#tamlinweek

[theegemini92]

I’m fully in support if he does get revenge. And rightfully so… happily ever after is overrated these days 😂 villains and bad boys are getting the power now, what has good males ever gotten anyone anyway?

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 kicked him in his down, and those who think of him the worst despite everything thing he did.

[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..

[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!

[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

[highlordofkrypton]

Archeron's Anatomy - Dr. Rhysand's Specialization?

I think it'd be fun for @tamlinweek to have community input on the specialization of the attendings (high faeries) in the fic!

I'll be doing more throughout the week for different characters ☺️

So far, we have:

Dr. Tamlin "McSteamy" - Chief of Cadiothoracic Surgery

Dr. Thesan - Chief of General Surgery

Dr. Cassian - Orthopedic Surgeon

Dr. Amren - Surgical Resident

Dr. Feyre Archeron - Surgical Intern

[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.

[foxcort]

“Tragic, for him to die so young and so . . . bloody.”

written for day 5: shapeshifter of @tamlinweek.💚🌷/ one moonlit, eerie night, two monsters strike a bargain. / (SW)

a/n: this is a little fic based off of an edit i did a while back of a concept of werewolf!tamlin and vampire!nesta but put them in a guy ritchie's sherlock holmes backdrop (or late victorian/early edwardian), because why not.

tw: none.

He caught her in the gardens, looking as innocent as a thorn on a rose, her crimson dress fluttering around her when she whipped around to face him. As soon as he’d seen her slinking away from the overzealous crowd of guests, he’d followed after her, his steps not quite as silent as hers.

“Are the festivities not to your liking, my lady?” Tamlin gestured a ways behind him, where warm light illuminated the high windows of Greenwood Manor and the sounds of merriment rose and fell to the tune of the small orchestra. “I told my emissary a circus would’ve been more lively this year.”

She didn’t titter or blush at his jest, didn’t flush at being found in an odd position. Instead she glanced him once up and down, a slow perusal not unlike a predator sizing up an adversary. Her heels clicked against the stone pavement as she strode closer to him, still a smile absent from her red painted lips.

Lady Nesta Mandray was more formidable in person than he imagined she would be. Recently widowed and thought to be a recluse, he'd sent her an invitation to his annual Spring Equinox ball anyway and was mildly pleased she'd taken the bait and made an appearance.

Even if her state of dress was not what he was expecting.

The gown that adorned her body was still modest in fashion, as all dresses worn by genteel women of high status tended to be, but the vibrant red was a stark contrast to the lilacs and tangerines and yellows swirling around the ballroom right now.

At last, she gave him a smile, though it was too sharp and too fleeting. "I wasn't aware all your guests were to be kept prisoner in that stuffy old ballroom." She threw a dismissive look at the manor behind him and Tamlin found himself growing more fond of her for it. "Am I not allowed anywhere else on the grounds?"

He chuckled softly, head bowing as he closed a few more steps between them, “Forgive me, I've been a horrendous host." Tamlin paused, taking his turn to study her, and understood that perhaps he was the prey. "Would you care for a tour of the grounds, Lady Mandray?” 

“Lady Archeron,” she corrected. “I’m afraid Tomas’ name died along with him.” Her sharp gaze seemed to say good riddance.

He smiled. The first real one he’d permitted to show her. “Would you care for a tour of the grounds, Lady Archeron?” 

She regarded his offered arm with unconcealed hesitance, her silver eyes flicking up to meet his as she spoke her next words slowly, carefully.

“Should I be frightened of you, Lord Greenwood?” 

“No.” He was not the kind of monster he suspected Lord Mandray had been. “Not as I am now.”

She arched a brow, and he could almost see the cogs in her brain turning, trying to piece together what he meant. Not as he was now. Not when the moon was only half-full.

It was a tentative, deliberate action but after a few moments of silence, Nesta relented, her fingers curling lightly over his upper arm. Even through the layers of his expensive coat jacket and shirt, he could feel the unnatural chill of her touch.

