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[praetorqueenreyna]

To all the participants of Tamlin Week:

First of all, HI!! WE LOVE YOU!!! yall are so creative and dedicated, we are so proud of this corner of our fandom! As event mods, we feel like one of the most important things we can do during a fandom event is be supportive. Me (Reyna) and Lady Midnight will be doing what we can, by reblogging every post onto our personal blogs and added comments/kudos to all the fics.

Unfortunately, we cannot pause real life, not even during Tamlin Week. Both of us have had to work quite a bit this week. I especially have had NO TIME since I've been at sea most of the week, and am starting a long, strenuous field day tomorrow (I set my alarm for 4:30 AM tomorrow with hatred in my heart). This means that Lady Midnight has been handling every single submission to make sure it is reblogged to the Tamlin Week blog in a timely manner, with tags. Therefore, she also hasn't had much time to focus on actually enjoying the submissions.

All this to say, we appreciate you so much, even if that appreciation isn't being shown right now! We want to make sure we have time to really sit down and enjoy those fics and leave thoughtful comments, because you deserve them! We want time to really appreciate the beautiful art, moodboards, and poetry that you have spent the time making. That means that it'll probably take several weeks for us to go through every submission.

We have 2 requests at this point. One, please be patient with us, and know that your work brings us so much joy, and we will be able to share that with you soon. And two, please help us pick up the slack by supporting your fellow creators. Even a simple reblog with a heart emoji in the tags can mean everything to a creator, especially since we're all making content for an unpopular character. Leave replies, comments, send messages, write funny tags, etc, to make up for us mods not being able to right now.

You are all amazing, and let Tamlin Week continue!

[praetorqueenreyna]

Chapter summary: Tamlin's sentries remain vigilant as Amarantha's curse wears on

I decided to make the next chapter of lovely and lonely for Tamlin Week, Day 5: Shapeshifter! Click here to read on AO3, or continue reading below!

@tamlinweek

18 years after the curse

Branches and leaves rushed by on either side of Lucien’s field of view. His paws pounded against the ground, sending up a spray of earth when he made a sharp turn. As a High Fae he was faster, but there was nothing like running as a wolf. His body flexed and loosened, responding instinctively before he even made a conscious decision. At the speed he was going, tripping on a root would send him flying through the air. Luckily, wolves didn’t trip.

He had lost his pursuers after a few switchbacks and wading through the river. His pointed ears flickered, rotating to catch every whisper of the forest. He risked slowing down to a trot, red tongue hanging out of his mouth, panting. His breath steamed up in front of him in the cool morning air. Padding along, he put his nose to the ground and inhaled. He caught the scent of his quarry and took off in that direction. The scent was strong; he was close.

Suddenly, a shape barreled out of the trees from his left and slammed into him. With a yelp, Lucien tumbled head over heels, losing all sense of direction. Before he could come to his senses, his attacker slammed him in the chest with a pair of enormous black paws and howled triumphantly.

“Get off me,” Lucien snapped, shaking himself free.

“C’mon Luce, don’t be a sore loser,” the other wolf grinned, displaying wickedly sharp teeth. “I can’t believe you fell for that.”

The creature that Lucien had been seeking, a glorious golden wolf with elk antlers, emerged from the brush. “Did we win?” he asked as he sat down and began scratching under his chin with a hind foot.

“Not yet.” With a bound, Lucien leapt onto Tamlin, sending them both to the ground in a heap. Andras, the large black wolf, whooped with delight and joined the fray. Tamlin managed to wriggle free and take off running, and the chase began again.

Now that they no longer were sending fae across the Wall to fulfill Amarantha’s terms, the Spring Court had fallen into an uneasy limbo. The sentries patrolled the borders as usual, the citizens attempting to get back to their normal life. More and more dark beasts were making their way into the forest, and constant vigilance was required. Tamlin and Lucien spent hours every day poring over old manuscripts and sending messages to other enchanters, desperately searching for another way to break the curse. Still, more often than not, things felt right. Like nothing had ever happened.

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

34 years after the curse

When things were good, they were really good. Isolated from the other High Lords and usual Prythian politics and surrounded by those who knew what they were to each other, Tamlin and Lucien were in a blissful bubble. They held hands, they kissed, they drew each other into abandoned closets and hallways when the heat between them grew unbearable. Tamlin’s sentries loved him, and they had grown to love Lucien as well. When they were together, it was easy to forget how the rest of the world had fallen apart.

Unfortunately, Amarantha’s presence hovered over the land like a poisonous cloud, pressing in on their happiness. Whenever news came through of some new atrocity she had committed, Tamlin became withdrawn and surly. The monsters that she sent were attacking and killing his soldiers. Whenever it seemed things couldn’t get worse, they did. Just this morning, they had received a missive that three of the six High Lords being held captive had been executed, along with their families. Amarantha claimed that they had been conspiring against her. Who knew if that was even the case, or if she had concocted an imaginary plot in order to slake her thirst for violence.

Tamlin was inconsolable. He sprawled in his armchair, staring listlessly at the fire that Lucien had started with a wave of his hand. The only movement he made was to bring the glass of whiskey clutched in his hand up to his mouth. It wouldn’t be long before he discarded the glass in favor of the bottle. In this mood, there was nothing Lucien could do to comfort him. He thought that he needed to be miserable, that it was what he deserved.

Of course, that couldn’t stop Lucien from trying. He paced back and forth between Tamlin’s bedroom and sitting room, casting about for something, anything, that could drag his High Lord out of the darkness. On his fiftieth lap, his gaze landed on something that he had never dared try before.

“What are you doing?” Tamlin asked, too depressed to be suspicious when Lucien settled himself on the footstool next to him. His glazed expression sharpened when he realized what Lucien had in his hands.

“Cheering you up.” In all their time together, Lucien had never picked up Tamlin’s fiddle. It was something so personal, so deeply intertwined with the Spring Lord, that touching it would be tantamount to reaching into his chest and pulling out his heart. The instrument was heavier than he had expected, and it took some awkward finagling to get it braced under his chin. With his other hand, he drew the bow across the strings of the fiddle. Even he was surprised by the discordant wail that he produced—it was nothing like the light, elegant music that Tamlin was able to create. He struggled gamely onward, peering up at Tamlin through his eyelashes. At first, Tamlin merely looked confused. That quickly morphed into annoyance. He was clenching his jaw, the muscle in his cheek twitching every time Lucien played a particularly ear-splitting shriek.

“Give me that!” Tamlin lunged forward and snatched his precious instrument away, saving both it and their ears from Lucien’s offensive attempt at music.

“You didn’t like it?” Lucien asked, all innocent wide eyes.

“You’re a menace.” With a grumble, Tamlin settled the fiddle in its rightful place in the curve of his neck. He closed his eyes and began to play, a mournful dirge that made Lucien’s heart swell for reasons he couldn’t explain. Tamlin continued the song, which was not really a song but a melancholy story that rambled and swirled through the air like dandelion fluff. Lucien slid from his seat onto the floor, resting his chin on his folded arms that in turn rested on Tamlin’s thigh. He stared up at the High Lord, drinking in the flush on his cheeks and the soft smile that had emerged. Tamlin’s eyes were still closed, his blonde lashes laying prettily against his tanned skin.

The final notes of the song reverberated through the air. Tamlin laid his fiddle and bow down on the carpet next to his chair, alongside the abandoned whiskey bottle. “Come here,” he beckoned Lucien with a crooked finger. Lucien obeyed, crawling up Tamlin’s body and settling on his lap. It was his favorite place to be, curled up like a cat in Tamlin’s arms.

“You’re too good to me,” Tamlin murmured against his hair.

“Nothing’s too good for you.”

[praetorqueenreyna]

Second Bloom

A Tamlin POV of Lucien’s early days in the Spring Court.

Lucien leaned back, closing his eyes, and breathed in deeply. “Incredible. I’ll never get used to this.”

     “Maybe in a few decades.”

     “Never.” He fell back until he was against the trunk of the crabapple tree, its pink and white blossoms framing his golden-brown skin, red hair, and green-and-yellow jacket. A vision. Tamlin had never seen someone look so at home in the Spring Court. Whatever pain he was in, for the moment his face was awash in tranquility. Not a mask. Tamlin felt he truly did feel at peace, for a moment. And he wanted that for him. It was just strange to see his Court through someone else’s eyes. Every day was a revelation.

     A blossom came loose, and Lucien stuck out his tongue, letting it rest like a snowflake. After a moment, he closed his mouth around it, chewing it. And a memory was unlocked.

     “My…mother. Used to make jam from the blossoms.”

     “Apple dumplings,” Lucien replied. “In blackberry sauce.”

     “Hmm?”

     “My mother. When I was little…”

     A wind picked up, swaying between them. The blossoms would never fall completely. Buds would not turn to ripening apples. Deep crimson, and green, and pink. Falling to the earth with a soft thud.

     “We can get apples.”

     “No.” Lucien launched himself off the tree trunk with his foot. “I’m ready for something different. Continue the tour. I want to see everything.”

     They continued, walking leisurely through bluebell woods, carpets of periwinkle and violet. Oaks embraced by circlets of ivy, hawthorn tress whose scented white blossoms made Lucien scrunch up his nose in disappointment and distaste. Most of the time Tamlin merely pointed things out. He didn’t want to pry, and Lucien seemed content to take it all in. But the loneliness, and the sadness, were there, glimpsed at intervals as clouds passing, a shift in the wind. As the arc of the sun passed overhead, Lucien wiped his brow, and they walked into another wood of oak, birch, and beech, settling in amongst a sea of wild garlic. Lucien took off his coat and laid it on the ground, sitting on it and undoing the top button of his shirt. Tamlin hesitated a moment, seeing the shadow pass again. But the silence remained, and he joined him, sitting nearby and drawing up his knees to his chin, continuing to look at the world through Lucien’s eyes.

     “The weather’s even more capricious than in Autumn,” Lucien said.

     “Yes.” Winds of change, at a moment’s notice. He kept his coat on, shivering.

     Lucien eyed him. “You always wear a bandolier?”

     “I…” He seemed to notice these things. But he was not ready to talk on it yet, either. “Is it strange?”

     Lucien only looked at him, shaking his head, sensing. “I was just curious.” He turned away, leaning forward into the garlic. “Can I?”

     He sat up. “Go ahead. Anyone can forage here.”

     Lucien raised an eyebrow. “Just the garlic?”

     He huffed a laugh. “No. The Court.”

     “That’s different. My father—“ He stopped. “You have a Tithe here, right?” He gripped the stem, pulling it out in one quick motion.

     “Yes,” he sighed. “We do. That doesn’t mean I own every inch of this land. I’m its caretaker, its protector. Its—“

     Lucien took the stem of garlic, chewing on it. “Do you hunt those who can’t pay?”

     “I don’t…” He looked down, idly pulling on the grass. “I don’t hunt people.”

     Lucien looked at him, stopping what he was doing. “I was just joking. I don’t think you actually do.”

     “Before you came here?”

     “There were all sorts of rumors about you.”

     “I’m sure.”

     “But I don’t tend to care what other people think.”

     He wanted to add that perhaps they were right, but thought better of it. The air was sweet, and mild, and after a moment of looking at him, Lucien settled into place, casually chewing on the garlic stem, then lying down on his coat and closing his eyes. Such ease and tranquility he remembered feeling once, in another Court, and there was a pang in his heart. But he could not join him, feeling ill at ease. Remembering what bound him here.

     Instead he continued sitting upright, feeling tense, shivering at the wind whose sudden cold he had still not gotten used to. When the cold never settled in, when the warmth was always behind. When he thought there might be rest, for a moment.

     “Do you ever relax?” Lucien said, his eyes still closed, lying on the ground.

     “I’m High Lord.”

     “That’s not what I asked.”

     “I can’t. I don’t…have time.”

     “You have time now.”

     “Actually, we should probably get going. There has been a problem at the Wall.”

     Lucien sat up. “What problem?”

     “Humans, wanting to get in. Looking for the thin places.”

     Lucien looked down, as if understanding their impulse.

     “They’re not fae. They…it’s not that I mind them. But I…they don’t understand. They see a land of eternal Spring, and…anyway. Winter will be there soon enough. It’s understandable they’d think to come here. I suppose.” He got up. “Mostly children. Who were not alive when humans were enslaved. But who have relatives who remember. Yet they still…”

     “They have difficult lives. And it seems you’ve created a welcoming Court.” He stood up after him.

     “I thought I had done my job scaring people away.” Tamlin looked around at the idyllic landscape. “I’m tied to these lands. That’s what I mean when I say I don’t own them. They are me. But…” The wind picked up again. “If they truly reflected me…it would be winter here too.”

     A silence followed. He looked to Lucien, who was staring at him, wide-eyed. All of a sudden the corners of his mouth started to lift, blooming to a wide smile that quickly ripened to laughter.

     Tamlin looked down, turning red as Lucien’s laughter got louder and louder.

     “It’s,” he stifled a smile, crossing his arms. “It’s not that funny.”

     But Lucien only kept laughing, starting to walk out of the wood. He couldn’t help but chuckle.

     Lucien stopped, wiping his eyes, bending down over a grove of lily-of-the-valley. “Ahhh…” He breathed the scent in deeply. “These only bloom in Spring,” he said, getting up. “Not in winter.”

     Tamlin said nothing.

     “You’re a male of few words,” Lucien went on.

     “Sometimes. Usually because I get the response you just gave me.”

     “Don’t be so ridiculous, and you won’t.”

     Lucien walked on ahead, confident, beginning to know his way around. As if it were truly beginning to feel like home. Tamlin wondered how long it would take for him to change his mind. Like the children who desperately ran to his Court, until they learned the truth.

     As the manor came into view, Lucien diverted from the path, heading into the gardens. He had not spent much time showing them off. He cared for them meticulously—or he tried to—but he never lingered here. But he continued to follow Lucien’s lead, letting him do as he wished.

