#tamlin just wants his fiddle

[oohnoniall]

A Court of Fire & Ice {Tamlin x OC} - Chapter 8

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5 

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Warnings: Tamlin is being portrayed as he is in ACOMAF and ACOWAR. Trigger warnings include fantasy violence, misogyny, swearing, and Tamlin being an uncontrollable rage beast (no domestic violence !!)

        It had been another sleepless night. He did not know how sleep could come easy to anyone after the events of the previous day. He was certain that Feyre would have been awake, fearing over whatever Rhysand wanted from her. He doubted that Lyriel had been able to sleep after he had kissed her, which he knew was the biggest mistake of his life. 

        Hell, he knew that Lucien and most of his guards had yet to sleep. He'd had them looking for any trace of Feyre all night. They had not come back yet. Not to his knowledge at the very least. They would know better than to come to him with bad news. Or no news at all.

        He sat at the dining table, staring blankly at the breakfast that had been laid out before him. He didn't care about it, about anything beyond the debates roaring in his head. He couldn't think about Lyriel, about how it felt when she was against him. He couldn't think of the way she had been on the verge of tears before they'd kissed.

        She wanted the best for him. That alone was enough to kill him.

        Feyre was the one who mattered to him. He would find a way to get her back. He would get her out of her deal. Then maybe he could explore whatever this was with Lyriel. Or maybe he and Feyre would work out whatever issues they had. He could be done with the Winter Court soldier and focus on who actually made him happy.

        She strode into the dining room. Her leather pants were back, hugging the curves that he had briefly thought about running his hands over. Briefly was perhaps the wrong word. It seemed as though the thought of her body pressed against his had been there from the moment she had slipped into his bed. 

        "Morning," Lyriel drawled as she took her seat across from him. 

        Tamlin tried to avoid her gaze. He didn't know how to act around her. What was he supposed to say in reference to their kiss?

        Lyriel didn't seem to notice his lack of attention. She slathered a piece of toast with butter and jam, acting as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened the day before. Why did she have to behave this way? Didn't she know that he was reeling? That he needed to be told how horrid he was, that he needed to be out hunting for Feyre or for answers. Not sitting at breakfast with the woman who was supposed to be his mate.

        A warm sensation began in his stomach, slowly moving to envelop him fully. He knew it was her. She was trying to help him in the ways only she could. 

        "Lyriel," he nearly snarled, knowing that he didn't deserve the gentle feeling of comfort. Not from her at least. Not when he was doing all he could to ruin her. 

        "Yes, Tam?" Her eyes sparkled with mischief. He hated that it made him think of the way she had looked at him yesterday. When her eyes had been concerned, when she had been on the verge of crying over him. His chest ached, the warm feeling being replaced by the pain.

        "Whatever you're trying to do ... Knock it off."

        "I'm not doing anything," Lyriel savagely bit into her toast, flecks of jam finding a home just above her upper lip. Tamlin hated that he wanted to lick it off. "If anything, I'm just making sure you don't decide the dining table would look better as splinters. I'd prefer to enjoy my breakfast."

        He didn't know if his temper flared or not. A sound erupted from his lips. A mix of a scoff and a laugh. Something that he had not heard in a very long time. Why did she have to be the one that brought him comfort? Why did he feel as though he needed her by his side? It was the damned bond. He knew that he could reject it. Just three simple words that would leave them severed. He'd never have to see her again. But he couldn't bring himself to do it.

        Life with Lyriel had been hell. She was brash, abrasive, and didn't know her place. She questioned him at every turn, pushing and shoving against everything he wanted. But Mother above he wouldn't have it any other way.

        He knew that he needed to get his priorities in order. She was not going to be the one he spent his life with. No matter how badly he wanted to.

        The fact that he even wanted to was enough to cause him to worry. He wasn't sure where that had come from. Perhaps he was losing it. Perhaps losing Feyre had meant losing everything he held dear. Including his sanity. He needed to talk to someone about this. But it wasn't like he could say anything to Lucien, he'd end up telling him to tell Feyre the truth. He didn't want to do that. He didn't want to break her heart and crush her spirit. Nor could he tell Ianthe. Not when she was already threatening him.

        "I take it you didn't sleep last night," Lyriel said as she looked at him. 

        "I won't be until Feyre is returned to us." 

        He could not tell if Lyriel's expression darkened or if it was a trick of the light. One second she looked nearly murderous and the next she was back to her usual, smug self. It was maddening trying to determine what she was or was not feeling. How was anyone supposed to do this? How was anyone supposed to understand her and what she wanted in her life? Tamlin certainly had no idea how she felt about any of this. Did she want him? Did she want to accept the bond and be with him until the end of time? Or did she wish to return to the home that she had known? He barely knew her. How was he supposed to read her?

        "Making yourself ill isn't going to help Feyre," she said softly. "All it's going to do is make you nearly impossible to be around. Besides, we all know there's no getting out of bargains. Otherwise, you would've found it by now."

        "I've barely scratched the surface."

        "You've been looking since you got back to the Spring Court," Lyriel pointed out. "Lucien told me as much. Honestly, you shouldn't beat yourself up so much. Rhysand might be a monster but he's not going to do anything to her. He's infatuated by her."

        Tamlin's fingers dug into his palm. What the hell did she mean by that? What did Rhysand have to be infatuated with? Feyre was his soon-to-be bride. There should have been nothing that made Rhysand think twice about her. Unless it was all some sort of horrid punishment for him. He wouldn't exactly put it past Rhysand to do anything of the sort. 

        "He might, just to spite me," he grunted as he glanced over at the white-haired woman.

        Lyriel gave him a gentle smile. "If he really wanted to spite you, I think he would figure out the truth about us first. If people were to find out the whole ... mate thing," he cringed as she said it, "they wouldn't exactly be happy about it."

        "And why is that?" 

        "Why would the High Lord of the Spring Court be mated to a Winter Court soldier? Truly, Tam, the whole thing is ridiculous. It's understandable why you'd go for the hero of Prythian instead. No one would fault you for that. But ... They might look at this whole thing like the Mother was playing some sort of cruel joke." Lyriel didn't look at him as she spoke. It was almost as though she didn't want to see the truth of her words. Tamlin knew it was ridiculous. But he had been thinking those same things from the moment they had met.

        He knew that he needed to get his head out of his ass. After all, Feyre should have been entitled to find her mate as well. It clearly wasn't going to be him. But that didn't mean anything.

        Mating bonds could be wrong. It had to be. He and Lyriel could barely be in the same room without her managing to get under his skin. The way she spoke made him want to rip a door off its hinges most of the time. 

        And yet, it felt as though she understood him. More than anyone he'd ever met. Had anyone ever tried to calm him before? Had anyone approached him when he was angry before? Had anyone ever seen him as anything other than a beast? Feyre had never calmed him, had never approached him when he looked like he was going to go mad with rage. Only Lyriel. He hated her for it.

        She should've run from him. She should have treated him like he was a monster. She shouldn't have shown him any sort of grace. There were thousands of things that Tamlin wished Lyriel had done. He wished that she had pushed him away instead of trying her damndest to do whatever it took to bring him joy. She had no right to do any of that. No right to think of his happiness.

        "I would rather keep talk of the Mother away from the breakfast table." He didn't need Ianthe overhearing the truth of the matter. It was bad enough that she thought something was going on between the pair.

        If Ianthe discovered that he was abandoning his mate ... He didn't know what she would do. Perhaps hang him from the highest tree by his balls.

        A shudder went through his spine at the mere thought.

        "We should do something today," Lyriel stated as she looked at him, a grin on her lips. She had yet to wipe off the jam. "Get your mind off of things."

        "What do you suggest?" One of his brows rose, despite the fact that he knew he could not give in. It wouldn't do to blow off any steam when Feyre could be being tortured.

        "Leave that to me. Just meet me in the gardens in half an hour." Lyriel wiped her mouth as she stood. He didn't like the wicked glint in her eyes, nor did he like how his heart seemed to speed up when she looked at him. 

        He watched as she strode out of the room. Lyriel acted as though she owned the Spring Court. It felt as though she was at home here, more than she had ever been in the Winter Court. He didn't know the story, he doubted that it was anything interesting. She was a soldier. Nothing more and nothing less. 

        And yet someone had thought they were each other's equal. Perfect for the other in every way. It was not the first time Tamlin questioned the validity of the bond, nor would it be the last. Why had a High Lord been paired with a soldier? It made no sense to him.

        He knew better than to deny her though. He could deal with a lot but he didn't want to deal with a pissed off Lyriel. Not when he already had to worry about everything else in the world. He had never thought that it would be quite so tiring to be a High Lord. Or at least dealing with his feelings for two different women.

        As much as he wanted to deny it, he knew that he had feelings for his mate. The kiss from the night before had remained in his thoughts until he had thought he was going to implode. How he was supposed to handle himself around her was beyond him. She probably knew what he was thinking which only made the whole damned thing worse. Tamlin wasn't sure what to do about the whole situation nor did he think he wanted to actually deal with it. Not for a very long time at least.

        He trudged back up to his room, ignoring the splinters of wood and the ruined portraits. He ignored how he had ruined his room, how he had turned his manor into a wreckage. It was worse in Feyre's room.

        He changed into clothes that had managed to escape the wrath of his claws the night before. The silk shirt fit him well, showcasing his muscular chest and the arms that seemed more beastly every day. What would happen if he just gave up? What if he just lived as the beast that resided underneath him? Would Lyriel still want to be there? Would she still sit with him and try to calm him? Or would she finally see what the rest of the courts did? A monster.

        Tamlin swallowed once, allowing the thoughts to linger in his mind as he pulled on breeches made of soft doeskin. He would not think of any of this once he was around Lyriel. She would more than likely stab him if she realized that he was thinking ill of himself. That or she would look at him with disappointment. He had no idea which was worse.

        He tried not to think of what her retaliation would look like as he headed down to the gardens. He didn't know what she planned for him. Nor was he certain he wanted to know. It was certainly going to be something that he didn't want to deal with. There was no telling with her.

        "I didn't think you'd show," she stepped out from behind a rosebush that looked as though it were about to grow wildly.

        She looked as though she was supposed to be there. The sunlight made her pale skin glow, her hair had been braided with a few roses tucked into the strands, and her eyes twinkled with the hope of adventure. 

        "I figured you would stab me," he admitted with a shrug. "What exactly are we doing out here?"

        "Despite how long I've been here, you've never given me a single tour," Lyriel stated as she looked at him. Her canines showed as she smiled. He wondered briefly what they would feel like against his skin. Mother above, he was a horrible person. His pleasure or his pain shouldn't have been at the forefront of his mind.

        No matter how Lyriel was trying to distract him.

        "I don't see how that's important," Tamlin sighed, fighting against the urge to roll his eyes. He didn't need a fight with her so early in the morning.

        "I've had plenty of time to explore on my own," Lyriel said, ignoring his interruption. "So, I've decided that I'm going to give you one. All the places that you've been too busy for. You're being reintroduced to your Court, My Lord." The bow she fell into was so mocking that he struggled to not look exasperated.

        "Lyriel, I don't have time for this." 

        "What else will you do? Mope around the manor for the next two weeks? Worry yourself into ill-health?" She cocked an eyebrow at him. He had never noticed the way they seemed to stand out in the sunlight, each small hair appearing almost silver in the blinding light.

        "I'll research how to end the bargain." 

        "And you won't find anything," she gave him a kind smile as she stepped closer to him. "Tam, you've got to let her save herself. I know that probably scares you, but she's stronger than you know." 

        He tensed at that. How could she possibly think bringing up Feyre and her captivity was a good idea? The worst part was the fact that he knew she was right. He'd watch Feyre save herself more than once. He knew exactly what kind of woman she was. She was capable, she didn't need to rely on anybody. She didn't need him to be her savior. But that was the only thing he was good at.

        "Lyriel," he began. She pressed her index finger to his lips, a grin on her lips that was more feral than was proper. He had to fight the urge to suck the finger into his lips. Mother above, she was killing him.

        "You're not fighting me on this," she removed her finger. Lyriel took his left hand, her fingers fit perfectly with his. He hated it. Hated how perfect she was for him and how he could not think of how Feyre's hand had felt in his. "Come now, my lord."