Without meaning to, Tamlin shivered at that touch and she gave him another one of her rare smiles. “My apologies.” She sounded anything but, and he swore an undertone of delight colored her voice. “I haven’t seen much sunlight since Tomas’ death.” A hunting accident of sorts, he’d heard, though Tamlin didn’t doubt he had help reaching his end.

He struck an easy pace through the gardens and the vineyard, moonlight illuminating their path. “I would offer my condolences, but it would be a lie to say I’m not pleased you no longer have a husband.”

Nesta laughed, a cold and lovely sound. “If you’re attempting to court me, you’ll have to do a lot better than that.”

“Without a chaperone? I wouldn’t dare besmirch your reputation.”

She waved a hand in the direction of the revelry, her nose crinkling in distaste. “If I cared for a moment what those peacocks and pigeons thought of me, I wouldn’t risk being caught in the shadows with you.”

They were almost upon the winery now, a more modest building in comparison, but still sturdily built. And conveniently vacant.

Tamlin slowed their pace, coming to a halt before the padlocked front door. “Something tells me you accepted my invitation and came all this way to risk something else entirely.” He felt her grip on his arm tighten almost imperceptibly. “Your late husband was quite a paranoid man, last I remember.”

The shift in conversation seemed to ruffle her feathers a little and Nesta gently pulled away from him, her fingers digging into the folds of her dress. “And when do you remember him last?”

“I believe it was right before his death.” He said it matter-of-factly, his eyes tracking her movements with quiet interest. “Tragic, for him to die so young and so . . . bloody.”

She shrugged, and he had the impression that both of their masks were rapidly slipping. “He wasn’t a very smart man.” Nesta began to walk, circling him slowly, her eyes half-lidded yet somehow more aware. “I always did tell him to pick his marks carefully, and he always did aim a little higher than he should have.” The tips of her fingers grazed over her exposed collar bone, where he could faintly make out the remnants of a scar. Puckered but fading. Almost as if there’d once been a bullet wound there. “I wonder, Lord Greenwood,” her eyes sharpened and she stilled in front of him, “do you consider yourself a smart man?”

“Oh, only the smartest,” he admitted calmly, an amused smile curving over his mouth. “Though I prefer you be the judge of that.” With that, he strode to the door and removed the padlock, quickly pocketing the small key afterward. Tamlin swung the door open and tilted his head towards it in invitation.

Nesta threw him a suspicious, narrow-eyed look but otherwise strode into the dimly lit winery without another word. He guided them once more, walking deeper and deeper into the barrel-filled building with complete confidence that they would run into no one. Other than the fact that his guests and staff were too drunk on spirits and levity to be roaming so far from the manor, Tamlin had strict rules imposed on the security of this particular building. The most prominent being that no one was to step foot in the building after dark and the door was to always be locked. The key was either always on his person or given to his emissary, Lucien, on the nights he needed someone to lock him in.

His staff was more than willing to believe the lord of Greenwood Manor had a haughty opinion of his stock, that perhaps he took certain measures because the secret to his winemaking was something he coveted greatly. And Tamlin let them believe as such. For the alternative — the truth — would see him in bedlam.

They finally halted before a set of cells. Two large, cold imprisonments hidden deep in the winery’s basement, the turn almost blocked by yet another high-stacked row of barrels. Understanding dawned on her face when Nesta took in the contents of the cells. Long, sturdy chains hammered into enforced concrete walls, the ends of them finished with shackles too big for anything human.

“Shackles? In a wine cellar?” She stood at the threshold of one of the open cell doors, a hint of amusement glinting at her eyes when she flicked them up to meet his. “Hardly a proper thing to reveal to a lady, your nighttime . . . activities?”

“Ah.” His mouth curved into a slow grin as he leaned against the iron bars, and when he spoke again his voice had gone rough. “But you’re no lady, are you?”

She turned, her smile unbidden now, as if all the pretense of propriety had been lifted. “No. But you’ve known that for some time now.”

“Ever since Tomas confided in me that he believed his wife would kill him, I admit, I’ve been suspiciously curious.” Nesta’s smile faltered, but he continued on. “He thought my connections with the Yard would be enough to condemn you to a madhouse. I, of course, refused him any help.”

