#tamlinweek

[tamlinweek]

Tamlin Creator Appreciation: copypastus

It's impossible to be in ACOTAR fandom and NOT see @copypastus art, and we freaking love it!

They were the first pro tamlin artist I came across. I did not know such existed because all the Tamlin art i had come across where from antis. Needless to say it was a very happy day! Love the way they've made Tams appearance more ethereal with the antlers and flowers intertwining it and they have imo the best version of Tamlins beast form. It's the cutest!! And the coloring is gorgeous. Much much love to them and their art

Copy's creativity and speedy art skills have made her an icon in this fandom. She adds so much creativity to the ACOTAR characters that many of the traits she gives them have seeped into fandom consciousness. We also love how often she'll draw rarer, less popular ships, such as Tamlin/Eris.

(original artwork here along with tamcien and tamsand, please click and give copy some love!)

Submit your own favorite Tamlin works right here!

[geniemillies]

full image of the icon and header i did for @tamlinweek featuring the prompt dark spring. tysm for requesting and having me i can't wait for the actual thing 🥹🫶🫶

he is eepy..

[titaniaqueenoffairie]

Does Tamlin need healing or revenge?

I’m definitely one of those who hopes for a healing arc for Tamlin, where he gets his life together and redeems his court.

But deep down, I crave a revenge arc (Though I know that’s never going to happen with SJM). I want him to rise up and become the monster everyone thinks he is, to become so terrifying that Amarantha would seem like an angel by comparison. Not to innocent people ofcourse but to those who kicked him in his down, and those who think of him the worst despite everything thing he did.

[vivictory-draws]

I heard that it's @tamlinweek and thus I had to draw the obligatory Brilin art piece... This was originally intended for Day 3 or 4 (Mates or Happily Ever After, respectevly), but I unfortunately couldn't finish it in time for either. Well, I suppose that by posting it for Day 6: Dreams, I can also use it as an excuse to promo my brilin fic as well.

✨please do not repost or use in any AI programs✨

[mika-no-sekai-blog]

Word count: 1400+

Warnings: mentions of blood, depression, description of wound

In books there's no mention of Tamlin being able to winnow, but for the sake of story, let's pretend he can, okay?😉

Part II

You lived in a small cottage deep in the woods of Spring Court, far away from other fae. It wasn't like you hated them, they hated you. Most of the creatures living in this area avoided you, believing you had quite great powers and vicious nature, cursing anybody who crossed your way.

The rumours couldn't be further from the truth, but it didn't bother you what they said about you. You loved silence, enjoying every second of your lonely life in the heart of the nature.

You had several friends that used to stop by from time to time and brought you news, so you heard about everything that happened to your High Lord. You heard rumours about him going crazy, spending his days devastating his land in a form of horrific monster. You heard that fae ran away from this doomed Court. Last of your friends came to bid you farewell just few days ago trying to convince you to run away too. But why should you?

You lived alone, not caring about the outside world. You didn't care about what's happening out there, you didn't care about your High Lord nor the upcoming war. It had no meaning in your life. Feelings like hate, fear or love were just words with no particular meaning. And so the time passed slowly.

Fresh morning air brought smell of rain through the open window. Last night rained and the sound of raindrops on the roof of cottage lulled you to sleep. With bright smile you got up, changed and cleaned your room. Today it should be a nice sunny day. The intoxicating scent of flowers beckoned you out. Quickly you ran through your herb stocks and made a list of missing ones. You took small basket and went out to collect what you needed. Birds sang above your head as you bent down to tear off some chamomile flowers.

A roar thundered through the forest, making all birds fling away. You looked around with caution. Another roar shook the trees. And another. Now you knew where it was coming from. Quickly, but quietly you ran in that direction. It's in your nature to help to those who needed it. And this with no doubt sounded like somebody needed your help.

You ran up a hill ending in a cliff. And there down in a narrow valley on the other bank of small stream was lying the biggest beast you'd ever seen. Body of bear, head of wolf with antlers, his eyes were clenched in pain. On his side you could see deep wound, blood flowed in thin rivulets into the water. You didn't waste a second, climbed down and ran to its side. As you got closer, the beast opened its eyes and looked at you with a growl, showing off rows of sharp fangs. You halted and held up your hands.

"It's okay. You see? I'm not going to hurt you. I want to help you. Will you let me take a look?" you spoke to the beast in a soothing voice as you slowly step by step got closer. The beast growled again, but it put its head back on the ground. Green eyes never left yours, watching you with caution. Slowly you bent down. "Can I?" you gestured to the wound. It took few heartbeats, but the beast nodded slightly.

You knelt down between enormous paws, trying to ignore the dagger-like claws that could turn you into shreds of flesh in less than minute and examined the wound. It was so deep you could see its bones and even though it'd already begun to heal, it had to be treated. You bit down your lower lip. You needed to get the beast to your cottage, but it's too big and couldn't walk on its own in this state.

"It's quite deep. I need bandages and salve, but I don't have it all with me now. I'd need to go home. You are too big and heavy, so I can't take you with me.." you started to explain.

"Where?" a male's voice rasped.

"What?" you questioned, not sure if you really heard it.

The beast blinked. "Where?"the voice repeated with great effort. You lips parted in surprise.

"Well.. My cottage is about a kilometer to the north east from here."

"'Know the place," it breathed out. "Hold on to me."

You weren't so stupid to think, it's a real speaking beast. If nothing else, its eyes gave you enough hint. Of course, it's a high fae, a shape-shifter. And it seemed he could even winnow, so you did as he told you and took his paw with both of your hands. In a blink of an eye you were back in your cottage. Your head spun after the winnow, but you ignored it. Quickly you brought everything you could need and started to work on him. After few minutes the wound was bandaged and bleeding had stopped as well.

"I'm done," you announced. "It will take some time to completely heal. You can stay here until you will be able to move again." You wiped your hands clean while the beast just was laying, eyes narrowed, lost in his thoughts. He didn't seem to be in pain anymore. "Would you like something to drink?" you asked him gently, peeking on him.

