamlin did it anyway, knowing Lucien would tell Rhysand he was requesting help. That anything Lucien learned here would be handed over to the Night Court for their perusal. And that Rhysand would eventually come, playacting as High King, to see if he approved of Tamlin’s attempts to rebuild. 
The letter vanished with a whisper, leaving Tamlin to sit in the ruined study. It was easy to blame everything on Rhysand—and he did, for a lot of it. Rhysand was determined to punish Tamlin for the rest of his life for that mistake. The problem, at least in Tamlin’s estimation, was how much better Rhysand had always been at playing politics. Tamlin have been particularly eloquent or well versed in being a courtier. That had always been Lucien’s job, perhaps to Tamlin’s detriment. When it all fell apart, he didn’t know where to start. 
Didn’t want to even try. 
He wasn’t supposed to be High Lord. It had been drilled in his head his whole life. His brothers had been courtly and Tamlin had been the warrior, for all the good it did him. Everyone was dead or gone and he was what was left. His father was likely spinning in his grave. 
Tamlin fell asleep in his chair and woke to the sound of boots echoing on the marble in the foyer. He heard a familiar sigh and then felt the shimmering wards sliding over the estate again.
Lucien. 
He wiped his palms on his trousers, swallowing the mix of hatred and nerves mixing in his chest. Their relationship was fraught now, tangled in the emotions of people who had once known everything about each other that no longer cared. Only, Tamlin did care. Not caring about Lucien would have made hating him all the easier. 
Tamlin met him in the hall. Lucien looked well enough—dressed as he always had been in his fine clothes, not a hair out of place—and yet exhausted and worn down at the same time. Their eyes met, the tension between them so taut Tamlin could have played it like a fiddle. 
“I got your letter,” Lucien said, breaking the silence between them. He pressed his lips in a thin line, clearly irritated that Tamlin hadn’t said something first. 
“You came faster than I thought,” Tamlin replied, still getting used to the sound of his own voice. Lucien considered that. Tamlin could see the gears grinding in his old friend's head. 
“I came straight here,” Lucien said, letting Tamlin fill in the gaps.
I didn’t tell anyone I was coming. 
I’ve decided to see for myself before asking permission
I want to give Rhysand and his court a full update when I return
Tamlin clenched his jaw. “How fortunate for me your schedule allowed it.”
Lucien’s mouth twitched, as though he might smile at Tamlin’s irritation. Lucien looked around, drinking in the little repairs Tamlin’s magic had made. He could fix the whole estate if he wanted—though if he fell apart again, the estate would crumble in the wake of the lost magic. He wanted Briar to have somewhere safe to live even if he wasn’t in it.
He couldn’t tell Lucien that. In fact, Tamlin didn’t think he wanted Lucien to know about her at all. 
“So,” Lucien, smug and stupid all at once, turned his gaze back to Tamlin. “You wanted my help?”
Ask for my help. 
He swallowed all his pride. “Rebuilding my court.”
Lucien’s surprise skittered over his face for only a moment before his friend hid that and any other emotion he felt. And Tamlin, irritated and embarrassed, added, “Not you, of course. I know how important it is to remain emissary to the Night Court.” Lucien scoffed. “Half your court defected to Autumn and has been feeding their High Lord information for months?”
“And the rest?”
Lucien shrugged. “Holed up in their own estates playing lord. Taxing the populace far beyond their means, staging their own Calanmai rituals…at least one of them will likely try and stage a coup when they realize you plan to actually return?”
Fuck fuck fuck.
“So is that it, then? Spring is just lost?”
Lucien’s face was impassive. “You were the warlord, not me. I can go around and make my little threats but perhaps, first, you might stroll to the summer border and see what your former soldiers are up to.”
Gods damn him, Tamlin was certain he didn’t want to know. He was going to have to go on an apology tour around Prythian, apologizing to the High Lords. 
“That will take weeks,” Tamlin grumbled, thinking of his mate still in his bed. Lucien raised a brow.
“Do you have something better to do?”
“I need someone I can trust to watch the estate while I’m gone,” Tamlin said in response. His meaning was clear.
Not you.
Lucien ran a hand down his mouth. “I have a thought–”
“No one from Night Court,” Tamlin interrupted flatly. Lucien was undeterred.
“Elain Archeron–”
“Absolutely not,” Tamlin growled. He didn’t want another fucking Archeron sister stepping foot in Spring. He couldn’t tolerate another female with Feyre’s features giving him a hard time. He’d saved Feyre’s mates life. When would it be enough? 
“She’s not like Feyre,” Lucien murmured softly. “And she’s a gardener.”
“She’s an Archeron.”
Tamlin understood Lucien’s desire to bring Elain to Spring. Get his mate out of Night under the guise of rebuilding and unity. Tamlin and Lucien were at an impasse and Tamlin, distrustful and angry, made an impulsive decision Lucien would have once berated him for.
