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Remains of Spring - Part 1

Part 1/? | Ao3

To begin with Hope of Spring and read sequentially, start here

Happy @tamlinweek everyone!

[This chapter fits in right after Chapter 3 of HoS]

All day long, something had stirred restlessly beneath Tamlin’s skin. It was more than the ever-constant humming of the Spring magic that he’d grown used to long ago; this was a vibration, a feeling, a sign. He’d had a similar feeling a few times before–before his father ruined his life, before Amarantha had come to continue that goal, before Rhysand and Feyre had finished the job.

He’d been rolling around in his bed, half lucid, for the better part of the night, but every time sleep began to close in, his mind would begin whirring again and shake consciousness back into him, warning him. Each time, his heart was pounding, squeezing almost painfully in his chest as it thumped like a war drum.

Be alert, be alert, be alert.

The moon had passed across the midpoint in the sky–he could see it and all the stars through the open window, the sounds and smells of Spring doing their best to lull him back into sleep again, but Tamlin couldn’t ignore instinct.

He rose from his bed, grabbing his pants from the back of the chair near his desk and sitting to pull them on and lace them. If he was going to be awake, he might as well be useful. He stretched his arms over his head, cracking his spine and reaching for his rumpled tunic. If he’d just be shifting and patrolling, it probably didn’t matter much what his clothes looked like, but he hesitated as he went to pull it on.

Tamlin worried constantly, thinking how easily he had drifted into that spiral of nothing a few years ago. It had started with a lack of caring about things like clothes, visitors, his manor, but it had turned into a complete lack of care about anything. He’d spent the better part of that first year in the woods, prowling the land in his baser form, not allowing any of his anguished thoughts to fully form, hoping he would die eventually. But Lucien and Rhysand would not let him be. He would not admit it even under pain of death, but they’d saved his life. He still resented them for their involvement, considering both had contributed to the state of things in the first place.

When he’d shifted back, he hardly felt like a person at all. Emaciated, matted, dirty, and depressed, he drifted aimlessly around the manor like a ghost, remembering to feed himself and sleep every so often. The worst part of coming back to civilization had been the fact that every single feeling came back to him. He experienced at full force every bit of shame, guilt, grief, and pain. He felt every bit the monster they believed him to be. He had almost been the ruin of Prythian, all for his own selfish needs. He’d sold them out for a female who, it turned out, hated him anyway. Perhaps Feyre had the right idea all along–maybe he deserved to suffer this way.

A few weeks in, Tamlin finally allowed his rage and anguish to melt into soft, devastating grief, and for the first time in centuries, he truly let himself cry. But once he’d begun, there was no stopping it. The emotions hit him like a blow to the chest, knocking every bit of sense and awareness from him as he lay on the floor of the ruined manor, sobs racking through him. He wished more than anything that he could apologize, for any of it, for all of it. But he’d dug himself into a grave so deep that there would be no making amends now. Sending the crowns back to Rhysand would seem like a taunt.

Did it even matter?

No one would ever forgive him anyway.

Tamlin did not truly begin to live again until he heard a soft but insistent knocking on his door one evening. It wasn’t the Night Court, they never bothered to knock. He dragged himself to the doors, opening them tentatively to peek out and see who would dare to come here. On the porch stood a Spring fae, fairly young, looking at him expectantly. He was surprised to not find disgust or pity in her eyes, but a rugged determination as she lifted her chin to speak to him.

“High Lord.” She curtseyed, then bobbed back up. “My name is Tallissa, and I come from the village of Laretta just south of here. I am here to offer my services to the manor.” Tamlin was speechless.

Someone wanted to come back to this crumbling, godsforsaken manor?

“Why?” He asked hoarsely, his voice having not been used for anything other than screaming, crying, or roaring out his pain for close to a year.

“Because you are our High Lord, and you need help. And Spring needs yours.” Her wide, navy eyes were unfaltering, the vines of ivy swinging from her head in the breeze. She seemed earnest, and it didn’t seem like she was going to back down without an argument regardless.

“Tallissa, I fear it’s quite the undertaking.” He tried one last time to avoid the hand being reached out to him, the life raft offered as he barely fought against sinking beneath the waves.

“High Lord, if you please, there is nowhere else I would rather be. And I like a challenge.” He paused, thinking, then nodded once. It was all she needed before she stomped into the manor, her orange and teal skin catching the light of the sun. Tamlin was embarrassed at the state of things now that someone was here, ashamed he’d allowed things to become so dire, but Tallissa just walked straight back to the kitchens and began shuffling around without another word to him.

It took about a week for Tallissa–Tally–to convince Tamlin to begin taking care of himself–bathing, eating regular meals, and allowing her to wash his clothes. In that time, she began the lighter aspects of cleaning the manor, though the more intensive things would require additional help. Another week after that, Tamlin tentatively began to help with the larger projects like moving rubble and repairing what he could with magic. The sun on his back felt good, and the hard work helped him to start feeling a bit more like himself again. He was working himself so hard, he simply collapsed into his bed every night and didn’t dream, a blessing in itself.

Another month in, and Tally had convinced him to allow contractors from the local villages to come begin some of the exterior repairs that Tamlin could not do alone. Slowly, the manor was coming back to life around him, and his soul with it. Since he’d been forced to reconcile with everything in his fae form, he hadn’t dared to shift back into his beast form. He didn’t trust himself not to slip back into old patterns yet, but the urge to shift and just run, the smell of the earth in his nose and the sun on his fur and the wind over his back, was becoming hard to ignore.

Finally, months in, the manor had been restored to its former glory, the gardens were regrowing, and Tally was interviewing staff for the manor. Tamlin had, at great pains, gone into the local villages to apologize, family by family, for the actions that had cost them all so much. Some were not quick to forgive, which he’d understood fully and expected, but still took like a knife to the heart each time it happened. Despite having spent so much of his life not showing any emotion but rage, it seemed once Tamlin had allowed himself to cry the one time, he couldn’t stop. Every night when he returned to his bed in the manor after a day of penance, he would sob great tears at the damage he’d wrought, the lives lost because of his actions. He knew making amends was the right thing to do, but he couldn’t imagine a heartbreak worse than knowing, face to face, exactly how horribly he’d failed the people he was supposed to protect.

But Tamlin pushed forward, the strength of real support bolstering him. He knew he owed Tally the world for this gift she’d given him. Whether people ever forgave him or not, she’d given him a second chance, coming in with unwavering determination and refusing to take no for an answer. He’d given her the nicest room he could find, with a view of the gardens that she loved so much, and she’d simply asked if her wife could come work and live in the manor, too. Tamlin had been so caught up in gratitude for them, he’d commissioned them their own house on the property, which Tallissa had fought against him to accept, but ultimately yielded to have some privacy with Mariela. So, with Tally manning the housekeeping and affairs, Mariela took charge of the men coming back to offer their services as guards and sentries.

Despite the battering that making amends was doing on his soul, he felt as though things were beginning to right themselves after so long amiss. It had been a few months, but the inquiries began to filter back in from both males and females looking for more stable work. He had absolutely no qualms about letting females become sentries, and he would never make the mistake of underestimating them again. At long last, things began to feel normal again, except this time, improvements had been made. Tamlin would never be the ruler he was before, and he didn’t want to be.

When Rhysand stuck his nose in Spring’s business, as he so often did, Tamlin would growl at him that it was under control, but he couldn’t shake the embers of pride that burned within him each time Rhysand left looking impressed. Outwardly, all he could manage to point in Rhysand’s direction was rage and fury. He hated that he still sought the male’s approval deep down–his forgiveness–but at the very least, perhaps it would keep him from sending more people to harass him.

Tamlin was shaken from his thoughts of the past as a loud crash followed by a resounding crack sounded throughout the manor.

What the fuck?