His eyes concentrated on you once again, roaming around your face and then down your body. There was so much sadness in them. He just shook his head. "So I will let you take some rest," you nodded. "If you change your mind or it hurts you, tell me." The beast snorted and his eyes once again stared into the distance, returning to whatever he was thinking about before.

Several days passed since you found the wounded beast and brought him to your cottage. He didn't want to eat nor drink and that made you worry. He didn't speak, answering you only with small nods, his gaze was unfocused. He just lay on the floor where he winnowed to, like a lifeless object, stuffed animal. Even his wound was closing slower than it should.

You believed that everything had its time. If he wanted to talk about what bothered him, he would already say something. It wasn't your place to stick your nose into other's troubles. But still you were worried about him. You even heard him cry in his sleep last night.

Every day you checked on his wound, applied the salve and wrapped it into clean bandages and today wasn't different. Before, you let him be after tending the wound, but not today. He needed help and you were more than ready to offer your help even though he didn't ask for it.

You made him tea and set the bowl in front of him. It would be easier if he turned back into his normal form, but it couldn't be helped. Maybe he was too weak to do so. You sat down next to him and in silence ran your fingers through the fur on his shoulder. He sighed and closed eyes. You didn't talk, just continued to stroke his shoulder. After few minutes he dipped his tongue in the bowl and drank a bit. His sad green eyes turned to you, watching you carefully.

"You don't have to do this," he rasped.

"I know," you answered gently. He huffed. His eyes roamed around the room as if it was the first time he noticed.

"For vicious witch, you live quite peacefully. Silently I'd say." Now it's time for you to huff.

"You shouldn't believe everything you hear."

"Everyone runs from this doomed Court. Why don't you do so too? Aren't you scared of High Lord?" His voice sounded so empty, without any feelings.

"I don't care about what's happening out there," you answered evasively.

"Hmm," he hummed. "Did you hear about his fiancée and the best friend? They ran away from him too. He certainly must be a monster." He watched you out of the corner of his eye.

"Maybe," you shrugged. "I've never met him. I would prefer to make my own opinion on him."

"I see," he drank some more of the tea and then stayed silent. His eyes were again sad and unfocused and you didn't press him more. However you continued to caress his fur without thinking. Soon enough his eyes closed and he fell asleep.

He slept for the rest of the day. You checked on him before going to the bed, but he was still fast asleep curled up into a ball. That night he seemed to rest peacefully without any haunting dreams.

In the morning when you came down, he was gone.

[wingsdippedingold]

Tamlin had ringlets as a child, prove me wrong

This is my contribution to Tamlin week

@tamlinweek

[praetorqueenreyna]

Nyx had never been to Spring before. He alighted just inside the border, staring wide-eyed at the lush green foliage. He had taken no more than a dozen steps when the ground began to shake. Out from the trees emerged an enormous beast with sharp teeth and antlers. It charged him, and despite himself he lost his nerve and stumbled backwards. His ankle caught on a root and he fell, sprawling back on his ass and landing painfully on his wings. The beast surged upwards as if to leap upon him and tear out his throat. Nyx flinched and closed his eyes in anticipation of the killing blow. When it didn’t come, he looked. Where the beast had been now stood the male that had haunted his familys’ stories for the past century. The High Lord of Spring was tall, even more so when one was on the ground. The most exquisite yellow hair he had ever seen spilled down across the High Lord’s shoulders and back, reaching to his waist. His emerald eyes were hard. “Go home,” he rumbled in a voice that shook leaves from the branches above them. Nyx cleared his throat. “High Lord Tamlin. I am—” I know who you are.” A shiver went down Nyx’s back at the coldness in the words. “Go home.” Reckless from the adrenaline still pumping in his veins, Nyx scrambled to his feet. “I just wanted to talk to you. My parents don’t know I’m here.” He tried not to squirm as Tamlin’s gaze raked up and down his body. Especially when that gaze settled on the knee brace on his bad leg.  “Fine.” Tamlin folded his arms across his chest. “Talk.”

For Tamlin Week Day 2: Warrior. This is the start of a longer Nyx/Tamlin fic called I hope you don't mind that I'm planning on writing. Thanks to @feyres-divorce-lawyer for finding the AMAZING Nyx face claim!!!

@tamlinweek

[achaotichuman]

Tamlin and his brothers

This is an analysis of Tamlin's relationship with his lost brothers. For Day 1- Prompt: Heir of Spring

Tamlin's brothers are two unnamed characters that we see very little of, but here is what we know from mentions of them.

Both of them are older than Tamlin.

They are cruel and belittling towards him, in a similar manner the Vanserra brothers are cruel towards Lucien.

Both of them wanted for the throne, enough that Tamlin knew if he took on the High lord's power, they would kill him.

They went along with their father to kill Rhysand's sister and mother. In revenge, Rhysand melted both their brains in their skulls.

That is about all we know of them, and they are never otherwise mentioned.

It is very interesting when we talk about these two characters, for simplicity I will refer to them as the names I gave them in my fiction A Court of Song and Desolation, Baile (the eldest) and Aletris (the middle).

When the reader thinks of Baile and Aletris it is a never in a good light. In the first book it is because it is implied they were cruel towards Tamlin, and in the following book it is because they helped in murdering Rhysand's family.

What I think is an important detail in this respect is that Baile and Aletris never have any specific abusive/cruel act tied to them. Everything they do is an extension of their father, whom I will refer to as Elvin (also from my fiction).

Elvin is the one who was said to be worse than Beron himself, whom we know actively tortures his eldest child. Elvin is the one who is specifically said to have abused Tamlin, taken him and introduced him to Amarantha, and was the one who orchestrated the killing of Rhysand's family.

Baile and Aletris are only said to have been complicit in the abuse and murders. They weren't the ones who started it.

We also know that Tamlin was favored by his mother, and in Lucien's case, we know that favoritism from his mother caused Lucien's brothers to resent him. The same can be said for Tamlin.

As the youngest and their mother's favorite. There was some subconscious resentment towards Tamlin already, which would have fueled their dislike for him.

So, now to what you're probably thinking. Chaotic, why are you listing all this about two unnamed characters who are spoken of like twice in the books?