     “I should probably—“

     “What are these?” Lucien pointed to clusters of white flowers bordering the path to the garden.

     “Sweet alyssum.”

     Lucien bent down once again, smelling them. “Like honey.”

     “Yes. My mother planted everything here.”

     “It’s beautiful.” He began walking through. “And these?”

     “Uh…gillyflower, I think.” Scent like cloves. Lucien moved on. Asking after every flower, spending his time on each one.

     “This?”

     “Lady’s seal.”

     They passed iris and gardenia, daffodil and sweet pea. Lucien stopped again at a shower of wisteria, before moving on to the rose garden.

     “These are nice,” Lucien said. “What kind are these?”

     “Eglantine.”

     “Hmm…” He kept going.

     “I really do have to get back. You’re welcome to stay.”

     Lucien nodded at him idly. “Thank you…for the tour.”

     “It’s my pleasure.”

     “Have you thought of a position for me yet?” He asked, not looking up.

     “It…not yet. Soon. I’ll let you know. In the meantime I’ll familiarize you with more of the Court. We can go to the coast. There’s a pool the locals have taken to calling the Cauldron.”

     “Yes, I’ve heard of that. Selkies live there, don’t they?”

     “Yes. They go between here, and—“ he stopped, unable to say the word.

     “Hybern?”

     “Yes,” he sighed, tensing. “Anyway. Enjoy the gardens.”

     Lucien nodded to him.

     “And…I don’t hunt down the humans. I just want to protect them.”

     “From what?”

     “Me.”

     Lucien looked on him sadly, but Tamlin did not stay to hear anything else. He was already being ridiculous. The more he talked, the more Lucien would be turned off. He had been lured here, like those desperate children, with the promise of relief, and succor, and an end to their problems. But there was no paradise here. No end to suffering. It was merely dressed in sweet scents, and bright colors, luring them like bees or moths, until they realized it was not a bellflower, or honeysuckle, but a nepenthes, trapping them inside, feeding on them. He would learn, as the others had, in time.

     But that laughter. That full-throated, hearty laughter that rang throughout the wood. It wasn’t mean. Not mocking, like he had been used to. He didn’t think Lucien had a cruel bone in his body. He set everyone at ease here. Even himself, for a moment. And he hadn’t felt like that in a very long time.

     That night, the laughter rang in his head like the singing of bluebells. He dreamt of them. Of the laughter. Of hands in the garden. Of his burying them. Of it spreading, from the heart outwards. One by one. The eglantine, the briar. Pink tulips, and gentian. One after the other, wilting and browning and falling to the dirt. His mother’s gardens, and the meadows, and the wood, to the very end, to the coast. A blight spreading through his whole Court. Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first. And then faster and faster, cresting like a wave, all the way to Hybern.

     He woke up in a sweat. He felt a moment of panic, trapped, until he realized he had run his claws through another set of sheets. He retracted them, sighing, and threw the sheets off. Every time he had woken up since he had become High Lord, he felt it, momentarily, the panic of where he was. The darkness, and the trapped feeling, needing to get out. And then the pull of the earth, dragging him down. He would struggle against it fruitlessly for a moment, an overturned beetle. And then give in, becoming limp. Letting himself settle against it. The thorns wrapping round, and digging into his flesh, and melding with his bones. Piercing his skin, as claws.

     He wanted Lucien to feel safe here, cared for, while he recovered. Welcomed. But he didn’t want him to feel settled here. To sink in, and be buried alive. Choked in blossoms and scent, while he festered inside. He wanted him to feel free, to do anything. Go anywhere.

           He could tell Lucien noticed his reluctance to name a position for him, in the days that followed. Lucien would ask, casually. And he would say he was thinking about it. And continue to familiarize him with Spring. And Lucien’s wonder, and appreciation for everything that surrounded him did not lessen. No hesitation, or boredom, or annoyance made its way in. But it only made him worry rather than reassure him. It was not good to fit in here.

     Finally, they made their way to the western coast. They walked its beaches, its cliffs, and he showed him the Cauldron, where a pod of selkies rested with their young. He had always felt a sort of kinship with them. Shapeshifters as he was, and usually wary of outsiders. And not liking to be tied down. Lucien hailed them, but they only looked curiously, and headed out to sea. He and Lucien followed after with their eyes as the selkies disappeared from sight, past the horizon to the specter of Hybern.

     “You haven’t shown me the villages here,” Lucien said, after they had stood in silence for a time. 

     His voice took awhile to hit him, mingling as it did with the wind whipping his ears. He loved how it could shut his mind off, covering him in a kind of cocoon.

     “Tamlin?”

     “Hmm? Oh, yes.” He suddenly remembered Lucien’s reputation. “I’m sorry. I’m not that…social.”

     “I’ve gathered.”

     Once Lucien met people, he would be further enmeshed here. But perhaps it was good—he must already be getting bored, and restless. He would not be enough himself. Eventually, Lucien would tire of him, and this place.

     “Tomorrow.”

     “Alright.”

     He thought Lucien would protest more, but he seemed to accept it, perhaps content with his reassurance, and the promise of what was to come.

     He hardly slept that night, tossing and turning. He kept seeing mountains, craggy hills, and forests of juniper and pine. And suspicious, warning looks. The caverns around the Cauldron were filled with bats, who entangled themselves in his hair, and bit at his neck, and drove him over the edge. He floated on the waves, the current dragging him, until he was pulled to the shore, long nails and red hair overhanging like algae. And a voice to his ear telling him he was finally home. And there was a castle, and there were tethers tightening around his wrists, and his neck. He couldn’t breathe, and he pushed against them—

     He woke up. Another torn set of sheets. He threw them off again, and leaned forward, his hair falling in front of him. And his head in his hands.

       “We don’t really have big cities here. I don’t know how interesting it will be,” he said as they set out on horseback the next day.

     Lucien looked at him wryly. “Will you let me decide that?”

     “I—“

     But Lucien had already set off, his hair flying behind him. Tamlin followed after, smiling slightly with the thrill, and the freedom. The breaking up of the earth underneath, and the drive forward.

     Lucien turned to him when he had caught up. “We have villages in the Autumn Court, too. That’s where Jes—“ He stopped, and his horse slowed to a trot, his head hanging slightly.

     It was the first time Lucien had even started to speak of her. It had been weeks.

     “Anyway,” he went on quickly. “I’m sure the villages are lovely here.”

     “They are, but I—“ He stopped.

     Lucien stared at him, waiting.

     “Nothing. Come on.”

     He led the way. The landscape of the Spring Court was largely of farmland—greens and rhubarb, spinach and radish. Berries and apricots. Herbs. Massive flower farms. Many traded with the other seasonal Courts. Even Autumn. Others raised sheep and cattle. And there were rolling hills dotted with idyllic cottages of stone mined from the region; the older houses had taken on a gold patina over time. As with everywhere else, Lucien remarked on the beauty of the area, the golden hue of the cottages reflected in his skin, accentuating his eyes. Tamlin rode through the towns and villages with him, introducing him but hanging back while Lucien spoke to everyone they passed. Asking their names, what they did. Quickly falling into a rapport with them. One after another. His own mare shook her head in impatience, sensing his anxiety and eagerness to flee. He soothed her, forcing himself to relax as well as he watched Lucien—so at ease already. Occasionally Lucien would look back, as if to see if he was alright, and he would give a reassuring smile back. And then Lucien seemed content to talk with the villagers, for hours. When he finally trotted back to him, he was more animated than he’d seen him yet, his eyes sparkling. Tamlin couldn’t help but smile in response, charmed as the villagers had been.

     “At this rate it will take years to get through every village,” he said.

     “Like I said—I’m not going to get bored.”

     “What did you talk about?”

     Lucien grinned, a mischievous look in his eyes, and rode on.

     He felt a wave of discomfort and self-consciousness, looking towards the village for a moment before following on. As if Lucien already knew the Spring Court better than he did.

     It continued like that for days. He continued to stay at a distance, watching Lucien bring life and light to each village as he had to the manor. He wanted to thank him, and remembered that, in the human world, in the solar Courts, Autumn was soon to start. A time celebrated as one of thanks. There were harvest festivals in honor of this all over the Autumn Court, the air rich with spices and the bounty of the land. Different villages would cook their signature dishes. Lucien had yet to mention his home, or his family, since almost speaking the name of his beloved. But Tamlin thought he saw a dimming of the light in him, as if the angle of it had deepened with the sun’s waning, and the shadows lengthening. Every day a little bit darker. He could not judge Lucien’s reluctance—he himself could hardly bear to speak of his mother. But there had been no word from the forest house. And he knew Lucien would be homesick. He had to be. And he thought of the peace of him surrounded by crabapple blossoms, and thought to bring it to him—the gold, and the warmth, and the sun.

     His heart raced the morning of the equinox. Light had been behind his eyes, he had dreamt of the sun. And when he awoke, he was glowing—a rare lapse in the leash he kept around his own power. He shook it off, and dressed, and waited.

     Everyone in the manor was in awe at the display. In every room, throughout the halls, spilling out of doors—anemone and dahlias. Carnations and aster. Mums, coneflowers, and zinnia. Reds and purples and oranges and yellows. He usually wasn’t much for ostentatious display.  But he had felt compelled. He waited anxiously in the dining hall for Lucien to arrive.

     “Lucien!” He said rather loudly, standing up when he finally arrived. Lucien started in response, almost in a daze.

     “What—“

     “Sit, please.” He ordered breakfast to be brought.

     Lucien stared at the bowl before him. “Apple…dumplings.”

     “In blackberry sauce, just like—“

     “Yes.”

     “I know it won’t be as good as what you’re used to, but—“

     “Tamlin…” Lucien looked up from his food at the display of sunflowers in the center of the table, and there was a look of unfathomable sadness on his face.

     “Uh—“ He indicated the serving girl to leave them. She looked at Lucien, then at him, an awkward expression on her face, then left the room, closing the door behind her.

     “Are you alright?” He asked, tentatively.

     A tear slid down Lucien’s cheek. It was the first time Tamlin had seen him cry since he had first arrived. Every other time the shadow had passed, or he had banished it, shaking it off with a laugh, plunging into each new experience. But this was the great equal. Light, and shadow. Soon, the darkness would overwhelm.

     “It’s just—those were Jes’ favorite flowers.”

     “I—“ He slumped in his chair. He was an idiot. “I’m sorry. I’ve upset you.”

     Lucien breathed in deeply. “No, it—“ He laughed, blinking as the tears continued to fall. “This smells good.”

     Tamlin watched him, waiting. Lucien trembled a moment. Then wiped his eyes, and picked up a fork and knife, cutting into the dumplings. “They’re good,” he said.

     “I’m sure they’re not like home,” he said softly.

     “No, try them. I don’t want you to just sit there watching me eat.”

     “I’m sorry.”

     Lucien looked at him until he picked up his fork. It was delicious—he would have to compliment the cook—though his palate was trained for what bloomed in Spring.

     They ate in silence, and though he knew Lucien found it annoying, he could not help but look at him at intervals—over and over—hoping for a different look, for the joy to return to his face. But at least he didn’t vomit, or gag in disgust. He finished everything. Tamlin remembered when he would hardly eat at all. When he couldn’t do anything.

     He looked down at his own plate. He had managed to finish too. He dreaded the conversation they would have now. How thoughtless he had been.

     But Lucien stood up instead. That was right. He would leave now.

     “Tamlin?”

     “Yes?”

     “Walk with me.”

     “Alright.” He sighed, and stood up, his face growing hot as they walked out into the flower-filled halls.

     “It’s beautiful. Really.”

     “You don’t have to say that. I can see it upsets you.”

     “Why did you do this? All of this?”

     “I—I thought you might want a reminder of home, on—“

     “The equinox? Do you celebrate it here?”

     “Nominally. It’s not really…”

     “A Spring Court thing? Yeah.”

     “On the border, mostly—“ He stopped. Another painful reminder. But Lucien didn’t react.

     “You really went all out.”

     “You seem to like flowers.”

     “It’s not—“ He stopped, walking outside to where there were boxes of marigolds, black-eyed susans, and zinnias. He plucked one of the zinnias, attaching it to a buttonhole, and smiled at some potted allium. Then looked at him.

     “They are beautiful, Tam. Really.”

     He smiled.

     “Can I call you Tam?”

     “No one has in quite a while. But yes. You can call me that.”

     “These. All of this.” He gestured around. “It’s beautiful. I do appreciate the gesture. And…I haven’t wanted to face—I’m still not ready.”

     “I know. I’m sorry.”

     “You don’t have to keep—“ He looked again at the purple globes of the allium. “You know these can only be planted in Autumn?”

     “…Yes.”

     “They’re, beautiful, Tam. But they’re not me. I don’t know that they’ve ever been—“ He looked at the sentries nearby, and walked on. Tamlin followed behind, giving him space.

     After a time, walking towards the rolling hills, he went on.

     “I love my home. I miss it. Every day—I don’t miss them.”

     His father and brothers. He nodded in understanding.

     “But it’s not…the land. Not really. I do love to be in nature. I think I feel…most at home in it. But it was the people. The villages, in my—Autumn. It was who I met there. It was the fields of sunflowers towards Summer—but not the flowers—it was seeing them with her. It’s not the flowers of Spring, or their scent. It’s who I’m viewing them with. Who made—makes them grow. Who nurtures, and protects them. Who gets joy from seeing them. You know, I did talk to the villagers about you.”

     “And what did they say?” He tried not to sound too anxious, but he saw Lucien smile slightly in response, sensing it.

     “Well, they said you’re not exactly…” He cleared his throat. “Approachable.”

     Tamlin looked away, crossing his arms.

     “Yes,” Lucien chuckled. “Like that. But…they know you care deeply for them. That you would do anything for them. That you’ve provided for them. Protected them. Despite how you…your early days…you chose them. And they know that. I chose this, Tam. I came here, of my own free will. Like I said before. I could have gone to Winter, or Summer.”