He shot to his feet, half tucking the tunic around his waist and ripping open the doors. He crept to the stairs with the preternatural quiet of a predator, approaching the open foyer in the dark. A cough and a groan rang out through the night, and Tamlin glanced up to see the hole in the roof in shock and annoyance.

We just fixed that.

As he peered down into the dusty air, he saw a figure laying on the ground of the foyer near the bottom of the stairs.

Had they fallen through the ceiling?

Tamlin didn’t see any wings, but that didn’t mean this wasn’t one of Rhysand’s followers. He could hear the figure gasping for breath and groaning in pain, but as the dust cleared, he saw her begin to sit up

“Fuck me sideways. Jesus fucking Christ.” He heard echo quietly, and he fought a laugh. It was a female, and gods she had a dirty mouth. She was looking around the foyer, grasping her arm to her body as though it was hurt. He imagined in a fall like that, it would make sense. She was looking down at her arms and hands like she’d never seen them before, and Tamlin wasn’t sure how she was standing at all after a fall from that height.

Had she been on his roof?

She looked up to where he was, scanning the walls, and he slid back behind the pillar, peeking out again after a moment. When he focused back on her, he was shocked to find she was…beautiful? Her hair was half up and a mess, but he could tell it was a dark brown. It matched her eyes, wide in the dark. Suddenly, her face shot to his and she gasped.

How had she noticed him?

Tamlin was taken entirely aback, but it was too late now. He stepped out from the shadows, and began to descend the stairs.

Say something to her, but his mouth was suddenly dry–his tongue and brain entirely unable to communicate.

He tossed his hand out, lighting the lanterns on the walls, and his breath caught. In the low light, he could see her eyes were a soft brown, the color of a fawn’s coat, and they were entirely focused on him. She struggled to stay on her feet, her arm very clearly dislocated. Even from halfway down the stairs, he could smell her fear and panic, but she met his eyes with awe. She was appraising him, too.

So, perhaps not a spy then.

She winced at the pain, but squared her shoulders and lifted her chin to him.

Brave little thing.

“Who are you?” A stab of guilt shot through him as she flinched at his voice.

“P-Penny,” she stuttered out, but he could see her rally her confidence again. “My name is Penny.”

Penny. The name rolled around in his head, the syllables stretching and her lilting voice ringing like bells. Focus.

“You’re injured. Come.” He could bring her to the kitchen; there were medical supplies in the cabinets there. She wasn’t following him. “Are you going to stand there all night?” She burst into action, limping along behind him, and the sudden urge to take her into his arms so she wouldn’t have to hurt anymore hit him so forcefully it almost knocked the wind from his chest. He shoved the impulse away and turned into the kitchen, gesturing for her to sit at the table in the center of the room while he gathered up the necessary supplies.

“Do you live here alone?” Her voice was beautiful, soft. It caressed his ears like a gentle song, and he took a deep breath.

“Uhm, yes and no. There are attendants and staff who come and go, but no one stays here anymore but me. Everyone else has left for the night, but they’ll be back in a few hours at dawn.” Tamlin tried to think of the injuries he had seen on her, grabbing a few healing tonics as well as items to clean her up. He could feel her eyes on him as he looked, could feel the way that she let her gaze roam over him.

“I am going to check you over for injuries now, if that’s okay,” he warned, not wanting to startle her. The blush that colored her cheeks made his heart race. Now that he was this close to her, he could smell her scent. It was like nothing he’d ever smelled before. Something on top– strange and not quite like flowers, perhaps a hair oil? But beneath it, she smelled of sage and spearmint, the notes twining and mingling in his nose as he fought the strange urge to lower his head to her neck and inhale more deeply.

“Where are you injured?”

“I’m not sure, entirely. When I first woke up, my ribs and chest were the most painful, but even they seem to be improving now.” She pressed gingerly on her own ribs and flinched slightly. “It’s definitely not pleasant, but at least I can take a breath.”

“May I?” She nodded, and he brushed his hands over her sides to press against her ribs. The second his hands made contact with her skin, he felt the magic pulse beneath his skin–the Spring magic sizzling with every breath between them. He did his best to steady his beating heart.

“Your ribs may be bruised, but they don’t seem broken. I am going to check your back now, if I may.” The female turned, giving her back to him in a show of trust that had him a bit shocked as he gently pressed his fingers into her spine and ribs. All intact, thankfully, though the bruising was already starting to blossom across her back in dark violets. He felt her shiver, and the action sent a thrill through him.

What is wrong with you?

“It would appear you’ve somehow escaped mostly unscathed,” Tamlin choked out, mortified by how hoarse his voice sounded. He handed her the healing tonics and instructed her to drink, then turned to get the cleaning supplies from the floor.

“Let me clean the laceration on your forehead, and then I’ll be done.” She lifted her hand up to her head as though she hadn’t been aware of an injury at all, pulling back fingers coated in blood. He dipped the rag in the small, bottled solution he’d brought over with him, and as he was about to touch it, she gasped. His eyes shot up to hers, worried something had happened, but she was just staring at him, eyes wide in awe.

“What…your ears!”

My ears? They looked like normal ears, why would they be concerning to her?

But she was now focused on his eyes, her gaze boring into his. “Where are we?” She asked abruptly.

Perhaps she had hit her head.

“The Spring Court. You fell into my home in the Spring Court.” The girl let out a cackle that bordered on hysteria.

“The Spring Court? Like A Court of Thorns and Roses?” Tears blossomed in the corners of her eyes.

Oh Cauldron, she’s lost her mind. Maybe she had been walking around on my roof before she fell.

“Yes, yes. All very funny. And I’m sure you’re Tamlin.”

Tamlin jumped back as though he’d been shocked.

How could she possibly know my name? Who is she?

Her manic laughter began to die down, and the panic in her eyes became more noticeable.

“Shut the fuck up.” She said, quiet but forcefully.

“I didn’t say anything,” the shock still had him reeling. But now, he wondered if he had been right at first. This was one of Rhysand’s spies, he was sure of it. No one else would glean such joy at pulling one over on Tamlin while he tried to just live his life and mind his own business. The rage was suddenly overwhelming.

“Who the hell are you? How do you know my name? Did someone send you here?” He was abruptly on his feet, trying to put distance between them. But the look in her eyes wasn’t amusement, it was fear, and he remembered the last time a female had looked at him that way. The thought sobered him as she began rambling.

“No! No! I don’t know how the fuck I ended up here! One minute I was sleeping in my apartment and I thought I was dreaming and then I slammed into your house. You’re telling me this is Prythian? We’re in Prythian right this second?” He could see her spinning out of control, her expression taking on the skittish fright of a small animal backed into a corner. Her breathing quickened, and he could tell she was aiming for a panic attack. He knew exactly what they looked like now. She lifted her hand and twisted the skin of her arm roughly, cursing immediately in response.

“Fuck. Ouch.” Gods, she had a filthy mouth. She began to pace like a cornered animal. “Okay. Alright. Okay. Deep breaths. You’re Tamlin.” He could only nod. “We’re in Prythian, like from the stories.” He nodded again, but was becoming more confused with the nature of her question. She seemed so lost, yet she knew where they were somehow.

“Wait, when is it?”

“What do you mean?” He asked.

“Has the second war with Hybern already happened? Do you know who Amarantha is?” He felt hot, oily nausea boil within him at the mention of her name, but nodded anyway. He’d killed her–let the image of him ripping her throat out calm him back down. She couldn’t hurt him or anyone else again. He took a deep breath.

“It’s been three years since Hybern’s armies were defeated in Prythian. The second time. Amarantha is dead.”

“...Then Feyre Archeron is in the Night Court, correct?”

What. The. Fuck.

“What the hell is this? Is this some sort of joke to you? Did Rhysand send you here? I told him I would bolster the fucking sentries and rebuild the court if he stayed the hell away from Spring. Hasn’t he done enough?”