“Come back and you can bring her.”
Lucien stared.
“Excuse me?”
Tamlin forced himself to hold Lucien’s stare. “Come back to Spring and you can bring your Archeron mate.”
Lucien’s anger was too much to hide. He strode forward and without warning, slammed his fist in Tamlin’s stomach. Tamlin doubled over, taken aback by both the action itself and the force with which Lucien had hit him. 
“You fucked me over with Hybern,” Lucien snarled. “You fucked over all of Spring. Why wouldn’t you tell me? We were friends. I would have helped you, you dumb motherfucker.”
“I know,” Tamlin wheezed. “I’m sorry.”
Lucien shook his head. “If you think I’ve been having fun over there, I hate you even more than before. You could have told me and I would have stopped Feyre. You chose to trust Ianthe, Tam.
At least Rhysand doesn’t pretend to be my friend when he’s fucking me over.”
Tamlin stood again, still panting against the assault. Nothing Lucien said was untrue and yet— “You left with her.” 
Lucien’s face slackened for a moment. “My loyalty is to my mate.”
“Yeah? How’s that working out?”
Lucien clenched his fists but didn’t dare come any closer. Hitting Tamlin once was a matter between old friends and once brothers. Hitting him twice invited letting the High Lord exact justice.
Lucien couldn’t withstand that kind of onslaught.
“Fuck you, Tam,” Lucien snapped.
“No go say that to Rhysand,” Tamlin taunted, having clearly touched a nerve. This was how they solved arguments in the past. Before Amarantha, before the mountain, when the stressors between them were smaller and more manageable. An ocean lay between them now, unnavigable and still Tamlin, ever stupid, wanted to try. “Go hit Rhysand in the gut.”
“I never said he was my friend—”
“Then why is he your fucking High Lord?” Tamlin snapped. 
“He has my mate!” Lucien snarled furiously, unleashing his rage. Chest heaving, Tamlin watched all Lucien’s careful restraint snap against that rising tide of fury. 
“Invite her,” Tamlin said dismissively.
“If you think either of them will allow Elain into this court—”
“Is she a prisoner, then?” Tamlin asked, referring back to a very old conversation he and Lucien had regarding Feyre. High Lords couldn’t just kidnap females that had no ties to them. Especially another males mate. Tamlin had once thought Feyre to be that very thing, though there was no snapping bond between them. 
Lucien’s rage smoothed back into that unnerving nothingness. Tamlin hated how easily he managed that. 
“Stealing her from her family will hardly engender any good will.”
Tamlin didn’t bother mentioning it was working perfectly well for him. His mate was in his bed. “Of course. I’m sure your way is better. Let me know what you decide.”
Lucien hesitated as Tamlin turned. He took a half-step, stopping Tamlin in his tracks. “I want to come back,” Lucien admitted softly. “I just…”
“I know,” Tamlin replied. It didn’t make him any less resentful, but he knew what kept Lucien all the same.”
“I’ll be back with an answer,” Lucien said, sweeping one last look around. “I’ll meet you at the border.”
Tamlin huffed a sigh. Briar would be fine. 
Briar was in his bed.
He turned abruptly, leaving his former friend still standing in the foyer.
He wanted to see his mate.
In his bed.
BRIAR: 
Briar woke to the High Lord offering breakfast. She knew, from years of experience, that acts of kindness didn’t come without strings. 
“Thank you,” she murmured, taking in the strange state of him. He looked as if he needed a good bath, sleep, and a new tailor. She wasn’t sure if she could just tell him to go wash his hair—if she’d told the lord of the village his hair looked stringy, he’d have her flogged. 
Tamlin ducked his head appreciatively at her thanks. Breakfast, like everything in Spring, was spartan and yet eggs and toast and juice were all perfectly good in comparison to enchanted sleep. 
Besides, while she waited on Viviane, maybe she could try her hands at growing. She’d never tried before, though.
She’d never had magic before. 
“I am going to be at the border this evening,” he told her by way of greeting, standing at the very edge of the bed. “I uh…do you want to come?”
“And do what?” she asked. He winced. Nothing fun, then.
“I need to rally some of my former soldiers.”
Oh. “Can I stay?” Briar was perfectly content to be alone. She was used to it, besides. Her parents hadn’t paid her a ton of attention growing up which was how Briar had ended up with the Children of the Blessed to begin with. She’d wanted anyone to look at her longer than a few minutes. 
To love her.
Not that she needed the faerie before her to know that. He’d think she was desperate and pathetic if he didn’t already, given how often she broke down sobbing in front of him. Not today, she vowed. Today she would make herself useful, would show him that it hadn’t been a mistake rescuing her from that curse and that as long as she was in his court, she could both be of use to him and not embarrass him. 