        Tamlin still was unsure if he liked the way she said that or not. Most of the time, it sounded taunting. But sometimes, he was certain that it was just his mind playing tricks on him, it sounded seductive. Lyriel Chaeren was going to be the death of him. She was going to make him more volatile than he had ever been. Or at least, he assumed as much. There was no telling when it came to her, which was perhaps the worst of it.

        She didn't wait for him to say yes or no. She just began to walk. He knew that he could just stand there. It didn't matter that she was a soldier, he was more muscle than man. He could hold her back if he wanted. But he didn't. He walked with her, almost nervous. He didn't know why. It wasn't like Lyriel despised him or anything of that nature. All she cared about was making him happy. All she wanted to do was make him feel loved. He couldn't even hate her for it.

        She walked him through the gardens he had played in as a child, making up stories about battles lost or won on the land. He didn't know why she was trying any of this. She hadn't grown up there, she had no idea what any of these places had actually meant to him as a child. Nor did he want to explain any of it.

        "Lyriel," it didn't seem to matter what he did or did not want. His tongue seemed to work before his mind did. "None of that has ever happened."

        "I know," she said with a shrug of her shoulders. "But what else was I supposed to think? You haven't told me anything, Tam."

        He didn't know if he felt guilty or not. Tamlin had been more focused on finding out about Lyriel than telling her anything about himself. It just so happened that neither of them were open people.

        "A truth for a truth then," he murmured softly, his hand squeezing hers. Her skin felt cold against his. She was ice and death and cold, he was warmth and strength and life. How the Mother had assumed they would be a perfect match ... He would never understand it.

        "Trust me, Tamlin, you don't want my truths," Lyriel flitted away from him, heading deeper into the gardens. His heart nearly stopped beating as she stepped into his mother's rose garden. They were overgrown, wild, more natural than they had been in years. Lyriel looked at home in the roses. 

        The sunlight seemed to bounce off her hair, the roses were more vibrant when paired with her pale skin, the smell of the frozen berries mixed with the roses made his knees unnaturally weak. Tamlin didn't know what in the hell was wrong was him. He didn't know why he had to be so conflicted about this whole damned mess. She was his mate. He should want her, he should choose her. He knew that.

        But no matter what, he knew that he would choose Feyre. She was the one who had broken his curse. She was the one who had taught him how to love and how to feel something.

        It wasn't his fault that Lyriel hadn't come first. It wasn't his fault that she had waited too long to find him. None of this was his fault. Was it? 

        "I want them," he murmured as he followed her. She disappeared into the maze of roses, her fingers gently caressing each petal. Tamlin wished her fingers would ghost across his skin like that. He hated that he wanted it. 

        "Do you?" Lyriel looked at him, a defiant gaze in her eyes. 

        "Yes," he didn't know when she had stopped walking. He didn't know when he had gotten so close to her. His heart was pounding against his ribcage, he worried that he'd lose control. Instead of kissing her, he would kill her. He didn't know why he had such an issue controlling himself.

        Lyriel looked up at him, so small and so fragile. But so damned strong, so damned ready to fight her way out of situations that didn't include him. She'd been fighting for so long, he could see it in her eyes. In the way she didn't trust him to see the real her. The sarcasm had to be the only thing keeping her safe. 

        "Tell me who you are, Lyriel," he leaned down, his forehead resting gently against hers. He could feel her breath against his skin, he could feel the chill of her running through him. Mother Above, she was the one he needed. The one he wanted. But she was the one that he could not have. He was a proud man. A man who would keep his word and his promises. That just meant finding a way to free Feyre from the bargain she had made and marrying her. It didn't matter that neither of them wanted it anymore. 

        To be fair, he had no idea how Feyre was feeling anymore. She could very well still want all of this. He'd never know because he was too afraid to ask. Tamlin had lived his life being afraid of the truth. He'd crafted lies to avoid being hurt, but he knew that it was time to change. To grow from this whole damned thing.

        "You won't like it." Lyriel stepped away from him, a sad smile on her face. "Who could ever love a bastard?"

#tamlin #tamlin x oc #tamlin defense squad #tamlin rosehall #lyriel is a badass #lyriel owns a lot of knives #lyriel is just here to give tamlin migraines #tamlin x lyriel #lyriel chaeren #lyelin #tamlin just wants his fiddle #a court of mist and fury #a court of silver flames #a court of war and ruin #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #a court of wings and ruin #a court of thorns and roses

[readychilledwine]

Happy Birthday, High Lord!

Summary - You and Lucien pulled all the stops for Tamlin's birthday this year. Now you just have to hope your mate appreciates it.

Warnings - sexual jokes and innuendos, implied possible smut at the end

Prompt - Day 6 - Celebration

A/n - Happy @polyacotarweek day 6! I'm not super happy with this one. I probably would have been had I added the smut at the end, but I wanted my trouple to be wholesome instead.

💕Poly+ACOTAR Week Masterlist💕

“Meticulous.” Whenever someone asked Tamlin and Lucien to describe you, that was the first word that came to mind.

“Blabbermouth” would be the next thing. It wasn't that you couldn't keep secrets in general. It was that you struggled to keep secrets from them from Lucien and Tamlin.

Lucien kept a straight face, the string connected to you pulled tight as Tamlin stared you down, green eyes sparkling with joy. “Tell me, petal.”

They both burst into laughter as you shoved a muffin into your mouth, then pointed and shook your head. “Just take her for a ride, Tamlin.”

“I will let her ride whenever she wants. I just want to know why we are going out for the day while you stay here.”

Lucien sighed. “Just take her out.” You continued chewing, blinking at the two of them every so often. “Or else I will just ride you, and we can go out.”

You glared at him as he smirked before shaking your head and pouting at Tamlin. You and Lucien knew Tamlin like the backs of your hands, and when he opened his mouth, you knew the two of you had played him like a fiddle. “Just for pouting, Lucien and I will head to town. You can stay here.”

Lucien tugged the bond twice as you continued the act, sending his love your way as the two of them stood. Lucien was the first to kiss you. He always would be. The kiss was gentle and warm before he then kissed your forehead with a quickly returned “I love you.” 

Tamlin always kissed you last. You were their's, yes, but you had been his first, and he had risked everything to protect you from Amarantha and Hybern. It had taken so long for you two to find each other again that he had almost lost hope.

His hands rested on your cheeks as he pulled you in, soft lips fitting to yours like a puzzle. “Be good.”

“I will. I promise.” 

“I love you, little rose.” 

“I love you,” you refused to add the “too”. You always did with both of them. You didn't love them just because they loved you. You loved them because you genuinely did. You waited for Lucien to give the signal, the bond tugging one last time before getting to work.

The Manor was eerily silent when Lucien and Tamlin returned hours later. The faelights had been turned off, and the servant's area was even silent. Tamlin was immediately on edge, and Lucien led them in. You were nowhere to be found. “Maybe the ballroom?”

“She wanted to redecorate it. Maybe she is planning.” Lucien led Tamlin that way, hiding his smile the best he could. He mentally counted the years to himself, 55 years. They had not celebrated Tam's birthday in 55 years.

Lucien pushed open the large rosewood door, allowing Tamlin in and watching as his face fell and you dropped the sound ward. Inside, a lively party was beginning. 

Tarquin was standing next to you and waved. Helion was laughing with Thesan in the corner. Fae were dancing and laughing in all directions. Every high lord and their respective circle had come, all excited to finally be welcomed into the newly repaired Spring.

“Happy birthday, Tam,” Lucien looked at him. “Aren't you happy I demanded you dress nicely for our date now? Oh look, there's Feyre, you could go tell her that her hair looks clean.” The mentioned female waves from where she was spinning Nyx, smile bright as Rhysand watched and laughed. The Lord of Night nodded to Tamlin. While their relationship had not been 100% fixed, it had at least become civil.

Tamlin was shocked. Standing there with his eyes wide. “How?”

Lucien shrugged and inclined his head to you. “She's magic.”

You and Lucien had ensured everything was perfect. His closest friends and repaired relationships were all there. His favorite cake sat on a table waiting for him. The two of them took their places at your side, smiling and greeting their guests and friends as they watched you receive constant praise at the party. Lucien held your hand as Tamlin kept an arm around your waist, keeping you both close to him. 

He had not expected this. Tamlin had expected a small dinner with the three of you, possibly a gift from you, and a verbal sparring match from Lucien, but this was above all expectations. He couldn't help but smile all night, hand staying in its place on your hip while his other would go from being free to touching Lucien. 

You leaned in and kissed his cheek as the night started to close down and guests turned to their respective rooms. “Did you have a happy birthday?” 

You both looked to where Lucien and Eris were having an animated discussion regarding foxes versus the newly crowded Autumn Lord's precious hounds. “I did. The weather was beautiful. Lucien and I got to enjoy the market. We laid out in the flower field. Had a lovely dinner. And then I come home to all of this. It must have taken you hours to plan this.”

“A few days.” 

“I don't deserve it.”

“I have two beautiful and loving mates ensuring I do that.”

“You deserve the world. You are not that male anymore. You have healed, and you have found closure. Think of this birthday as a new beginning. Permission to move on."

Your lip twitched up, “The red-haired male is definitely the prettiest.”

“Easily.”

“We should do something about it.”

Tamlin smirked. “I have a few things in mind. They are not appropriate for the present company, though.”

“Ah, so we're going to fuck him.”

“Another night, maybe. Some pretty female offered to ride me earlier. I'd like to take her up on that.” You felt Tamlin tug both sides of the bond, excusing you both to retire for the night and informing Lucien of where to find you both. “If she'd still like to that is.”

Your eyes had already gone slightly hazed, fingers intertwining more with his. “Yes please.”

“Then I've had the perfect birthday. A date with my husband. Sex with my wife. A party. What more could a simple high lord ask for.”

“A threesome!” A familiar voice appeared next to you, smile bright and voice breathless. “A birthday threesome.”

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

Poly+ACOTAR Week Taglist

@amara-moonlight @toporecall @littlestw01f @prettylittlewrites @anuttellaa @nayaniasworld @123345566

#acotar #acotar x reader #tamcien #tamcien x reader #tamlin x reader x lucien #trouple visibility #consensual non monogamy #polyamorous visibility #poly+acotarweek 2024 #poly!acotarweek 2024 d6 #tamlin x reader #lucien x tamlin #lucien x reader #tamlin acotar #lucien acotar #lucien vanserra acotar #lucien vandaddy

[sukaaxo]

does anyone else find the High Lords forgiving Rhys so quickly at the meeting but convinced Tamlin was evil as just a really ridiculous attempt by SJM to really reinforce Rhys as the ‘good guy’??

like let’s look at it from Prythians pov -

Rhys. the most feared High Lord. his court known for leaving no survivors. <500> years of known torturing and murdering anyone who crosses him. leaves dead bodies in peoples courts for the jokes. aligned with Amarantha nearly immediately and completed all the tasks she requested of him. was a bitch to everyone who came across him. literally kidnapped Feyre.