Tamlin felt himself itching with fury.

Why could the damned Night Court not leave him alone?

“No!” She stammered out. “I swear, I have never been here before. I know about all this because where I’m from there are books! Books about you and everything that happened. I have no idea how I’m here or how this is even possible, I swear it. I have never met Rhysand or anyone from the Night Court–ANY court–in my life! I don’t know how I managed to get here, or how I might even begin to go about getting home for that matter! I swear!”

Books?

She seemed to be telling the truth, or perhaps her frantic terror was convincing him otherwise, but he was inclined to believe her.

“I’m sorry. It’s a tender subject. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He shook himself out, trying to shake the feelings of resentment. He wasn’t trying to scare her, and he was beyond losing control the way he used to. He’d worked hard, and he wasn’t about to fall back into old habits.

“I understand. This must be incredibly disorienting for you. I’m so sorry to have upset you. I wish I could tell you what happened.” She seemed so sincere. He had no fight left in him for her.

“You can stay here. There are many rooms that no longer get any usage. If you would like, that is. You don’t have to.” Was he destined to invite strange women to his house, only to have them flee?

“Where else would I go?” she asked, as though the matter was already settled. “Thank you. Perhaps, I could help? The books aren’t finished, though.”

Tamlin still had absolutely no idea what she meant by the books, but he was absolutely exhausted now, the urge to prowl the grounds almost entirely gone in favor of getting back into his bed.

“Your timeline goes beyond what I know now, but maybe I could provide information? Help Prythian. Help you.” Those final two words pitched through his heart with agony, but he ignored it, walking towards the door.

“There’s no helping me.” He despised how sad he sounded, how resigned. He thought about all his hard work over the past two years, but at the end of the day a fixed manor did not make a fixed person. “Come. Let me show you where you can sleep.” She followed after him, seeming much less tense than before, and much more curious. As they passed the small crater she’d caused with her body, he saw her grimace.

How hard had she fallen?

“You said it’s been three years. It seems like you’ve restored the manor well. And you said people come to work here. That’s an improvement, right?” It unnerved him that he knew these details about him. He hated being at a disadvantage.

How much did she know about him?

“Rhysand made it so I had no choice. We had no idea when the next threat would be coming, so he pestered me until he all but dragged me out of the woods to rebuild. I would have been fine being left there alone. I deserved to be left…I am glad it was rebuilt. I would never give him the satisfaction to say so. But…the people here deserved better–deserve better–than a crumbling court and High Lord. At least, now I get left alone.”

It then occurred to him that perhaps he should be lighter with her to put her a bit more at ease, so he turned to her, tried to put on a show of amusement, and said “Mostly.” Then he turned again to head further into the deep hallway.

“This one will be yours,” he gestured to the left. “I am across the hall, should you need anything. I, uh, unfortunately, there are no ladies clothes remaining here.” He had a mental image of him immediately after the war, shredding everything Feyre had touched here in a fit of rage and grief, then setting fire to the shreds in a show that had rivaled those of Calanmai. “There are some additional shirts and pants in the room which may fit you. But otherwise, we’ll have to go into town for some clothing items for you.”

“Thanks. I’m really more of a pants-and-shirt kind of girl, anyway.” He laughed at this, thinking that sounded like an accurate assessment. He couldn’t picture this fiery, foul-mouthed female in the ruffled dress of a proper lady. He turned to leave and enter his own room before the awkward silence of the air between them swallowed him whole.

Before he could open his own door she called out “Tamlin!”

And when he turned, she simply smiled shyly and said, “Thank you. For the help. And for letting me stay.”

Stay.

Strangely, the word caused a knot in his throat.

Would she stay?

He nodded once, paused, then turned and entered his own room, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. He all but collapsed onto his bed, the fact that a stranger was across the hall not burdening him the way he might have thought.

As he drifted into the warm embrace of sleep, he had the vague notion that the strange restless humming of magic in his veins had calmed.

The biggest thank you to the loml @cauldronblssd for her beta reading and endless support. I will kiss you on the mouth.

#tamlinweek #tamlinweek2025 #tamlin week #tamlin week 2025 #reblog #tamlin/oc #fanfiction #fanfic

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tamlinweek · 2 days ago

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Tamlin:

The feminism leaving my body:

#tamlinweek #tamlinweek2025 #tamlin week #tamlin week 2025 #reblog #general tamlin #meme

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tamlinweek · 2 days ago

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I didnt originally have an plan for the free day for tamlin week but the lovely @lorcandidlucienwill made a post about tamlins wedding outfit that got me inspired so heres my take on it :) @tamlinweek

This piece also has a song. hoziers new song Why Would You Be Loved was on loop the entire time i was drawing and it rlly helped bring back my ability to draw. Also relating lyrics to tamlin ofc (ignore the unfinished outstretched hand i got tired of trying to draw it)

#tamlin week #tamlinweek #tamlin #fanart #music #reblog #general tamlin #tamlin week 2025 #tamlinweek2025

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tamlinweek · 3 days ago

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ACOTAR tweets // gyatzilla

icons always belong to @copypastus

I've never heard anyone say this offline, and since Tamlin is NEVER online, he would have never heard this before LMFAO

#tamlinweek #tamlinweek2025 #tamlin week #tamlin week 2025 #reblog #general tamlin #meme

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tamlinweek · 3 days ago

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Ill Met by Moonlight

paring: Tamlin x OC (Rhysand's sister) type: angst words: 17k words warnings: very dark themes, character death, violence, explicit content (in one chapter) playlist the water is fine | only love | can't catch me now | running with the wolves | bruises | how do I say goodbye | someone you loved | before you go | love in the dark | when we were young | wings | persephone in the garden summary It was love at first sight, but their fate was doomed, and it ended in a catastrophe that turned Tamlin’s heart into stone. This story takes place before acotar and before UTM

for @tamlinweek 💚

read on ao3

a special shoutout to the wonderful @queercontrarian without whom this story would not be, who helped me so much with developing this story and for beta reading, thank you so soo much!!💛

if you want to be tagged, please let me know💛

#tamlinweek #tamlinweek2025 #tamlin week #tamlin week 2025 #reblog #tamlin/oc #fanfiction #fanfic

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tamlinweek · 4 days ago

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Tamlin Creator Appreciation: lucychanart!

Continuing strong with another juggernaut of Tamlin fandom, today we show some appreciation for @lucychanart!

"Her version of Tamlin just has me melting and blushing and crying and gosh *insert all the emotions here!!*. Imo her version of Tamlin is the most gorgeous! And even though tamsand or tamcien isn't my #1 pairing, she has made them move up my list because how could such perfection not crawl into your heart?!"

If you want to see some of the thirstiest comments on this website, look no further than the tags on her art. (We are looking respectfully, very, very respectfully.) She is truly feeding us with her amazing big-titted Tamlin, and shows equal love to Tamcien and Tamsand. To think, that last year was Lucy's very first Tamlin Week!

If you can handle even more hotness, think about subscribing her to patreon here!

(original post of the artwork here, please give Lucy some love!)

Submit your own favorite Tamlin works right here!

#tamlin #tamlinweek #tamlin week #tamlinweek2025 #tamlin week 2025 #original post #creator appreciation #tamlin creator appreciation #lucychanart #general tamlin #fanart #text

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tamlinweek · 4 days ago

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Day 6 of @tamlinweek

Dreams

🌶️🌶️ Sapphic Tamsand Wet Dream Ahead 🌶️🌶️

Uncensored version available on my patreon ✨

#tamlinweek #tamlinweek2025 #tamlin week #tamlin week 2025 #reblog #tamsand #tamlin/rhysand #rhysand #fanart

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tamlinweek · 4 days ago

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Day 5 of @tamlinweek

Shapeshifter

#tamlinweek #tamlinweek2025 #tamlin week #tamlin week 2025 #reblog #general tamlin #fanart

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tamlinweek · 5 days ago

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*sticks head up out of a pothole portal from Andalusia to the real world*…Salutations from this industrious writer, but lackadaisical publisher. Brrr — it’s winter, now? I thought I just left Narnia for Spring.