Because I believe that Tamlin's relationship with his brothers runs deeper than what we are led to believe it is.

(Too note, I do not believe SJM will actually plan anything out in regards to Tamlin's past relationships, these are my personal theories)

Tamlin ran for the War Camps the second he could to escape his abusive situation. As the youngest and the third spare son, he has more freedom than that of his elder brothers. As they are more likely to inherit the throne. Especially Baile, as the eldest.

Like we know with Eris, he is willing to put on a mask of pure cruelty, even to Lucien whom we know he has a weak spot for.

I think it is similar with Baile, and Aletris.

We don't know what happened in the Spring Court manor when Tamlin wasn't present, we barely know what happens when he is there.

We don't know if Elvin tortured Baile and Aletris. We do know he mistreated his wife and abused all his sons. Possibly Baile the worst, as the eldest of Spring.

Which leads me to wonder if their relationship was always so cruel. Could it possibly have been tender but soured with time? Did Baile and Aletris actually want to go with Elvin to kill Rhysand's family, or were they forced too? Was their cruelty for their own sadistic pleasure or out of built up trauma and eventually blowing up?

Imagine, times when Tamlin was a small child and Baile letting him try to put on his armor and barely being able to pick up the breastplate. Baile putting his helmet on Tamlin's head and Tamlin falling over from the weight of it, laughing.

Times where Aletris taught Tamlin to climb trees effortlessly. Knowing where to put his foot and how to pull himself up. Showing him how to get up to the secret treehouses he and Baile built when they were younger.

Times where Elvin was on a rage, and Baile, Aletris, Tamlin and their mother hid in a closet, trying to wait for the storm to calm. Baile and Aletris exchanging stupid jokes and made-up funny stories to make their little brother laugh and cheer up their mother.

Times where Aletris and Baile taught Tamlin sword fighting, how to hone his fighting abilities and how to tame the feral beast he had. How to use his wild side to his advantage.

Times where Baile ruffled Tamlin's hair and called him "Feral kid.

Times where Aletris picked up and threw Tamlin over his shoulder whenever he came back from the war camps to prove he could still pick him up like when he was a baby.

Times when they would all sit on the rooftop and watch the stars, dreaming of a time when none of them had the responsibilities they had, and simply lived as peasants tending to their own personal lives.

Times when tenderness abounded, and they still had softness between them.

Before it was choked out by times when Baile would snap and rage like their father, and Tamlin would hide.

By times, when Aletris would throw things and they would shatter and cut his youngest brother.

By times when they would make fun of him relentlessly until he was sobbing. Insulting everything about him until he broke.

By times when their father beat him and they did nothing but watch with cruel laughing eyes.

By times that were bitter and cold and hateful, that overshadowed the good times they once had.

I think Tamlin and his brothers have a deep, complicated relationship. I think it would be reflected in his grieving, from going from hating them so ruthlessly and glad that they are dead.

To seeing their names engraved into the trunks of trees and breaking down into sobs about their death.

To seeing the scars still their from their abuse.

To seeing the armor that Baile left him.

To remembering the hateful words that he still carries.

To remembering the stories Baile and Aletris made up in that closet.

Their story is messy, frustrating, miserable. It's also tender, comforting and warm.

It will never get closure, because they died before Tamlin could even try to reconcile with them. The chapter will never close and Tamlin will always be left with the grief of losing his siblings.

The blood of the covenant may run thicker than the water of the womb. But nothing will ever feel the aching emptiness of Tamlin's lost sibling love.

@tamlinweek

[goforth-ladymidnight]

A Mother Always Knows

For Tamlin Week 2024, Day 1: Heir of Spring

@tamlinweek

Summary: Rosalin, Lady of the Spring Court, gives birth to her third son and discovers that the High Mother has chosen him to be the future High Lord of the Spring Court.

Rating: Teen and up

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.8k

Read on AO3, or read on below:

“It’s a boy,” the faerie midwife announced proudly, before swaddling the squalling babe up and delivering him gently into the arms of his mother. “He has a fine set of lungs indeed,” she said over his wailing cries, and there was an amused twinkle in her eyes when she added, “Just like his father.” She chuckled fondly when the babe settled in. “The wee little beastie.”

Lady Rosalin gave her a grateful, though tired smile, then turned her attention to her newborn son. His face was still swollen and red from crying, but he had a tuft of hair that would turn out to be as soft and pale as thistledown. Time would tell if he inherited her blue eyes or his father’s green ones. He had a fine appetite already, though, and latched quickly to her breast. As he drank, she stroked his downy cheek and gently rocked him. While she had hoped for a girl, she could not help but fall in love with her newest little boy.

She had already given Magnus two sons, Angus and Fergus. Twins. Births among High Fae nobility were already a rarity, but to bear twins that lived past infancy was a miracle. Or a curse, though she would never dare say so.

For only one son could inherit the High Lord’s mantle, while the other would have to serve him in a lesser capacity. As would the third, one day. She did not look forward to that day, when she would lose her husband and be forced to witness one son challenge the other for his title. The magic of the Cauldron always chose the Heir, but few were willing to accept the High Mother’s will, let alone their own mother’s. If she had her way, she would choose the eldest and be done with it, but Fergus was only five minutes younger than his brother. It was hardly fair. And now they had another brother to contend with, no matter how young and innocent.

Such was the nature of the Spring Court, ruthless and fierce despite its inherent beauty.

Rosalin sighed and let her head fall back against the pillows as the servants helped the midwife take away the bloody linens and clean up the room, preparing for the High Lord’s arrival. No doubt he was already being informed of a successful delivery and was on his way to see her.

She turned her head to look at the bouquet of roses by her bedside. Her mate had had them delivered the day before, freshly cut from the garden he had planted for her. He knew that she would be missing them, and had included a single rose of every color in the bouquet. She smiled. For all his fierce, overprotective habits, he did love her.

Her vision was beginning to turn double as she drifted off, then she lifted her head with a start.

She wasn’t seeing double. There were now two roses of every color blossoming in the vase. Her mouth fell open as she realized that new roses were budding and blooming right before her eyes. She glanced around, but the midwife and the servants didn’t seem to notice. As quickly and as carefully as she could, she shifted the baby to the other breast. He let out a small growl at the interruption before latching on again in earnest.