Tamlin. the High Lord who didn’t want the role. plays the fiddle with his people and allows them to roam around his manor. took in Lucien and other fae and gave them a home with no complaints nor compensation. never trusted Amarantha and told her he’d rather be with a human than her ass. spent years refusing to send his friends to their deaths and to force a human into his lands. sent said human home to save her even if it meant him having to be with Amarantha. refused to acknowledge said human when she went UTM so that she wouldn’t be harmed. killed Amarantha.

yet Rhys waltzes in, shows his wings and goes ‘lol it was all a lie guys, im acc a nice guy’ and the High Lords are all like ‘omg yes queen, hooray we love u’ but Tamlin goes to Hybern for 5 mins to save his fiancé and they’re like ‘ew he’s so evil, we hate him and will never forgive him’

lol ok

#lucien vanserra #acotar #tamlin #rhys acotar #rhysand #anti feyre #feyre acotar #feyre x tamlin #anti rhysand #night court #prythian

[whitedemon-ladydeath]

still thinking about how often tamlin gets made fun of for playing the fiddle. it's legit just a violin, the only real difference is the kind of music played on it and fiddle music is usually associated with the poor or working folks

actually it stands to reason, with how close Tamlin is to his people, that he actually learned fiddle music FROM the poorer and working folks. It's regular everyday """violin""" music for the average person, it just goes by a different name

seeing ppl making fun of Tamlin playing the fiddle is weird. sure I suppose it can be "silly" or "cringy" I guess but it still doesn't sit well. That music is heavily inspired in Appalachia where a decent amount came from scottish and Irish descent

you can say "its not that deep" all you want but considering how SJM writes class and class traitors and the way she's from a yt suburbia in New York who went to a fancy private college

and then proceeded to have her raging violent abusive™️ ex™️ boyfriend™️ play the fiddle, a keystone, historical instrument of poor folks

so like. i dunno. imagine making fun of poor ppl music. which tbh unsurprising in this Fandom

@kateprincessofbluewhales @achaotichuman @bookishfeylin

#a court of thorns and roses #acotar #sjm critical #anti sjm #tamlin #classism in acotar

[lorcandidlucienwill]

I have no conflict with Tamciens, but when I see some of them saying "Lucien deserves a break" and "Lucien shouldn't rule a court!" I wonder if we read different books. Lucien doesn't want a break. He's proactive. He always wants to do something. He was the discarded son of Autumn, who wasn't forced to rule over some random territory like his brothers were. So did he just sit on his ass? NO! He furthered his education, and when he was finished with that, he went AND LEARNED ABOUT HIS OWN PEOPLE AND OTHER COURTS' PEOPLES!!!! When he was exiled from his own court, he came to Spring and INSTANTLY made himself useful as an emissary. When he ran away to Night, he INSTANTLY made himself useful helping set up the High Lord meeting. The perfect sum of Lucien's character is this one line: “Let me do something. About Elain." A man of ACTION. This is a STARK contrast to Tamlin, who never wanted any of this. He admitted that killing is the only thing he's good at and Lucien bailed him out because he could perform a lot of the High Lord duties that he could not. Tamlin heavily implied that he wanted to be a fiddle player but he couldn't because it's not proper for a man of his stature to become a traveling musician. And real talk here: do you really think Tamlin wants to be ruling over a court post-ACOSF when he barely wants to take care of himself???? Meanwhile, Lucien is doing everything. He is keeping Prythian from escalating into another war. BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT HE DOES. HE IS A MAN OF ACTION. HE IS THE PERFECT RULER. He was such a threat that his brothers tried to kill him. NOT because of his magic prowess, though he has that in spades. BECAUSE THEY RECOGNIZED HE HAD ALL THE TRAITS OF A TRUE HIGH LORD!!! Even more real talk: You really think the guy who dominated Cassian with one word is not fit to rule? Riiiight...

Tamlin just wants to chill. He canonically WANTS a break. The whole connection between Feyre and Tamlin was them being thrust into a position of primary provider when neither wanted it. THAT'S WHY FEYRE FELL FOR TAMLIN. BECAUSE HE TOOK CARE OF HER. BECAUSE FOR ONCE, SHE FELT SAFE. I'm not saying Tamlin isn't capable. He has learned and adapted. But acting like he's a better option than Lucien is kind of ridiculous.

#lucien vanserra #pro lucien vanserra #tamlin #high lord lucien

[mika-no-sekai-blog]

Word count: 1500+

Warnings: emotional and mental stress

I couldn't resist. Azriel is so🥵

Part IX | Part XI

Shimmering light woke you up from a slumber so deep your head throbbed with pain. And it wasn't only your head. Every part of your body felt heavy and painful. What happened? With still closed eyes you searched your memory.

Solstice. Tamlin decorated your cottage and made a fancy dinner. He gave you a delicate pendant that you felt resting on the sensitive skin between your collar bones now. You cried and then you danced. As lovely memories slowly flooded back you felt your lips stretching into a smile. Behind your eyes a picture of Tamlin playing the fiddle shone brightly and your heart started to race.

And then it all fell down as pieces of shattered mirror. The dark figure invaded your happiness and took it away along with the light. Rhysand. A male who claimed to be your family, your brother. He came, snatched you from Tamlin and winnowed you away. And Tamlin just stood there, unmoving, letting him to take you. Stinging pain of betrayal wiped the smile from your face. He didn't fight for you. He simply gave up on you.

When you stepped out of darkness there was unfamiliar room full of strangers who stared at you. You couldn't make out their faces because as soon as your feet touched the floor, an excruciating pain took over, crushing your body from the inside out.

Were you dead? Certainly no. It wouldn't hurt this much if you were, right? So you were alive then. You knew you had to open eyes at some point, but you were scared to find out where you were. As far as you could say, this definitely wasn't your bed. It was too comfy, too soft, sheets felt too smooth. The scents around you were novel to you, too.

A small rustle of wings sounded on your left, something overshadowed the bright light and rough fingers touched your hand lightly.

"Aury?" The quiet voice was deep, much deeper than Rhysand's. A shiver ran down your spine, hair on your neck stood up. It was so sensual sound that it made your heart beat faster again.

The smell of cedar and early morning mist filled your nose and for a moment it felt like being back home in your cottage. Slowly you cracked your eyes open. You weren't ready for the too bright light to hit your eyes and you had to blink through the pain. But as soon as your eyes got used to it, you saw him.

It was the most beautiful male you'd ever seen in your life. He was even more handsome than Tamlin and his exact opposite in so many ways. His face with full lips and hazel eyes with gold flecks had to be carved by gods, by Mother herself. His hair was dark as night, ears round. He apparently wasn't a High Fae.

Behind him a pair of folded wings rested, visibly bigger than Rhysand's. His body, wrapped in tight black shirt and breeches of same colour, seemed to be another masterpiece, but you didn't want to explore this topic any further. It was too dangerous, too intriguing.

On his wrists two cobalt blue gems shined. Your eyes fell to his hands and you almost gasped. Otherwise smooth looking tanned skin was on his hands marred with deep burn scars. You couldn't even imagine such kind of hell that could mark fast healing Fae like this. You'd never treated burns, but you instantly knew what massages and herbs you could use to prepare oils and ointments to ease the pain and twitching of affected muscles. How could you know something like that, was beyond your understanding. It had to be something that belonged to the forgotten part of your life.

However beautiful he was, he didn't belong to this light coloured room. Even surrounded by bright light, his presence was attracting the darkness that gathered and swirled around him in thick tendrils.

You probably looked like an idiot staring at him with open mouth, because he smirked and a faint blush tinted his cheeks. "You are looking at me as if it was the first time we met," he cooed amused, leaning forward. "How do you feel?"

You didn't answer, still too stunned by his appearance. The amount of emotions invading your simple life lately, was so confusing, making your headache even worse. You closed your eyes, hoping it would help.

The male raised an eyebrow and then frowned. With a rustle his wings spread out to shade the bright light. "Better?"

You nodded. That helped a lot and you immediately felt better.

He cleared his throat. "Rhys had some urgent High Lord obligations, but he should return soon," the stranger seemed to be disappointed. He straightened in the armchair, his eyes giving you a pleading gaze.

Why? What did that mean? You felt uneasy. You looked up at the ceiling, hoping to find the answers written there. You didn't understand a thing and you had enough of this.

As if he heard the stranger, Rhysand rushed through the door. "Aury," he smiled as soon as he saw your eyes were open.

"Don't call me that," you snapped at him angrily as you pushed all the pain deep down and sat up. You'd never lost it, but this entire situation crossed all limits. There was only one thing you wanted. You desperately needed it. "Take me back! I want to go home!" You blinked away the tears stinging your eyes.

Rhysand halted in the middle of the room, his eyes meeting with the other male's. They both stilled, an absent look on their faces. Whatever it was, Rhysand soon looked back at you, giving you the exactly same sad gaze as the stranger did moments ago. You frowned at him, letting him see all the anger and displeasure you felt.

"Would you leave us alone for a while, Az?" Rhysand said to the other male quietly. The other male shot a longing look your way, but nodded and left.

When the door closed behind him, Rhysand stalked closer and sat down on the edge of mattress next to you. You moved as far from him as you could. He gave you a sad smile.

He sighed. "I'm so sorry for how I behaved before. I should have heard you out. The pain you suffered.. it shouldn't have happened. I sincerely apologise."

Was he talking about what happened after you winnowed? "What do you mean by that?"

"You were trying to say you can't leave that place because they cast a spell on you, but I- I was too angry to pay attention. I'm sor-"

"I don't know what are you talking about," you shouted at him, tears stinging your eyes once again.

"Aury, you-"

"Stop calling me that!" you sobbed, pushing hands to your ears. It was too much.

"Okay, sweetie," he raised his hands, trying to calm you down as if you were a frightened animal. "It's okay. Everything is okay. I won't call you that if you don't like it." Slowly he moved closer and reaching for you he tried to pull you to his chest.

"Don't even try that!"

His mouth opened and closed, but he backed, putting a space between you. "Fine, I won't. Don't be..scared. I won't hurt you."

"I want to go home," you sobbed. You couldn't care less if you sounded as some brat. You needed to be in your cottage, go to the forest to sort out your confused thoughts and feelings and pull yourself together.

"But," Rhysand said gently, "you are at home."

You shook your head. "No, I'm not. How could this be my home. I don't even know this place."

"A-.. sweetie, you are in Velaris. Don't you remember it? Velaris is your home."

"I've never heard of such place," you sobbed pulling knees to your chest.

Some emotion flashed through his face too fast for you to recognise it. His violet-blue eyes darkened. "Do you know who I am?"

You again shook your head. "Tamlin called you Rhysand, so you must be High Lord of the Night Court."

His eyes narrowed at you for a second. "Well, that's correct," he said gently. "But except of that, do you know who I am to you."

"You told Tamlin that you are my brother, but I. Don't. Know. You," you said through gritted teeth.

He watched you silently, thinking, his face blank. "You don't remember me." You shook head. "Do you remember what happened that night? When you lost your wings."

"I don't remember having any wings. I don't know this place. I don't know who you are. I just want to go back home," you cried.

Rhysand reached for you, pulling you closer and this time you allowed that. "Nobody will hurt you again," he whispered as he caressed your head and back. "I promise you. We will solve this together. Just give me a chance."

You cried so hard you didn't notice the other male returned. He handed Rhysand a cup of tea. Giving you a worried look, he silently left again.

"Here, sweetie, drink this tea. It'll help."

You strongly doubted it could help solve the confusion, the amount of feelings that made it all even worse or piercing pain stabbing into your heart, but you accepted the cup anyway. After drinking the strange smelling tea, you became sleepy and before you knew you again fell asleep.

Taglist:

@impossibelle @sevikas-whore @b0xerdancer @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @tele86

#tamlin fanfiction #tamlin x reader #tamlin acotar #tamlin #pro tamlin #rhysand #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel x you #tamlin x you #azriel acotar #azriel #acotar #azriel fanart #acotar x reader #acotar angst #sarah j maas #english isnt my first language

[acotarfrustrations]

I didn't even really like tamlin in acotar BUT OH MY GOD. Even I feel the need to defend him with the way he's written in acomaf. ITS SO BLATANT, that he is only written this way to make way for Rhys because he's acting DIRECTLY CONTRADICTORY TO THE WAY HE DID IN THE FIRST BOOK.

I get the thing with aramantha changed him but JESUS CHRIST, THESE CHANGES ARENT EVEN LOGICAL FROM A NARRATIVE STANDPOINT.

The ending to acomaf is so ridiculous I'm going to explode. Lucien mating Elain, feyre's sisters being turned into fae for no reason, tamlin turning into fucking Grima Wormtongue, it's so ridiculous that it has no emotional impact, its just frustrating.

The stakes aren't even high, it's just OMG the king of hybern is going to turn feyre's sisters and the mortal queens into fae oh no!

And like yeah I get how traumatizing that is for Nesta and elain because they don't want it, but it's just a stupid stake from a narrative standpoint. It's completely anticlimactic. We know it's traumatizing, but we also know that these characters will get over it and the book will just chug along. Like they were human, now they're fae. Nothing else really changed.

And the whole Lucien and Elain mating situation is so dumb. Honestly the way romance is done in the book is stupid. It feels like a fanfic with the way every single minor character has to be paired up with each other.

Idk it's just dumb and the plot was really meandering and I feel like ive wasted my time.

I know I'm rambling but I really can't get over the tamlin thing, there are no words for how much it pisses me off.