I may have forgotten that the majority of the audience hasn’t read all of this — oops. Welcome back to Prythian. An all new chapter of A Ballad of Thorns and Roses has been posted. Happy Tuesday!

Chapter Eight | Word Count: 5.3k

Author’s note & updates: Small updates (mostly grammar and sentence structure) are being made to earlier chapters. A tag update has been completed. This work has been taken off of registered users only for easier access. I had 5-7 people ask for a link which I could no longer provide and ultimately, fanfic is for sharing. AI may be worrying, but art is for celebrating what we love.

There is a poll under the tag list if you are interested in giving me some feedback.

links: here | subscribe to the story to receive email notifications for updates and subscribe to my user for notification of all my writing

As always, big thank you to @farintonorth & @honoroverpleasure 👏👏 Extra shoutout to @shadowqueenjude for just generally having my back and being the enthusiastic, badass younger sister I never got.

Tag List under the cut:

As always, this list continues to change and develop through fandom dynamics and URL changes. I do my best to keep it as updated as possible. If you change your url and desire to be returned to the list, DM to be added and DM to be removed. I will never be offended if you ask to be taken off.

dearest, gentle readers

@goforth-ladymidnight @ceridvven @darah-g @golden-shani @ontheline840 @hiddenmidnightshadows @fleetfairy @supremedolphinoverlord @papaj--p4l @siriusement @mia-nina-lilly @szalonykasztan00 @rin-u-pos @alegomz @kateprincessofbluewhales @generouslawyereggsstudent @prettyawordthatstuck @lilyslittlewife @isabiss @draconicfaenerd @alizangc @hrizantemy @fourteentrout @camreadsum @yoddhasblog @wingsdippedingold @skyesayshibitchez @ladydelena @leanderp @jungliet-capuleet @matrixsss @samsaj-05 @theknittingoracle @not-so-civil @ghhjjjhgyhbjjb @multifandom-reader @iamtiredcanyouhelpme @ladysnowmanofnoir @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives @yourwolfprince @tamlinweek @toast-com @novaricewrites @skullszeyes @applepancake @kookiekissez @tilseptemberends

#tamlin fanfiction #fanfiction #tamlin #pro tamlin #feylin #tamlin week

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tamlinweek · 5 days ago

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I saw you in my notifications and came running. Why? Because now I need to read and write more Tamlin.

Fantastic! That's what we like to hear! 😄 Tamlin Week 2025 will be here before we know it. We look forward to seeing what you'll make!

Thanks for the message! We love our pro-Tamlin creators and community! 🫶 You're all the best!

#inbox #asks #answered #pro tamlin #tamlin week

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tamlinweek · 5 days ago

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ACOTAR Omegaverse Week // Day 1 - Nesting

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

SUMMARY: Tamlin's things have been going missing from his manor in the Spring Court. More specifically, all the clothes Rhysand has gifted him are disappearing one by one. It's time for him to get to the bottom of this mystery.

PAIRING: Alpha Tamlin x Omega Rhysand

TAGS: General Audiences, fluff, light angst, nesting, no smut

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Ahhh, my very first entry to @acotar-omegaverse-week! I've never written for Omegaverse before, so this is totally new to me. Hopefully, as the week goes on I get a better grasp of the universe. I hope you guys like it!

TAMLIN AND THE CURIOUS CASE OF UNGIVEN THINGS

That's strange… It was here just last night.

Tamlin stares at the plush velvet chair by his closet, the one where he tosses things that he is either far too lazy to put away in the separate room three feet away dedicated to his and his mate's clothes, or that he uses frequently enough that there is no point in putting it away. The shawl was made of white fur, purchased somewhere in the Winter Court—or so Rhysand told him.

He liked that shawl. It was nice to throw over his shoulder and run his hands through its softness, absent-minded, while working.

Perhaps it has been sent to cleaning.

The High Lord catches Alis, startling the little urisk who was puttering around the manor chasing chirping dustmites with her broom.

"My lord!" She straightens, as if she should never offend him with the sight of her… doing her work. Alis has old values, ones that Tamlin does not particularly adhere to.

"Good morning, Alis. Have you seen my shawl? The white one?" Tamlin describes it, holding his hands out to better show its size. "I would think it was sent to cleaning since it's not on my chair."

"No, no… I instructed the others not to touch anything on your chair unless you put it away for cleaning." Alis hums. It's better that way, so not to assume their lord was done using it when he still needs it. "Perhaps someone took it by accident. I hope it's not another sock elf."

"I thought we put out old clothes for them to steal instead of our laundry." Tamlin frowns. The sock-elves had stolen a sweater he rather liked, too.

"I thought so, too. I will look into this myself, my lord." Alis bows and shuffles away as quickly as she can without running.

Maybe he shouldn't kick up such a fuss. A new shawl can easily be bought, but he doesn't have the heart to tell Rhysand that he lost yet another gift from him. Come to think of it, Rhysand has been giving him a lot of things lately. Tamlin should give him something in return; he's been so busy with work, the gifts must have been a quiet way to ask for his attention.

Rhysand, much like the shawl, is nowhere to be found in the manor. He left a note on their beside table, a vague but trustworthy 'be back soon'. His absence gives Tamlin time to think of a way to shower him with the adoration he deserves, so he gathers a piece of hand-pressed parchment, a quill with gold ink and heads to his library to sit in his favourite chair—

"My chair is missing?"

Now this is ridiculous. It was an egg-shaped chair with a base made of marble and a very comfortable cushion. The chair was large enough to accommodate Tamlin both in his already massive Faerie form and in his beastly shape, should he want to curl up in something den-like.

"Your what?" Rhysand asks, popping his head into the library.

"My chair. My favourite chair. It's missing." Tamlin motions at the very empty spot in the very full library. There's even a circle on the ground of dust and discolouration where it used to be—that's how long it was there.

"Oh my," Rhysand says in muted concern. "This is a tragedy. Oh well, we'll just have to order a new one."

"I don't want to order a new one. I liked that one. Do you know how long it takes to get the cushions to fit you just right?" It also smells of him, his childhood, and it has all the memories that matter. "What if they don't make them exactly like that anymore?"

Tamlin huffs, trying not to pout. Oh, if the other Lords could see him now, sulking because he can't find his favourite egg-shaped chair.

Rhysand approaches him, reaching up to cup his cheek and caress it with his thumb. "I'm sure it'll be alright. I remember the exact dimensions. We'll get you a new one and break it in together?" He grins.

The thought of marking their territory and just basking in each other, erasing the scent of anyone else who's ever touched the chair makes him happy. Tamlin is a simple faerie; he asks for very little, and if Rhysand promised to cuddle him for all eternity and nothing else, he would be a very, very happy man.

Tamlin leans in, pressing a kiss against Rhysand's lips, smiling, and pulling him close. He moves to his neck, breathing in the scent of him and nipping at the skin there lightly. Humming, a very different kind of territorialism spurs in him.

"Wait, wait," Rhysand palms his chest, politely asking for distance. "I wanted to give you another gift."

The Night Prince steps back, opening a drawer encrusted in one of the ornate wooden bookshelves and pulls out a black box. He hands it to Tamlin.

"What… What is this for? Rhys, you're spoiling me. I should be begging for your forgiveness for being busy." Tamlin accepts the gift, but doesn't open it. "You should know," he starts, looking openly guilty. "I keep misplacing the things you've given me. I suspect we may have a sock-elf problem, but I should have been more careful."