     “Wasn’t this closest?”

     He rolled his eyes. “Come on, you’re missing my point. Whatever people said about you—he’s a beast, he’s a monster. Instinctively, I knew I would be safe here. I still feel that way.”

     “I—I’m glad.”

     “Are you sure? You don’t want me to leave?”

     “No, I—“ He felt a tug on his heart. “Don’t leave. I’m sorry if I haven’t made you feel welcome.”

     “No, you have. But you need to stop apologizing for existing. For this Court. I want to be here.”

     “I’m so—“ He stopped himself.

     Lucien only smiled, and kept walking.

     “Autumn will always be a part of me. My mother…Jes…but I’m here now. However it happened. I have to embrace it, Tam. Everything. I have to. Do you understand?”

     He looked at him. Lucien had let his emotions come to the surface for a moment. A moment of trust, and vulnerability, that he could not betray.

     “Yes.”

     “I get the feeling, you feel like an outsider in your own Court. Like you don’t belong. Is that fair?”

     “Yes.”

     “Then that makes us two exiles in the Spring Court.”

     He bent down to admire a patch of snowdrops. “You are not your father and brothers. I am not mine.”

     Tamlin kneeled down next to him, suddenly feeling the pull of the earth.

     “You have in your Court a flower that blooms in the Spring and Autumn.” Lucien glanced at him. “Roses.”

     “Yes. Among others.”

     “So. Let us decide. To transplant ourselves. Put down roots.” He sat down next to him. “You may not feel like it, but the land is reflective of you. It’s a place I want to put roots down in. We can make this Court into anything we want. You’ve already transformed it from what it was under your father.”

     “I’ve tried. Not enough.”

     “Then let us resolve today to try harder.” He held out his hand. After a moment, Tamlin took it.

     “Good.” They shook, and Lucien released him, settling back on the earth.

     “I’ve…been thinking…” Tamlin breathed in, and out. He had made a deal, after all. “About a position for you.”

     “Court jester?”

     “No,” he laughed. “Though I wouldn’t doubt you’d excel at it.”

     Lucien smiled. “So, what is it, then?”

     “Well…you certainly have a way with words. The way you are with people…me…I sometimes…find it difficult…talking to people.”

     “You don’t say.”

     He rolled his eyes. “Lucien.”

     “Sorry, sorry. Go ahead.”

     “And with your reputation…getting along with the other Courts…I thought…would you like to be my emissary—the Spring Court emissary, I mean?”

     “Yes.”

     “…You don’t want to think about it? It would mean…at some point…going to Autumn.”

     “I’m not afraid of them.”

     “Good. Because I can’t think of anyone else I’d like to be the face of the Spring Court. Certainly no one who could make it look as good.”

     Lucien smiled to himself, looking at the ground, then looked up at him. “You’re not always so bad with words.”

     “Once in a great while.”

     They fell into silence again. He looked at the snowdrops, Lucien joining him. A moment’s pause, before the work began. The first flower of Spring, on the first day of Autumn. It fit, somehow. And he felt as if he could—reach down, from the tips of the blossoms, deep into the earth, instead of the pull from below. That he could direct it. Like a gardener, he supposed.

     And not alone.

@tamlinweek 2024 Day Three: Flower Language

[praetorqueenreyna]

Hedonism

Welcome back for day three of Tamlin Week, today's prompt I went with both. Prompts- Flower language, and Mates. Though I used them quite loosely in this fiction.

This oneshot is focusing around Tamlin reconciling with his feelings about Lucien and taking action finally to attempt to fix what he has lost. He has never been good with words, and much less any kind of relationship. But for Lucien he will try. For Lucien he has to try.

You can read on Ao3 or below the cut!

Warning- Explicit Mature Content.

The sun was on the edge of the horizon, a few minutes from slipping below the line of the glittering sea when Tamlin landed in Day. The white marble, sandstone and gold gleamed in the dusk light. A smatter of pinks and yellows smeared over the picturesque city. His own golden hair gleamed in the light. The gold in his eyes like spots of sunlight as he looked upon the Palace of gems and carved marble. 

The guards standing as sentries either side of the large gilded doors shared a glance. Neither showing any signs of recognition when they looked upon the disgraced High Lord. The disappointment of his father, and his father before him. It was a sigh of relief to for once not be seen as the Lord of the Spring Lands. 

Tonight he had braided his hair with forget-me-nots, marigolds and bluebells. Spilling down the plain white shirt he wore. A simple beige coat overtop, and black pants. Daggers nowhere to be seen tonight, only a leather satchel slung over his chest. Gripping the leather strap tightly, he lowered his head and looked through his long, blond eyelashes at the guards. Walking slowly up the stairs. 

“Your business here?” The one on the left, a male dressed in armour from head to toe, but with a peek of dark gold hair underneath his helmet. 

“I am here to see the Lord Lucien Van- SpellCleaver.” Tamlin corrected himself quickly. 

The guards both scrutinised him. But ultimately didn’t seem to think he was lying. Lucien had spies and sources scattered all throughout Prythian, it wasn’t an unlikely story that he was one of those. 

One guard called for an escort to take Tamlin into the Palace. Two new guards flanking him as he was led through winding hallways covered in finary. With statues of females and males lounging amongst their own nakedness, and art of swirling colours hanging from the pristine walls. 

Thesan’s Palace was grander, but Day held a hedonistic, lightly charged sense of finary. That Tamlin didn’t feel he belonged in. Lucien certainly did, the male was the definition of hedonistic. 

With scarlet hair that fell in thick, shiny waves over his shoulders, spilling down his back. Gleaming dark skin that glowed in afternoon sunlight. Amber eyes that shone with tame wickedness, even that scar added a hint of cruelty that only added to roughen his sharp appearance. Making him appear like a freshly sharpened blade. 

With a build made to wield weapons with effortless grace it was no wonder he resembled one. Tamlin looked down at the rolled out carpet across the tiled floors. All swirling gold and white. 

He was a smear of mud in an otherwise perfect painting. He shouldn’t have come here tonight. 

Eventually they faced a large dark oak door. Silence rang through the world, and Tamlin’s hand twitched. The servant, with fluttering wings and dark skin, who had been his escort, knocked three times in rapid succession. 

“Enter.” A muffled voice called, and Tamlin’s heart throbbed against his ribcage. He knew that voice so, so well. 

The delicate wrist of the Day Faery opened the golden handle, and the door swung open. Letting Tamlin take in the dappled sunshine breathing through the large open windows of the office. It was simple, simpler than the rest of the grand palace, but just as tasteful. With white lounges and dark wood furniture. And every wall that was not a window was a display case for dozens, if not hundreds of books. 

Lucien didn’t look up from his desk, as he scribbled away at writing some kind of letter. His slender fingers stained with black ink. A smudge under his eye, and on his cheek. His hair was held back by a red satin band. And he wore a long loose red silk robe with swirls of gold, open over his chest. 

“What is it?” Lucien asked, not looking up. 

“You have a visitor, my Lord.” The servant said, bowing low. 

“I do-” Lucien cut himself short as he finally looked up. 

“Everyone leave.” Lucien ordered, standing up to reveal the loose knot at his waist. 

In a second, the guards and servant scattered out, the door clicking shut behind Tamlin. His heart thundering as Lucien stepped away from behind his desk, robe swishing with every movement. His long hair fluttered behind him, strands of wine red hair glowing dark in the dying sunlight. He stared at Tamin, those glowering amber eyes not looking at his face but rather fixated on the flowers in his hair. 

“Tamlin.” Lucien said, as he made his way to a white lounge. Effortlessly draping himself over the blankets tossed lazily across it. A blank expression in his face, but his eyes revealed the true expanse of emotions hiding behind his false indifference, “What brings you from the South to the Solar Courts.”

“Are we really playing this game?” Tamlin asked with a cocked eyebrow, truly his hands began to tremble, so he folded them behind his back. Lucien’s eyes darted to the motion as a cruel smile slipped over his face, he knew, the bastard always knew. 

“Yes we are.” Lucien murmured, “You ensured it the last time I was in Spring. That we were back to these games.”

The last time Tamlin had laid eyes on Lucien. When they had fought so ferociously, both losing themselves to suppressed anger and the trauma they desperately hid from the eyes of others. Lucien had spat venomous words that in hindsight Tamlin knew he hadn’t meant. But in the moment, they had struck true. 

His magic had lost control once again. Falling prey to the insane beast writhing within him. He hadn’t meant to, but he’d done it all the same. Lucien had left with bruises and cuts, the most prominent of them all a blackened eye. 

Tamlin had run for him, but Lucien was gone with tears in his eyes before he could get a word out. 

“I didn’t mean it.” Tamlin whispered softly, "Truly I didn’t.”

“Doesn’t matter though does it?” Lucien hissed, “I know you can’t control your magic Tamlin, it wasn’t about the injury. For fuck’s sake, I broke your arm once on accident during sparring. But fucking Cauldron on earth and Mother in sky, I apologised right after.”

Tamlin kept his mouth shut and his eyes forward. Taking everything he said. 

“You’ve taken two years Tamlin, two fucking years. Two years of me thinking everything we had was truly thrown away, and now you come here thinking you can make it alright with an apology?” Lucien stood, gracefully smooth, that scarlet silk caressing his naked skin underneath. 

He said nothing, just waiting, waiting as Lucien watched him with those cunning, sharp eyes. Staring him down like he was deciding whether to ask him to leave or to punch him in the face. Neither Tamlin would have hated him for. 

Lucien waited for his response too, and when it was clear Tamlin wasn’t saying anything. He stalked forward. Head high and eyes locked in on green. The sun’s rays disappearing behind the horizon. 

Tamlin’s eyes trailed up and down Lucien, “Is it thrown away?”

For once during this entire conversation, Lucien looked at a loss for words. As if he had practised this encounter a hundred times over in the mirror, like Tamlin wasn’t following the script he had out, “What?”

“Is it thrown away? Is everything we used to be just,” Tamlin made a flitting gesture, “Gone.”

Silence echoed like thunder through the room. The room began to darken, as the sun was almost fully set. The pinks it left behind slowly dimming and giving way to deep purple and endless midnight blue. 

“I don’t know.” Lucien whispered.

Tamlin didn’t know either, he just knew he had to make this right. One way or another. Find someway to fix this. There was hope, Lucien hadn’t thrown him out yet, he was standing right in front of him. Telling him off as he had done for years. 

In those burning amber eyes, there was want. Lucien had waited for this day, so there must be some part of him that wanted it. 

And Tamlin needed to take advantage of the opportunity he had. To rekindle what they had lost, what in part had been taken from them, and in part he had neglected. 

But there were no words that he had that could fix this. No magic he possessed that could rebuild their relationship right this second. 

So Tamlin instead said something he knew Lucien would want to hear anyway, “The bar down in Summer is closing.”

Lucien blinked at him, surprised once more, Tamlin put the cherry on top, “It’s their last night open, they have a deal going. Three shots for the price of one.”

That bar was owned by two Lords who had moved to working in Tarquin’s Court. Tamlin had known them as long as he had been of drinking age. And knew they had a large supply of cheap alcohol that needed getting rid of quickly.

There was a heartbeat of silence, followed by another. 

Lucien turned on his heel and headed for a door that when it swung open, revealed his sleeping quarters. He slammed the door shut and Tamlin flinched, blinking at the door.

A grin curled on his lips as Tamlin counted in his head. 

10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. 

The door swung open again and Lucien was fully dressed. Simple and mostly plain. A billowing white shirt with black pants. A golden drop hung from one ear, and a simple necklace with a blood red ruby dangled around his throat. 

“Off we go.” Lucien said, already heading for the door. 

And Tamlin was quick to follow. 

Disappearing from Day, they left the rich smells and salaciously, tasteful erotic air behind. Exchanging it for one of loud ruckus, the reek of cheap alcohol, and smoke thick air. 

Tamlin didn’t bat an eye as he walked from the old, chipped away street just on the outskirts of the Summer Court into the small half-broken door of the bar sitting like a hole in the line of old, old buildings. But from the corner of his eye, he watched Lucien’s back suddenly straighten, his face souring as his nose scrunched and his eyes narrowed. 

This, this felt more like him. Dirty, depraved and awful. A stain on the floor. It wasn’t Lucien though. May have been what he felt like years ago, but now as he had been reunited with his mother, with his brothers. And brought to a place that he clicked like the last piece of a puzzle, it wasn’t him any longer. 

It didn’t stop him though, from walking beside Tamlin into the crowded, roaring bar. 

The Lords of this place had neglected it for a while, leaving it all to be run by the two managers in charge. Once they made their way up the imperial ladder, they were finally closing it down. In all honesty the place was overrun by criminals, and should have been shut down ages ago. 

But the drunk violence, the selfish greed all around, the haze of drugs outlawed by the Court they were in and the unrestricted amount of drinks that poured from the bar, was something Tamlin needed to be able to forget. He knew it was disgusting. He knew he was partially hated by it. But he was a selfish man and that much he could admit. 

Lucien wasn’t though, which was why he seemed so out of place. 

But one thing was for sure. In the depraved darkness of this place, there was only a hunger for something to forget the days before and the days to come. To give in to the young of the night and let the swirling midnight haze sweep through the mind. As such, the formal resentment between High and Lesser Fae slipped away in this place. Turning a mix of cliques. Either those looking for a good fight to work out the tension of their work day, or those looking for a good fuck to work out their unmet need for pleasure. 

So Tamlin and Lucien elbowed their way through both High and Lesser Fae. Until they found two thankfully empty seats right at the bar counter. 