“Stay?” he asked, as if he couldn’t make sense of the word. Briar nodded, dropping her fork to the tray to come closer. 
“I could try my hand at gardening, if you don’t have one—”
“You want a garden?” he breathed, his eyes glazing over. Briar blinked.
“Are you alright? Did you sleep well?”
He nodded, though it seemed to be dawning on him that he was filthy. He glanced down at his clothes before examining his skin. “I could…I should bathe.”
“Okay. So we have a plan. I’ll stay and you’ll take a bath, take a nap, and—”
“The only working tub is in this room,” he informed her. Briar, still sitting on the bed, hadn’t bothered to ask whose room she was actually in. Now, though, she looked at the massive chamber and wondered why she hadn’t guessed. It was masculine enough, despite the cream and gold sheets. She ought to have guessed when she found multiple daggers hidden under the mountain of pillows, that the High Lord was sleeping there. 
“Oh. Of course. I apolog—”
“No need,” he headed her off with a wave of his hand. “I will bathe and then we can discuss remaining behind.”
Briar nodded, practically tripping over the edge of a sage colored rug on her way out. The High Lord had given her his bedroom. She didn’t know what to make of that and so Briar, like she did so many other things, merely stuffed it deep down. Still, there was something fascinating about the knowledge that the thing she’d always wanted the most—living among the fae as one of them—was literally playing out before her very eyes. Had she met him prior to the war, Briar thought she’d be more excited, more thrilled to be around him.
Hybern had taught her that the fae were just like humans with their taste for cruelty and far more powerful and sadistic than the humans could ever dream to be. This man–male, she reminded herself. She used to be so good at speaking like they did. This male wasn’t a regular faerie but a High Lord. If he thought it might amuse him, he could tie her to a wall, too. He could torture her, too.
What could she do about it?
Heal, she thought happily as she stepped into the early morning sunlight. A cheerful breeze ruffled her hair, practically pushing her over the grounds. They looked better than the day before but only marginally. Anything was an improvement, she supposed. Even the estate seemed a little better, though whatever had destroyed it was hardly undone. 
And just to the west of the estate, ruined and ugly, was the biggest garden Briar had ever seen. Clearly, better days had once been had here. She could relate to that. She, too, had seem better days. The High Lord, too, if she had to guess. Maybe this whole place was made of broken people just trying to piece themselves back together.
The thought offered her a small measure of peace, if nothing else. Her chest still ached from the knowledge her mother had gone to the grave worried about her and her father blamed her. Her father never had loved much. He’d always loved her mother, though. 
Briar dropped to the cracked, dry ground, likely ruining the pretty lavender dress she’d pilfered. She’d take care when she washed it later but if it always had dirt stains, well…who expected her to look like a great lady in this place? Besides, Briar thought she could be forgiven as she’d only just become faerie and wanted to see how the magic worked. 
Weeds were the predominant greenery in the garden. She could see, from the crumbling stone path, that there had once been a hedged path that centered around a now defunct fountain. A half-cracked bench beneath a rather sad looking oak tree made everything feel a little more pathetic. 
She cracked a nail sliding it into the earth. She could feel, just like before, everything wiggling and moving. Life, as it was, shifting and churning, poking through the rough, unwatered soil as it shoved something with softer roots out of the way. Grass gripping the ground, swaying merrily as it soaked up sun and little earth words inching their way towards her fingers without even knowing she was there. 
It would take time to master it entirely. Briar had the sense she could make things bloom if she wanted. Killing things was much easier, a metaphor hardly lost on her. By the time Tamlin rejoined her, freshly bathed and dressed and looking like a High Lord, she had killed a whole patch of weeds by coaxing them back into the ground. 
He hadn’t come alone. Briar barely had time to admire just how handsome Tamlin was in his fitted green tunic and his nice, black pants that fit perfectly against his muscular legs. Another male had joined him, just as handsome as Tamlin despite his scarred face and missing eye.
“Tam,” he breathed as she stood up, his nostrils flaring. Tamlin held out his hand, silencing his friend.
“Briar, this is Lucien. He’s going to stay for the day while I’m gone.”
Her eyes flicked back to Lucien. Tamlin was dressed well but Lucien was well-dressed. It wasn’t just his well-fitting clothes but they specific colors he’d chosen—silver and blue and white—and the way in which he’d draped them over his form. He chuckled when she realized she’d been staring just a moment too long.
Cheeks flushing, Briars eyes dropped back to the ground. “Just for the day.”
“Just the day,” Tamlin agreed, his voice more grumble than anything. 
“We’ll have a nice time,” Lucien added with his rich, deep voice. “I heard you were human once. I happen to know a little about that.”