The sound should have made her laugh—the wee little beastie—but it only made her want to weep.

Did the midwife know…? No. She couldn’t know. Not when Rosalin herself didn’t know. At least, not yet.

With her heart in her throat, she reached out and carefully turned the cut-crystal vase to see if her suspicions were correct.

Her heart sunk to the depths of her aching womb as she saw what she had not hoped to see.

One half of the bouquet had continued to bloom, while the other half had not.

Only the roses closest to her had grown despite being cut from the bushes outside.

No… Only the roses closest to the baby.

Her son.

The High Lord’s son.

The true Heir of Spring.

She made sure no one was looking, then, with a pained groan, shoved the vase off the table.

The crystal shattered, and the roses scattered.

And her innocent child began to cry.

The servants swarmed around her, fretting as she tried to soothe her squalling babe.

“It’s all right. It’s all right,” she told them as well as her newborn.

She hoped it would be. By keeping his secret, she could keep him a little longer.

If anyone found out that the High Mother had chosen the third born son as the Heir of Spring, he wouldn’t live to see another sunrise.

Such was the nature of the Spring Court.

After all, her husband had once had a brother, too.

As if the noise had summoned him, which it probably had, he appeared in the doorway like a thunderclap.

Rosalin cradled the baby against her breast and prayed that Magnus wouldn’t notice how the roses he had picked for her had doubled since their son was born. No such sign had appeared when the twins were born, even though there should have been, but the magic knew better. She knew better.

A mother always knows.

“What happened?” he demanded, stalking closer. Although he was normally quite handsome, even for a High Fae, with his long brown hair and sun-bronzed skin, he was terrifying now. His green eyes flashed, and his claws and teeth were already long and gleaming as he searched for the threat to his mate and newborn child.

The servants fell back, trembling as they swept into deep curtsies at his approach. Only Oona, the midwife, stood by Rosalin’s bedside, staring the High Lord down.

“A vase broke, Your Lordship,” she said firmly over the baby’s cries. “It was an accident. Nothing more.” When the High Lord stood there, growling skeptically at the mess on the floor, she added, “So, unless you plan on cutting the mischievous sprite responsible into ribbons, I suggest you put those claws away before you hurt someone.”

If Oona hadn’t been the one to deliver the High Lord himself, she might have felt his claws for her audacity, and borne the scars forever to prove it.

Magnus growled again, but he curled his claws into his fists to hide them. “Is that what happened?” he asked his wife roughly.

Rosalin quickly nodded, although her heart was still beating fiercely. “The vase slipped. That’s all.”

In the tense silence that followed, the baby hiccuped then snuffled against her shoulder. Rosalin gently patted his tiny back. It had been a long day for both of them.

Magnus’s fierce demeanor softened as he silently waved a hand over the shattered mess. The crystal vase reformed itself on the table, but the fallen roses remained scattered on the floor.

“Fresh roses from the garden,” he told the servants. When they bowed their heads and stood to carry out his command, he continued in a much gentler voice as he looked at his mate, “And make them red, for my Rose.”

She breathed a sigh of relief, and gave him a warm, glad smile. Their son’s secret was safe, at least for a little while.

Magnus stepped over the fallen roses to sit beside her on the bed. When he lifted his chin to kiss her, there was no sign of his claws. “And how are you, my Rose?” he asked, tenderly stroking the sweaty curls from her brow.

Tears filled her eyes at his gentleness. If only he could be this gentle with their sons. “As well as can be expected,” she said softly, then shifted the baby away from her shoulder so that Magnus could see him. “Look. Isn’t he beautiful?”

Magnus frowned, but he reached out a finger to stroke the baby’s rounded cheek. “He’s so small,” he murmured.

Oona spoke up before Rosalin could object. “He will grow, as you did, my Lord,” the midwife said, then gave the royal couple a short curtsy when Magnus turned his annoyed frown on her. “I will go and speak to the nursemaid, my Lady,” she said, ignoring the High Lord. “Then you and the child must get some rest.”

“Thank you, Oona,” Rosalin said before the High Lord could scold her. She was only doing her duty, after all.

When the servants had gone and left them alone, Magnus at last reached for the baby, and Rosalin reluctantly handed him over.

His secret is safe, she reminded herself as she watched her mate’s spring green eyes sweep over the face of his future heir.

“Another son,” Magnus said quietly, even though no one else was around to hear.

“Are you disappointed?” she asked, hoping that the answer would be No. Their child was less than an hour old, and didn’t need to grow up under the shadow of his father’s disapproval.

Magnus sighed. “Only for your sake,” he replied, giving her a tight smile. “I know how much you wanted a daughter. Someday, I shall give you one.”

Rosalin let out a weary chuckle, despite herself. “Someday,” she agreed, decorously sliding the collar of her shift back into place. “For now, I am content with you, and Angus, and Fergus, and now our newest little one.”

Magnus’s frown softened as he chuckled. “You are so easy to please, my love,” he said, then kissed her again. He might have lingered had the baby not let out a small gurgle and began to squirm in his father’s arms. Magnus pulled away and addressed his son at last. “I suppose you shall need a name, as well, little one,” he remarked.

“What about Tam?” Rosalin offered.

“Tam?” Magnus repeated, clearly surprised that she had come up with a name so quickly.

She smiled shyly. “After my father, Tamhas,” she reminded him. “You did say I might use his name one day.”

Magnus’s brow furrowed as he pursed his lips, remembering. “So I did,” he conceded, though gruffly. “Although I had hoped for another little Rosalin…” He sighed and handed the squirming baby back. “I suppose it can’t be helped now.”

Rosalin smiled sadly as she nestled the baby in the crook of her arm. “He will make you proud, Magnus. I promise.”

The High Lord of Spring looked into his young son’s face. “Tam,” he repeated softly. “Tam-lin.” He smiled at her surprised expression. “After his mother.”

Rosalin beamed. “Tamlin,” she repeated as the baby cooed and reached for her. “I like it.”