Rhysand smiles; he isn't angry at all. "Things are… things. What matters to me is being able to give you these gifts. Even if you make use of them for just a day, it's good enough for me. Open it."

Tamlin kisses Rhysand again, opening the gift. It's a beautiful dark green robe, almost black, that glimmers with colours when held directly under sunlight. It's beautiful. More importantly, it's so soft and velvety.

"You should wear it. Make sure the size is right," Rhysand grins.

***

There's only so much Tamlin can lose before it starts to keep him up at night. The beautiful deep emerald robe disappeared after a day of having it, which is a record, honestly. He can't pass it off as a conniving creature playing a trick on him anymore. It's now a reflection of his capabilities as High Lord. A skill issue, per say.

Then again, he could be awake because the right side of his bed is empty and there is nothing more sobering that missing a part of him.

Tamlin worries. Everyone knows that.

He sits up on his bed and realizes his sheets are missing too? What is going on? Tamlin expects the slide of cool spidersilk against his bare skin, and though he naturally runs hot and kicks the sheets off, he still expects them to be there.

A part of him wonders if Rhysand was kidnapped, bundled up in the fancy sheets he insisted on and carried away into the night. The thought makes Tamlin jealous. If there is any sweeping away to be done, it is by him and him alone.

Fuck taking the stairs; Tamlin must find his mate quickly. He blows open the windows with a hint of magic, launching himself out of his manor and tumbling onto the ground, two floors down, with ease and grace. He sniffs the air, and locks onto the scent, sprinting straight into his forest.

Any other night, he would drink in the beauty of the trees, the symphony of the cicadas, the owls and the foxes, but Tamlin is on a mission. He cannot and will not be stopped until he finds his mate. His hunt takes him down a familiar path, straight towards his second home—a den that he played in as a child, then turned into his own safe haven as he grew older and his father grew crueler. It is the only place where his secrets are harboured and his vulnerabilities are shown.

He hasn't needed his den since Rhysand came into his life—since Rhysand stayed in it.

Tamlin blinks, and his eyes shift to better accommodate the darkness.

"Rhys? I know you're in here."

No response.

As he steps into his den, he realizes… it's been transformed.

The den has always been nothing more than a cave. It's walls were enough to make him feel safe and he would always sleep facing its entrance. No one could get him without his knowledge. The animals would visit and watch over him, of course, but no one else was welcome. (Not until Rhysand.)

Now, it's brimming with things. All the things Tamlin thought he lost, the gifts ungiven and taken back by one clever mate. He walks along the edges, touching the portraits of them and of Rhysand's family. He finds nearly every toy from his childhood; his mother had tried to save what she could from his father's annihilation of his childhood, and Rhysand must have found where she hid them. Tamlin picks up a toy cart with a long, long string. He used to fill this thing with flowers and berries, then drag it along behind him through the forest and all over the manor.

There are books here too. Tamlin recognizes them as Rhysand's. The Spring Court has never tolerated human 'fairy-tales' and he only knows of them because Rhysand has read him each one as proof that humans are brilliant.

Naturally, his egg-chair is here, too. Tucked at the back of the cave, right up against the wall, its opening is blocked by pillows upon pillows. Rhysand's scent leads right to it.

Tamlin tries to hide his smile as he leans in and plucks one pillow out. The rest start to topple, but Tamlin is careful to push them inwards into the nest.

"It seems I have found my thief."

Rhysand's expression is far too cool for someone buried to the neck in Tamlin's clothes.

He's hiding.

That's the problem with faeries like them. The way they were raised—it didn't matter what their natures were. They needed to be exactly what their fathers needed of them. Tamlin needed to be strong and immovable. Soft things were barred from him, even his heart needed to be made of stone. Rhysand needed to be sharp, but not bothersome. He always handles things alone.

Tamlin doesn't ask why he wasn't told or invited to help.

"May I enter?"

Rhysand shrinks into his pile, hiding his face except his watchful violet eyes. "You may," he says without a hint of emotion.

Tamlin crawls into the nest, careful not to squish Rhysand or disturb the hoard of things. Rhysand likes his things in particular order. Tamlin has no preference, so he's happy to adjust to his mate.

"I'm wounded," Tamlin sighs dramatically, taking Rhysand's own words and intonation for when he isn't getting his way. "My mate would rather my things than me and my," he pauses, trying to find a word that only Rhysand would use. "Luscious self?"

"Luscious? I do not say luscious." Rhysand unburies himself to glare at Tamlin. "You were busy."

"And you know that I would drop everything for you, if you told me you were nesting."

"I don't need you to drop everything. I have everything under control." Rhysand's jaw ticks, determined to handle himself. Were they in the Night Court, Rhysand would run his court, nest and make sure that Tamlin doesn't lift a finger because that's just who he is.

Tamlin crawls closer, squishing him purposely this time.

"Then control me," Tamlin leans in, breathing his words against Rhysand's warm lips. "Fit me into your plans. Hoard me like all these things. I am yours," he reminds his mate, kissing him slowly. "Do with me as you please, as long as you're doing it with me."

All this is new to both of them.

Tamlin has always known his dominant Alpha nature, and for his own safety, he had to swallow back his instincts. He wasn't afraid of what his father would do to him, but rather everyone else between them—his brothers, his mother and everyone Tamlin has even glanced at. The battle between Alphas is ugly and violent, especially in the transition of power. At the end, they both knew it was his father's mistake for not killing him at birth.

For Rhysand, Tamlin knows it was the opposite. Suppress, suppress, suppress, was his mantra. Not only did he have to hide, but he needed to deny every instinct within him. At least Tamlin could be a lesser version of himself, but Rhysand…

"You are perfect." Tamlin whispers between kisses. "You are stronger than I am."

"Liar," Rhysand denies.

"You are," Tamlin hums, catching his lower lip between his teeth. "I wouldn't have been able to do this alone. I need you by my side. Also, my den is a lot cozier than it was before. I might have to move out here."

Rhysand rolls his eyes and kicks at him from the layers of stolen clothes. "Flatterer." He says, clearly won over.

Tamlin pushes the clothing aside, snuggles in beside Rhysand and curls at his side, before putting the nest as it was. He says nothing, happy to kiss Rhysand's shoulder and listen to him breathing.

"I want to have a baby," Rhysand says suddenly.

The confession has Tamlin tensing, a reaction that comes from deep within rather than anything to do with actual thoughts. He eases after a moment. "Okay."

"I'm not even sure we'd be good," Rhysand can't even finish the sentence. The shame is visceral. His mother did her best and his father was selective in his affections. He knows how true mates love each other, and he knows how it feels when an Alpha rejects his offspring. It's not that he thinks Tamlin would—Tamlin would be a great father. "I just… With you… I feel ready. My body wants…"

The half-Illyrian flushes, turning to try and bury his face against Tamlin, but they only end up in a more intimate position, foreheads pressed against one another. Tamlin can see the worry on his face. Tamlin kisses them way.

"We will be good parents."

"How do you know?"

"Because we know pain. We know everything not to do."

Tamlin will never raise a hand against his mate or his children. He will never use them as weapons. He will listen when they speak. Everything his mind and body has come to know—all the violence and punishment he has come to expect—he will go against it. He will raise his little ones without fear. They will be free to be happy.

"That's horrible, you know that right?"

"But it's the truth." Tamlin assures, nuzzling Rhysand. "We have all the time in the world. You can over analyze this as much as you need," he teases.

"Oh, fuck you."

The Spring Lord grinds against Rhysand's hip with a playful grin. "Mmm, is that a request?"

#tamlinweek #tamlinweek2025 #tamlin week #tamlin week 2025 #reblog #tamsand #tamlin/rhysand #rhysand #fanfiction #fanfic

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tamlinweek · 5 days ago

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Tamlin hitting that big stretch:

#tamlinweek #tamlinweek2025 #tamlin week #tamlin week 2025 #reblog #general tamlin #meme

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tamlinweek · 6 days ago

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I Wanna Be Yours

*Smashing through a window* @praetorqueenreyna it is my pleasure to present you your gift this year! This has been so very fun, I hope you enjoy it!!!