Tamlin being the only high lord who held out the longest against aramantha and hybern's forces, suffering for 50 years and watching his people die for his refusal to submit, going 3 months forced to being eye candy utm and watch his people be held captive, the High Lord who didn't even want to be high lord and only wanted to play the fiddle but still rose to the challenge to try and do right by the spring court being reduced to what he was at the end of acomaf while rhysand who sexually assaulted feyre and leaves women in his court to have their wings clipped and sold off but gets sjm's version of a shitty redemption arc

This isn't even a "fun bad" series to read, it's just exhausting

#anti sjm #anti acotar #anti rhysand #anti feysand #anti acomaf #anti sarah j maas #anti ic #anti inner circle #pro tamlin #i guess #idk his character was fucked up so bad i cant stand it #i found him boring in the first book #and now even i feel the need to jump to his fucking defense

[decadentpostnachos-evil-twin]

See a more or less short rendition of my experiences when I first read the acotar series (Three years ago?) beneath the cut. I purposefully misspelled some names, I don't feel like getting death threats from obsessive stans tonight. Bisou x

The funniest thing for me is that I started reading acotar spoiled and biased. I got the recommendation from TikTok, and everyone there was raving about Fey/sand and hating on Tamlin. So naturally, I started acotar being prepared to hate Tamlin and yearningly wait for Rice sand to make an appearance.

How the tables turned with that.

First of all, I was whipped for Lucien the moment he first appeared. (I have also been in the Eris corner ever since...2021? Or so, when there was literally one piece of writing for him and that was some headcanons. Anyway.)

Secondly, I folded for Tamlin too, against my expectations when hearing people say he was a nasty abuser and Rice sand is the feminist king. Like, I was prepared for Tamlin to be the biggest prick, and then he came along with lines like "I play a mean fiddle" or "I love you, thorns and all" and writing Limericks to help Feyrug learn to read, and he was fumbling so bad, it was just absolutely cute.

And when Rice sand made his first appearance, I was underwhelmed. At that point, I had only heard people sing praise about him and how perfect he is, and he was just the prick I expected Tamlin to be.

Utm was disgusting, and fundamented my dislike for Rice sand because he was giving Sex offender in the worst way possible.

Acomaf came along and I was kinda happy to have things "back to normal". And then everything went to shit, Tamlin was completely disregarded and vilified, as was Lucien. And Feyrug began sucking Rice sands dick. I was so disappointed, and I clung to any crumb of Lucien and Tamlin I could get, especially after the Summer Court debacle and the CoN whore thing, because that was just disgusting.

Acowar sold my soul to Eris, to the point of no return. I was an Eris girl before that, but after? Altered my brain chemistry. There's hardly anything he can do at this point to make me not like him. It also festered my hate for the Ic even more, and I began to really despise Feyrug too. I wanted to burn the book when Rice sand was resurrected, because I had hoped that he'd just stay dead atp.

Acofas was a train wreck and the only good things about it were the one appearance Eris and Lucien had each. The rest was either cringey or anger inducing, or both combined. My villain origin story.

Acosf... I hate how she treated Nesta. My girl deserves better fr. I despised Cassian's povs, except for the ones where Eris was present. (Duh) Once again, only a few good things about this book. Those being Eris, Lucien and the Valkyries. The pregnancy plotline sucks ass, and if I see one more Rice sand lover saying Eris is misogynistic for saying Morningan dresses like a slut while defending Rice sand for the shit he pulled with the pregnancy because "he just wanted to protect Feyrug" and still calling him feminist, I'm going to have an aneurism.

I went into this series biased. I literally hadn't even opened the first book and already thought Tamlin sucks and Rice sand is the greatest salvation. It was deeply ingrained in my mind before I even read the series. And even then, I came out hating Rice sand and his AA circle of life and loving everyone the popular narrative told me to hate. So no, I'm not delusional for liking the characters I do. People who blindly stan the Ic just lack reading comprehension or the will to think about what they are reading for more than five seconds because there's nothing more they want to know than the length of bad imitation Batman's cock.

#anti rhysand #anti rhys #lucien vanserra #anti feysand #eris vanserra #pro tamlin #anti feyre #anti inner circle #anti ic #anti nc #pro nesta #pro valkyries #pro eris vanserra #pro lucien vanserra #tamlin #tamlin acotar #anti feyre archeron #anti cassian #anti azriel #anti morrigan #anti amren

[stargirlfeyre]

Feylins confidently saying that Rhys groomed Feyre and then using things Tamlin has done to her as a way to prove that statement will always be fascinating to me.

“Rhysand emotionally groomed her when she was in a vulnerable state” Oh that’s not-

Did Feyre not explicitly say that she only fell for Tamlin because she was in such a vulnerable state and had never really received love before? Did Tamlin not take a depressed 19 year old away from her family in hopes that she would break his curse?

Now I’m not saying Tamlin never truly loved Feyre because it’s obvious that he did, but do you honestly think that his actions of affection towards her in Acotar weren’t at least a little bit motivated by him needing her to break the curse? I don’t think you want to talk about grown ass men emotionally manipulating traumatized young girls because the man you’re trying so hard to defend fits that bill to a T.

“He’s just an awkward fiddle player” He’s a 500 year old man who likes taking his anger out on his friends and almost killed his fiancé. Twice.

#feyre archeron #Rhysand #anti tamlin #anti feylin #feysand #pro feysand #acotar #acomaf #acowar #lucien vanserra

[achaotichuman]

Could I humbly request tamlin x reader headcanons. Pweese

Your humble request is gratefully accepted. These little head canons here are gender ambiguous because Tam-Tam is for the guys, the gals and the non-binary pals.

(Also sorry for this taking so long, for some reason I didn't see it until a couple of days ago.)

It takes months to get him to warm up to you, but once Tamlin is comfortable he doesn’t hold back affection or warmth. He’ll always keep a hand on your waist or hip, just to be able to touch you. 

Tamlin will share everything he loves with you. Nothing will be fun anymore unless you’re with him. His song-writing turns into poems and songs dedicated to you. His fiddle-playing is always for you to dance to. He’ll always want to take you horseback riding with him. He’ll show you every beautiful spot in the Spring Court. They will become both your spots. 

If you’re away for any period of time, he’ll spend every free moment thinking about you, writing songs and limericks for you. He’ll hide them in your room for you to find once you get back. 

If you ask, he’ll teach you to play the fiddle. He may fear for the safety of the fiddle, but he’ll try his best to be constructive. If you make a particularly screeching noise on it, he may tell you your hurting the poor instrument. 

He’ll try to bring back lizards he found in the forest. If you tell him he can’t bring them home he will give you puppy eyes and insist they are lonely and need a home, (he’s already named them and gotten attatched, so you have to let him keep them.)

He’ll lay with you in bed on rainy days, his head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat. He will whisper into your skin how beautiful you are, how lucky he is to have you, how much he loves you. 

Any and all gifts you give him, no matter how small and insignificant, he keeps. They are all displayed in his office. 

He’ll dance with you in the rain. When the water soaks you both to the bone, he’ll spin you around. When mud clings to both your clothes, he kiss you deeply, unable to stop touching you, unable to be away from you. 

You two sit in his office during long work days. He’ll finish work at his desk, you’ll help him some times, others you’ll sit in the chair near him reading. Sometimes he’ll stop work just to look over at you, how the light hits the side of your face, illuminating your skin and eyes. He’ll be unable to look away, when you notice his gaze he’ll tell you how beautiful you are. He’ll say it like the first time every time. 

He’ll surprise you will dates out in the forest all the time. Using magic, he will create beds of moss under trees, with platters of cheese and fruit. You’ll call him a romantic sap and he will roll his eyes, but you’ll both hold each other and fall asleep under the canopy of leaves. (Once a very big spider crawled onto your arm, but don’t worry, his name is Kevin, Tamlin knows him, he is incredibly polite and friendly.)

If excited or happy, Tamlin will pick you up and spin you around. Kissing you all over your face, you will laugh and Tamlin will think its the most beautiful sound he has ever heard. 

He cannot flirt with you for the life of him. He tried writing down a list of compliements which filled three pages, both sides, but when he tried to tell you even one, he froze and just said he liked the way your shirt looked. To this day neither of you quite know what he meant by that. 

Rhysand once came to the Spring Court, he wanted to taunt Tamlin some more. You watched as he waltzed into Tamlin’s office. Before a word could leave his mouth, you snuck up behind him and hit him in the head with a frying pan. Tamlin had to quickly grab you and put up a shield before Rhysand could retailiate. 

You once mentioned offhandedly how much you loved reading a particular series of books. Tamlin went out and bought every single edition he could find, and had an artist paint a portriat of every character. 

You love a particular kind of berry, Tamlin loves them too. Tamlin pretends to hate them so whenever they are on your plates at dinner, he gives them all to you. He loves the smile on your face a thousand times more than that berry. 

Once you were injured so badly you were on bedrest for weeks, you were taken to Dawn as they have the technology required to treat you. Tamlin stayed by your side the entire time. When you told him he had Court to rule, he told you the Court could wait, when you pointed out that was not how it worked, he told you he ruled the Court so yes that was how it worked. 

He lets you braid his hair, you put ribbions and bows in it. Tamlin will wear the absurd hairstyle everywhere, he is very proud of your handiwork. 

Sometimes Tamlin doesn’t truly believe that he is capable of being loved. The insecurities instilled him over centuries of trauma lurk to the surface. When this happens you grab his face and practically yell that you love him so much and nothing in the world will ever drive that away. Tamlin has to stop tears from falling from his eyes. 

You both like to sit atop of a tall mountain, beside a waterfall, over looking the Spring Court. You rest your head on his shoulder, he wraps a hand around your waist. You couldn’t be happier, neither could he. You tell him you love him, he kisses you and murmurs into your mouth that he loves you.

#acotar #tamlin #pro tamlin #tamlin/reader #acotar headcanons #acotar au #a court of thorns and roses #tamlin x reader #gender ambiguous y/n

[goforth-ladymidnight]

A Pro-Tamlin ACOTAR Theory

On my latest re-read of ACOTAR, I had a thought. Who really sent the music to Feyre’s cell? SJM tells us in ACOMAF that Rhysand did it:

“You sent that music into my cell. Why?”

Rhysand’s voice was hoarse. “Because you were breaking. And I couldn’t find another way to save you.”

According to the text in Book 1, Feyre heard the music come through the vent. I don’t think even Rhysand was powerful enough to pull the music all the way from Velaris. His powers were dampened like every other High Lord Under the Mountain. If we assume that SJM didn’t retcon any details (and I’m being generous here), then I’ll give Rhysand credit for hearing the music and making it loud enough for Feyre to hear in her deep, dark dungeon cell. So, who made the music in the first place? How about the one character who’s established as a musician in Book 1 canon? Tamlin.

“Through it all, Tamlin and his musicians played such joyous music that I didn’t think the world could contain it all. I sashayed over to him, my faerie lord, my protector and warrior, my friend, and danced before him. He grinned at me, and I didn’t break my dancing as he rose from his seat and knelt before me in the grass, offering up a solo on his fiddle to me.

Music just for me--a gift. He played on, his fingers fast and hard upon the strings of his fiddle. My body slithering like a snake, I tipped my head back to the heavens and let Tamlin’s music fill all of me.”

We as the readers are even led to believe that the music in her cell reminded her of Tamlin:

“The music was Tamlin’s fingers strumming my body; it was the gold in his eyes and the twist of his smile. It was that breathy chuckle, and the way he said those three words. It was this I was fighting for, this I had sworn to save.

The music rose--louder, grander, faster, from wherever it was played--a wave that peaked, shattering the gloom of my cell. A shuddering sob broke from me as the sound faded into silence. I sat there, trembling and weeping, too raw and exposed, left naked by the music and the color in my mind.”

Is it such a stretch of the imagination to think that Tamlin had the chance to play one song in Amarantha’s court or even alone in his room, and that he hoped that Feyre would hear it and think of him? Is it such a stretch to think that in another draft of SJM’s work, Tamlin was the one who said: “I couldn’t find another way to save you”? I don’t think so.

I don’t bring this up to say that I think Tamlin is innocent. All the characters in this series have done questionable things. Besides, it’s canon that Feyre chose Rhysand despite what happened to all of them Under the Mountain, and no amount of theorizing on my part will change what the author wanted to write.

But for me and my fellow ACOTAR readers who like(d) Tamlin as the love interest, it’s a comforting thought that while Tamlin might have seemed powerless Under the Mountain, he wasn’t. Even if he couldn’t rescue Feyre from the Trials or from Amarantha, he could play a song for when she was at her lowest... Because he loved her.