Tamlin’s tiny fingers barely wrapped around one of her own, but his grip was strong.

It was then that she knew that he would live, and live a long time.

He might even inherit the High Lord’s mantle without bloodshed.

Tamlin. Her Tamlin. Future High Lord and Heir of the Spring Court. He would be a fine ruler someday. She could feel it.

A mother always knows.

[ladymidnight-goesforth]

Still Beautiful, Still Mine

Tamlin Week, Day 3: Found Family/Possessive

I made this for @praetorqueenreyna, my co-mod for @tamlinweek2023​, who has become a good friend and my biggest cheerleader for getting back into art after so many years. She asked me if I would sketch something with Tamlin and Lucien, and I decided to take it further by adding color and making it today’s submission.

In this depiction, Tamlin is gently brushing back Lucien’s hair, which he has been trying to hide behind ever since Amarantha took his eye and scarred his face. To be loved and accepted and even desired in spite of such horrific circumstances is something that resonated deeply with me.

I hope you like it. ❤️

Please do not repost. (Note: an exception has been made for the Official Tamlin Week Instagram page.)

[north-polar]

Take Me Out

Managed to ground something out for @tamlinweek day 1 so please enjoy Alis getting her not-son to go outside to socialize instead of being cooped up all day. Tamlin somehow manages to fail successfully.

Word count: around 1.2k

Summary: after getting kicked out of Alis' tavern, Tamlin ventures off to a place people tell him he shouldn't go and saves someone people tell him he shouldn't have saved.

“Boy, get out of here.”

Tamlin looked up from wiping a wet rag over the bar and stared at Alis who had her hands on her hips and an exasperated look painted on her face. He would have thought she was actually cross with him if he didn’t spot the slight upward tug on the corner of her mouth. 

“What?”

“You heard me,” Alis gestured with a quick nod to the tavern doors that lead outside, “We’re all set for now, and I won’t need you till later when the night crowd rolls in. Get out of this stuffy, old cellar and go get some sunshine.” 

“It’s not stuffy, and I still have to finish up–” Alis marched over, plucked the dirty rag out of his hands, and began to swat him with it, herding him closer and closer to the doors. 

Every time Tamlin tried to open his mouth to object, he got a face full of the soggy, stained fabric.

“You ain’t ‘have to’ do nothing if I tell you to. Get going!” She accentuated her point by using her unoccupied hand to shoo him off. “Now, I don’t want to see you back here at least until sundown, you hear?” She finally quit her assault when he was over the threshold and onto the street.

“I–” Alis raised the rag, “...hear.” She lowered the rag.

“Good.” With that, she closed the doors loudly, and Tamlin was left standing uselessly in front of the tavern. 

He stood there for a while, not quite knowing what to do with himself, so he just chose to attentively watch the doors as if Alis was going to spontaneously open them and welcome him back inside again. Tamlin knew that wasn’t going to actually happen, but he let his mind hope. 

Eventually, he found the sense and drive to wander off somewhere else when the bewildered looks and judgemental eyes from passersbys felt too heavy on his skin. 

Starting down the road, Tamlin meandered along the path that led towards the village outskirts. While walking, he scanned the ground attentively in case there was an interesting rock on the ground he could bring back to show Alis’ nephews. Those two boys loved rocks, and Tamlin didn’t mind helping them scavenge treasures. Finding a few, he stashed them into one of his pockets and continued on his way. 

Slowly, the path died out, and Tamlin found himself facing the dense forest that surrounded the village. Only a select few actually went outside of the security of their settlement and into the uncharted woods. They were located not far from The Wall, the boundary that separated the Fae lands from theirs, so there was always a chance of encountering something… unsafe outside the guarded townlet. 

With all this in mind, Tamlin glanced around, noted that no one was watching him, and promptly ran into the woods with reckless abandon. 

____

Tamlin always loved being in the forest.

The rustling of leaves, the singing of birds, the smell of the earth. It was all encompassing, surrounding him like a welcoming blanket. It provided a much needed reprieve from rigid civilization.

Following the way he mapped out from countless times before, Tamlin ended up at a small clearing that was lined with a vast river. 

Near the edge stood a lone Weeping Willow; its vine-like branches swaying lazily in the gentle breeze. Moving them aside like a curtain, Tamlin walked underneath the tree’s canopy and made himself comfortable sitting with his back against the trunk. 

He then closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. Calm.

Tamlin could feel his mind slowly begin to wander away somewhere else, losing himself in his surroundings in a way he never could anywhere else but here. 

It was quiet. Serene. Peaceful.

…At least it was until it suddenly wasn’t.

Until something violently disturbed the shrubs on the other side of the river, startling Tamlin out of his daze. Bolting to his feet, he staggered through the tree branches just in time to watch someone break through the undergrowth and tumble into the river with a loud splash. 

Tamlin was in the water too a second later, diving after the person with his heartbeat thundering in his ears and not a thought running through his mind. 

He barely registered the freezing water as he treaded through the river after the person. They were just floating along the current unmoving, and Tamlin felt his stomach drop further. Finally, Tamlin managed to catch an arm, pull the person over his shoulders, and began to drag them both towards his side of the shore. 

It was good that Tamlin already knew which rocks were slippery and which were not; he had learned the hard way from the other separate occasions of being in the river.

Underneath the willow, Tamlin laid down the person, rested his own head on their chest, and listened for a heartbeat. 

Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. 

Tamlin let out a long sigh of relief, willing his own racing heart to slow. Lifting his head up, he got to work scanning over the person’s body for injuries: scrapes along both arms, a swollen ankle, multitudes of forming bruises. He also took in the appearance of the person as well, despite their rugged and worse-for-wear state, the clothes were fine and clearly belonging to someone who had enough riches to waste on stuff like jeweled encrusted knives, ruby cufflinks, and leaves made out of golden thread embroidered on their lapels. Was this person royalty? 

What was a noble doing in the forest this far away from the nearest big city? Badly wounded at that?

What in the ever living fuck happened to them? 