Summary:

Lucien's fucked up. Royally fucked up. And his father, already on the hunt for a reason to get rid of him, takes the opportunity to finally disown him. Now, jobless and wondering what he's supposed to do without catching more of Beron's attention and bringing his wrath upon him, Lucien finds himself venting to his oldest friend. What he didn't expect was for Tamlin to offer him a position as his personal assistant. It's just temporary, of course, but it's not long before the two find themselves entangled closer and closer together, and the more Lucien learns about Tamlin's friends and family, the more he finds old feelings rising to the surface faster than he can push them down again. He's only gotta hope that Tamlin doesn't learn of what he did...

Read chapter one on Ao3 or below the cut!

Divider by @saradika-graphics

The arms of the clock continued to tick by over an office. Fingers drummed against the wooden desk, as an impatient knee bounced up and down.

A puddle of half melted ice on the cobblestone path splashed mud across his leather boots as he raced through the crowds. Accidentally bumping into a man who hurled a curse at him as he shouted an apology, not stopping on his course.

Those drumming fingers ceased their beating rhythm to check the watch on his wrist, as the clock above ticked in sync with it. He huffed.

He finally saw the large glass doors and the family bushes of the skyscraper that brushed the clouds above. Looming high above him as he burst through the doors, briefly throwing a “Hello Janine!” to the woman who sat at the reception desk, thumbing through one of her magazines. Janine didn’t look up as she said “Hello, Lucien.” He did not hear her though as he raced for the closing elevator doors.

“Where is he?” He snarled, grabbing a pile of paperwork as the minutes continued to tick over. Each one eating into his tight schedule. Five, then ten, then fifteen.

“Wait!” Lucien just managed to shout as he slid into the elevator, barely just not getting his dark brown coat stuck in the doors. The two men already in, jumped to the sides as he rocketed through.

“Are you out of your mind?” One of them said.

“I’m late to a meeting.” Lucien panted, grabbing the steel railing to hold himself up. He checked the mirror that lined the back wall of the elevator, hissing to himself at his messy hair and rumpled shirt. He quickly undid the tie holding up his ponytail, trying to smooth the frizzy red curls back. He was never this uncouth, but his alarm hadn’t gone off, and the sleet had messed his curls up. If God was there, he was in yet another laughing fit at Lucien’s predicament. Another to add to the list of many.

He continued to drum his fingers against the desk. Feeling rage simmering beneath his skin as his youngest son grew closer and closer to the twenty minute late mark.

“You risked getting crushed in the elevator doors for a meeting?” The other man hissed. Lucien glanced at him in the mirror. He recognised him from somewhere. He did not care to find out from where as anxiety bubbled higher and higher in the pits of his stomach.

“It’s with Beron.” Lucien answered simply, and by the widening of both men’s eyes, he figured they finally got the hint. Being crushed in the elevator doors would have been a mercy compared to the wrath of facing Beron’s temper so early in the morning. Barely seven and he hadn’t even had a coffee yet.

“I’m going to strangle that boy.” Beron mumbled to himself as he signed another document. He had another meeting in twenty minutes. Lucien had near to no respect, so the insult to his time didn’t surprise him. It just angered him. Stoking the rage higher and higher.

But the thought of his youngest’s face when he received the news he was about to was enough to prevent Beron from considering methods of punishment that strayed into less than legal.

“You’re fucked, boy.” One of the men said. He had chestnut brown hair, but his eyes reminded Lucien of the near black bark of the wet, leafless trees that lined the city streets. He looked tired.

“I know.” Lucien chirped, as he fought to keep the scant breakfast he had managed to shove down his throat, in.

The sound of footsteps told Beron of his approach long before he heard the timid knock on his door. Glancing up, a brief, wicked smile curled on his mouth, before he called out, “Enter.”

“Enter.” Lucien clutched the messenger bag slung across his chest tighter, straightening his back. He took in a breath and opened the door.

Beron’s office was large and imposing. A large desk that sat before a wall of glass overlooking the expanse of the city and the dark rolling mountains far in the distance. Everything was decorated with the exquisite, expensive taste beheld to the entire Vanserra family, but Lucien didn’t get much time to take in his surroundings as he was instantly pinned with his father’s gaze.

Fear began to pulse through him, each heartbeat was another wave of terror as he waited patiently.

“Have a seat, Lucien.” Beron ordered. So Lucien quickly scrambled for one of the black leather chairs angled towards Beron’s desk.

His father took his time, drawing out each painful second only made worse by the ticking of the clock hanging on the wall. Lucien did not fidget, and did not let his fear show, but his father knew him well enough.

“You’re late.” Beron eventually said, but it was without the usual bite his tone normally held. Which only set Lucien further on edge.

“I apologise,” Lucien said, “Traffic was horrific.”

Beron knew it was a lie instantaneously, but did not point it out, as he reached for a neat pile of paperwork stapled together on the edge of his desk.

“Do you know why I asked you to come here, Lucien?” Beron asked.

“No, sir.”

“No idea at all?” Beron snapped. His flaming eyes jutted back towards Lucien, who calmly rested his hands in his lap.

He was lying and Beron knew it, but Lucien wasn’t about to fall into giving away more than he needed too, he wanted to force Beron into giving up how much he knew first. Then Lucien could twist the information, lie his way out of permanent consequences.

Because surely, surely, Beron didn’t know the whole of the story. No, the male pounced on his sons the second he caught whiff of treachery, he didn’t need the full story to punish them.

“No, sir,” Lucien answered. Meeting Beron’s eyes with a stoic expression, carefully neutral, this was the moment where Beron’s face normally twisted with frustration, but instead… Lucien caught the uptick of the corner of his lips.

His heart began to pound faster and faster. As doubt began to creep in.

“Well then, allow me to educate you, my son.” Beron murmured.

Outside it began to rain, lightning forked in the air and thunder bellowed in the distance. The pounding rain washed mud across the city streets and the roads were a blur of cars and yellowy headlights.

Lucien walked out into the rain, instantly being soaked from head to toe. Hair clung to his cheek, gone numb from the freezing cold. He clutched his bag closer as he ran through the storm to his parked car.

When he finally slipped into the driver's seat and shut the door, he simply put his head and hands on the driver’s wheel and thought about how much he wanted to scream.

I don’t know what to do…

On any other day before this one, Lucien would have called himself a master of wiggling out of tight situations that seemed to have no way out. Usually, he could dig himself into many a mess and just narrowly avoid the consequences that would have come with them.

That wasn’t going to cut it this time.

The hot soapy dishwater was enough of a distraction, Lucien scrubbed the dishes with three times his usual vigour in a poor attempt to distract him from the flurry of anxiety in his belly and the thoughts racing around his head.

What was he supposed to do now? Beron had threatened disowning him so many times now, Lucien had become entirely numb to it, the words that used to cut so deeply barely making a scratch in his day.

He hadn’t expected a time where he fucked up so horrifically that his father actually went through with it.

Though, Lucien was by no means mourning the loss of his relationship with Beron. That man could burn in Hell for all he cared. But he knew from now on he would have next to no contact with his mother, no way of seeing her or talking to her, unless he wanted to try and go through his brothers, but even Eris would be reserved towards helping him unless he could provide something of equal value in return.

It also meant he lost his job.

Lucien gritted his teeth as he finished the last dish, placing carelessly on the drying rack beside the sink, he snatched a dish rag and started drying.

Somehow, he finished drying the dishes in record time. Turns out when you work your frustration out on chores they do get done a lot quicker. After stacking the last place into the cupboard, Lucien leaned back against the marble-top counter and held his face in his hands.