Hope bounced around her chest like a ball. “Really?”
“Not a lot. And Tam knows more, I’m sure,” he replied, both gold and russet eye sliding towards his friend. Tamlin was utterly rigid beside him and despite their easy going words, the tension between them was palpable. 
“You’re in good hands,” Tamlin agreed tightly. He was such an unbelievable liar. Still, what else was Briar supposed to say? No? Tamlin turned to leave and she, terrified, darted after him faster than she meant. Grabbing at the corded muscle of his bicep, she stopped him in his tracks.
The scent of whatever soap he wore slammed against her senses. Deeply masculine and yet somehow reminiscent of freshly tilled earth and cut grass set against a moody spring rain. 
Salty, too, she thought, wrinkling her nose while Lucien actively laughed behind her. As if he knew exactly what she was thinking and it deeply amused him. Tamlin was too busy staring at her hand on his arm to say anything.
“Is he…he won’t…” she swallowed hard. All at once the laughter stopped. Tamlins gaze pinned her in place, rooting her to the spot.
“No one will harm you here.” He spoke the words like an oath. 
She nodded. “I—okay.”
“I swear it,” he added for good measure. And from the look on his face and the sword hanging casually from his hip, Briar believed him. Nodding, Briar dropped the hand he was still watching. Maybe he didn’t like being touched. She should have asked. 
Tamlin shot Lucien a pointed look, one Briar didn’t know but understood was a silent warning of some kind. Lucien stepped beside her.
“She’s in good hands. We’ll be old friends by the time you return”
“Keep him away from her,” Tamlin barked before vanishing in a floral scented wind. Briar looked up at Lucien, noting the scowl gracing his easy features. He tucked a windblown strand of red hair behind his ear.
“Who is he?”
“No one of importance. Now,” Lucien added, heading off her argument. “My mate likes to garden. Maybe you could show me just enough to talk to her about it?”
Briar looked up at the golden skinned man looking back so earnestly. “Only if you tell me everything there is to know about Spring Court.”
His face warmed with a wicked smile. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
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lewmagoo · 1 year
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anyway, so excited to see what lew's 30s bring his way. he's already got a pretty solid arsenal of projects he's done and he's only hit the tip of the ice berg as far as showcasing his talents. the older he gets the more diverse his work will become, and the more he'll get to hone his craft. can't wait to see him really make a name for himself
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bigreputation92592 · 4 months
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To The Queen Of Bridges
To @taylorswift I wish you a very happy pre-34th birthday. Love, health, happiness, and success are the four things I hope for you the most. Even though we haven't met in person, you are an incredible, beautiful, courageous, fearless, compassionate, humorous, and inspiring human being. From the inside out, you are stunning. A heartfelt "thank you" for being you. @taylorswift @taylornation
I've been a swiftie since 2008. I have developed an increasingly strong affection for Taylor Swift with each passing day 💖
Love Always,
Kelly Sagiv
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kinghenryviii-i-am · 2 years
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give it to me and just me only 🎶
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ilhamiman · 2 years
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Happy (Early) Birthday to my beautiful lady friends, Noodle and @gemstoneblitz. They're my precious friends, whom brilliantly shine bright like the rarest diamonds from the Earth and I treasure their friendship.
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thevirgincherry · 2 months
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Jack Russell? Omg. I can show Betty pic then-
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HER BIRTHDAY IS COMING UP SHE'S GETTING CRUSTY!!! I love her so much thoooo :)
CUTEEE OMG… I love dogs omg she’s adorable the patches on her face .. 😭
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kitconnor · 6 months
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@lgbtqcreators creator bingo — romance
happy birthday dearest mia, @henwilsons ♡
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ayoedebiris · 10 months
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happy birthday to the robin to my steve <3 @natalia-dyer​ 
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9474s0ul · 1 year
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Welp I only got two drawings to post.
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-but when I return or perhaps steal my cousin's wifi, I can post more.
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doll3tt33 · 2 months
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Happy birthday to my hubby evan <3
((aka the loml who made my standards in men so ridiculously high but it’s okay I’m not complaining
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bakpidia · 2 months
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it's been a while! just dropping crop of my piece i worked on last year for the twst traditional indonesian culture zine, it's my first time joining a zine, i did what i can do :D
the zine will be published on twt!!
I wish i could do better on this piece;;
Malleus and other 3rd years, drawn in Pangsi outfit ⸜( ◜࿁◝ )⸝
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wombywoo · 1 year
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happy birthday to this bastard 😙
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smoshidiot · 4 months
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yangjeongin · 10 months
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HYUNJIN in PINK for @hyunpic (happy birthday 💗)
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doodlerh · 1 year
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i was gonna draw a thomato but i spent like half an hour trying to fill up the empty spaces and then gave up </3
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