The person coughed lightly, and Tamlin raced upwards to regard their face. Despite it being utterly drenched, their hair was a bright, vibrant auburn. Tamlin moved it carefully aside from where it was previously draped over the person’s face. 

Oh. 

“Good face.” 

Tamlin realized he said his thoughts out loud and clamped his mouth shut, praying that the other wasn't awake to hear him. 

Ignoring his warming cheeks, he checked over the man’s(it definitely looked like a man, a gorgeous, gorgeous–Shut the fuck up!) face for wounds. There was a tiny trickle of blood coming down from the man’s temple, so Tamlin moved to tuck the man’s hair behind his ear—

Pointy ear. The man’s ear was pointed. Not a round ear. Pointy. 

Oh, well shit.  

Shit. Shit. Oh Shit. Fuck. Fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fucking Shit. SHIT FUCK SON OF A FUCKING BITCH OH SHIT HOLY FUCK WHAT IN THE SHITTING FUCK—

The man coughed again, stronger this time. The man who was not actually a man. The man who had pointy ears which meant it wasn’t a man but actually a fae, and what in the flipping flying fuck why hasn’t Tamlin bolted for the hills already– 

The not-man’s eyes fluttered open and revealed the clearest, prettiest eyes Tamlin had ever seen in his entire nineteen years of existence and Tamlin couldn’t help himself from opening his mouth and speaking his mind. 

“Your eyes look undamaged.” 

[tamlinweek]

Mark your calendars!

That's right! We're already gearing up for Tamlin Week 2025, which will be held April 13-19, 2025.

More info will be coming soon, starting with the form to submit prompts! We hope you're all as excited as we are!

[titaniaqueenoffairie]

Tamlain but different...

Elain is Tamlin's mate and Lucien is covering for him.

No! I hate this.

But I really like a Tamlain relationship like a big brother and little sister.

When he meets her, he'll be so confused because she's different from Feyre and Nesta. He'll be like, "What?? Are you sure you are their sister?!"

And I won't be surprised if she is the one who gets Tamlin and Lucien's friendship back, like Tamlin will be, "Hey, you can come whenever you want if you bring her with you."

On the other hand, Elain will be so confused also,

"Are you really the same Tamlin Feyre was talking about?"

She'll be wondering how on earth Feyre could leave a place like that.

[fourteentrout]

Colors in a Dead Garden

@tamlinweek Day 6: Fairy Tale AU

AO3 Link Here! Preview (1st chapter) below the cut!

Summary:

"It is not just an ancient enchantment that they’re dealing with, it is not just an incompetent, broken High Lord that never even asked for his position. It is the fall of the Spring Court."

With the fate of the mortal lands---and possibly the rest of Prythian---at stake, Rhysand has to confront the Court that has caused so much of his pain and suffering. The male whose claws have sunk into Rhysand's life time and time again over the centuries.

For Prythian, Rhysand finds that he has to reckon with parts of himself and his past that he's been burying for hundreds of years, and find the cure to a curse from another time in the process.

Something is wrong. The feeling washes over Rhys just as Azriel emerges from the shadows, the scent of his unease pricking at the back of Rhysand's throat. Something is really, really wrong, and not just because Azriel is so on edge.

"You need to get everyone in here." Azriel commands softly just as Rhys sends the message down the respective bonds. Within seconds, Feyre, Mor, Cassian, and Amren rush into the living space, some on foot, some winnowing, each in various states of dress and alertness. Cassian doesn't even have a shirt on. Feyre is in a loose, concealing nightgown that drapes all the way down to the floor and seems to be one size too big, with the way it slips unevenly off one of her shoulders—Rhys isn't sure he's ever seen her wear it before. He can't even remember where she got it. But, of course, there are more pressing matters at hand.

"I felt it too," Feyre says breathlessly as they all gather their bearings. "Should I contact my sisters? Should they know about this? Or, perhaps they have more information than we do, I only got a—a feeling—" she stutters, her voice jagged as her eyes dart around the group.

"No need." Azriel assures her. They had all felt the same thing, the surge of power. Or rather, the lack thereof. Not like anything they had felt when the wall was destroyed, not like something being ripped away by force—but like a candle being snuffed out. A flame turning to smoke, a dampening of light. Something so impactful that all of the High Lords would have felt it, yes, but something remarkably soft as well.

"It's the Spring Court." Azriel informs the group. Tension sizzles in the air, and Rhys feels his chest tighten with alertness. Tamlin. "I don't know the exact details, but it's bad. The Court is...there's something wrong with it, beyond its present state. This could be dangerous—not just for Spring, but for all of Prythian." Azriel turns to address Rhys directly. "We must assemble a counsel with all available High Lords as soon as possible."

Rhysand, though his mind seems to flounder, nods. He sits again at the dining table, grabbing one of the pieces of parchment he hadn't marked yet in his late night book-keeping and beginning to draft a request.

"I can check the library." Amren suggests. "I'll look for anything regarding this—" she tuts, interrupting herself, "It's hard to look for information on a feeling, but I trust you'll be able to give me something to go off of as soon as you find it." She says. Rhys nods, signing the hasty letter and dispersing it among four other pieces of parchment before sending them off.

"I will go directly to the Spring Court." He declares. Silence washes over the room, and Rhys can’t help but feel like all of the air gets sucked out of it as the group trains their eyes on him. He looks at Feyre, at her apprehensive expression.

"Rhys, if this is dangerous—you can't just—I can't go…I can't go with you." She trails off, crossing her arms over her body, holding herself.

"I know. I requested that the counsel be held there. I won't be alone." He tells her. "Hopefully."

She looks up at him with sharp eyes, tightening her grip on her torso. “I really wish we could rely on more than hope.” She says, an edge to her soft voice. As if on cue, Azriel melts into the shadows for a moment and reappears with three rolled letters in his hand, each sealed with a different color. Summer, Day, and Dawn. Azriel doesn't hesitate to open each, laying them out on the wooden table.

"Summer knows it's the Spring Court—it's how I know as well. The Summer guards stationed there were the first to feel it. I have a source in their troop who told me what he could, but as of now they are still investigating. Tarquin will show, along with Thesan. Helion has a present Courtly matter to deal with but will attend if he is able." Azriel sums up. "They will arrive at sunrise."

