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neil’s not allowed to talk to the press anymore bc the last time he did they asked him his thoughts about trojan v foxes games and he says “i think any games with the foxes and trojans competing against each other should be legally classified as gay porn”

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If someone writes an Azris or Tamcien fic with "Sorry I'm here for someone else" as inspo...

I'll marry you.

Look maybe you dont like marriage but I know how to cook and people love my food, i think its a pretty neat deal.

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People: being angry and fighting over canon, headcanons, ships...

Me: More food? Yes. Neslin? Come here. Luzriel? Oh yeah. Elucien? Cute, give me two. RHYSTA? I didn't knew I liked that one, I'll take a dozen. And please my usual (a pile of Azris and Tamris). YOU HAVE A NEW FLAVOR!? I want that too. And what is that? Cassris AND Lucnes? Omg

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Tamlin Week 2025 Statistics

This was such a hit last year, and we had a seriously amazing Tamlin Week, so here are the Tamlin Week 2025 Statistics by mod Reyna!

First of all, this blog broke 500 followers during Tamlin Week! We officially have over 500 Tamlin stans! Our instagram account, @the.calanmai, broke 100 subscribers. Thank you all for the support, Tamlin Week literally could not exist without you!

In all, there were 269 submissions for Tamlin Week from a total of 78 participants. This was a 46.2% increase and a 62.5% increase, respectively, from 2024. Let's start breaking down some of those submissions!

Table of Contents

Breakdown of 2025

2024 vs. 2025 Statistics

Shoutouts

Conclusion

Breakdown of 2025

Submissions Per Day

Day 7 had the most submissions, with 19% of the total (51 submissions), followed very closely by Day 2, with 50 submissions. Day 6 had the fewest submissions, with 9% of the total (24 submissions). The average number of submissions each day was 38 submissions.

Number of Submissions per Prompt

This year, we endeavoured to make the prompts for each day a little easier to use together, and people really took advantage of that! There is a huge spread across the board, with people utilizing the prompts on their own, as well as combining the day's prompts. Aside from the Free Day, the prompt with the most submissions was Dark Spring (29 submissions). The combination with the most submissions was Forgiveness/Change (24 submissions). The prompt on it's own with the fewest submissions was Chest (5 submissions), although most people seemed to enjoy combining it with the other prompt for the day, Biting.

Types of Fanworks Created

A majority of the submissions were fanfiction, which made up 43% of the total (115 submissions). The second most popular submission was fanart, with 36% of the total (98 submissions). Our miscellaneous category is 10% of the total (26 submissions), which is really cool! Quite a few people thought outside the box to make amazing submissions for Tamlin Week! This category includes playlists, videos, memes, and others! "Combinations" refers to submissions that combined a few of these types into a single submission.

Tamlin Ships Represented

Something that I have always appreciated about Tamlin fandom is how much content revolves around him as a character, and that is absolutely reflected in the breakdown of Tamlin ships that people made creations for. General Tamlin works absolutely dominated, making up 55% of the works submitted (149 submissions). Tamlin/Lucien and Tamlin/Rhysand are the most popular Tamlin ships submitted, with 11% (30 submissions) and 10% (28 submissions) of the total, respectively. There was a pretty even split among the other ships, and any ship with fewer than 1% of the submissions was combined in the "Other Ships" section. The diversity of Tamlin ships is really amazing, and pretty unique in Tamlin fandom!

2024 vs. 2025 Submissions

I thought it would be interesting to compare Tamlin Week 2024 to 2025, and boy was I correct! Because there were so many more submissions this year that last year, to properly compare each category I calculated the percentage of the total for the year that each category represents, rather than using the total number of submissions in each category.

Number of Submissions per Day: 2024 vs. 2025

There isn't a whole lot to be gleaned here, since the prompts between years were different, so interest in submitting on each day is going to be different. There's still some fun stuff! There was a noticeable difference in the number of submissions on Day 2 between 2024 and 2025, with an 18% increase in submissions. In 2024 the Day 2 prompts were Poet/Warrior, and in 2025 they were Dark Spring/Spring Celebrations & Mythology. Dark Spring was a HUGELY popular prompt, which probably explains the increase.