“How chivalrous of you,” she drawled, “Unfortunately, I have no need of a white knight.”

“Good,” he smiled, letting a bit of the contained ferality peek through his expression. “I would hate to disappoint you.”

“Then tell me, Lord Greenwood—” Nesta paused, stepping closer to him, a serious and impatient tone settling over her features, “Why do any of this? What do you want with me?”

“I have a . . . proposition, of sorts.”

“Go on.”

He laughed nervously, taking a moment to admire her straightforward demand, before asking, “Will you marry me, Lady Archeron?”

Those silver eyes narrowed again, and she gave a lazy perusal of him once more, only this time he had the feeling she was sizing him up for entirely different reasons. “Are you so eager to meet an end similar to Tomas?”

He pushed away from the bars to move closer to her, that gruff undertone returning to his speech. “If it were by your hands, I would die a happy man.”

Her eyes widened a fraction and he saw a faint flush of color rise over her cheeks. Before she could indeed make the decision to gut him right then and there, Tamlin said, “I believe a marriage would be beneficial to us both. To the secrets we want to hide and the habits we cannot break.”

Nesta regarded him quietly for a long moment, and he imagined she could see the advantages of his proposal. Of sharing the burdens of their secrets with one another. Of hiding the suspicions that would start to rise for the both of them as the years went on.

Finally, she tipped her chin and gave him another sharp, little smile. “I accept, Lord Greenwood.” Tamlin felt his heart jump at her words, a reaction he hadn’t anticipated when he’d set out to strike a bargain with Nesta Archeron. “Although I wouldn’t entirely rule out the possibility of mariticide, if I were you.”

“If you do decide to murder me, promise me you’ll keep my name.” He offered her his arm again, with the intention of leading them out of the winery to resume their stroll under the moonlight, his smile wider than he could constrain.

“A possessive man? How disappointing.”

“I don’t mean to own you, my lady. I mean to haunt you.”

Nesta laughed as she looped her arm around his, more at-ease now as she followed him back through empty building and out into the night. “I think it wouldn’t be too difficult to keep that promise.”

a/n: once again a super specific little piece that was meant to be posted a lot sooner 😀 but i had a lot of fun writing it and i hope you guys enjoy it too!

[titaniaqueenoffairie]

Bound By Starlight: Tamlin and RoseVela

This is a small fanfiction based on things I’ve always loved to imagine, especially since I’m a big fan of the theory that Tamlin and Rhys's sister were lovers. In this fanfiction, I named her Rosevela (simply because I love that name 😆). Tamlin’s nickname for her is Viola, which comes from Rosevela → violet rose → Violet → Viola. I like it because it matches her violet eyes, and the idea of violets being roses ties in with her name. Anyway, je dis n'importe quoi ! Feel free to read it and share your feedback 🥰.

P.S.: English is my fourth language, so please excuse any mistakes!

***********************

In the magnificent Spring Court, amidst magical gardens, Tamlin and Rosevela lay side by side on the soft grass before the Pool of Stars. The golden rays of the setting sun mingled with the silver glow of the rising moon, casting an ethereal shimmer on their skin. They looked almost celestial—the chosen High Lord of Spring and the chosen High Lady of Night—bathed in the combined light of the sun and stars.

Their connection ran deeper than the courts they were supposed to rule. It was a pull, stronger than anything their families or destinies could tear apart, stronger than even a mother's mating bond.

Tamlin's fingers brushed lightly along Rosevela’s arm, a delicate touch full of silent promise. “You look like you belong here, Viola,” he murmured, his voice soft with reverence. “Like you’re one of these stars.”

Rosevela turned her head, her eyes reflecting the starlight above. “And you,” she whispered, her smile tender, “you’re like the earth itself. Strong, steady, and endlessly kind. How did I get so lucky?”

He chuckled softly, tucking a strand of her dark hair behind her ear. “I think I’m the lucky one.”

Silence settled between them—not awkward, but the kind that needed no words. Around them, pixies fluttered near the water, their laughter like the tinkling of bells. Little green goblins danced among the plants, adding to the dreamlike scene.