#pro tamlin #sjm critical #my very first essay #i discovered this at the bottom of my drafts #it's been a year #time to share this theory to my own timeline #i shared it on anon once #but this time it's me being brave

[separatist-apologist]

Neon In The Nighttime

Summary: It's the end of the word as we know it. A west coast baker and the drummer of a metal band team up in Boston, MA thinking they're one of the last few people left alive after a viral outbreak turns those infected into blood hungry monsters.

Their destination: Los Angeles, California- the last place Lucien's eldest brother was living while gearing up for a presidential run. Lucien is desperate to escape the memories of his past life and what he had to do when his wife, Jes, became infected. Elain wants to try and reclaim the fractured pieces of the life she remembers before everything went to hell.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Read on AO3

Thank you @corcracrow for the moodboard (And reminding me to upload)

It was the sound of shuffling that woke Elain. Louder than any alarm, Elain was primed to come alive the minute she heard feet dragging like that. Tucked beneath Lucien’s arm on the couch, the two of them had fallen asleep telling stories of their lives before everything had fallen apart. She suspected he, much like her, hadn’t wanted to sleep alone. He’d offered her Tamlin’s old bed and Elain had declined.

“Lucien,” she whispered, but beside her, he was already awake. Already holding the gun she’d yielded to him the day before. Neither of them said a word, listening to those stumbling steps.

They’d likely announced to every infected person in the building that they were here the second Lucien had begun hitting the drumset.

Elain couldn’t bring herself to regret it. Though she barely knew Lucien, she knew he’d needed that. The joy that had lit his face was worth the horror now slowly descending upon them. Elain watched the far wall and the long shadow that blotted out the flickering candle light. 

Lucien tightened his hold around her, turning his head to look. Elain didn’t, squeezing her eyes shut tight. A soft moan from a throat that was no longer capable of producing speech and then the vicious recoil of the gun.

“Time to go,” Lucien said with a heavy sigh. Elain wondered if they ought to work out a better system, a trade where he killed and she did, so the burden didn’t fall so heavily on him. Yet when it came time to offer herself up, Elain’s sandpaper throat swallowed the words entirely. Lucien didn’t betray anything but the same world weariness she’d grown used to. He slung the bag they’d packed the night before over a broad shoulder while Elain tried very hard not to look at the blood splattered mess all over the floor.

Lucien pulled open the door, revealing that they were very much not alone. Elain could hear the sound of those shuffling feet and the stench of rotting, bloated corpses infecting the stale air. Wide-eyed, Lucien’s panicked expression was the last thing she saw before the door snapped shut behind them, bathing them in the dark. 

“This way,” he said while Elain wished for a flashlight. Anything but the terrifying darkness and the sound of movement and moaning that seemed to echo around them. Lucien didn’t seem concerned until he yanked open the stairwell and a hoard of infected groaned. They must have spent the whole night walking those stairs.

“Oh, God,” Elain breathed. Lucien fired a shot, and then another before slamming the door shut. The sound of crunching bone made Elain gag. 

They were boxed in. Elain could hear the infected ambling down the hall, while the ones behind the door fiddled with the handle, unable to remember how to work it. Lucien laced his fingers through Elain’s, his sweating palms betraying his fear. “This way,” he said, pulling her toward the old elevator shaft.

“Lucien—”

“Do you want to die?” he asked, prying it open with a grunt. “Because I sure as fuck don’t. Not in Ohio, of all places.”

“Lucien–”

“Hold on to me,” he said, bending his knees. The door just to the side of them pushed open and fell shut, too heavy for the infected behind to push, though she didn’t think it would stay that way. “Grab my neck.”

“Oh, God,” she whispered, wrapping her arms tight around him. Lucien hoisted her up, letting her wrap her legs around his waist. He glanced down the hall, shuddering when he realized the infected were closer than they’d originally thought. It was nearly impossible to see, amplifying Elain’s fear. 

Lucien leaned into the open shaft, grabbing the heavy cable that had once hauled an elevator up and down. This was a terrible plan, she thought when he swung his body inside. Just in time—she’d felt cold fingers graze her arm, eliciting a soft scream of fear.

“You’re okay,” Lucien grunted. They were suspended in that dark shaft, held only by the strength in Lucien’s body. 

“Don’t move, don’t move, don’t move,” he chanted. Elain understood why a moment later. The infected who’d touched her pitched forward and fell silently, missing them entirely. Elain buried her face in Lucien’s shoulder, suppressing a sob when the sound of bone and flesh smashed at the very bottom of the shaft. All she could hear was her own erratic heart and Lucien’s shallow breath.

“There will be more of that,” he warned her, sliding them down an inch. “Don’t panic. I won’t let you fall.”

Lucien wasn’t wrong. Unconcerned with anything but the living, the infected pitched forward after them, falling into the dark in a desperate attempt to infect Elain and Lucien, too. It was terrifying—each new body forced Lucien to stop moving and hope they didn’t careen into the pair of them and drag them to their death, too. 

The smell in the shaft was unbearable by the end. Lucien’s feet touched the bottom first, arms held tight around her body as he stepped through blood and shattered bone to get them into the terrifyingly dark basement.

It was worse than anything Elain had experienced. Every drip of water or scurry of rat feet made her jump out of her skin. She didn’t feel safe, not when they descended back into the silent lobby, nor when they sprinted in the dark across the street and back to the parking garage they’d left Lucien’s truck in. 

Elain didn’t let go of Lucien’s hand until they were safe inside, doors locked. Lucien, too, was wild eyed and ashen. He shook out his hands and exhaled a heavy breath. Somehow they had made it out, though she’d never know how. 

“Where to, now?” Lucien whispered.

Elain launched herself over the center console, throwing her arms around his neck. Lucien was trembling, either from the effort it had taken to scale down fifteen floors in an elevator shaft, or the terror of their escape. 

There were no words exchanged in the hug. Only Lucien gripping Elain so tight he was likely bruising her skin and her holding him just as rough. It felt like a lifetime had passed between the night with the drumset and the morning in the elevator shaft, though the sun still hadn’t risen and they were still bathed in near darkness. 

“We’re okay,” he whispered into her hair. “We’re together.”

That was what mattered, she thought. Elain couldn’t have done any of that without him. In fact, it seemed a miracle she’d left that store at all, that they’d even gotten to Ohio. It was as if fate had conspired to bring them together, knowing they could only make this journey with the other. Wiping her eyes, Elain nodded. 

“I hate it,” she told him, because she did. She knew, deep in her gut, she wasn’t cut out for this kind of life. The fact that she’d somehow survived was surely some giant, cosmic joke. Punishment for some terrible misdeed in a former life, perhaps. 

Lucien gripped her face in his callused hands, sweeping his thumbs over her cheeks. She was sobbing, she realized. Elain hadn’t even noticed, but the soft sympathy on his face told her he didn’t begrudge her this.

“So do I,” he said, wiping away the tears cascading down her face. There was more he wanted to say, leashed behind his teeth. Elain was grateful for it. She couldn’t handle anything but the silence and the engine of the car. Lucien reached between them, hand reaching for her thigh. Elain had a visceral memory of Graysen doing this and feeling special for it. 

Silly, given how insecure he’d always made her. As though she could prove through the little gestures that what he wanted more than anything was her. 

There was no romance to the gesture. It was possible Lucien was trying to ground her, given Elain hadn’t stopped crying. It was just as possible he needed to ground himself, and reaching for her was the only way he could think to do that. Either way, the simple touch kept Elain from breaking.

She wasn’t alone—he was with her. They were together, and that had to be enough because there was nothing else. There was no waking up, no end to the nightmare they were now trapped in. 

“If I’m infected,” she began when the sun began to rise. Lucien had just crossed into Indiana, crawling through the sprawled, chaotic traffic left haphazard on the roads. 

“Don’t,” he tried to say, but they needed to know. Did he want her to do it quickly? To leave him to his own devices? Elain wanted to know what Lucien wanted in the event he was infected, too. It was better to tell him now rather than when panic set in and she might do or say something that put them both at risk.

“No matter what I say, I want you to kill me before I go. I want to die as me,” she whispered, hugging her middle. He squeezed her thigh tight enough to bruise, eyes glassy. 

Swallowing, he whispered, “I want that, too.”

They lapsed back into silence, stopping once in Portage, Indiana to use the bathroom. Elain didn’t bother to ask Lucien where they were sleeping that night. If he stopped at all, she knew they’d be locked inside the car for the duration of it, gun in his lap.

When Elain returned to him, bleary eyed and hungry, Lucien was holding up a CD case. 

“So I was thinking,” he began, eyeing her warily. “That maybe we could listen to some music.”

“I didn’t know you were a Fearless fan, Lucien,” she replied, pulling the album from his hands. 

He grimaced. “Before…all this…I would have sworn up and down that I hated Taylor Swift. Who needs another break up song, right? At least, not one I didn’t write anyway,” he added ruefully.

Elain offered him a small smile, surprised that he was offering this because he wanted her to feel better. She didn’t mind sitting in silence, but maybe Lucien did. 

“It’s the end of the world, though, and I don’t think anyone cares about how manly I seem. And I didn’t hate Love Story, if we’re being honest.”

“Wait until you hear Haunted then,” she replied with a teasing smile. It was on the tip of her tongue to thank him, but Elain leashed the urge. They’d been through so much in the span of a few days and thanking him for this small thing seemed strange—unnecessary, even. Had she been isolated for so long that she couldn’t remember how friendship worked?

It started, she supposed, with an offer to listen to Taylor Swift. And so Elain climbed back into the truck, draped a blanket over her lap, and slid the CD in while Lucien adjusted the volume. Loud enough they could both hear it, but not so loud they couldn’t talk, too.

The opening notes filled the cab and beside her, Lucien reclined back in his chair. Eyes closed, he groaned softly as he gripped the steering wheel. It was the most obscene thing she could ever recall seeing in her life and hardly sexual at the same time.

“I forgot,” he whispered, the corners of his eyes wet. Swallowing, he turned to look at her. “I forgot how music sounds.”

She reached across the car for his hand and squeezed. Lucien grinned, not caring about the tears threatening to spill down his cheeks.

“Sing it to me,” he said.

Elain took a breath. And she did.

LUCIEN:

“Okay, okay, okay,” Elain said, twisting in her seat to look at him. A can of cold raviolis lay nestled between her thighs, her plastic fork hanging from her fingers still stained orange despite the bite she’d just taken. Lucien was driving again, energized by the music and by Elain who’d really come alive in the last few hours. He’d thought he’d lost her after their crawl down the elevator shaft—she’d looked so dead eyed and vacant and he’d been terrified something in her had broken. 

He barely knew her and yet Lucien was certain if Elain left him, he wouldn’t be able to continue the journey. There was no way he could do it alone like he’d once thought. He needed her, and maybe she needed him, too. 

“Did you really get discovered in the basement of a record store?”

Elain had the jacket of his album in her free hand and was reading the story he, Vassa, and Jurian had carefully concocted one night after too many beers.

“Technically,” he laughed, thinking of that night. “He was a friend of my dads, so I had an in. We’d given him our record and he said before he signed us, he wanted to hear us live. So we scrambled, managed to convince a buddy of Jurian’s to give us the basement, and played live to him and a couple friends.”

Jes had been there. Lucien could still see her, leaned against that dingy wall, arms crossed over her chest while she smiled. Every time he looked up, he found her watching him and only him. She’d been the only person in that room to him—and he’d played only for her. The memory had once haunted him, but listening to Vassa’s voice over the speakers, Lucien felt warmed by it. There was some little spark of Jes in Elain that made Lucien feel safe. The way Elain smiled, maybe, or how bright and lively she was despite everything. It made Lucien want to trust her, to tell her every horrible thing that had happened in the aftermath. He thought she’d understand what he’d been through, what kept him awake at night.

And he wanted to know what she’d been through, too. More than anything, Lucien craved that connection—they were both killers and it weighed on them heavily. If she confessed that she’d hated it, that there had been no satisfaction in killing, Lucien thought it might absolve some of his own guilt, too.

But not tonight. It had been a hard enough day without asking her to relive more horror. They needed levity and fun.

“Isn’t that cheating?” Elain asked him, pulling him from his thoughts with that bright, sunlit smile. 