Nothing from Winter or Autumn. Unsurprising, though not ideal. Rhys doesn't bother sending a follow up letter. It's a miracle as it is that three courts have already responded, nevermind actually agreed to be present upon availability. Rhysand rises, facing his Court.

"Mor, I need you and Cassian to stay in Velaris. Whatever is happening down there may not be a threat to us, but I'm not taking any chances. Be on alert. Feyre, please join Amren in the library, and if need be, contact Nesta and get her to join you as well." Rhys knows it’s a slim chance that Nesta would even listen to Feyre, nevermind agree to help, but Feyre nods nonetheless and uncrosses her arms. Something in her eyes solidifies, her mental strength visibly returning. Rhys shoots what he can only describe as a beam of appreciation down the bond. "Azriel, continue to correspond with your sources, get me any information you can. We can't, by any means, let Prythian fall into panic. The Courts can't handle a break in the structure, not so soon after the War, so it'll be best if we keep as much as we can under wraps. Whatever this is, we've been through worse, but we have to be careful about it. Stay safe, and stay quiet." Rhys instructs the group, receiving silent nods in return. With that he sends them off on their respective endeavors. Only Feyre stays behind for a moment.

"Rhys." She says in a way that means she's worried.

"Feyre." Rhys responds in a way that means he'll be careful.

"I love you." She whispers simply, approaching him and wrapping her arms around his middle. Her head presses against his chest, her cheek right against his heart. He returns the embrace. He can't even express how unbelievably lucky he feels to have her, so all he does is tell her he loves her too. He sends her off with a kiss and a tuck of her loose hair behind her ear. He tries to offer a reassuring smile. She tries to return it. With that, she retreats to their room.

As Rhysand begins to prepare for his journey, he sends a silent prayer to the Mother that things are not as bad as they seem.

[praetorqueenreyna]

Tamlin Week 2024 Statistics

Hello all! I crunched some numbers on Tamlin Week 2024, which was way bigger and better than I ever could have dreamed! All together, there were 184 submissions by 48 different creators.

Day 1 had the most submissions, with 16.8% of the total (31 submissions). Day 6 had the least, with 12.5% (23 submissions). There was an average of 26.3 submissions each day, or 14.3% of the total.

The most popular prompt (excluding the Free Day) was Heir of Spring, a Day 1 prompt, with 11.4% (21 submissions). The least popular prompt on its own was the Day 2 prompt Warrior, with 2.7% (5 submissions). However, Day 2 had the most people incorporate both prompts into their works, with 5.4% of the submissions using both Poet and Warrior.

By far, the most popular type of submission for Tamlin Week was fanfiction, with 51.6% (95 submissions). We were pleasantly surprised by the amount of poetry submitted for the week, with 9.2% of the creations (17 submissions). I haven't seen a lot of other fandom events where so many people create poetry for them, and it was such an amazing tribute to our favorite poet High Lord!

Most of the submissions (40.9%, or 79 submissions) were General Tamlin content, without a focus on ships. Again, kind of rare to see in ACOTAR events, it's so cool that so many of the creators focused on Tamlin himself! Tamlin/Rhysand (11.9%, or 23 submissions) and Tamlin/Lucien (11.4%, or 22 submissions) are neck-and-neck for being the most popular Tamlin ship submitted. Tamlin/Feyre is the next most popular Tamlin ship, at 8.3% or 16 submissions. If a ship had fewer than 3 submissions, it was lumped in the "Other" category. Some of the Tamlin ships that squeaked by with 3-4 submissions are Tamlin/Nesta, Tamlin/Eris, Tamlin/Nyx, Tamlin/Amarantha, and ships where Tamlin is with 2 or more other partners. It was super interesting to see who made the cut onto the pie chart! Tamlin/Nyx gonna be the Tamlin ship of 2025, I can feel it.

The diversity of ships for this event really is so amazing. In a fandom that seems weirdly addicted to canon, it's cool that the Tamlin community is so creative and open with what they ship!! Especially because mlm Tamlin ships are dominating the shipping chart!

Lastly, I want to give a shoutout to the creators who went above and beyond to create content for this event. With 7 submissions (1 for every day), we have @duaghterofstories, @rin-u-pos, @shi-daisy, @songofthesibyl, @szalonykasztan00, and @taymartiart. With 8 submissions, we have @achaotichuman, @booksnwriting, and @copypastus. With 9 submissions, we have @lorcandidlucienwill. And our heavyweight Tamlin Week champions are @mathiwrites with 12 submissions, and @sonic-atelier with 14 submissions!!

You are all amazing, and I will never be done telling you all how much I love you!!!

[achaotichuman]

Mama's Boy

Day four of Tamlin Week! Today's prompt- Calanmai.

Tamlin is preparing for another celebration of Calanmai. As the blue is painted into his skin, Lucien asks an question that reminds him of his first time celebrating the Spring holiday.

"How was that the first time?"

Read on Ao3 or below the cut!

Laughter rang from the other side of the room, Tamlin glanced over his shoulder to see Lucien lounging on the chair in the corner of his room. One leg kicked up over the arm of the chair, Andras sitting on the window sill. Both giggling over something whilst making side-long glances at the High lord being painted in whorls of blue. 

“So, Taaam.” Lucien drawled, Tamlin let out a sigh at the tone, turning his head away from the fox, which Alis and the servant boy painting him both snorted at. 

“What is it now, Lucien?” Tamlin said.

“Are you excited for tonight?” He asked, the fox was clearly excited himself. Lucien had been in the Spring Court ten years now, and whilst he had seen Calanmai he had refrained from joining in on the celebrations. This year however, he had decided too. 

“I’m a part of this Court now.” He said with a shrug and a smile, “I want to be there.”

Tamlin had asked repeatedly if he was sure, and all he was met with was a grin and laughter, as well as the fox nodding his head. 

“Excited" is a strong word.” Tamlin answered. 

Truly he wasn’t, he never was, it was a chore he had to complete, and he would. The fertility magic sparking tonight would restore the land, and that would be his job complete. He would then join in on the happy celebrations and drink himself to oblivion. Before dragging himself back to the manor and collapse wherever the nearest soft place was. Whether that be a bed or the carpet flooring. 