Day 6, on the other hand, saw a 29% decrease in submissions between 2024 and 2025. In 2024 the Day 6 prompts were Dreams/Fairy Tale AU, and in 2025 they were Spy/Warband.

Tamlin Ships Submitted: 2024 vs. 2025

Now we're cooking! It's very interesting to see the changes in which Tamlin ships have become more or less popular in the past year. To better understand this graph, I've calculated the percent change in the number of submissions for each ship, depicted below. The ships that have a percent change above the 0 axis are ones that had an increase in the number of submissions about them, and the ones below the 0 axis had a decrease in the number of submissions about them. The further they are from the 0 axis, the more dramatic the change between the years.

I think the most exciting thing here is the dramatic increase in popularity of Tamlin/Eris, with a 160% increase since 2024! The difference was between 11 submissions this year and 3 submissions in 2024, but still a dramatic increase! Lucien isn't the only Vanserra that Tamlin got his claws into this year! The increase in both General Tamlin and Polycules makes sense, considering that one of our prompts was Platonics & Polycules this year. We love to see it though! Our boy deserves all the love he can get!

The decrease in most of the other ships from 2024 to 2025 really is interesting. The decrease in the "Other Ships" category also seems to indicate that there weren't as many wild Tamlin crackships this year as there were last year. What I read from this information is that more people were interested in creating non-shippy content for Tamlin this year than ever before, which again is super amazing! That's not something a lot of character weeks can say, especially in this fandom.

What's REALLY interesting is that the number of submissions for the three most popular Tamlin ships with a woman (Tamlin/Feyre, Tamlin/Briar, and Tamlin/Rhysand's Sister) had very dramatic decreases from 2024 to 2025, ranging from a 60% decrease for Tamlin/Rhysand's sister, to a whooping 87% decrease for Tamlin/Feyre. More on that later!

Types of Fanworks Submitted: 2024 vs. 2025

Once again, I've found that the most informative way to view the change in the types of fanworks submitted each year is through looking at the percent change. There was a 61% increase in fanart created this year, which is just astounding! Visual art is freaking HARD, and there was an incredible amount of it created for Tamlin Week this year! There was also a 61% decrease in poetry submitted for Tamlin Week in 2025, which is kind of a bummer. We still made up for it with plenty of other submissions!

Number of M/M vs. M/F Ships: 2024 vs. 2025

This is a new, possibly contentious analysis I did this year. I separated out ONLY the submissions that had Tamlin shipped with one other person, and counted what percentage of the total of those were male/male (M/M) ships, vs how many were male/female (M/F) ships. Essentially, are people shipping Tamlin more with men or women?

In 2024, there were roughly an equal number of M/M and M/F ships in the submissions. In 2025, we suddenly get more than twice the number of M/M ships as M/F ships, with a 35% increase in M/M ships and a 37% decrease in M/F ships. This fits with the data we saw above, where all the popular M/F ships in this fandom had a dramatic decrease in the number of submissions. This really is an amazing thing to see in a fandom so focused on heterosexuality and straight ships!

Shoutouts

Every single person that participated in Tamlin Week is a hero to me. Most (if not all) of us have been harassed and called horrible names for liking Tamlin. Despite that, so many of you came together for this event, both by submitted creations, and by supporting each other. You are all the best!

That being said, we had some users go above and beyond for Tamlin Week! 19 tumblr users submitted works during both 2024 and 2025 Tamlin Weeks! Thank you guys so much for sticking around, and continuing to love Tamlin!

For the people who created 7 submissions (1 for each day), we have @copypastus, @mika-no-sekai-blog, @taymartiart, and @umthisistheonlyusernamenottaken.

With 8 submissions, we have @lzrsaugust, @spore-loser, and @thornsinwinter.

With 9 submissions, we have @claws-and-all and @songofthesibyl. With 10 submissions we have @matrixsss and @booksnwriting.

And the number one submitter for Tamlin Week 2025 was once again Zee, @sonics-atelier! We love you Zee, you're amazing!!