He shrugged, one hand on the wheel, the other on her knee. “You think Taylor Swift didn’t have some help with her career? There are no Cinderella stories anymore—just a bunch of carefully crafted biographies and kids with rich dads helping them out. That was the only good thing Beron ever did for me, and I don’t think he ever realized he’d done it.”

If his father had known, he likely would have sabotaged Lucien’s career just because he could. He’d never made peace with Lucien’s decision not to go into politics or finance. Why couldn’t Lucien be more like Moreno’s son and work for Black Rock if he wasn’t going to follow in Eris’s footsteps? 

“Way to ruin it, Lucien,” she grumbled, twisting just enough that she wasn’t facing him, but not so far he had to move his hand. 

“There’s no such thing as a starving artist anymore. You can’t create if you have to pay bills,” Lucien told her without an inch of remorse. His trust fund had paid for him, Jurian, and Vassa to not work, which gave them an edge. If they needed to travel for a venue they could hop on a plane and they had all the time in the world to refine their music, to buy nice gear, to record and play with their music. 

“My sister was a starving artist,” Elain told him, some of the light fading for a moment. “She would have been big if…”

“Maybe,” he finally said, glancing over. “Your family didn’t have money.”

Elain looked at her fingers. “Not money money. But my mom did…and my dad did before she died.”

“What happened when she died?”

Elain shrugged. “He spiraled. He didn’t know—no, that’s not true. He didn’t want to live without her. He let things go, including his business, and made a lot of bad decisions. The IRS came in and cleaned him out. They took everything. I was eleven at the time, so just old enough to understand what was going on.”

“I’m sorry,” Lucien said honestly, drawing in a breath through his nose. “Did he ever…”

Elain’s smile took on a bitter edge. “He never got another job. My older sister took a job in a nearby deli, and then we were all working to try and keep the lights on. My sister told us that if anyone found out how bad things were, we’d be separated so we went to school like normal and then after we went to our jobs, and then we’d stay up all night doing homework. It got better right at the end—when I was in high school, some relative of our moms showed up with trusts. They were little, but enough for the three of us to go to college.”

“Maybe they waited because they thought your father would spend the money.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s why,” Elain said with a heavy sigh. “My sisters never forgave him, but I felt so bad. He was just so sick and so sad—I think he wished he would die, but his body wouldn’t let him. He was why I was in Virginia and sometimes I think…”

Lucien could guess what she thought. He reached between them, placing his hand back on her thigh. He’d worried, the first time he’d done it, that she’d think he was coming on to her. It was supposed to be comforting, a reminder she wasn’t alone. Elain exhaled the moment his palm collided with the fabric covering her leg, relaxing ever so slightly.

“I’m glad it was you in that Target,” Lucien finally said, swallowing against his nerves. “I didn’t realize how alone I was until I met you.”

“It could have been anyone—” she tried to say, self-deprecating when he wished she wouldn’t. 

“No, it couldn’t,” he replied, struck by the revelation. “It could only be you.”

Elain laid her hand over his own and squeezed, another touch he needed so desperately. Lucien didn’t think humans were built for the sort of solitude he’d endured over the last year. He knew he wasn’t. He missed the connection of another person who seemed to understand you down to your bones, that could get to the heart of the matter with one easy look. 

He couldn’t wholly say he enjoyed the Taylor Swift soundtrack. In the movies, they’d have been given something gritty, something with a messy beat and bleeding guitar riffs. The audience would know the two of them were alive just by the skin of their teeth.

But it wasn’t a movie. In the movies, Lucien would have had a military background and Elain’s clothes would have been so ripped you could see every inch of her. He’d be gruff and closed off and she’d be sexy and holding a shotgun.

Reality was far worse. There was no edgy score, no rough and tumble heroes that could fix the world. There was just a drummer and a baker in a car that, by all rights had no business running and no hope anyone they’d once loved was still alive. How did you carve a future from that? What future could they even have? 

“Can you garden?” Lucien asked suddenly, thinking of that future. 

“Yeah,” Elain replied, speaking a ravioli on her plastic fork and offering it to him. “Thinking about vegetables?”

“Thinking about what we’ll do if we get out to California and there’s no one waiting for us.”

“I don’t know if I want to settle down in Los Angeles.”

“Fair,” he agreed, offering her a tight smile. “We’ll figure it out, I guess.”

Elain opened her mouth to respond but Lucien swerved when a person appeared in his line of sight. Sauce flew through the cab as Elain screamed, throwing her hands up over her head. Lucien heard squealing tires ringing in his ears, felt the steering wheel vibrate beneath his fingers as he tried to control the truck.

“That…that person was alive.”

“Lucien,” Elain whispered, staring straight ahead. Lucien whipped his head around, certain the pair of green eyes he’d seen were human—were alive. “Lucien, look.” 

He turned his head to find a wooden sign staked to the ground. New Fort Wayne, it read, painted in steady, white letters. 1 mile ahead. 

“You don’t think?”

A slap against the glass made Elain scream. Lucien jumped, turning with the expectation he’d see more of the infected. More dead eyes, more pallid, bloated skin. 

He found long, blonde hair pulled off a sun-tanned face. Green eyes glowing in the dark, and an all-too familiar rose tattoo inked against a throat.

“Tamlin?”

Tamlin blinked for a moment.

#elucien #people places and things!

[simmanin]

Super late (I misread the dates and thought the first day was TOMORROW) but here’s a bit of a heavier piece for Day One of @tamlinweek 2024:

Title: Spring’s Stars

a Tamlin x Rhysand’s sister story

Synopsis: After Tamlin’s father gains intel on the Ladies of the Night Court, Tamlin has to pick himself up to rescue the female he loves and her mother.

Word Count: 4,709

You can also read here

For this prompt, I wanted to write about the days leading up to Tamlin becoming High Lord. I know there’s a lot of tension in the books about what happened, and so I wanted to write from Tamlin’s POV. I also played around with some of the fan theories that have been floating around. This story is a bit devastating (or at least I hope so 😉) so be warned. ***It also plays on Tamlin’s father being a shitty man. We’ve heard he was worse than BERON, and there’s bit of child abuse/torture happening***

Scroll to read!

Tamlin awoke on the cold marbled floor of the Spring manor’s basement; the coppery tang of fresh blood filled his nose. His back was burning, the flesh in sloppy ribbons. Prior to the lashes, his father had forced a faebane tonic down his throat so he would not heal quickly. It often went that way, if Tamlin was not cooperating.

He tried to rise but could only make it to his knees before the room began spinning. Nausea filled his stomach. Tamlin closed his eyes, trying to find anything in himself to grasp onto to pull his thoughts away from the pain. He thought of music, of playing the fiddle with some of the males he met in the war camps years ago. The small spark in his chest quickly extinguished when he realized it would be weeks until he could play again, until he could do anything, really. Any movement would reopen the wounds splattering his back, that is if his father even offered him the grace of healing. He liked to linger the possibilities over Tamlin’s head, stringing him along on his sick game of life or death.

Tamlin opened his eyes and stared down at his hands in his lap, dark red ran down his arms and dripped off his fingetips onto his black trousers. He had half a mind to lay back down until he inevitably bled out, but then he remembered why his father had dealt out the beating. Why this time had been so bad, why Tamlin was not cooperating.

For some reason unknown to Tamlin, his father wanted to know the daughter of Night’s location. How his father knew his son knew her whereabouts, Tamlin wasn’t sure. Maybe it was his friendship with Rhysand, or maybe his father could sense something amiss. For fuck’s sake, he’d just seen Laila the night before. He probably still smelt like her, a mistake that he’d surely pay for if he didn’t get the fuck up now.

Tamlin gritted his teeth as he lifted off his knees, his hands shaking as he searched for any form of leverage on the blood splattered wall. His slid in the red mess causing him to jolt forward. Tamlim cried out as the gashes in his back ripped deeper from the sudden movement.

However, the pain would not deter him. His father knew where Laila and her mother were. He dealt Tamlin lash after lash, and yet Tamlin did not break. Not until his father brought a ‘friend’ in. A mind reader, apparently. He had an official name, but Tamlim could not remember it now. If anything, he was more of a mind torturer. He easily got the information out of Tamlim after worming his way through his brain, but he left visions of Tamlin’s mother being whipped on his departure. The female so badly bloodied, Tamlin actually threw up at the picture.

Tamlin realized the male was waiting outside the room the entire time, his father did not need to stoop to whipping him for the information. But Tamlin knew the lashes and the manipulated visions served a purpose of a different kind. It was loud and clear, ever since Tamlin had shown those early signs of powerful magic as a child and his mother’s worried face pleading for him to stop. Her begs him to hide his new magic. But like a fool, Tamlin eagerly showed his father.

Tamlin searched for any sign of that golden power now, but to no avail. His well was empty with the faebane in his system. So, he had to do this the hard way. Tamlin spit out a mouthful of blood onto the floor, the noise echoing throughout the dingy room. There was no furniture in here, just a wooden post to tie a victim to. Usually, Tamlin was the victim. A room solely dedicated for his father’s dark hobbies.

Tamlin wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing red across his cheek. He took in one deep, agonizing breath and pushed off of his own raised knee for leverage. The muscles in his neck strained, the veins nearly bursting and his teeth almost shattering from the force of him clenching them together.

Finally, Tamlin was standing. He leaned his head against the wall, trying to ward off the swaying of the spinning room, but nevertheless, he was standing. Tamlin tried to control his breathing, the air in his lungs escaped in fast, shallow pants. His back burned like it had been lit on fire, but Tamlin could not focus on that. Somehow, he had to get to Laila before they did. His father and his brothers would not be kind to her nor her mother. Whipping was just a sliver of the grotesque arsenal they proudly carried on their belt. Even worse, they really enjoyed the chase of the hunt.

Tamlin turned away from the wall, heart pounding, and fire coursing through his veins as he thought about his father and brothers being let loose on Laila.

He would find a way to save her or die trying.

•

Tamlin made his way up the stairs, relying heavily on the rail to get up. Mercifully, the door to the basement had been left unlocked. He assumed his father did not expect him to wake up so soon. In fact, he had made sure that would be the case from the intensity of the lashes, but by the Mother, Tamlin had awoken. He would not let that divine intervention go to waste.

The manor was eerily quiet, the servants must have been sent home as there was no bustling about. His father probably deemed their prying eyes as a nuisance for his big plans for the evening, whatever they may be. Tamlin’s stomach churned at the possibilities, and he quickened his pace.

He made it to his room and nearly keeled over as he leaned over his desk, flesh blood dribbled on the rug, soaking deeply into the white wool. Tamlin blindly rummaged through a drawer until he found it. A small bottle, hidden in the very back. A gift from his mother, one that would surely have them both beaten half to death if ever discovered.

Tamlin uncorked the bottle with shaky hands and brought it to his lips. The milky liquid cooled his raw throat, soothing as it went down. Tamlin nearly fell to his knees as he felt that iron chain on his power shatter.

He sighed in relief as he felt his body beginning to heal. It would still take days for him to be fully recovered, but this was enough to get him to Laila.

Tamlin pulled a dark green tunic over his head, careful not to disrupt the slowly-healing wounds too much. And then he strapped the bandolier of Illyrian knives across his chest, a gift from Rhysand last Winter Solstice.

With the power now pulsing through him, Tamlin ran out of the Spring manor and into the darkness waiting beyond.

•

Tamlin’s power hadn’t replenished enough yet for him to winnow, so he took his chances on horseback. The stable was nearly empty when Tamlin got there, the scent of his father and brothers lingering. His father could have winnowed them all to the Illyrian camp, but that wasn’t their style. They would be enjoying the ride of this night, drawing it out as long as they could. Tamlin’s blood chilled and he quickly saddled up the small white mare that had been left behind.

They raced through the woods, the back of Tamlin’s tunic now soaked. His wounds were in a constant state of healing and opening due to the movement. But that was the least of his worries. He didn’t know how long he was unconscious, how much further ahead his family was. He prayed to the Mother that Rhysand was there. That somehow, someway, something was stopping his father from harming the females.

Tamlin kicked the heels of his boots against the horse’s side, and they ran faster through the thick canopy of trees.

•

It took too long, way too damn long, for him to reach the Illyrian camp Laila and her mother were staying at. Tamlin quickly tied the mare to a tree on the outskirts of the camp, not willing to risk being seen because of animal’s glaringly white coat.