God, he was so fucked.

But before he could fall down a hole of self-loathing and silent panic, the ringing of his phone broke him out of it. Lucien sighed, crossing the space from his kitchen to the dining table. He glanced at the contact name and instantly a slight smile came to his face.

“Hey Tam,” Lucien answered.

“Luce,” Tamlin said, “Do you wanna grab a coffee at the Garden Mill?”

“Uhm,” Lucien glanced at his watch, it was nearly nine am. He had nowhere else to be.

“Sure, why not?” Lucien answered.

“Perfect, want me to pick you up? I’m already driving past your apartment.” Tamlin asked.

Lucien shrugged, “That’d be great, saves the fuel.”

“Alright, I’ll see you in… five minutes?”

“See you then.”

The phone call ended, and Lucien puffed out his cheeks.

At least he could vent to Tamlin, and get a coffee while he was at it. He had savings, sure, but he hadn’t wanted to dig into them. And Beron… Beron had power, and he was affiliated with other people that had so much power. If he wanted to, he could drag Lucien’s good name and reputation through the mud.

His best bet for now was laying low and keeping quiet, for now it seemed Beron just wanted him gone from his company. Erased from the family name. He would let it happen, he would go quietly. It was his only real option.

The rest he just… needed to figure out.

The bite of the late autumn winds made his face feel numb, his cheeks pink from the cold. Hands covered by soft, dark red mittens that were shoved into the pockets of his thick brown coat. Soon they’d have snow, then Christmas would be upon them.

Where did the year go…

A car Lucien recognised pulled up on the sidewalk, a smile slipped onto Lucien’s face without thought. He walked over to the car and smirked as he tapped twice on the window.

Tamlin lowered the window with a cocked eyebrow and an amused smile.

“Your taxi ride is here, sir.”

“Why thank you, my good man.” Lucien returned, pretending to tip his hat off, making Tamlin throw his head back laughing. Lucien hopped around the hood of the car and jumped into the front seat.

“How you been? I figured it would be a long shot that you had today off, but I’m glad you did. I finally got a break from the office and made a run for it.” Tamlin said as he pulled away from the curb.

Lucien made an “uhm” sound, wondering whether he should ruin the mood with his venting. But apparently, hesitation was the wrong answer, because Tamlin’s brow furrowed in concern.

“Did something happen?” Tamlin asked.

“Well…”

“Lucien?” Tamlin lowered his voice a little, “What happened?”

Lucien took a steadying breath, melting back into his seat as he said, “Beron’s disowned me. And consequently, I’m now out of a job.”

“Oh shit,” Tamlin swore, “When did this happen?”

“This morning,” Lucien mumbled, “I went in for a meeting, already off to a bad start because I was late. My alarm didn’t go off. Then I sat down and…”

He didn’t really want to continue on with it. He was pissed off, he wanted to strangle Beron, he wanted to scream at the top of his lungs.

“Your dad’s a dickhead.” Tamlin muttered.

“Tell me about it. I don’t even know what I’m gonna do now.”

“Jesus Christ, I’m sorry Lucien.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It’s still a terrible situation.”

Tamlin glanced over at Lucien, watching his eyes follow the line of trees that were planted on the sidewalk, watching the other cars race by. The blond chewed on his bottom lip, then said, “Listen forget it for now, let’s grab a coffee and we can look at what your next options are together.”

“You don’t have to get involved, Tam-”

Tamlin scoffed, “Like Hell if I’m gonna leave you to deal with your dipshit of a father alone.”

That got a laugh out of him, there was a beat of silence and Lucien murmured, “Thanks Tam.”

“Don’t mention it. Besides, it keeps my mind off of work anyway.”

“How is work going for you?”

Tamlin made a so-so motion with one black gloved hand, “Alright, Christmas is coming up so it’s busy everywhere, you know?”

“Yeah I do.” Lucien sighed, then with a glimmer in his eye, he asked, “How’s Baile?”

A low groan escaped Tamlin, to which Lucien cackled, “Don’t even talk to me about it.”

“That bad huh? I heard his new arm candy’s pretty.”

“Oh yeah she’s pretty. A pretty bitchy asshole. They go together like… Like…”

“Peanut butter and jelly?” Lucien supplied.

Tamlin turned his blinker on, trying to spot a park outside the cafe, “No… Something gross. Uhh,”

“Peanut butter and jelly is disgusting, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Tamlin finally pulled into an empty parking space, then turned to Lucien and said, “Don’t you ever say that to me again.”

“It’s disgusting.”

“Okay, you snob, you wanna know what’s disgusting, baked pickles and ham that’s turned.”

Lucien made a gagging sound as he took off his seatbelt and they both got out of the car. Over the hood Lucien stuck his tongue out and said, “Why would you even think of that?”

“Aletris once made it when we were kids. Mom and Dad were out and Baile nearly had to put out a fire.” Tamlin then snapped his fingers, “That’s what Baile and Katelyn are, baked pickles and spoiled ham.”

“Why would Aletris even think that would be a good idea?”

“Six years old, just learned how an oven works, likes ham and pickles, therefore, bake it and put it on toast.” Tamlin explained, “Unfortunately it’s one of my earliest memories. That and the whopping dad gave Aletris when he got home.”

Baile was Tamlin’s eldest brother, Aletris was his second eldest. Lucien couldn’t stand either of them, and he wasn’t sure how Tamlin was able to put up with them at work. Especially not now with Baile’s now-fiance Katelyn. Lucien hadn’t heard much about her but if Tamlin likening the two of them to “baked pickles and spoiled ham” was of any indication, then Lucien didn’t particularly want to meet them.

They both walked into the Garden Mill, Lucien breathed in and felt at least some of his anxiety quell.

The Garden Mill was a beautiful place. The majority of the actual sitting area was in a greenhouse-like building out the back, with a glass roof, lush grass, trees that grew up the sides of the walls and blooming flowers everywhere.

Tamlin went to the counter to order and Lucien snagged them a seat amongst the roses, off the side where no one was around.

After a few minutes, they both got their coffees. Or, coffee, Lucien wasn’t entirely sure what Tamlin’s drink was.

“Is that a milkshake?” He asked.

Tamlin rolled his eyes, “No, it’s an iced frappe, I just got a few addons.”

“You’re getting an iced frappe in late autumn? And what do you mean by a few addons? It looks like you said to the barista ‘one of everything’.”

“You leave me and my drinks alone, this is the happiest I’m getting until the holiday break starts with the amount of work we are drowning in.”

“That bad huh?”

“It always is.” Tamlin muttered.

Lucien slid his mittens off his hands, wrapping his cold fingers around the hot porcelain cup. He breathed in the delicious aroma of fresh coffee, gently blowing on it before he drank.

“So, let’s talk about your problems.” Tamlin started. Something tightened once more in Lucien’s chest.

Right, his problems.

“I have to lie low, I can’t risk attracting Beron’s attention.” Lucien said.

The blond tilted his head slightly to the side, watching Lucien like a cat. He seemed to think for a moment, before his green eyes lit up, “You could come work for me.

Lucien blinked at him.

Then he opened his mouth, then closed again.

You could come work for me.

Lucien stared blankly at Tamlin, the thought that he must look like a deer in headlights was distant as he thought those words over and over again.

Tamlin just slung his arm over the back of his chair, taking another sip of his ridiculously over-sweetened iced coffee before saying, “You don’t have to, but I was already in the market for a PA, and who knows how long it’ll be before you’re able to get a new job. At least this way you’re making enough money to support yourself without the pressure of needing to get a position with a similar paycheck immediately.”

“You’d do that for me?”

He shrugged, “Why not? I trust you.”

“Your brother won’t.”

Tamlin rolled his eyes, “Baile can shove his attitude up his ass.”