Both quickly stole away a place, and let their heavy selves rest against the countertop. The bartender looked up to see them. A lesser faery named Laurel, with white wings that were tinted pink at the edges. She had pale pink skin and an arrangement of flowers falling from her white hair. Despite the loveliness of her appearance. Laurel was also tall, taller than Tamlin, and stronger than him too. He knew that only because of the time he had drunkenly pushed a male down against the bartop and sucked him off on the spot. That night Laurel had to pick him and the male up and throw them outside. 

She saw them and waved with a big grin on her face. In a second she had three shots poured out and all were in front of them in a second. 

“Tam, long time no see.” She yelled over the crowd. 

“Good to see you too, Laurel!” He told her back, he then clasped Lucien’s shoulder and asked, “You remember Lu, right?”

“Yeah, course I remember Lucy.” She smiled at Lucien who waved back. 

“Yell out when you want more drinks, boys, there's plenty more that needs to go.” She said, then her eyes went to two males getting too rough at a table, “I gotta go sort that out, safe drinking!”

Tamlin laughed as he watched her brace a hand on the counter and swing herself over. Running to separate the two. 

As Tamlin turned around, he saw Lucien pick up the small glass, the clear liquor staring up at him. He knocked it back and winced as he did. But quickly took up the next. Tamlin grabbed his own before Lucien got too carried away. 

They said nothing as they waited for Laurel to be done dealing with the bastards fighting. She hopped back over the counter and wordlessly poured them more, before getting back to her own job, the next three were gone in a moment and this time Tamlin took two shots and Lucien one. 

Slowly, the bar began to quiet down. Turning to a buzz around them as the alcohol began to take effect. Laurel had scared the shit out of the noisiest of the lot, so everyone began to return to their own drinking and hiding in the corners away from her cunning eyes for a quick handjob. 

“So…” Tamlin started, he knew they needed to talk, but he didn’t know how to approach it. 

“Let’s play a drinking game.” Lucien stated, Tamlin blinked. 

Slowly, the blond breathed out, “Okay, what’s the game?”

Lucien lifted his empty shot glass to grab Laurel’s eye, and waited until she poured another three before disappearing again. 

“We talk about this.” He said, “And anytime one of us lies, sugarcoats it, or otherwise tries to hide what we think. You have to take a shot.”

This was dangerous. This was so, so dangerous. 

But if they didn’t do something, Tamlin was going to lose him forever anyway, so. 

Fuck it. 

“Okay.”

“Good, I’ll go first. I hate that I ever met you.”

Tamlin gritted his teeth, as his eyes gleamed. But it wasn’t hatred that curled in his gut, rather a fire that began to stoke itself up and up. 

So that’s how they were to play. 

Fine. 

“I hate that I ever met you.”

A growl loosened from behind the Day Heir’s teeth, “I hate that I learned to care for you at all.”

“I hate that I loved you enough to take you in.”

Lucien gripped the counter, “I hate that I loved you enough to defend you in front of Amarantha.”

“I hate you for going even though I told you time and time again it was a bad idea. That wouldn’t keep your mouth shut.” Tamlin carved a line in the counter with his claw, leaning back on the stool. 

“I hate you for coming after me right before I could finally let you go.” Lucien said, staring into the old chipping wood. 

“I hate that I didn’t force you to the continent when Amarantha struck.” Tamlin whispered. 

Lucien swallowed, “I would never have gone. And if you forced me it would have made me hate loving you more.”

“We are a tragedy, and it’s all my fault.” Tamlin breathed out. 

“No, it’s not.” The redhead told him, “It’s not all your fault.”

“Every scar you have is because of me, I mutilated you.” Tamlin told him. 

“No.” As soon as the word slipped from his mouth, Lucien reached over and took a shot. Throwing his head back, the red of his hair all slipped down his back. Throat bobbing as he swallowed. He slammed the glass back onto the counter and wiped his mouth aggressively, “Every scar I have is because of you. And it’s because of how much I fucking love you.”

“I hate you because I can’t fucking hate you!” Tamlin yelled, grinding his teeth together and squeezing his eyes shut so tightly they pulsed with pain.

“Well I hate you because no matter what, I can’t forget who you were to me. You are everything in me. You’re twisted around me, I can’t even look at a fucking tree without thinking of you!” Lucien stood up to look at him. 

“I hate there was nothing I could do.” A tear spilled down over Tamlin’s face, “I hate that no matter what, no matter who tells the story, there were so many times where there was nothing else I could do. I already begged Amarantha to spare you, I already tried to get you away from your brothers. I couldn’t stop what she did to your eye.”

Lucien whispered, “I hate that I couldn’t make it all stop. I hate that I couldn’t help you.”

“I hate that I made it so hard for you.” Tamlin murmured back, “I hate that in the end you even stopped yelling at me. You used to do that everyday.”

For once, a smile slipped over Lucien’s face. One pure and real and genuine. 

“We haven’t lost it all.” Lucien said, sitting back down, “We aren’t all gone.”

“What else can we do?” Tamlin asked. 

Lucien didn’t respond as he took another shot. Tamlin followed suit. As he did his head spun and the light in his eyes swam. 

Then he felt a pair of hot hands on his shoulders, making him turn to face Lucien. The male seemed closer than before. As if he had moved his chair across to be nearer. 

“I remember your hair.” Lucien whispered into the space between them, “I remember how much you liked me brushing it, or braiding it, or weaving flowers into it.”

He was silent then, as his index finger lifted to curl a fallen lock of blond strands around it. 

“I remember your skin.” Tamlin told him, “I remember each and every mark and freckle. And how you shiver when I run my finger down your neck like this.”

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the longing for his friend back, or even the repressed sexual need. Perhaps all three. Either way, Tamlin boldly moved his hand, trailing his fingers down from Lucien’s jaw, over the sensitive flesh of his dark throat, as expected, as he touched, Lucien shuddered. His soft, supple skin prickling underneath his fingertips. 

Tamlin stopped at the edge of his collar. Then let his hand fall away, before he rasped, “I remember that night right here, when I took you on the counter and we got thrown out because of it.”

Lucien’s breath was sucked from him, as his pretty face, all flushed pink from alcohol. Darkening in colour as he too remembered that night. 

Because Lucien was the male Tamlin sucked off that night. Too many drinks in, laughing and grabbing at each other. Getting hot and riled up. Lucien’s hot hands had slid over his shirt, eventually finding underneath the fabric. Tamlin’s mouth pressed into his neck, and large hands went up and down his thighs. Both had come to some kind of agreement not long before, that they explore the parts of them they had never been able to before. The parts that made them stare a little too long at the training sentries, the parts they had been told time and time again to hide in shame. 

Then, they had gone further in their explorations than ever before. Lucien’s hands found his chest and started groping him while whispering every dirty thought that went through his pretty head. And Tamlin lost his mind. 

In a haze of what must have been stupidity, drunkenness and pure lust. He pushed Lucien back onto the bartop, Lucien’s nimble fingers had unlaced his trousers in a second to spare them from being ripped by Tamlin’s claws. 

Tamlin’s body, running entirely on lust, had moved quicker than his thoughts. His head had gone down, and before he could even process his own actions, silky skin pierced his lips and flooded his mouth. Filling his throat as his eyes had rolled back. Lucien’s head had thrown back, moaning as he grabbed Tamlin’s hair and fucked up into his mouth. 

After being thrown out, they hadn’t talked of that day again, but Tamlin had never forgotten it. And from the wide-eyed look on Lucien’s face, he hadn’t forgotten it either. 

“Tamlin.” Lucien released his breath so carefully slow. Holding onto his control as much as he could. 

“Yes?” Tamlin ducked his head, pressing his lips to the same spot he had all those decades ago. 

“Mm, fuck.” Lucien bit his lip as his head tipped to the side. 

This was so dangerous. They shouldn’t be doing this. After everything that had gone down they shouldn’t be doing this. 

It just made Tamlin want it more.

He pressed a gentle kiss to Lucien’s skin. Before his tongue darted out and drew a line up to his jaw, before he bit into his skin. A sudden noise left Lucien’s throat, and those hot fucking hands moved. Lucien pulled Tamlin’s shirt out of his pants and immediately went under. Sliding up his skin and finding his nipples. Rolling the stiff buds between his fingers, pinching roughly. Tamlin groaned into his neck and bit down on the fleshy part of his neck and shoulder, harder than he meant too. Causing Lucien to squeeze his eyes shut as he suddenly jolted and moaned. 

One of his hands started groping Tamlin, while the other tugged his hard nipple. Leaning close to Tamlin’s ear, he whispered, “I remember how you moaned like a bitch when I did this.”

Suddenly, Lucien bit the tip of Tamlin’s very, very sensitive ear, and the blond Faery cried out. Trying to muffle himself on Lucien's shoulder. His hands went to Lucien’s thick thighs and started squeezing the hard muscles there. As he mouthed at his neck. 

Lucien licked up and down along the point of his ear, teasing the skin with his talented tongue. All the while his fucking fingers played with his nipples, hands occasionally swapping sides, one to grope, one to toy with the buds. 

“I hate how fucking hot you are.” Lucien breathed out. 

“That’s a lie.” Tamlin pointed out with a grin, “Take a shot.”

Lucien leaned back a little, regarding Tamlin with a fox’s smile, “Wicked.”

“Not as much as you.” Tamlin replied. 

Lucien licked his lips, as he slid his hands out. Making Tamlin shiver at the loss of contact. Moving to quickly lean over the counter, he snatched the bottle of alcohol from where Laurel had briefly left it to deal with another rowdy crowd. Lucien poured himself a shot. Then slowly brought it to his lips. Watching Tamlin over the rim as he took the liquor in his mouth, and swallowed. His pretty throat bobbing up and down as the contents of his glass were drained away. 

The fox kept his eye contact as he put the glass down, the second his fingers were away from it. Tamlin was on him. 

Pushing off his own seat, he practically climbed into Lucien’s lap in his desperation to get those hot lips on his own. Grabbing his face, their mouths met. Both moaned into each other. Lucien grabbed the back of Tamlin’s head with one hand, then slipped his other back up his shirt. At the same time he started pinching and groping again, he pulled the High lord’s hair hard. 

Tamlin whimpered into Lucien’s mouth, as he slipped Lucien his tongue. Causing the male to groan and pull his hair harder, the flowers falling out as his braid came undone. 

His hair had grown wildly longer since they had last been together. As it untangled it fell down to his thighs. Lucien smiled against him as he slipped his hand underneath all that hair and held onto the base of Tamlin’s neck. 

Tamlin grabbed a fistful of pretty red hair, desperately needing something to hold onto, to anchor himself. Biting down on Lucien’s bottom lip, then sucking the flesh. 

As his skin grew hotter and hotter he felt something hard pressing against his own growing bulge. Tamlin moaned as he started grinding his covered cock against Lucien’s. Making the younger hiss as he held Tanlin tighter, pushing them harder together.

They pulled back enough that both could catch a breath, Tamlin breathed out, half-dazed and barely able to form a coherent thought except for one, “Fuck me.”

“Fuck yes.” Lucien said quickly. 

“Get. Out.” Tamlin and Lucien were quickly torn from their lust induced trance as they snapped their gaze around to see Laurel glaring so horribly at them. 

Tamlin was half about to ignore her, when Lucien grabbed the back of his thighs, and lifted him off the chair as he stood. Tamlin quickly wrapped his arms around the back of his neck, and Lucien shouted an apology as they both stumbled out to the entrance. 

Lucien was strong, strong enough to give Tamlin a good fight, and it seemed he had only gotten stronger. Of course, Tamlin also knew he was a lot lighter, having been living off of scraps every couple of days for two years. 

Getting out into the darkness, the warmth of Summer was sticky all around them, despite the sun having gone down at least an hour ago. 

Tamlin grabbed Lucien’s hair, kissing him sloppily as they both grinded and panted against each other, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Lucien forced his mouth away and stared up with glazed eyes. For a moment, their spinning worlds came to a sudden stop as they looked into each other and for the first time in a lot longer than just two years, they truly saw into the other. Saw them for who they were and every broken piece underneath. 

Tamlin cupped Lucien’s face with both his hands, at the same time Lucien squeezed his thighs harder. 

In that second, in that moment of stillness, Tamlin realised one thing. 

They had seen each other at their absolute worst. Broken, destroyed, taken apart and forced to keep going. They had scraped through life by each other’s side for so long. The bond they had ran deeper than just the friendship they showed. It was a deep understanding of what the other had been through, something that no one else in their life understood. Something they all never would. 

But they knew. In their small world, Tamlin and Lucien knew. Better than anyone else ever could. 

“I’m sorry.” Tamlin whispered, “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“I know.” Lucien whispered back, before pressing such a sweet and gentle kiss to his lips. 

In a second, they were in Summer, and the next rich smells and charged air were filling Tamlin’s lungs once more as they winnowed to Day. 

Their lips crashed together once more. And Tamlin moaned as Lucien gently set him down on the floor again. Immediately their hands started roaming, desperate to get underneath each other’s layers. 

As Tamlin tried to pull Lucien’s shirt off, considering simply ripping it. Lucien grabbed both his wrists and held them together as he dragged him back into his bedroom. 

Tamlin barely got time to look around. Just noticing the blinds were thrown open, the doors to a balcony open, allowing in the soft night breeze. The bed was covered in a myriad of soft pillows, red and gold silks. Then Lucien was shoving him back onto the bed. Tamlin pulled his wrists free, but Lucien crawled up after him, as Tamlin pulled himself back, until he was amongst the pillows. 

Lucien pushed himself on top of Tamlin. Both thighs bracketed around his own. The Heir of Day, then grabbed both Tamlin’s wrists and pinned them above his head. Tamlin squirmed at the restraint but Lucien whispered, “Be a good boy and stay still.”

“Fuck, Lucien-”

“Wanna get fucked tonight?” He asked with a cruel tint to his voice, “Stay still.”

Tamlin huffed, blowing out his cheeks, but obeying and keeping his hands above his head. Lucien smiled, looking down at Tamlin like he was proud, “Good boy.”