Rosevela sighed contentedly, taking it all in. “It’s so peaceful here. I could live in this quiet forever.” She glanced at him. “How have your brothers never found this place?”

Tamlin’s expression darkened for a moment, but there was a hint of humor in his voice. “Because they hate peace. They thrive in chaos and power. This place is too gentle for them. It’s why we’re safe here, Viola. They’d never think to look for us somewhere like this.”

Her smile faltered. “I wish I could stay here forever,” she whispered. “I hate it at home. My father’s always disappointed in me. Rhys and Cassian treat me like I’m fragile. Azriel… he’s even worse. Sneaking out gets harder every time.”

Tamlin grinned mischievously. “Why don’t you just kick their asses? I’ll help you out, especially with Rhys. I’ve been itching to punch him in the face.”

Rosevela laughed, giving him a playful shove. “Stop it, you goose. They’re still my brothers.”

“And you’re my woman,” he teased, his tone more serious. “I hate it when they underestimate you. You’re the chosen one, more powerful than any of them.”

She sighed again, frustration bubbling to the surface. “That’s exactly the problem. I’m the chosen High Lady in a court that still clips Illyrian women’s wings. It’s ridiculous.”

Tamlin’s gaze sharpened. “Has your power grown?”

She nodded, her voice barely a whisper. “Yes. I don’t know what will happen if it becomes obvious to my family.”

“Rhys wouldn’t harm you for that.”

“Not Rhys,” she said, her voice trembling. “But my father… if he knew his heir was a girl…”

Tamlin’s eyes flashed with anger. “Let him try. I’ll—”

“Tamlin, no,” Rosevela interrupted, shaking her head. “Your situation isn’t much better. What about your power? Is your father still suspicious?”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “He’s starting to suspect. It’s getting harder to hide.”

They shared a look of understanding, the weight of their responsibilities and dangers pressing heavily upon them.

“Isn’t it ironic,” she said with a sad smile, “that we were both chosen and burdened with powers we never wanted? It feels more like a curse than a blessing.”

“Vela,” Tamlin whispered, his voice filled with emotion and unsure what to say.

Rosevela’s eyes softened, and she placed her hand on his cheek. “Tamlin, nothing keeps us here. Why don’t we just... run away?”

His eyes widened. “What?”

“Neither of us is happy. Our powers, our courts, the rivalry between our families—it’s too much. We could leave it all behind. Find another court, somewhere no one knows us. I could paint, you could play music... We could live however we want.”

“Are you serious?” he asked, his heart pounding.

“As serious as I’ve ever been,” she said, his voice steady. “We could be free, Tam. Truly free.”

His smile faded, worry creeping into her expression. “But we’re the children of High Lords. No court would risk a war to protect us.”

Before she can says anything Tamlin stopped her by placing his index finger on her lips saying “We will never be free no matter where we go in Prythian, so this why we have to leave the whole continent”

Rosevela blinked, stunned. “Leave Prythian?”

“If we’re going to run, we need to do it right,” he said, a smile creeping back onto his face. “We can go anywhere, Vela.”

She hesitated for a long moment, then smiled softly. “If it means being with you, I don’t care where we go.”

"Crossing the humans land is too dangerous" Tamlin warned, his tone turning serious again. “but Hybren it's like the worst way of suicide.”

“Because of that vicious red-haired witch who lusts after you?” Rosevela’s eyes glinted. “I’ll break her neck myself.”

Tamlin laughed. “You don’t need to worry about her. You’re the only one I’ve chosen, isn’t that enough?”

“But......... you're right, crossing Hybern, or even the human lands, is risky.” she said.

“We’ll prepare for it. It’ll take time, but we’ll do it.”

She frowned, worry flickering in her gaze. “How much time? If your father’s suspicious, we may not have much left.”

He cupped her face gently, his eyes soft. “Please, Viola. Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.”

“I’m not trying to be pessimistic, but… what if something happens before we can leave? I feel like everyone and everything is against us even tho the mother. What if… the Mother binds us to someone else?”