Lucien snickered at that, and Tamlin raised an eyebrow, adding, “One rule, you can’t speak to him the way I do while you’re on the job.”

“At the bar after?”

“Whatever is said at the bar stays at the bar.”

Lucien nodded solemnly, “When do you want me to come in?”

“Uh,” Tamlin whipped his phone up from the table, after a minute or two of flicking through what Lucien assumed to be his calendar, he said, “I don’t have anything going on tomorrow, so you can come in and I’ll be around to help get you settled into your position. But afterwards, we’ll be pretty flat out, especially since Christmas is rolling around and we have to get everything done before the holidays. Would you be able to handle all that?”

“Tam, I’m not an amateur.” Lucien assured, kicking one leg up over the other, “I can come in tomorrow, anytime.”

“Perfect, you can start at nine. Just go through reception and they’ll send you to my office. Baile won’t be in tomorrow so you don’t have to worry about dealing with him immediately.”

“Thank god.” Lucien took a long drink of his hot coffee. The picture of Tamlin’s harsh older brother flashing through his mind. Baile could hardly be called a brother, he didn’t even look like Tamlin, who resembled their mother, whereas Baile with his short light brown hair and dark gold eyes, was every inch Elvin Fairburn, who had bested both his eldest sons in cruelty.

Lucien would forever be thankful all the horrible genes skipped Tamlin entirely.

“He isn’t that bad.” Tamlin tried.

“Forgive me for not thinking highly of him after watching him beat the shit out of you.” Lucien said deadpan.

“That was eleven years ago, Luce.”

“You were fifteen, he was twenty-five.” Lucien spat, disgust evident.

“I’m surprised you remember it, you were only like fourteen.”

“Thirteen.” Lucien muttered.

“I was close enough,” Tamlin said with a hidden smile, as he brought his coffee back to his lips.

The deep well of anxiety that had been coursing through Lucien like a current finally started to ease. He wouldn’t have to dip into his savings afterall, and whilst Beron didn’t get on well with Elvin, they weren’t bitter enough in their relationships that Beron would take offense to Lucien working for Tamlin. If anything, he might laugh and call it pathetic. Which would in the end work in favour for Lucien. Beron would be less inclined to drag him through the mud, he’d think he was already doing it to himself.

“Thank you, Tam.” Lucien said, and he meant it.

“Don’t even worry about it. I need the help.”

Lucien hummed, then he asked, “Is there a date set for the.. Uh, baked pickles and spoiled ham acknowledgement ceremony?”

“The wedding is during the Christmas break,” Tamlin said with a raised eyebrow.

“Wow, that’s soon.” Lucien blinked, “Could they even get a half-decent venue in that time frame?”

“Our father wants them married quickly. The whole thing is an underlying…” Tamlin gestured wildly with his hands, “business arrangement, once everything’s in writing, some kind of deal will be sealed. Plus, its Baile, he’d be able to get the best of the best within the week if he really needed to.”

“Ah I see,” Lucien then laughed as he watched Tamlin roll his eyes, “Look at you, Tam. Going straight from busting your ass at work to witnessing the most uncomfortable union this world will ever see.”

“Yeah, dad picked a good one huh?” A lock of golden hair fell across Tamlin’s face, he brushed it back as he took another drink.

“How’s Aletris? What does he think of her?”

“Aletris has opinions,” Tamlin said slowly, stirring the deflated whipped cream into his drink, “And he has been very vocal about them,” Tamlin paused, looking back up at Lucien as he sucked the whipped cream off the black paper straw, before continuing, “To. Her. Face.”

“Oh fucking Aletris.” Lucien snickered.

“Yeah, so, safe to say, Aletris is out of the wedding party, so guess who got stuck with best man.”

“Oh hell no.”

“Yeah,” Tamlin nodded with a dead expression. Lucien couldn’t stop himself, even when he bit down as hard as he could on his bottom lip, he still laughed.

“It’s not funny, Baile is gonna turn me into his personal servant. And god forbid I don’t do everything he asks.” Tamlin crossed his arms and huffed.

Through his laughter, Lucien managed out, “That’s exactly why it’s funny, oh my god.”

Tamlin tried to suppress a smile as he watched Lucien try to collect himself.

They stared at each other for a moment, Lucien with his shit-eating grin and Tamlin trying to not smile at that stupid look on his friend’s face.

“You done there?” Tamlin asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Lucien’s grin only widened, “You’ll be alright Tam.”

Tamlin sighed, tipping his head back, “Yeah, but then there’s another issue.”

“Oh?”

“My parents are up my ass on ‘when I’m finally gonna settle down’.” Tamlin said through gritted teeth.

“Ah,” Lucien never had to deal with that particular problem. Being the seventh son came with some perks, his father had six other sons, ones that he preferred, to insist on getting married young.

“The only people who get plus ones are those in the wedding party, and when I’m the only one who doesn’t bring anyone, I’m going to be thrown to the wolves.”

“Will the wedding be near your parent’s place?”

“Yeah, it's nicer out there than in the city.”

Tamlin’s parents lived far out of the city, on an estate in the mountain region. It was a very nice area. Lucien had lived in the city his whole life, but he had visited out there with Tamlin when he was younger, and had enjoyed it immensely.

“How long you gonna be out there?”

“A month at least.” Tamlin huffed, “Baile wants me to help with the wedding preparation and be ‘on call for the whole event’.”

“Jesus,” Lucien muttered, “You’ve really got no one else you can take?”

“Everyone I know is spending the holidays with their families. And clearly I don’t have a girlfriend.”

Lucien fiddled with the handle of his coffee cup for a minute, then he had an idea.

“I could go with you.”

Tamlin blinked, staring at Lucien blankly for a moment, then he blinked again, “You sure?”

“Yeah, well it’s not like I’m doing anything for the holidays.” No, his father wouldn’t let him anywhere near his mother, and his brothers would be doing their own thing.

“Still. My family can be… a lot.”

“I know, and so can mine.” Lucien said, “Besides, it's the least I can do. You’re the one giving me a job.”

Tamlin shook his head, “There’s no debt Luce-”

“I know, but I want to support you. I could… I don’t know, help fight off your pest-like relatives.”

Tamlin laughed, “Would be nice to have someone to talk to who isn’t going to demand to know when I’m having kids.”

“Exactly, I’m great conversation.”

“I know.” Tamlin laughed, “Alright then, Vanserra, I’ll take you up on that offer.”

Lucien smiled, leaning back in his chair.

For the next hour, Tamlin proceeded to catch Lucien up on all the gossip happening in the office so he was ‘well informed on what he was getting into’. Apparently, the only trustworthy people were three of Tamlin’s friends. Andras, Bron and Hart. Andras was a general manager, and Bron and Hart were office workers. And between Tamlin and them, they formed NAFI, which Tamlin told Lucien stood for ‘Not a fuckin’ idiot’, which Lucien had laughed and laughed at.

Tamlin himself was the co-CEO of his father’s company, along with his eldest brother Baile. His father, like Beron, was the sole shareholder of his company, and, also like Beron, was a fuckin’ asshole, which was why Tamlin, and even Baile to some degree, were glad Elvin didn’t live in the city. Just spontaneously showed up out of nowhere to ‘strike fear into the hearts of us peasants’ as Tamlin put it.

Eventually, when Tamlin got a call from Baile demanding he come back into the office, they had to go.

Tamlin dropped Lucien off at his apartment, as he did, he rolled down the window and shouted out, “Welcome to NAFI council, Lucie!”

“Glad to be here, Tam.”

Tamlin was still laughing when he rolled up the window, and Lucien found himself giggling every time he thought about ‘NAFI’ all the way up to his apartment.

Lucien hummed to himself as he unlocked his apartment door and stepped into the warmth. Shucking off his coat he thought, maybe he wasn’t as doomed as he thought.

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