Tamlim quietly made his way down the hill, making sure to stay as hidden as he could behind the bare trees. He did not hear any yelling, which was hopefully a good thing. But he also could not hear much of anything. Like even the nocturnal animals of the forest had been run off by some threat. Tamlin willed his quickened pulse to steady as he made his way to the closest house, a small thing made up of grey mortar and bricks.

Gripping a dagger in his hand, he peered over the side. When he didn’t see any immediate threats, he pushed further. His back had stopped bleeding, though the pain still lingered, and he hoped his scent would not be too strong to any passerby.

Tamlin made his way to the front of the house, heart pounding at what he beheld. It wasn’t the gory murder scene he’d expected. No, instead, the camp looked abandoned. He made his way down the path. Houses were ransacked, like his father heavily searched each one and got angrier as he went on, his job becoming sloppier and sloppier. But there were no bodies. There was no blood, or at least none that Tamlin could sense.

Tamlin ran to the house he was in the night before. He pleaded with the Mother as he ran up the stairs and into Laila’s room. The place was torn apart, her belongings strewn about, but her scent was faint. She had not been here in hours. However, his father’s scent was overwhelmingly strong. He would not be far away, if his smell still lingered so. Tamlin growled over the mixing of the two scents and quickly exited the room.

•

Tamlin was walking back up the slope to his horse, coming up with ideas of where Laila could be when he heard it. The ever so faint sound of wings flapping. Then the light scent of lavender and cedar. In an instant, Tamlin was swept up, completely embraced in the arms he knew too well.

“Are you okay? You’re bleeding,” Laila fretted, cupping his face with both palms. Tamlin leaned into the touch. She found the nook of a large tree branch to settle them into.

“I’m fine. My father—“ Tamlin trailed off, looking deeply into Laila’s strikingly blue eyes. “Did he hurt you? I saw what he did to the camp.”

“No. One of the scouts spotted he and your brothers in the forest. I was able to winnow most of the camp out, the rest flew,” Laila shook her head fast, brows deeply furrowed. “The scout overheard your father boasting about where he would hang my wings.” Her voice broke on the last word, and tears welled in her eyes.

Tamlin grabbed her, pulling her tight to his body. He pressed his lips to the top of her head, her black curls dancing in the wind.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” He mumbled into her hair. “I should have been here. I should have—“

She pulled back from him, shaking her head. “You could not have stopped it if you were here. These evil creatures in power cannot be stopped,” Tears trailed down Laila’s tan face and onto her light purple dress, the droplets darkening parts of the fabric.

“I would have killed them for you. Or at least die trying,” Tamlin cupper her cheek, wiping the tears away with his thumb. His own eyes now burned with emotion.

“I know, my love. I know you would have. And I could not bear witnessing that,” Laila kissed his palm and continued. “My father, he’s no better. Not really. He plans to marry me off to an Autumn Court son.”

Tamlin went wholly still, his hand dropping from her face as his breath hitched in his throat.

Laila nodded, a small sob escaping her. “The papers are signed, the wedding is set for next week,” She laughed lightly, the sound bitter. “That is, if your father doesn’t kill me first.”

“No.” Tamlin demanded, shaking his head. “No. I’ll get you out of here. You and your mother. I won’t let you two suffer anymore.”

Laila smiled sadly, “There is nowhere for us to go, Tamlin,” She placed a hand on his heart. It thummed in answer to her touch. “You are a good male. My brother as well. But there are not many others like you. No matter where we go, they will either hunt us for sport or sell us off like cattle. This is not anything new.”

Tamlin’s heart broke at the look on her face, at what she had been going through her whole life. Yes, Tamlin had to deal with his father, but he was able to walk freely without outside threats looming over his head. He wished he could scoop her up and bring her to a new world, where females did not have to fear living. Wish he had the power to create that new world for her.

Tamlin embraced her tightly, holding onto her as if this would be his last time doing so. “I love you, Laila. You are bound to my soul, like roots in the spring soil.”

Laila looked up at him, her blue eyes twinkling in the moonlight. “And I love you, Tamlin. I will love you, even when the last star in the night sky fades into nothing.”

She stood on her tiptoes, interlocking her hands in his blonde hair. Their lips met and the outside world faded into nothing. Their problems no longer existed as they kissed, becoming one against that tree.

•

Later, Laila flew them to a nearby lake so Tamlin could wash away the blood from his body before they went to her mother. His tunic stuck to his back, courtesy of the dried blood, and Tamlin winced. Instantly, Laila was behind him, and she tenderly unpeeled the shirt from his back. Tamlin thanked her with a soft smile and waded into the water, just enough to be half submerged.

Laila followed and began lightly washing him with a makeshift rag (a piece of Tamlin’s tunic she ripped off). Tamlin looked out at the water, at how the hundreds of stars reflected on the surface. It was hard to tell where the sky ended, and the water started. A starlit lake, of sorts.

Tamlin began thinking of the starlight pool in his own court. How odd the little body of water was, and the stories that came with it. Some claimed it to be a portal, a door built by the Mother herself.

Shivers went down Tamlin’s spine as Laila hummed quietly to herself, scrubbing his hair.

In that moment, Tamlin knew what he had to do.

•

“You can’t be serious.” Laila’s wide gaze burned into him.

“We have to try, Laila. You two can’t live like this,” Tamlin said, rubbing her shoulder lightly.

They made it to the small cottage she left her mother at. The older female managed to scrounge up a small dinner for them with the few resources she had, and Tamlin decided now was the best time to lay out his plan.

“You don’t even know if it leads anywhere.”

“I will make sure of it in the morning. If it doesn’t, I will find you somewhere else to go. I will not let Beron keep you in his claws. Or my father.

Laila stared into his eyes for a moment, and then silently nodded her head.

“Rumors say the pool leads to another world. I have heard of it enough that parts of it must be true. There is always truth in rumors,” Laila’s mother spoke from the head of the small table. The Lady of the Night Court looked fragile, her skin unusually pale, with a blanket wrapped around her. Her plate left untouched.

“Will you travel through it?” Tamlin asked, setting his fork down.

“I will do anything to get my daughter out of here.”

“Okay, then. We will set out tomorrow.”

•

At sunrise, Tamlin winnowed to the Spring Court. He knew his father or brothers would get word of his arrival soon, so he had to be quick. Tamlin jumped into the water, and rapidly kicked his feet until he hit the bottom. A sliver of glowing golden light caught his eye, he swam closer to it. He did not have the time to go through it, so he threw a rogue conch shell into the crack. It disappeared. He waited a moment. Still, it did not come back. Where it went, he was not sure. But for the first time in a long time, his chest glowed with hope. With a promise for the future.

•

A few hours later, right at dusk, Tamlin was back at the pool. Laila and her mother in tow. Late last night, he’d set a trap for his father and brothers to keep them occupied with. A couple of vandals he’d picked up from Spring’s dungeons, glamoured to resemble the Ladies of Night.

“Are you ready?” Tamlin asked the females, both trembling slightly, their wings drawn in tight.

They wanted to seek out Rhysand, but time would not permit. He did not know how long the glamor would hold out on the males, or if it even would. It was a power he had not gotten a chance to utilize much, especially not on others. It was either now or never. Laila’s mother was the first to move, she nodded quickly.

“Right. I will go first. To ensure there are no threats on the other side.” She said, holding her head high on her shoulders. She hugged her daughter tightly, kissing her on the cheek. She moved over to Tamlin, squeezing his shoulder and nodding once at him. A small gesture of approval for what he was doing. Then she walked to the pool and dived in headfirst. The water rippled in her wake.

Tamlin looked back at Laila, her blue eyes shining with tears. She stumbled into his arms, her lavender and cedar scent fully engulfing him. “Please don’t make me wait too long.”

He gently rubbed her head, her hair feather soft under his calloused palm. “I would never dream of doing such a thing. Though, I do often think of that one night when I was gone for two weeks. You seemed to miss me a lot. So much so, actually, that we didn’t sleep a wink the entire night.”

Laila lightly slapped his chest and Tamlin laughed, the sound reverberating through the trees. The birds answered, their sweet songs echoing back. Laila stared up at the darkening sky, at the canopy of trees surrounding them, swaying in the warm breeze.

“I would have loved to marry you in this world, Tamlin. To leave the courts behind and live simply as you and me.”

Tamlin pulled Laila tighter to him and their lips met, the feeling so sure and right. Tamlin’s chest burned, his soul aching to be with hers. He would be with her in the next world, or the next life if the Mother did not permit this one. But he would find her soul in every life, he knew that much to be true.

“Laila, it is time,” The Lady of Night said from the pool. Tamlin looked at her, her usually braided back black hair was now loose down her back from the water, the starlight casting it in a shine. Her hazel eyes twinkled, in a way Tamlin had not seen before. “The portal is real. And we must go now.”

Tamlin’s pulse quickened and he let go of Laila. “Go,” he said. “Go and I will be there soon.”

Laila nodded, brushing his face ever so slightly with her long tan fingers. A shiver went down Tamlin’s spine. He watched as she jumped into the water. She looked back once, her blue eyes burning into his green gaze, before both of their heads disappeared fully under the water.

Tamlin quickly turned, headed towards the manor. He had one last thing he needed to take care of.

•

When Tamlin reached the manor, no one was home. His father and brothers were of course accounted for, but he had no idea where his mother could be. And he would not leave without her. Would not let her live like this any longer.

Tamlin searched every room in the manor, and then the grounds. He’d hoped she would be in her rose garden, where she often spent much of her day, but she was nowhere in sight.

Frustrated, Tamlin paced his bedroom. Hours passed, the moon rising fast in the night sky, until finally he heard the front door open. The sound of his brothers' obnoxious voices and then his father’s steps down the hall. Tamlin froze, waiting for his door to swing open. He had his knives, but that would do no good against a High Lord. Thankfully, his father’s footsteps kept going.

He heard his brothers walk by and return to their rooms as well, his mother’s rose scent with them. Tamlin sighed out in relief. She was here, he would have to get her alone somehow, but she was here.

He sat down on the edge of his bed, his body exhausted. He’d been running on adrenaline for the past two days, his back still healing from the lashes.

At sunrise, when his father and brother went on their morning hunt, he would get his mother and take her to the starlight pool. But tonight, he would rest. His chest seemed to ease a bit as he laid down fully. It did not take him long to fall asleep, and soon he was dreaming of a life with Laila. Of their wedding. Of their children running to their grandmothers.

But the sun never did rise for his mother.

•

It was midnight when Tamlin heard his mother scream. He threw his bedroom door open, knives completely forgotten in his haste. His nostrils flared as the coppery tang of blood filled his nose. Tamlin ran faster down the hall until he reached his parent’s room. His father laid bleeding out on the floor; the male’s throat deeply slit. Even his High Lord’s magic was having a difficult time repairing the wound. Tamlin looked up, his mother’s golden curls flashed as the perpetrator lifted her up by her neck, her bare feet dangling in the air.

“No!” Tamlin yelled, racing towards them but it was too late. Barely a breath later, his mother’s head landed at his feet.

Tamlin did not think as he shifted. He felt power course through his veins, more than he ever had before. Perhaps his power fed on anger. On heartbreak and devastation.

In a blind rage, Tamlin leapt on the male. The beast he’d become had long, razor-sharp claws. A real blade was not needed as he ripped through the male’s neck. Blood spurted out and Tamlin dug deeper until he sliced through bone. Tamlin growled loudly as the male’s head detached fully from his body. He stood over the body, teeth snared and dripping blood.

“What did you do?” A voice demanded from behind him. It was familiar enough that it brought Tamlin out of that angry haze.

Tamlin looked to see the son of Night. Rhysand. His friend. Tamlin looked back at the body he stood over and he finally realized whose head he’d just ripped off. Who killed his mother. The High Lord of the Night Court. Laila and Rhysand’s father.

Tamlin shifted into his fae form and stalked towards Rhysand. “What are you doing here?” He commanded from the male.

“Oh, don’t act so innocent, I know you told them. Your brothers squealed like pigs before I ripped their fucking throats out.”

At Tamlin’s bewildered expression, Rhys continued, “They sent my mother and sister’s heads in a gods damn box, Tamlin. You let them do that.”

“You don’t know wha—“

“I saw them. I opened the fucking box,” Rhysand’s face turned a sickly green. “You were my friend. I introduced you to my sister and you what? You fuck her and give her whereabouts to your father? You helped them kill, Laila.”