“A night where you get to fuck whoever you want. Pretty good deal to me.” Lucien laughed, tossing Andras a smirk who returned it with glee. 

“Not entirely though.” Andras said, despite the smirk on his face, “The magic chooses.”

“I heard. How does that even work?” Lucien asked. 

Tamlin groaned low, not wanting to think about it just yet. He already had to experience it. Let alone explain it. 

“The Forest Spirit possesses him and takes over his body. Chooses a person to generate the fertility magic with, then they make love on a stone altar while everyone dances around the fires and makes their own fertility magic.” Andras thankfully answered for him. 

“They fuck on rocks?” Lucien asked incredulously.

“Yes, Lucien.” Tamlin answered deadpan, “I fuck on a rock.”

“Is it the same rock for every High lord?” Lucien asked. Tamlin groaned loudly and Alis had to step away, lest her snickering led her to messing the paint up. Not that it would be perfect for very long tonight. 

“Yes, Lucien.” Tamlin answered. 

“Gods.” The fox murmured, “How was that the first time? I don’t think I could fuck in the exact same place I knew my father did.” As he said the words, Lucien visibly shuddered at the thought. To which Andras cackled. 

But Tamlin didn’t laugh, stuck on what Lucien said to laugh. 

How was that the first time?

He was sitting in amongst the sheets, now new and clean, unscented and horribly, horrible clean. All clean, not a drop of crimson along the green thread, so clean. Not a single smell on them besides his own. 

He clutched onto a pillow like it was a real person. Knees bent up and his face buried in the emerald silk. He had cried so much he started dry heaving. Heh had cried so much blood ran down his face along with his tears. Entire face red and puffy. 

“Please come back.” He choked out, voice raw and gutteral, “I can’t do this. I can’t-” His voice was cut out by another sob racking through him. 

There was a timid knock on the door, which Tamlin ignored in favour of sobbing harder into the tear stained fabric. 

“Tamlin.” A muffled voice called out, “I’m coming in.”

“Get out!” He screamed, but Alis unlocked the door with her master key and went inside anyway. 

Any other would have run when they met the High lord’s furious eyes. But Alis’ face just softened. 

“I said, leave!” He shouted again, claws pricking against his fingertips. 

Alis closed the door, and walked up to the bed. Tamlin shoved away, baring his teeth at her, eyes with an animalistic glint to them. 

She sat on the edge, and then…

She opened her arms and whispered, “Come here baby.”

Every ounce of hatred and anger crumpled to dust. Another cry, adding to many, shook through Tamlin’s body as he lunged forward and fell into Alis’ arms. Breaking apart at the seams and shattering in her arms. Feeling like he was turning back into the little six year old who skinned his knee and ran straight to his nanny who tended to him in his mother’s absence. 

“Hush now, it’s okay.” Alis whispered, running her rough hands up and down his back. Kissing the top of his head whilst he cried and cried and cried. 

“I can’t do this, mom.” He whispered, “I can’t do this.”

She didn’t say anything. Alis just remained quiet and held him until he fell asleep. 

When he awoke later it was too Alis shaking him, the look on her face, one of utter pity, was enough to tell him it was time. 

He smudged the paint on his chest and neck when tears fell down his face as he stared at himself in the mirror. Shirtless, with low hanging trousers, only Alis painted him even thought it was customary to have two to speed up the process. He was grateful that for at least this first year it was only the woman he considered as much a mother as his actual mom. 

When she finished the final brush stroke, Tamlin felt himself slipping from his own body, as if he were watching everything as a bystander. Floating away from himself, the tears stopped pouring and he looked resolutely ahead. 

Alis said something he didn’t hear. When they took him out to the ritual, a crown of flowers was put on his head, and hands tried to reach out to touch him. He didn’t know when the spirit possessed him, he blacked out before it did. Whether from the sheer stress, or his own magic having pity on him, he didn’t know.

When he awoke the next morning his entire body was aching and he felt sick to his stomach. He vomited until there was nothing left in his stomach and spent the rest of the day sitting by his window, a cup of mint and honey tea in his hands that he never touched. Alis came to check on him by the hour. Always putting a hand on his shoulder, but he never looked at her, couldn’t bear to look at her. 

So he just stared at the rose gardens below, at the place his mother used to take him. Used to teach him to garden, to write poems, to just walk and have fun for a little while together. 

He had fulfilled his job, and he supposed it wasn’t as bad as he thought it might have been. Still he couldn’t look in the direction of the forest, without feeling the satiated spirit gazing upon its chosen King. 

“-Tamlin! Spring to Tamlin!” Lucien threw his shoe at the back of his head, or tried too. Tamlin caught it in a single hand and chucked it back. It hit him in the arm, Lucien told him to go fuck himself with a laugh. Andras nearly doubled over at the scene. 

Tamlin smiled at them both, then looked at Alis. 

She smiled, though it was small. She put the paint brush down and cradled his face between her hands, “How you’ve grown.”

“I had the best teacher and friend a boy could ask for,” Tamlin whispered. 

Tears welled in Alis’ brown eyes. She blinked them away as fast as she could, but gently pulled him down so she could kiss the top of his head, then murmured, “You will be okay.”

“I know.” He told her. He wasn’t the scared, confused, young boy he had been back then. She was right, he had grown. And whilst none of this had been his plan, he would make the most of it. He swore to himself the day he first came out of Hybern with his father, skin still burning from where she had laid hands, that he would never allow another to be enslaved. That he would fight against all tyranny, no matter whose freedom he was defending. 

He had the perfect opportunity here. Maybe the Mother wasn’t so wrong in her decision. Tamlin didn’t think it would have even crossed the minds of either of his brothers to do anything of the sort. 

“You ready Tam?” Andras asked, and he and Lucien stood up, the red headed male stretching out his stiff muscles. 

Tamlin turned to face both of them, the last drops of the sun beginning to disappear, and the drums beginning to stir. 

“Yeah. I’m ready.”

@tamlinweek