“I don’t care about the Mother’s chosen mate for me if it isn’t you,” Tamlin said fiercely. He drew a dagger from his belt, cutting his palm. “I’ll make my own bond.”

He offered her the dagger, his eyes asking for her trust. She hesitated, then nodded, cutting her palm as well. He took her hand, their blood mixing together.

“I, Tamlin, give you, Rosevela, a part of my soul, my magic, my power. If I lose you, I’ll go mad before I ever love another.”

She felt his magic intertwine with hers, his power flowing into her veins. She was bound to him—and to the Spring Court. He had given her everything, without hesitation.

Her heart swelled, words failing her. She hugged him tightly, her head resting against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. He had given her everything, and she could only hold him close in return.

“I have the same fears as you,” he murmured, brushing his lips against her hair. “But we’ll make a bargain. One stronger than any magic.”

She pulled back, confused. “What kind of bargain?”

“With the Pool of Stars,” he said, glancing at the shimmering water. “It’s said to hold power older than the Cauldron itself.”

Tamlin looked to Rosevela like he wants her to look into his mind and she did. She saw what bargain he want to make, how far he want to go for her. And she accepted it .

She was ready to go with him to whatever land and risk everything, and this bargain is nothing compared to what she is ready to do for him.

Together, they rose and made their way down to the Pool of Stars, their injured palms extended over the shimmering water. Crimson droplets fell, mixing with the starlight reflected on the pool's surface, causing it to glisten with an ethereal glow.

“I, Tamlin, son of the Forest,” he declared, his voice resonating through the stillness of the night.

“And I, Rosevela, daughter of the Stars,” she echoed, her tone laced with solemnity.

“By the gods of this sacred pool, we beseech you,” they chanted in unison, “if one of us falls, let them be reborn as human. And no matter the distance or time, the other shall seek them out, restore their memories, and return them to their fae form. Accept our demand, and in time, we will return to you the glory and power stolen by the Cauldron.”

Their voices dissolved into the night, leaving only the quiet hum of the Pool of Stars. The water rippled, absorbing the magic of their words. A silvery light rose from the pool, enveloping them both. As the light faded, they felt a shift—a writing of the bargain etched in the very air. A constellation of stars traced a glowing mark on Tamlin’s palm, while roses bloomed across Rosevela’s hand.

Though the symbols slowly faded from their skin, they could feel the weight of the bargain anchoring itself deep within their souls. This was no ordinary bargain—this bond was forged by a magic far older, far stronger than anything they had known.

They turned to each other, eyes locking, understanding passing between them. Their fates were now entwined—irrevocably bound. Whatever the future held, they would find one another again, in life, in death, and beyond.

“I promise you,” Tamlin vowed softly, his voice thick with emotion, “I will never love anyone but you.”

“No matter what comes,” Rosevela whispered, her voice filled with unshakable conviction, “you are the only man I will ever choose.”

*************

If you made far here I will appreciate if you leave a comment with your feedbacks, I have a Lots of Ideas to this fanfiction 🔥🔥

[northern-polaris]

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]

HEAR YE, HEAR YE, BELOVED TAMLIN ENJOYERS! 🗣️🗣️🗣️

With the prompt submissions ending this Monday, September 23rd, we thought it would be fun to help you get the creative juices flowing to make sure you submit the prompts you want to see before time runs out!

MY PERFECT TAMLIN WEEK

If you could choose the prompts for your perfect Tamlin week, silly or serious, whether its something you would like to create for or something you'd like to see more of, what would (YOUR NAME)'s TAMLIN WEEK look like?

Day 1 - Day 2 - Day 3 - Day 4 - Day 5 - Day 6 - Day 7 -

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© photo: Sander Weeteling

[matrixsss]

I love you, beloved mods of @tamlinweek 😭🫂

[positivelyruined]

“I want to know you as myself.” | Feyre + Tamlin | Alternate Timeline 💗 Happily Ever After

KNOW YOU AS MYSELF by positively ruined | rated M

Written for @tamlinweek 2024. Technically fulfills multiple prompts — so day one excitement it is!