The sound of sentries running through the manor’s grounds filled Tamlin’s ears. They must have heard the commotion and would be here soon. Tamlin shook his head slowly, “Rhysand, listen, they—“

“No. I don’t care what you have to say. But never cross me again, or your head will be on a spike in your mother’s little rose garden,” Rhysand slowly began to disappear into the shadows whirling around behind him. “I guess congratulations are in order, to the new High Lord of Spring.” And with that, Rhysand disappeared fully into the darkness.

•

Tamlin did not linger for much longer in the hallway. Did not even wipe the blood from his hands before he was out the door and headed to the starlight pool. It was sunrise by the time he made it, the trek longer without a horse and his chest ached as he watched the morning sky open.

He failed to save his mother. The female he’d found comfort in throughout all these years being his father’s toy. The soft, broken female who deserved to live in a world far better than this one. And he was so fucking close to giving it to her.

The morning birds began their song and Tamlin felt the power course through his veins. The wind blew his golden locks across his face, and Tamlin wielded it to stop. It did.

There was now a well of power in him, so deep he knew he could never fully fathom it. He could probably spend the next century diving into it and never hit the bottom.

No longer was he heir to the Spring Court. It was now fully his. He could change it for the better, if he chose to do so. But if he stayed, he would not bring Laila back. Could not. Not with Rhysand and not with Beron looming about. It was too dangerous here, the threats too extreme. As High Lord, he would always be a target for people seeking power. He would not force Laila to be part of that game.

Even more so, if he left, then there was no telling who the power would go to. Tamlin would not let someone else like his father lead the Spring Court. Their people had suffered enough under his rule.

Tamlin thought of Laila, of his dream of their life beyond. A future that had been ripped to shreds in the span of mere hours. But perhaps it was enough to get her out of here. Her and her mother could live freely in this other world, without the limitations they’d face here.

By noon, Tamlin knew what he had to do. He just wasn’t sure if he truly wanted to. But as High Lord, what he wanted didn’t matter anymore. Maybe it was selfish, but he spent hours looking for a sign from the Mother, any sign, to lead him in the right direction. He’d put his full trust in her thus far, so when a lonesome stem of a lavender plant landed in the pool and sunk under, he knew what was expected of him.

Tamlin dived under the silvery water, stars clinging to his skin. When he made it to the crack of the portal, he threw all of his power into it. His powers shone brightly as it hit the slit, casting the water in iridescent light.

He gritted his teeth, his leverage wearing thin under the water. In a blinding flash, Tamlin was thrusted back, the impact weakened by the water. He swam back to the crevice, only to be met with a faint line in the sand. A faded, white scar left behind in this world.

A twin to the one now etched on his very heart.

#tamlin week #pro tamlin healing arc #pro tamlin #acotar fic #rhysand sister #rhysands mother #rhysand #rhys and tamlin #prior to acotar #heir of spring #starlight pool #pro spring court #spring court #night court #spring vs night

[songofthesibyl]

Continuing my journey to Tamlin Week mode, I wanted to post the first fic I ever wrote (for any fandom! ever!), in January of last year (a Tamlin POV fic):

Because it brings up what I think is one of the central themes with the character—something I can relate to  (as well as many people with depression, but not only people with depression, of course)—and that is the idea of having sovereignty—having agency—in your own life. It is what is often called “victim mentality,” but that term has such negative and judgy connotations that I’d prefer not to use it. 

In my fic, I began with the idea of the Goddesses of Sovereignty in Celtic Britain and Ireland (of which the Morrigan is one); these goddesses represent the land, and choose a male to lead it, consummating this partnership with marriage and/or sex, very similar to the idea of the Great Rite. In the fic, Feyre represents this goddess (metaphorically), who chose Tamlin and—similar to stories of sovereignty goddesses—abandons the male when he proves himself unworthy, and allies herself with another. The fic takes place during ACOSF, just before he confronts Nesta, and attempts to get into his frame of mind during that time. It was very personal and somewhat difficult to write—but ultimately reflects what I believe Tamlin’s perspective might be—everything centers on the feeling that he has no say in his life. That he can’t change anything himself, that he will ultimately fail. 

This starts early with him not having any desire to be High Lord—it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter he’d rather play the fiddle and be left alone. Even before Rhysand, he had felt he would just fight and do what he felt it was his duty to do, and that was it. And then he meets Rhysand, and perhaps there was the dream of something better—and that goes horrible wrong, and becomes the inciting incident for the course the rest of his journey has taken. The belief that he will ultimately fail the people he loves. That he is the same as his father and brothers, the same as Amarantha. When he had his big test; say, in standing up to his father for Rhysand—whether through torture, pressure, however you believe it went down—he ultimately failed to stop it. Failed to protect his mother. And this dynamic gets repeated again and again. It becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. Why bother, when he is just going to fail anyway? He says as much to Rhysand in ACOFAS—what’s the point of apologizing, when he can never make up for what he did, in his mind (doesn’t help that Rhysand confirms this, but whatever). Even how he snaps at the last minute; sending his sentries out for the curse, pulling Feyre aside the last night UTM. Sending her away the last minute. Something in him freezes, falters, feels he won’t be strong enough—or is strong enough, but then falls apart like he does in ACOMAF, like he does in ACOFAS. 

So it makes sense he could be manipulated by Ianthe, when he just desperately wants someone to tell him the right thing to do. It makes sense he wouldn’t think he had any say in deciding if someone was High Lord or High Lady, when he didn’t even choose it for himself. When he has to perform the Great Rite whether he wants to or not, or people will starve—and when he doesn’t, he’s seen as failing in his duty, just as he is seen as being a monster for performing it. When it doesn’t matter that he doesn’t want Amarantha—she’ll torture, and murder, everyone that he cares about, she’ll have his mask off when he’s in his beast form, so he knows he’s just like her, so he won’t have anyone or anything else but that. He is a body to fit into the ceremonies of his Court; to fight, to kill, to take orders. And nothing more. It’s indicative of his depressive state, and a reason for his anger as well, which often comes from feeling out of control. His challenge, and what I would write for his story going forward, is for him to take back sovereignty in his own life; to not wait for permission or acceptance from the Inner Circle, or anyone else, to live. No redemption through suicide, or being someone’s father, or lover. Simply being enough, on his own. The sovereign of his own life.

[lorcandidlucienwill]

“I’d realized from an early age that fighting and killing were about the only things I was good at.” “I doubt that,” I said. He gave me a wry smile. “Oh, I can play a mean fiddle, but High Lords’ sons don’t become traveling minstrels."

This post will be a little long, so bear with me here... It's true that SJM made a lot of changes to Tamlin's character, but one thing remains true: Tamlin never wanted to be High Lord. He never wanted to be a High Lord and found he wasn't very good at High Lord things either. This passage suggests that had he not been a High Lord's son, he would've happily become a traveling minstrel, but because he was, he opted to become a general instead. The only time he was truly happy in this series was when he was playing fiddle for Feyre. After ACOSF, he is depressed. He's lost the faith of his people and Spring is in ruins (I'm not debating whose fault this is, just stating facts). He's roaming around the forest in beast form. (Heroes of Olympus and Trials of Apollo spoilers coming up) Reyna Avila Ramirez-Arellano is the daughter of Bellona, the Roman goddess of war. She was once an attendant of Circe who turned men into guinea pigs before she wound up in the Roman demigod camp and wound up a praetor, which is a Roman leader. It's considered "Roman" to seek power, and there are typically two praetors who are often together romantically as well, which is why she tried to get with Jason before Hera did her switcheroo and there were several stressful months where she was leading the camp all alone. Then she tried to get with Percy for the same reason as Jason. She was in a pretty miserable place all alone until Apollo "saved" her by making her realize she doesn't need any of this. Because she gained power and did everything a good Roman should, she rejected all of that to join the Hunters of Artemis and travel the world as a maiden, which is groundbreaking for her character. Frank and Hazel on the other hand, because they've always shied away from that power, been trodden upon, and felt "not Roman," it was groundbreaking for them to embrace their power and become praetors. What if we had a similar situation with Tamlin, Lucien, and Elain? Lucien and Elain have been trodden upon and underestimated by everyone, and we know Lucien rebelled against his power and did "all the things a High Lord's son shouldn't do." And we have Elain who mourned her human life for longer than all the sisters. So what if we have both Lucien and Elain embrace their power and become High Lord and Lady of Spring? That would be groundbreaking for their characters. And how groundbreaking would it be for a High Lord to abdicate and join a traveling minstrel?

#reyna avila ramirez arellano #reyna ramirez arellano #tamlin #pro tamlin #tamlin redemption #frank zhang #hazel levesque #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #pro lucien vanserra #pro elain archeron #elucien #pro elucien

[theladyofbloodshed]



hi!! I already know how you pretty much feel about Rhys, but I want to know what you feel about Tamlin? I find it pretty amusing how the fandom treats the two characters.

Rhys can do pretty much all bad things due to trauma and his love for Feyre, but Tamlin cannot do bad things due to trauma and his love for Feyre. (not trying to excuse him but trying to make a point lol)

Here are some double standards that I can think of right now

~ Locking Feyre up: If Velaris wasn't shielded I doubt Rhys would allow her to walk freely and not to mention once she met with the IC she always had "sentries" with her (cough IC cough) AND the fact Rhys is constantly in her head.

~ Working with Amarantha. Rhys did that to protect Velaris and IC just like Tamlin allied with Hybern to protect (& get Feyre back).

Rhys did more damage to Pythian allying with Amarantha than Tamlin did with Hybern.

~ Rhys would kill Nesta and Elain in a heartbeat to protect Feyre. But Tamlin "selling them out" is evil

Im sure there are more, but these are the ones I can think of right now :)

Stans will bend over backwards to excuse his actions and it's just weird tbh.

Rhys is constantly invading her privacy. Feyre tells him to leave when she wants to speak to Nesta in the tavern, but he is still in her head. He puts a shield around her when pregnant because he's "protective", but like she's in a very safe city around your closest friends? Then has no problem showing her off in the Hewn City when she was heavily pregnant and half naked.

I liked Tamlin in the first book (granted, I preferred Lucien and wondered why Feyre wasn't on her knees begging him for a taste). I went into it knowing it was a BatB retelling so he was supposed to be a beast. Even though there was a curse that meant he needed to fall in love with her, I found his attempts at befriending her to be genuine. Playing the fiddle whilst she danced, writing her poetry to help her learn new words, offering to help her read etc.

There were times when he was as protective as Rhys, but it was when a) she was mortal b) didn't listen to warnings and actively put herself into danger. Rhys puts her into danger to make her collect a ring and try to use her powers, but then is overprotective when it's not called for.

I blame Rhys/SJM/Feyre for the assassination of his character. Rhys and Amarantha contributed to his paranoia and fear for Feyre's life. Of course, he would not believe that Feyre had really written him a note that she was staying with the NC because a) rhys is his enemy b) he watched feyre drugged and SA by him every night c) she can't read d) they had never actually had a conversation about her not being happy in the relationship.

Rhys is heralded as progressive and wonderful for making Feyre his high lady. Tamlin is vilified because he didn't. Feyre seems to forget that she once told him that she wouldn't want to be high lady when he tells her it doesn't exist. Feyre says she wouldn't want to be the wife of a high lord producing little heirs and then proceeded to do exactly that within 2 years of meeting Rhys (when he was SA her). Feyre changes her mind and is angry with Tamlin. As if it's his fault that there had never been a high lady before and Feyre didn't want to be it anyway.

He gets blamed for Nesta and Elain being turned. When you try to blame feysand, it's not their fault, it's all Ianthe's fault. So why is it Tamlin's fault that Feyre told Ianthe all of the information about her sisters and brought the Illyrians to their home? Rhys is the one who promised E&N that there would be round the clock guards to keep them safe. But it's not their fault!!!! It's Tamlin's fault!!

I feel sorry for him tbh. He could have not helped them in Hybern's camp, he could have not given his drop of power to bring rhys back to life. But he did those things because he cared for feyre and wanted her to be happy. Rhys didn't bother letting tamlin know that Ianthe was nefarious when she wheedled her way into an unstable Spring Court where there was a traumatised high lord and his potential mate, but he likes to go there and kick Tamlin when he's down because he's just an ass.

#anon asks