“Fuck,” Tamlin said, whole body turning red as arousal shot through his body like poison. 

Lucien’s hands left Tamlin’s, and the area was left feeling cold, which Tamlin fought to not whine over. Before his attention was quickly captured by something else. 

Lucien’s hands went to his belt, quickly undoing it and pulling out the leather. Then he leaned back over Tamlin and grabbed his wrists once more. In a few seconds, he skillfully locked Tamlin’s wrists together. Tamlin couldn’t help the whine that left his throat when he felt the leather tighten on his skin. 

“Good boy.” Lucien whispered again, sitting back as he looked down at Tamlin. Restrained, flushed and panting. 

“Are you just going to sit there all night?” Tamlin taunted, “Or are you going to do  something?”

Lucien laughed, “Oh really? You want me to do something Tam?”

Frustration welled in Tamlin’s chest and at the same time his heart leapt at the familiarity in the nickname, “Yes, god, please.”

A grin curled on Lucien’s face as he then snapped his fingers, and in a second the rumpled dishevelled clothes plastered to Tamlin’s skin were reduced to ash from flames. It didn’t hurt in the slightest, only a light tingle of sudden warmth danced across his body. 

Now completely open and exposed to the midnight chill. Tamlin’s skin prickled, as his nipples began to ache from lack of attention, and at the same time blood rushed down and his cock began to throb in time with his heartbeat. Even still, he tried to not move as Lucien observed him. 

Amber eyes dark in the minimal light. Lucien slid his tongue over his lips before he moved one hand up. His fingers circling Tamlin’s left nipple, making Tamlin squeeze his eyes shut, and bite down on his tongue. 

“So pretty,” Lucien breathed, as those damning fingers pinched the bud. Rolling it gently. 

Tamlin couldn’t stop as his back arched. Eyes rolling back at receiving the attention he so desperately craved, he moaned as his mouth fell open. 

“And responsive.” Lucien noted, watching like a predator. 

“Fucking… Mother dammit.” Tamlin managed to say, even as he was losing himself to each and every touch. 

All of a sudden, Lucien took away his hand and it took Tamlin biting his inner cheek hard enough he nearly drew blood to not whine. 

“Alright, I’ve had my fun, I’ll fuck you now.” Lucien announced as he reached over to a nearby nightstand. 

“Finally.” Tamlin said, head pushing back into the pillow behind him. 

Lucien opened the first drawer, and reached in, pulling out a clear glass cork top bottle of thick oil. He moved and sat back on his heels as he easily opened the bottle. 

“Spread your legs,” He ordered as he poured out the thick liquid onto his fingers. 

Tamlin was quick to obey this time. Watching with poorly contained excitement as Lucien put the bottle back on the nightstand and slipped his fingers between his open thighs. Pressing one digit against his hole, Tamlin sucked in a harsh breath that followed Lucien murmuring, “Good boy, you’re doing so well.”

Tamlin cursed under his breath again, body beginning to throb as fire climbed higher and higher in his core. Lucien pushed his finger in further, gently exploring, as Tamlin wrapped his legs around his waist. Needing to hold onto him in some way. 

Clicking his tongue in disapproval, Lucien grabbed one of his thighs and forcefully spread his legs open, keeping them wide set as he smoothly thrusted his finger in and out. 

“You can take a little more.” Lucien whispered into the darkness between them. The words were nearly lost to Tamlin, his mind altered by pleasure and alcohol. 

Lucien pressed another finger inside, working it in slowly, until he was thrusting his two fingers in and out. Followed by three, working quicker and quicker as his own desperation built. 

Tamlin was a moaning mess below him, gasping for breath, and moving his hips as Lucien spread his fingers, the searing stretch making his hips jut up and his back arch. 

“Fuck, Lucien.” Tamlin moaned. 

“So fucking tight.” Lucien mumbled, seemingly lost in a daze, Tamlin didn’t know whether he was talking to him or to himself. 

Either way, Tamlin felt himself go redder as that fire built. Then Lucien twisted and curled his fingers and brushed some spot inside him that made his toes curl as he cried out. Pulling at his restraints, he bucked back against Lucien’s fingers, desperate for him to hit that spot again. 

Leaning down over him, Lucien pressed his lips to Tamlin’s. The blond males/’s eyes went wide, his tension causing Lucien to quickly back track, but before he could get too far away. Tamlin wrapped his arms around his neck and crashed their lips together again. Laughing into his mouth, Lucien snaked the hand not fingering Tamlin open, around to the back of his neck. Holding onto him tightly. 

Eventually Tamlin got impatient. As they pulled away to gasp for breath, a string of saliva connecting their lips, he said, “Hurry up.”

Lucien, dazed, flushed and panting, just nodded. Falling to the same need crashing over them. Pleasure pulsed in hot waves through both their bodies, rolling through their cores as Lucien finally dragged his trousers over his hips. Grabbing both of Tamlin’s knees he pushed them up until he was able to push the tip of his hard, weeping cock to the High lord’s slickened entrance. 

The red head crashed over Tamlin again, kissing him desperately as he sank in. Wrapped in each other, limbs like knots. Kissing, sucking and moaning. Tamlin arched up, and Lucien wrapped his arms around his back, pressing them together. Sliding in until he bottomed out. They remained still for a moment, catching their breath as Tamlin adjusted to the feel. 

His chest rising and falling rapidly, Tamlin felt the strands of Lucien’s scarlet hair tickle his throat as he looked up. Opening his green eyes, Tamlin looked up to see Lucien not looking down at him but rather at the open window. 

“What are you-” Tamlin turned his head, and his breath hitched as his eyes went wide. 

The balstrode, the doors, climbing into the room like roots stretching out, where dozens of vines of bleeding hearts, flowering pink. Tamlin looked back up at Lucien who had turned to stare at him. 

Something wet like warm rain fell down the side of his eye and soaked the sheets below. Lucien whispered something that may have been his name but Tamlin couldn’t hear it properly to know. He just knew that the red head leaned down and pressed their lips together. This kiss wasn’t frantic or heady. Steady and chaste. Though setting his body as fire just as much, if not more. 

No words were spoken, Tamlin was glad for it, if he did speak he might break from the thick emotion surrounding them. Clouding his thoughts till they were a jumbled mess of memories and guilt. 

He wanted to just.. Float away from his body forever. 

Lucien seemed to think something similar, he didn’t even try to open his mouth to talk. But he did press another kiss to his lips. Then to his cheek, then down his neck. 

He pulled out just to the tip, then sank back in again. And all at once Tamlin was lost to bliss. 

The sun woke him up, warm and rich like golden syrup. It spread over his skin, casting him in the glow. Tamlin blinked against the rays. Shifting slightly as he tucked his foot back under the covers, freezing from being out. He sighed in content into the mass of chest his face was buried in. His arms around Lucien’s waist, and his around Tamlin’s back. 

Head rolling back, Tamlin started to untangle their legs carefully to stretch out the sore muscles. In the jostling somewhere, Lucien awoke. Tamlin watched as the male slowly came back to consciousness, amber eyes dimmed from sleep but growing brighter as the sun came up. The gold turning to something like liquid sunlight. Tamlin half smiled at the sight, for a moment basking in the glory of waking up like this. No matter how dirty the sheets were and how messy their skin was. This didn’t compare to anything. 

“Morning.” Tamlin rasped, his throat a little sore. All at once a headache popped in his skull and he groaned. It wasn’t too bad, but enough that he wanted a tonic for it. 

“Morning.” Lucien repeated. Pulling himself away from Tamlin, who nearly whined at the loss. 

Sitting up on the bed, propping himself against the headboard, Lucien looked down at Tamlin, “We going to talk about this?”

“What’s there to talk about?” Tamlin replied, half-dismissively. 

Lucien just raised an eyebrow and Tamlin folded. 

“I don’t want to lose you.” The golden male admitted, “it’s been torment not having you there at all.”

“You never lost me, Tam.” Lucien told him, “Never.”

“I fucked us up though.” He said. 

Luien shrugged, “A lot of what happened was circumstance and… other’s actions. But yeah, you did fuck a lot up.”

They sat in silence for a moment, Tamlin asked, “What do I need to do to get you back?”

Lucien smiled at the sheets over his lap, “Look at us Tam, you have me back.”

“I don’t deserve it though.”

“We both don’t deserve a lot. Besides,” Lucien looked over to the High lord, “You’ve more than paid the price. What other rock bottom could I ask you to hit?”

Shuffling up, Tamlin leaned against the headboard. Staring at the opposite wall. 

“There’s a lot of shit both of us need to deal with, Tam. We don’t have to get it all done in one morning.” Lucien reminded him. 

“I wish we could. I wish I could.” He whispered. 

Lucien reached out, his fingers brushing over Tamlin’s knuckles, before tangling their fingers together, “But we can’t, so we'll take it all one step at a time.”

Tamlin closed his eyes as he smiled, “One step at a time.”

Lucien hummed and rested his head on Tamlin’s shoulder. 

In that sacred, holy moment, something heavy and hateful just seemed to… disappear. Like all it took to get rid of it was the words they exchanged. 

Tamlin knew it was deeper than that. That last night they had reverted back to who they were before all this, just for a moment. He knew more than anyone they couldn’t live off that high forever. He had tried that with Feyre, and now look where it got him. 

His free hand moved to gently thread through waves of crimson. 

He’d take advantage of this, they’d both been living off of the high of pleasure for far too long. Now they would build something stronger than ever before, something that would withstand the test of time, magical bonds, evil Queen and Kings. 

They’d make something built off of love. Not from hedonistic highs.

“Bleeding hearts right?” Lucien murmured. 

“Hm?” Tamlin questioned, then Lucien pointed him once more in the direction of those flowering plants. 

Tamlin groaned and flopped down, causing Lucien to fall atop him. They both laughed suddenly. Lucien giggled, burying his face into Tamlin’s shoulder. 

Tamlin threw an arm over his eyes so he didn’t have to look at Lucien’s face. 

“What do they mean again?” Lucien mockingly questioned, “Wasn’t it… passionate love, and romance?”

Tamlin rolled his eyes, but moved them so Lucien’s head was laying on his bicep. And Tamlin’s fingers threaded through his hair once more, “Yes, and it can mean unrequited love and a broken heart.”

Lucien’s teasing smirk faded away into something like awe, his eyes beginning to line with tears. Tamlin smiled softly, his thumb reaching out to brush them away from his eyes. 

His fingers shinny with the drops, Tamlin held his hand between them, and whispered, “Then there’s camellias for love, adoration, longing, devotion and care.”

As he whispered the words, a pretty, perfect, pink camellia flower grew from the palm of his hand. Lucien’s eyes went wide with wonder, once again filling with tears that dripped down his face and onto the petals of the new bloom. 

Tamlin leaned over and brushed a kiss to his forehead, “I will try, I promise.”

“I love you.” Lucien whispered. 

“I love you.” Tamlin whispered back. As Lucien wrapped his hands around Tamlin’s holding the camellia and pressed their mouth together. 

Like young blooms in spring, unfurling the cold, misty mornings. Something rich and golden. Filled with immeasurable hedonistic pleasure, filled them both to the brim, spilling over like the wine of a glass. It ran over them like roots and vines held desperately to what they clung too. Like new plants finding their way into life. 

A perfect melding of hearts intertwined. Heavy, rich and luscious, with young, airy and abloom. 

Something so opposite, yet sliding together so easily. 

The mating bond did not ‘snap’ as the many stories went. It bloomed. 

@tamlinweek

[praetorqueenreyna]

Spring Fever

Tamlin x Reader - Smut - Angst - Fluff

After an outburst directed toward an unwanted visitor, a resident of Tamlin’s manor prepares to face the consequences of her actions but the High Lord has something else in mind.

warnings: smut, language

Moonlight and night air filtered through the edges of the pastel velvet curtains as the beat of my racing heart overtook the silence of my bedchamber. Seated at the edge of the large four-poster bed in my now permanent room, I took steadying breaths. In. Hold. Out. Hold. Repeat.

Who was I to have shown anything less than reverence to the High Lord of the Night Court? To his credit - in his own fucked up way - he’d tried to help Tam out of the stupor he’d spent years in but the male had been through so much already. How could the face of the mate of the love of his life bring any peace to his already broken soul?

These visits always ruined what small progress Tamlin had made. I tried to remain calm but damn it - Tamlin had finally stopped curling up outside of my door at night, on alert for any hidden threats. He’d given me a genuine smile on a stroll through the gardens just this morning. He’d even cooked this evening. Yes, a simple meal of roast venison and root vegetables, but a meal nevertheless. He was making progress and as if he sensed it, Rhysand showed up to “check in” on Tamlin right after dinner.

And just like that, Tamlin’s demeanor crumpled. I couldn’t take it anymore, the irreverence toward my mate’s own trauma. My temper rose to a point of no return, pouring out as spewed vitriol very unbecoming of a lady in the manor of a High Lord.

To his credit, Rhysand only eyed me with intrigue and didn’t mist me on the spot after I suggested he take his “good intentions” and shove them up his ass and showed him the door.

Tamlin only eyed me with an unreadable expression and requested that I stay behind while he escorted the Night Court’s High Lord from the estate.

Deciding against pressing my luck further I exited the foyer and saw myself to my chambers where I now sat waiting for the inevitable lecture, hell, maybe he’d kick me out. I only lived here out of his generosity. His tolerance of me certainly spurred on by the unaccepted mating bond that snapped when the magic chose me on Calanmai.

Two lonely souls bound together by fate.

We’d spent the past ten months living in companionable silence, both healing from the wounds our souls bore. And now, I’d likely torn down the careful progress we’d built brick-by-brick in one fell swoop.

The creak of my door withdrew me from my self-loathing retrospection and the quiet thud of boots crossing the wooden floors grew louder with each step in my direction. I didn’t look up. Couldn’t face him. Didn’t need to as the tension between us laid it all out clearly.

He’d never laid an ill-intentioned hand on me, we rarely even touched. Calanmai was a one-time thing. We’d brushed hands a time or two at the dinner table, he’d caught me as I stumbled in the garden once. I almost - almost - flinched as my High Lord’s hand came into my peripheral but all I was met with was a broad, gentle palm to the nape of my neck and the soft caress of a thumb running along my jaw line. I looked to him with furrowed brows, eyes lining with silver as I awaited whatever came next, but all I was met with were deep green eyes filled with anything but rage.

I averted my gaze as he fell to a knee in front of me. “Look at me, dove.” his typically gruff voice softer than I’d ever heard.

He waited patiently before I turned my head to look upon him once more. His eyes bore into mine, searing right into the depths of my soul. I could feel my heart hammering as his breaths grew rapid.

“You-“ he spoke, one large hand remained caressing my jaw as the other covered my own hands, folded in my lap. “You defended me.”

I puzzled. Was that a shock to him?

His emerald gaze flicked back and forth while remaining locked on my face, searching for an answer to an unspoken question. Why?

Withdrawing one of my hands from his grasp and resting it delicately upon his muscled chest, I replied definitively, “Because you’re mine.”

His breathing paused, rose lips pressing into a firm line. Processing. The silence between us pressing into me like a blade.

His voice cracked with his next words. “You want me?”

“I have since your eyes found mine on fire night.”

Before I could shift, or speak further, his lips were crashing into me like the violent swell of a storm falling upon rocky shores.

My lips gaped, breath hitching at his response, the desire I’d shoved deep within me pouring out at once as I opened for him, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, dancing along mine. A small, involuntary whimper escaped me as he lifted off of his knee, leaning over me as I slid back deeper onto the bed, careful not to let my lips leave his for even a moment - eliciting a groan from Tamlin.

My finger tangled into his long, blonde hair as he braced his weight over me with one arm, his other holding my hip, thumb running over the silk of my cherry blossom dress.

“You’re mine.” I rasped out in a hushed murmur between our shared breaths, pulling away just enough to look into the eyes of my mate again.

My chest heaved, breasts rising and falling with each gasp. I managed another whisper, “You’re mine, Tam.”

With those words, he lost any semblance of control. His fingers tugged my hair, exposing the column of my neck to him. His soft lips pressed heated kisses along my jawline, down to my neck, giving little nips and licks over the corresponding hurt as he went. “You’re mine.” He growled back, possessiveness overtaking his tone.

All I could manage was an “mmhmm” as he pulled the neckline of my dress down, exposing my breasts to him, his lips latched onto a peaked nipple and gods - the mouth on this male. As he licked and sucked on my breasts, jolts of electricity shot through me, straight to my core. I needed him lower and he knew it. His claws unsheathed, shredding through my dress and undergarments. I shivered as his stubble grazed my abdomen with each kiss tracking lower and lower. So close to where I needed him. My legs fell open in invitation, displaying the dripping need he elicited from me. His pupils blew wide as he took in the sight before him, realization of just how desperately I wanted him activating the most primal facets of the mating bond.

He pulled back, eyes boring into mine once more. “Say it, Y/N.”

My heart nearly shattered at the pleading expression of his features. This was real. My desire for him so tangible that he need only run a finger up my center to remind himself. But this was deeper than that, deeper than just want, deeper than mere lust.

“Tamlin.” I whispered.

“I’m yours. All of me.”

And I could have sworn the slightest hint of silver lined my mate’s thick lashes as he let loose that final reign of restraint.

His mouth latched onto my clit. A male starved. Starved for affection, starved for intimacy, starved for understanding, for love. But I saw him, all of him - and I wasn’t afraid.

His tongue laved against my core, moving with expert precision as he teased my most sensitive nerves, swirling around my clit before lowering to my entrance. He groaned like my essence was the sweetest nectar of any flora in his court and I couldn’t hold back the moans and praises spilling from my lips.

A thick finger plunged into me, curling so deliciously as he sucked my throbbing clit. He’d send me over the edge in no time. “Please.” I begged as the imminent release had me on the edge of a precipice.

I whimpered as he pulled back, the sharp angles of his chin and plush lips shining with the coat of my arousal. I could have come just from that sight alone. His deep voice sending chills through me as he commanded, “Say it, one more time baby. One more time, and then let go for me.”

His mouth returned to my core, latching back onto that sensitive bundle of nerves as two fingers now curled inside of me, his other hand tweaking a rosey nipple, “I’m yours. I’m yours. Oh gods, Tam. I’m only yours.” I chanted as release barreled through me. My sex pulsing around his fingers. His hips bucking into the bed in time with my orgasm, desperate for friction.

And I was greedy.

“Tamlin.” I spoke through heated breaths. “I need more.”

With a flick of his wrist, his clothes were gone. My jaw dropped when he rose to his knees before me, his erect length already beading with precum.

I licked my lips, raising myself to admire as he gave a few pumps to his heavy, aching cock. My mouth watering with the need to taste him.

He splayed a hand between my breasts, pushing me back into the mattress. “Time for that later. Need my baby coming on my cock.”

“Oh gods.” I moaned at the words, my core was an inferno with them at the realization that my mate needed to be in me just as badly as I needed to be filled by him.

And fill me he did. His head easily slid through my slick folds and I knew that length, and fuck, that girth, would hurt in the most pleasurable of ways.

“All of you.” I whimpered. “I need all of you. Now.”

With that he scooped me up, spreading my legs to straddle his hips. He braced his weight on his arms behind him, his muscles flexing with the shift, and crossing his legs, spreading my legs further across him.

“Take what you want.” He commanded.

And I realized then that he wanted me to set the pace, that he’d never risk hurting me. Especially since it had been so long since we’d been together.

I aligned his length to my entrance, locking my gaze onto him, admiring the planes of his gorgeous face before meeting the sea of emerald taking in each micro-expression of my own face.

“Yours.” I spoke boldly, and sank down each thick inch of his cock until I was seated to the hilt. The pleasure quickly overtaking any semblance of pain.

Chills spread through me at the loud growl of satisfaction he let out at the sensation of my cunt gripping all of him. I remained pressed down, gently swiveling my hips to adjust to his size, and pressing a hand to the slight bulge his length created in my belly.

“Fuck.” I whimpered. “You’re so- oh - you feel so…” my brain couldn’t formulate any words beyond that as another gasp escaped my lips as I rose up slowly and sank back down again, moaning in pleasure with each stroke of his length within me.

My arms wrapped around his shoulders as he shifted up, easing the weight off his arms and taking over, lifting my hips and sheathing me back down his cock, over and over, harder and harder, my heavy breasts bouncing in time with the pace. The sounds of my wetness gushing with each thrust was obscene. Removing one hand from my hip, he slid it between us and pressed his thumb to my clit. Within seconds I fell over the edge again, my face falling to the juncture of his neck and shoulder, incoherent babbles pouring from me, muffled by his neck.

“Gods” thrust. “You’re” thrust. “Divine.” He thrust my still fluttering pussy down onto him once more and let out a loud groan as he found his release, the pulsing of his cock as he spilled into me threatened to push me over the edge once more.

Our breathing evened out as he remained sheathed within me. I kept my face buried into his neck, refusing to let this moment of bliss end. My mate had yet to loosen his grasp on me, so we stayed like that, reveling in the feel of skin on skin for some time.

Finally I rose off of him, though he was hesitant to loosen his grip. “Stay with me tonight?” I asked hesitantly. Afraid he’d once again retreat to his chambers or to the hallway outside of my door.

Tamlin laid down pulling me onto his chest, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Every night.” He spoke into my hair.

“Every night.” I hummed in agreement.

——————————————————-

General ACOTAR list: @lilah-asteria

@tamlinweek - tagging you for Day 3 “mates” but not sure if it counts since I posted this on Sunday. This is my first of any “weeks” I’ve participated in 🥰

[praetorqueenreyna]

And for the second prompt of Day 3 of @tamlinweek: Flower Language.

Content warning: Grief, war, allusions to torture, graves/graveyards, depression and PTSD.

Read Potentillas on AO3 or beneath the cut:

Where are you?

Days, months, years have passed, and he still cannot find him. Through the thicket and into the brush, Tamlin speaks to the whispering moss and the little creatures hidden within. The smallest things carry the greatest knowledge, often unseen and unheard, but Tamlin listens.

He’s always listened.

They tell him of the eagle and the bobcat, and of the new silver lace vines that have taken root in the North. He follows the trail they lead towards all the changes of his father’s Court. Maybe today, he’ll find what he’s looking for.

White flowers on shining pale gray stems greet him, honoured to be noticed by Spring’s prince. They bloom, showing their very best side. He asks their name, and though he is kind and caring, his heart shutters with disappointment. Not here.

The forest is his home; the war has made him restless and he rejects stillness. When the body does not move, the mind begins to race, and his mind lives among the dead.

He knows every inch of this place, from the growth of the trees, to the war of the weeds. He wakes his great-grandmother from her willow, and asks if she has seen anyone new, too. The souls always come home, so why isn’t he here? He loved the forests just as much as Tamlin did. He taught Tamlin to look, to listen and to respect. The Green should have welcomed him by now.

It has been days, months and years since Tamlin failed to bring Iolin’s body home, and he will not rest until he’s found his spirit.

***

The Middle is a barren place, ravaged by war. The soil is dead, poisoned by the iron of blood and the toxicity of faebane. Few things grow here, but they do not bloom—they claw their way out of the ground, all sharp edges and dark stems. Their leaves are shades of black, gray and rotted brown.

It has been a long time since Tamlin dared to venture here, and he does so against his better judgement. Shame isolates him, making him too afraid to reach out for help in this desperate endeavour. What will his friends say when the realize his crime?

I let my brother die.

That’s it.

Tamlin knows it, his family knows it and it’s only a matter of time before everyone else knows it, too. Cold seeps into his bones, a needling sensation that only ever takes place here. He pulls his cloak closer to himself and begins the trek.

Bones litter across the ground, half-devoured by vicious plants who thrive not on sun, not on song, but on the hard calcium of the dead. His mind shutters, withering under the weight of memories. This graveyard is of his making.

But Tamlin does not sop. He never learned how to. He only ploughs forward.

Further, and further, until he reaches the western shore close to where the King had stationed his temporary palace. The air grows thick, and Tamlin has to stop.

I can’t—

I can’t do this.

He promised he would bring Iolin home; he failed the first time, and he will let this attempt kill him before he fails again. Tamlin forces himself back to his feet, and keeps walking. He remembers exactly where he collapsed, where Iolin’s body had slipped from his arms and rolled down an incline, breaking him even more than he was already broken. He was already dead by then, succumbing to Amarantha’s wrath.

He was already free by then, leaving Tamlin in this interminable hell.

The gnawing in his chest is too much; he clutches it, as if he can reach his heart and throttle it in hopes of making it work again. It keeps failing, just like his lungs that can’t ever find enough air.

Please, please, please, I don’t want to be here.

Out of the corner of his eye, a glimmer of bright yellow sings softly to him. He knows that voice, and its gentle cadence. Iolin had always been kind, even when he was hiding from his father’s harsh gaze beneath the mask of duty. Iolin had always been the one to find Tamlin when he was running from something. He was courage itself.

Tamlin picks himself out of the dirt, walking with heavy steps towards the only bloom in the heart of this hellscape.

“Potentillas,” he whispers, touching the five petals lightly. “Of course.” His voice falters, and the breath that escapes him is shaky. He sits beside his brother’s resting place, and lets the relief wash over him. Iolin had always been his safe haven.

“The flowers of resilience. Crush the petals and steep it in tea, and you’ll find strength for another day,” he recites his brother’s words back to him. “I miss you, I miss you so damn much.”

[praetorqueenreyna]

Tamlin Week Day 3

An excerpt from ACOTAR's chapter 19 in Tamlin's POV for @tamlinweek

Prompt: Mates

Words: 770

If they had suspected it during the day, at dinner it became perfectly clear that Feyre was in a bad mood. Both Tamlin and Lucien noticed as soon as she sank into her seat, and without needing further agreement, they decided to just chat with each other, sympathetic to what she might be feeling, far from home and seemingly destined never to see it, or her family, again. Of course, this didn’t stop the High Lord from following her into the rose garden at the end of the meal. Just to check on her, he told himself, and not because she was a sight to behold, with her hair of burnished gold kissed by the moonlight that stained the red petals a deep purple and casted a silvery sheen on the white blossoms. He hoped she found her surroundings inspiring, something worth of the art she so deeply loved.

“My father had this planted for my mother,” he said, still a few steps behind, sure he wouldn’t take the huntress by surprise. She didn’t bother to turn to acknowledge him, on the contrary, she dug her nails into her palms as he halted by her side.

“It was a mating present,” he went on, trying to distract her from the guilt she was undoubtedly feeling. Deep down, she probably knew she deserved better than what she had in the mortal lands, but she was unused to have the time and money needed to pursue her vocation, so he didn’t stop her when she stalked to the nearest bush and ripped off a rose, her fingers tearing on the thorns.

“I don’t know why I feel so tremendously ashamed of myself for leaving them. Why it feels so selfish and horrible to paint. I shouldn’t feel that way, should I? I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it,” she finally rambled, words flowing out of her mouth like a swollen river. “All those years, what I did for them… And they didn’t even try to stop you from taking me.”

There it was, the giant pain that cracked her in two if she thought about it too long. Over time, Tamlin had discovered that everyone had one, no matter how old or young they were. And Feyre… she had grown up too fast not to have already stumbled upon it.

“I don’t know why I expected them to, why I believed that the puca’s illusion was real that night. I don’t know why I bother still thinking about it, or why I still care. Compared to you, to your borders and magic being weakened, I suppose my self-pity is absurd,” she added, so resignated of something so wrong.

“If it grieves you, then I don’t think it’s absurd at all,” he replied, and although he wasn’t as silver tongued as his best friend nor as well versed when emotions were concerned, he spoke with his heart, because she needed to have her feelings validated for once.

“Why?” she asked flatly, chucking the rose into the bushes.

Before the crimson droplets could stain her dress, Tamlin took her hands, his calloused fingers, strong and sturdy, as gentle as possible as he lifted her wound to his mouth and kissed her palm to heal it. She was so thin, so fragile… she shouldn’t waste the blood that flowed in her veins, not even a drop.

“Why do any of this?” she pushed, and he stepped closer, making her tip her head back to meet his eyes, exposing her long neck. He wanted to bite her, leave his mark where anyone could see it, make her his even if he had no right to call her that.

“Because your humanity fascinates me. The way you experience things, in your life span, so wildly and deeply and all at once, is entrancing. I’m drawn to it, even when I know I shouldn’t be, even when I try not to,” he lied, or maybe he just omitted the end of the sentence. He truly was enthralled, and he was probably starting to love her, but she was bound to grow old and die, a concept foreign to him; there was no way for their souls to be two halves of the same, and she couldn’t be the mate he so desperately wished for, the female who was able to understand his wants and desired without the need for an explanation.

“One day there will be answers for everything,” he concluded, anticipating her next question, before brushing his lips against her heartbreakingly warm and soft cheek. “But not until the time is right. Until it’s safe.”

[praetorqueenreyna]

For Day 3 of @tamlinweek , I am posting part of my Tamlin fic (Tamlin's Life Story: A Tragedy)! We are told that the mating bond is beautiful and everything everyone should wish for, but I don't believe Tamlin has a very good experience with the mating bond; his own parents were mated and terrible for each other.

So, this is a little dark, but what if Tamlin's mate was Amarantha? It would explain her obsession with him. Tamlin, by rejecting Amarantha in that little gathering (right before she took the High Lords' powers), rejected the mating bond and incited rage in Amarantha. What was it like for Tamlin when he first met Amarantha, when he was forced to be with her UTM, and after he killed her? Full fic can be found here: TW: mild descriptions of child SA, violence, angst

He still dreamt of it. When he was just a child, and he'd seen the Hybern general for the first time. Red hair with streaks of black, like her hair had been soaked with so much blood that it had mostly changed color, the streaks the only remnant of her that hadn't been corrupted. When he'd longed for acceptance from his father, receiving nothing but the barbed whip across his back for being a failure of a courtier, for playing his fiddle for the handsome Night Court lord he couldn't help but love, Amarantha had spoken to him.

She'd embraced him and told him he was worth every last bit of Prythian, and their mating bond had clicked in. So what if she caressed his chest far too possessively to be casual? So what if she grabbed him through his pants, sometimes squeezing hard enough to cause pain? She had told him he was valuable. That was more than his father ever did. The scars on his back were so numerous that nobody would be able to count them. But while Amarantha left bruises, none of them stayed.

It was only when she'd tried to strip him that he'd begged her to stop. He told her he was too young, that he was scared, that he had no idea what he was doing, that he wasn't comfortable with a sexual relationship at this point in time. In her rage, she'd ripped his antlers out with her bare hands and carved out his abdomen with them. It was only by a miracle that he'd escaped that place. He'd barely made it to his father, who'd saved his life.

Only to give him the worst beating of his life. By the time it was done, Tamlin was crying tears of blood. Yet, that wasn't the worst pain in the world. No, it was nothing compared to the hollow feeling in his chest. The golden thread, his last hope for joy in this world, snapped in one moment. The mating bond. He was in such torment that he was sure it would kill him. Unfortunately, he lived. And lived. And lived.

*********************************************************************** He lost track of the days. He couldn't remember his own name. He remembered nothing. At least in his earlier days of pain and abuse and sexual assault and torture, he'd felt something. There was meaning to his life, a hope for better. But now...it was an endless sea of agony. There were no coherent thoughts in his brain, only a dull, throbbing ache that sought to take him under and finish it. He wished it would. He prayed that the yawning blackness would simply embrace him. Unfortunately, it didn't. It was almost worse this way, that he'd gotten the taste of what it was like to have the semblance of a happy life, only to have it ripped away from him at the last moment.

He tried to remember something, anything, to make him keep going. Feyre, a phantom voice sometimes whispered. Lucien. But the burning pain quickly whisked those words away. He did not understand their significance, anyway. They sounded like made up words. Soon, he stopped trying to remember. He'd forgotten what he was fighting for. Amarantha demanded answers out of him that he couldn't give- she didn't understand that he was broken. Nothing she did to him could break him when he was already in pieces.

Until she came. Until suddenly breath returned to his lungs and he had a reason to breathe again. And reason to be absolutely terrified. He begged her to go, but she didn't. She stood there, bold as brass, and claimed him as her own. And Tamlin had never loved anyone more. He watched her get tortured, and he felt again. Rage and sorrow beyond a human's dizziest daydreams, but it was feeling. When the court had adjourned, Lucien had snuck over to him. His face was pale and ragged, but Tamlin also glimpsed something there he hadn't seen in a while: hope. Just the slightest glimpse of it.

"I swear to you, Tamlin," Lucien whispered, hands on his face, staring into his eyes, clouding Tamlin's senses, "I will do whatever it takes to keep her alive. Everything within my power, I will do it." Oh, Lucien. His bold, brave, selfless Lucien. Tamlin choked out the words, "Thank you." Lucien's face hardened with resolve. "Thank me by never giving in. No matter what happens, don't you dare give up." Tamlin stared into his beautiful mismatched eyes. "I swear it." **********************************************************************

However Tamlin had felt under the mountain, it was gone now.

Now that everything had settled back in, he could feel it. The mating bond threatening to split him in two. He'd rejected his own mate and then he'd killed her. And now it drove him mad at times.

Lucien was no longer enough to help him. He hired Ianthe to help with the wedding preparations, and he tried to forget his pain. He succeeded for the most part, his trauma only coming back to haunt him at night. Amarantha touching him, Lucien's broken back before him, Feyre's neck snapping-

It was the mating bond that bothered him most of the time. It was like a migraine that just wouldn't go away. His temper, which wasn't the best, he could admit, got much worse owing to the constant migraine. But how could he tell anyone his secret shame- that he'd been mated to Amarantha? That there was once a time he'd sought comfort in her?

He couldn't let her train. Ianthe was right. What if they came after her? What if her power drew Rhysand back? He couldn't allow that. He'd heard her neck snap, heard it in his dreams again and again and again and-

"Please, let her train," Lucien pleaded. Tamlin tried to concentrate on him over the roaring in his head. "Let her master this, so that she can protect herself when enemies come."

At the word enemies, Tamlin's entire body seized up. Magic exploded out of him, falling on Lucien and blasting him backward. Lucien glared at him, loathing simmering in his eyes. But he said nothing after that; only walking away before Tamlin could get on his knees and beg for his forgiveness.

[praetorqueenreyna]

Time for Day 3 of @tamlinweek, and the first of two prompts: Mates!

For an angsty-er reading: keep in mind that this scene is set in a universe with the same 'canon' events that ended Rhysand and Tamlin's friendship 🙃

Otherwise, pls enjoy the softhearted feels~

Read Mates on AO3 or below the cut:

“What do you think it’s like, wildflower?”

“Hmm?”

“Being mates?”

The cool breeze of the Illyrian mountains skirts across his broad back, a soothing touch across the litany of scars there. He’d fallen asleep under the sun, basked by the peace and quiet that comes with being around the person he loves. It takes Tamlin a moment to stir, to lift his head from the faceplant he’d dozed off in. He rests his chest on his arms, looking at the dream beside him.

Handsome in a sly way, Rhysand is crafted like finery—unique, sharp, and well-thought out, like the Mother had been inspired to bring life to the word striking. There is no one like him, save for his father, but Tamlin believes that Rhysand could not wear the moustache or the goatee the same way as the High Lord of Night does.

Tamlin reaches out to touch this High Faerie who is so different from him, yet the same. He is the dark to his light, the lean to his broad, and the cleverness to his strength. They are the unwilling heirs, and the reluctant soldiers, to their father’s brutal wills.

He shifts in the grass, leaning over Rhysand, and presses a generous kiss against his liss. He suckles at that bottom lip, and coaxes him to open—to let him in. The answer to the question is etched directly onto Rhysand’s tongue, a secret language only for him.

“Like that, probably,” he whispers, breathless. His fingers are still tangled in those raven locks, curled and caressing.

“What? Like kissing?” Rhysand snorts, a beautiful imperfect sound. Tamlin lives in those little revelations, the Faerie behind the facade who makes mistakes, and who falls every now and then. He lives in the moments where he can help, not only the times where the young Lord lets him in.

“Like kissing you.”

“Are you kissing anyone else?”

“Well, no.”

“Are you planning to kiss anyone else?”

“Obviously not.”

“So, technically, it’s just kissing,” Rhysand teases.

Tamlin leans on his elbow, raising his brow curiously, but the smile on his face is a mild mix of unimpressed, and cocky. He lets his touch dance across Rhysand’s skin, daring even to tickle the soft hairs that trail down towards…

“Just kissing, huh? Here I was, trying to show you how I feel and you mock me? Perhaps I should stop putting my mouth on you, stop curling my tongue around your nipples and your c—”

“My, my, wildflower. How you’ve improved your dirty talk.”

Laughter is free here, in the valley of dreams. They exist outside of their roles, and far beyond any expectations. It is a very lazy state of being, one that both Faeries embrace all too willingly.

“But really… Do you think it’ll change anything for us?”

“For us, no. We found each other before the bond, so I don’t think it’ll change much, but for others…” Tamlin trails, thinking of his mother, and of Lilith who’s love is vastly different when it comes to her son and her husband. They gave everything to their husbands and their sons—for what? The hurt they carry, he’s not immune to it. He’s not immune to the guilt, either. “I think it’s a prison.”

Rhysand’s agreement is a hum. “My mother says the bond is less about love, and more about balance. The bond gives you what you need. For her, it was protection and a way out.”

“For mine, it was purpose,” Tamlin chimes in. It’s not that he doesn’t believe his mother would have found her purpose, but more that the circumstances in their world… It’s limiting. The males are favoured, and even then, only the strong. He thinks back to an old memory, the time where he met the Ladies of Prythian.

This is where the real power is, he recalls Hyacinthus’ words. Who else has the ear of the High Lords in such a way?

“Make a bargain with me, wildflower.”

“Again? What are we at, three?”

If Tamlin didn’t know any better, it feels like Rhysand is trying to forge a bond.

If the Cauldron won’t give them one, Rhysand will make one.

Of all things, Tamlin cannot think of anything more like him. He is spoiled in his own way, taught to think that he can have whatever he wants as long as he can outthink the laws of this universe. It’s a wonder, truly, to someone like him who has wanted nothing more than to do the right thing.

“Two,” Rhysand corrects easily. “But I just need your word for this one.”

“Good because the tattoos would have been hard to cover up.” You know, because he is naked more often than not. No use wasting fabric if he’s to tear them every time he shifts. More importantly, Tamlin has always believed that his word means more than any magic in Prythian. It is a choice he will have to make, continuously, to live up to his promise. That’s what love should be like.

A choice.

“What do you want then?”

“I want you to promise me that if you need something, anything, you won’t leave it up to chance. You’ll talk to me. You’ll let me bet there for you. Mates or not, you’ll have me. I want you to know that. Promise me, wildflower?”

Tamlin laughs, the sound a low rumble in his chest, like an amused lion. “That’s an easy promise. I, on the other hand, am observant. You said it yourself, so I just want you to love me forever.” He shrugs, grinning because he doesn’t really expect Rhysand to always love him. They’ll have ups and downs, but that’s the beauty of it. Their love will be what they make of it.

“Done. You and only you will have my heart. Now, can you elaborate more on the kissing? I’m not sure I understood what you were trying to say before.”

“Mhm,” Tamlin grins, wolfish, as he leans over Rhysand and shows him all the things he can do with his mouth.

[praetorqueenreyna]

Lucien reached out and ran his fingers through the ends of Tamlin’s damp, silky strands. He wanted to say something, to express how he felt. He opened his mouth to say: I love you, but he hesitated. It had only been two days, and they had only made love once—well, twice, if he counted the shower—and he didn’t want to scare Tamlin off yet. Or ever. So, instead, he murmured it in Scythian. I love you. I think I always have. Stay with me.

For Day 4 of Tamlin Week: Happily Ever After. An edit for the AMAZING fic A Second Chance by @goforth-ladymidnight! I love both Tamlin/Lucien AND Jurian/Vassa in that fic, and had to make something to celebrate Tamlin and Lucien finally getting together! The fic isn't done yet BUT I have been assured that they will get their happily ever after!

@tamlinweek

[praetorqueenreyna]

Didn't know I needed florist Tamlin and tattoo artist Nesta in my life but here we are. I love them, your honour.

I LOVE THEM TOO YOUR HONOR!!!!!

Tamlin and Nesta were MADE for the "Florist/Tattoo Artist" trope!

[praetorqueenreyna]

Flower Mischief

If you can't tell I'm currently bouncing! Day 3 and I been waiting for this prompt cuz Florist Tamlin AU is giving me life. Today on the agenda, Tamcien being cute and petty. Readers will recognized the boquet described here from the old flower language insult post that's floating around Tumblr. Hope you all like!

@tamlinweek

Tamlin Week 2024 -Day 3: Flower Language

Flower Mischief

Tamlin perked up when he saw his favorite costumer, and good friend coming down the road. He was about to greet Lucien with the biggest smile he could until he noticed the redhead's russet eyes were puffy and reddened and his pretty face had tears tracks. A far cry from his usual beautiful smile.

"Lucien! What happened? Do you need water?! Should I call someone?"

"No...It's fine. I was just hoping Andras was still clocked in. I need a ride."

"I think he left an hour ago, but I can help if you'd like. What happened?"

He sighed not wanting to look at him. "Elain cheated on me."

Tamlin nearly screamed. He froze for a moment and then put down the pot of lilies he was holding.

"I'm sorry. Did you just say Elain cheated on you?!"

"Yes. Let's just say I came home early from college and had a surprise visit. Sorry to say the floral orders will stop for a while."

"Forget about that! I'm so sorry to hear that. Let me get you some water. Here sit down and I'll be right with you."

Tamlin rushed back to the breakroom where Dorevan was raiding the mini fridge.

"If you took my ice water I'll kill you."

"Chill, pipsqueak. I took some soda and stole the salami sandwich Hart left there. Roxy packed us salads for lunch, you can have mine if you want, too much lettuce."

"You're gonna get scurvy if you don't eat at least a leafy green a week!" Tamlin chastised his brother as he grabbed two ice water bottles. "Are you gonna close up?"

"Yeah, Ciaran and Roxanne have date night but they're leaving the kiddo with mom and dad. I'll close shop late, maybe get the wedding order done too. Thesan is my friend but if he changes colors one more time Khalid will be a widow before the wedding."

"Go easy on him! Those two are hopeless."

"Like you and your pretty redhead?"

"Hush!"

Dorevan smiled. "I can hear you all the way down here. Just be nice. He's single now, isn't he?"

"Shhhh. He is but the poor man was just cheated on! I'm not going to take advantage fo that."

Dorevan rolled his brown eyes so far Tamlin thought he'd go blind. "You're such a goody two shoes. Go get that man and help him get revenge. Perfect first date!"

"If Alis was on shift she'd kick ya."

"Good thing she's off today. Now run along before your fire fox leaves."

"Stay quiet or I'm telling Cresseida you don't really like seafood and go to the restaurant just to have her as your waitress."

"Tamlin I swear to fuck if you do that I'll beat you up!"

Tamlin just laughed as he walked out with the water and went back to Lucien's side. "Here you go!"

"Thanks."

The two had a nice drink and Tamlin began putting everything away everything before his shift ended.

He noticed Dorevan had left the orange lilies out on display and he had an idea.

"Lucien, you once told me your ex knows flower language, correct?"

"Yes. I often suggested themed boquets for that reason. Why do you ask?"

Tamlin smirked mischievously. "We could give her a little parting gift to ease your sorrows. Free of charge of course."

"Tamlin, I can't ask that of you!"

"Hey if it bothers ya just take me out for coffee sometime."

It made him giddy to see a slight blush take over the redhead's dark skin. Tamlin took out the flowers a day explained their meaning to Lucien as he arranged them.

"These are geraniums they represent stupidity, the yellow carnations mean disapointment, the foxglove is insincerity, and finally the orange lilies represent hatred."

The end result was a beautiful boquet that was full of loathing. Lucien seemed impressed. "Too good of a parting gift but it's a nice way to be petty silently. Thank you."

"Anytime."

The pair heard a honking from outside the door. Tamlin recognized it as Arryn Vanserra's red SUV.

"Ugh! The twins found me? No doubt they'll want gossip."

"You know them?"

"We're siblings."

"Oh...Oh right you have the same last name. You just look very diffrent."

Lucien smirked. "I was the cuck baby. Ask mom."

He nearly busted a lung laughing at that.

"Luciiiiii, I'll become an old lady honking outside. Oh hi Tami!"

"Hey Tanya. Congrats on the transition, you're looking lovely."

"Thanks blondie! Just came to pick up the baby, Eris and Nesta sent me to take you out for treats with Arryn."

"You all know already?!"

"Eris is a bigger gossip than me, dummy. We went to get your things. Gideon and Nemesis would've beaten Az up if Eris didn't stop em and let Nesta unleash a yelling reckoning instead. It was glorious!

The boys are setting everything up for ya at Cedric's place. Unless you wanna go stay with mom and Helion. Feyre said you can stay with her and Bryaxis too, she's pretty livid at flower girlie too."

"Ugh no, mom and dad will get over emotional and I don't wanna worry them. Feyre's family and roommates are fun to hang out with but their house is a permanent rave. I'll stay with Ced."

"Wise choice, now get to it! We can go clubbing after the ice cream! Wanna come along Tamlin?"

"Well, I'd love to but I have to make a delivery before that." He said while glancing at

"That can be done tomorrow, I'd rather have you out for some ice cream and dancing if you're still interested." Lucien said.

Tamlin smiled. "Then let me clock out and I'll be right with ya."

With the Vanserras heading for the car, Tamlin put away his apron, clocked out and got a small flower for the road. He and Lucien went to the backseat while twins sat in the front, before they headed out he put a small bloom on Lucien's hair.

"What's this?"

"A little pick me up for the road."

"A daffodil? What does this one mean?"

"New beginnings."

Tamlin was overjoyed to see Lucien smiling sweetly at him, already in a better mood. He'd make sure the redhead was the one receiving flowers this time.

[praetorqueenreyna]

Yellow Hyacinths :

Yellow hyacinths, a bloom of envious hue , Symbolizing jealousy in shades of golden view .

For @tamlinweek Day 3 : Mates

In the realm where blossoms sway,

Tamlin, High Lord, in disarray,

Amidst the hyacinths, his throne,

He feels envy gnaw and moan.

His kingdom bathed in fragrant light,

Yet in his heart, a lonely plight,

For he, the High Lord, stands alone,

His mate stolen, his love disowned.

Hyacinths, with meanings deep,

Whisper secrets, sorrows steep,

Their blooms a mirror to his soul,

Where jealousy and anger roll.

In every stem, in every vine,

Tamlin sees his fate entwine,

With bitterness and resentment's might,

A king bereft of love's delight.

He feels cheated, robbed of grace,

As others find their embrace,

Their bonds of love, a cruel jest,

While Tamlin's heart remains unrest.

Yet amidst the blooms and perfumed air,

Tamlin hides his despair,

For though he reigns over spring's domain,

His heart still aches with love's refrain.

- @sonics-atelier ( do not repost or reuse in any way , shape or form , I will decapitate you )

[praetorqueenreyna]

On the third day of Tamlin Week,

I bring you: A sad bit.

@tamlinweek

[praetorqueenreyna]

Day 3: Mates

Tamlin races to the Spring-Autumn border, spurred on by a mysterious message, unaware of what will meet him there.

《》《》《》《》《》

Tamlin yawned, flexing the fingers of his left hand as he finally set down his pen and tossed the last sheet of parchment onto the finished pile with a flourish. The mound of paperwork on his desk had taken the entire day to complete. He winced. Never again would he 'just set it aside for another time'.

He'd planned to finish earlier, so that he could at least take a walk around the gardens before nightfall to clear his head, but by now his limbs were so weary from sitting on his arse and writing page after page that he couldn't find it within him to do anything other than draw a bath.

Resolute in his decision, he pushed his chair back to do just that when a flash of flame appeared in the air, making him jolt as it disappeared to reveal a slip of parchment.

“What in the Cauldron…”

Trouble at the Spring and Autumn border. GO

He stared down at the hurried words, mind whirring. Distantly, he wondered if this could be someone's idea of a joke, meant to alarm him into useless action. But something roiling in his gut told him to go investigate. He folded the slip of parchment and tucked it into his pocket.

With a crack of magic, he winnowed out of the study.

He reappeared at the top of a hill overlooking the Spring and Autumn border. He strained his eyes, searching for any signs of disturbance. There was nothing. The land was perfectly still, the sun beginning to set low over the horizon.

False alarm, a voice chided. You've been played for a fool.

But wait, he turned his head. There was a rustling to his right, sharp cries of breaths… there.

It was a male, staggering through the wall of thorns that divided Autumn and Spring. He was obscured by a heavy cloak of cobalt blue, but even from where he stood, Tamlin could see the blood smeared across his face, the arm that hung limply by his side.

Something flared in his chest, and then he was moving. As he ran, he twisted his fingers and the tangle of thorns began to recede, winding back to create a hollow for the male to pass through easily. But even with Tamlin's magic, the male was still moving far too slowly.

Just as he was about to break through, two flame haired males appeared in the near distance, just visible through the magicked opening in the thorns.

“Oh fuck... HURRY!”

Tamlin skidded to a halt fifty feet shy of the wall, planting his feet as he drew his arms out wide, the wall of thorns shifting and roiling into an even greater barrier than before, forcing the two males farther back. All this not a moment too soon, as the strange male finally stumbled into Spring.

Tamlin ran to the male, golden light already flickering at his fingertips. He was barely moving, guttural cries of pain tearing loose from his throat.

“You’re alright now, you’ll be alright.”

By the mother... He was bleeding everywhere.

Tamlin sucked in a deep breath, then began with a blood slowing spell. The male writhed and cried out, his body instinctively seeking to shy away from the stinging effects of the healing magic soaking into his skin.

He gritted his teeth, "I'm sorry."

Slowly but surely, the pool of blood at his stomach began to recede. Then, all that was left was to knit the skin back together. Tamlin glanced up at the male. His head was turned to the side, ragged breaths punching free of his throat. His face was still hidden.

"I'm going to cut your shirt so that I can see the wound, is that alright?"

Tamlin touched a hand to his shoulder, nudging gently, "Alright?"

The male turned his head and jostled the hood of his cloak, then Tamlin was staring into golden eyes and suddenly his world was enveloped with nothing but light.

It tore the breath from his lungs and made his head ring, beat in his veins and sang in his ears, filled his heart with something lovely and devastating all at once. 

He opened his mouth to speak, to put into words the exhilaration that had just wracked his body.

"Who are you?" he asked instead.

His mate’s eyes were the most beautiful gold, and they were shimmering with tears. He closed his eyes, shaking his head softly.

"Lucien."

Tamlin's mind raced, his heart slammed against the walls of his chest, howling.

His mate was here, and his mate didn’t want him. His mate was here and he didn’t want him, his mate was here, here, here, here-

An ugly crackling sound reached his ears. The two Autumn males, they had broken through. They were burning down the wall of thorns.

A low, seething anger began to bloom deep within him. He could feel his claws extending from his fingers. These males had hurt his mate, had almost killed him, and now they dared to invade his lands.

He got to his feet, magic whipping at his fingers. Blind with rage, he charged towards them, allowing the beast to take over his body, enveloping his mind and roaring for blood.

<><><><><>

Beads of scarlet dripped through his fingers as he made his way back to his mate.

The slashes on his arms and chest began to weave back together, healing within a matter of moments. He ran his tongue around his mouth, dislodging small slivers of bone and gristle that he spat out in a bloody gob. The flame haired males had put up a fight, but they had been doomed from the beginning. They were nothing more than tatters now.

Tamlin dropped to his knees beside him. Lucien's face was scrunched, sweat beading on his brow.

He held his breath and laid a hand on Lucien's chest, closing his eyes as he strained to hear the mating bond.

Tamlin's heart dropped into his stomach.

They needed to get back to Rosehall.

He gently guided the unconscious male up into a seated position, letting his head fall into the crook of Tamlin's neck as he slowly stood.

Lucien made a small sound at the back of his throat and Tamlin's arms tightened around him.

"You'll be alright. You're safe now."

Alis started with a cry as he winnowed into the kitchen, stumbling backwards into a rack of utensils.

"Tamlin! Oh, you're a mess, what in the h-" A sharp cry escaped her and she clapped a hand over her mouth, rushing over as he gently laid the injured male onto the large preparation table.

"Is he-"

"He's alive, but I had to put him under a sleeping spell. He was in too much pain otherwise."

"Good, good, but what happened? Tamlin, tell me."

Tamlin couldn't tear his eyes away from him, could barely keep himself from taking his mate's hand in his. He forced himself to focus on Alis's words, to answer her question.

"I- I was near the Spring and Autumn border. He was being hunted. Two males. I dealt with them."

"He is of Autumn, then?"

"Yes. He is Lucien Vanserra, son of the High Autumn family."

His voice began to waver.

“He’s my mate."

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Some extra? I felt that that was a good place to end the ficlet, but I couldn't NOT include some soft Alis moments.

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"Oh, sweetling." Immediately, Alis was by his side, tugging him down into a fierce embrace. One hand stroked along his back, the other wrapped firmly around his shoulders. He buried his nose into her small shoulder, breathing in the scent of earth and rain.

"What am I going to do, Alis?" he asked hoarsely. "He doesn't want me."

She cooed soothingly, squeezing him in her arms even as his tears seeped through the fabric of her bodice. Suddenly, he was a little boy again, crying into Alis's skirts, and all of his hurts could be shooed away with a kiss to his brow and a mug of warm milk.

"Patience, sweetling. You must have patience. These things take time, you'll see. He will grow to love you, just as I do."

[praetorqueenreyna]

For @tamlinweek day 3: mates/flower language!

This art is actually a companion piece to a hytam fic i have been writing for the week but i frankly haven't finished it. It's coming! Just not this week.

[praetorqueenreyna]

Day 2: Poet/Warrior. The Wistful Creative 🖋️

An excerpt from the journal of Tamlin, filled with his poems-

-I spent countless hours walking my grounds, day in and day out, I saw the flowers and the trees, the bees and the sun.

And they all reflected my soul back to me. But now as I walk with you, your battle torn hand in my own, I find that the flowers have begun to sing and the tree’s roots dance beneath the soil, the sun seems to glitter in the sky and the bees produce more than twice their usual load of honey.

I taste the honey on your lips as we sit beneath the lilac tree, laughter echoing down the hills. How I love to be alive, how I love you, spring has always looked better at night.-

@tamlinweek Another page, albeit this one not as successful as i lost the ability to draw faces randomly (joys of being an artist) And a big thank you to my amazing friend @pluto-223 who did the poem for this piece, she had a character limit this time cause i had to write it out by hand💀 (and he may be making another appearance on one of the days…i have ideas that requires her writing skill)

Close ups+alt text of my writing below!