Conclusion

My conclusion is that we love you, Tamlin fandom is the best, and Tamlin Week is the best ACOTAR week! Mwah Mwah, you're the best!

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every pokemon is someone's favourite and i'm determined to find a person for every pokemon so please reblog this and tell me what your number one favourite pokemon of all time is

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GREEK GOD AU cuz I’ve been brainrotted by Epic the musical lately and snapped at the chance to design these two

Gale the god of ambition

Astarion the god of justice (and vengeance oop-)

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Are song fics still a thing? Asking for a friend.

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I've been working on a thing for @nameless-acotar-weekend for about 5 days. Taking a day off to go spend time with a friend. It will be a good day, but omg I can't wait to get back to my writing this evening 🤣 I've been having a great time so far.

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no one is allowed to not see this

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It's kind of crazy. I haven't posted any writing for something like 7 years. But even then, I've never had the desire to read anything I've posted again. I've certainly never wanted to read my own things for the first time before.

@tamlinweek felt really special to me for many reasons. For starters, it was really my acotar debut. I only read the series last year. But im so pleased to have found such a warm community in my first fandom event.

I really enjoyed it, and the support everyone gave me in comments and kudos and reblogs. Wanting to read my own stories is a new feeling for me, and I'm so pleased people loved the stories I told this week just as much as I did.

And everyone else's work was just beautiful. I haven't managed to read much yet, with my nose stuck in my own writing like it has been, but the art has been phenomenal too, and it's just so amazing.

Thank you guys 😊

[some-sort-of-firefly]

For @tamlinweek day 5, as much as I was tempted to go for the 'low hanging fruit' so to speak, I pushed myself past the more obvious interpretations and decided to go for a little more niche option of 'getting things off my chest.' I decided to go for an unsent letters theme, because I don't think Tamlin is the type to air his grievance in the open. He feels like someone who would bottle things up, and I think unsent letters is a great way for him to let some of his pent up feelings out without exploding.

Title: Words I'll Never Get To Say Again Relationships: Tamlin & Rhysand, Tamlin & Lucien, Tamlin/Feyre, Implied past Tamlin/Rhysand Characters: Tamlin, Rhysand, Lucien, Feyre Archeron Word Count: 2383 (I didn't check the word count before I posted this. I have no idea how it ended up this long) Tags: Letters, Unsent Letters, Inner feelings, Confessions, Angst

Read HERE on AO3 (Because I can't post the whole thing with this many page breaks)

The scratching of a quill against paper was his only source of comfort these days. He had no one else to turn to. When that pulsing power of a High Lord born anew became too much, he found himself sitting at a desk. He’d broken a few quills in the past few days. He’d struggled to come to terms with his power.

No one to talk to but an empty manor and the ghost of friendships past.

His gaze locked onto the paper on his desk, and he began to write. It was the only way he could think of to get his feelings out in a healthy way. If there was such a thing.

Dear Rhys-

Dear Lucien-

Dear Feyre-

Dear Andras-

Alis-

Misses Archeron-

When he was finished with the letter, he did what he always had done. He reached for the small chest he kept in his window. The latch was slightly rusted with age, and the hinges creaked as he pried it open.

He set the newest letter atop the pile. He would never send them. His emotions were his own. His actions lead to many of the things he lamented in them. Those letters would never see the light of day again. They were never meant to.

His life was in shambles, but he would be okay. The letters served as a reminder of actions not to be repeated.

He locked the chest once more.

Until next time.

As always, dividers and page breaks by @olenvasynyt <3

Banner by me following template guides by Tamlin Week

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For @tamlinweek day 4, I focused on the powers side of the prompt. Would you believe me if I said this one wasn't meant to be like this? I was going to explore Carranam in the ACOTAR world like they existed in Throne of Glass. And instead you get... this?

Still, I'm pretty happy with it, I must admit. The idea of the Children of the Blessed being ridiculed, but if given guidance and protection being able to lend strength to the High Lord who blessed them is a really fun idea. I loved exploring this dynamic between High Fae and their worshippers. The Children of the Blessed worship the Fae, not the Mother. And I think that's really fun as an idea. Especially when you take magic, and worship, and put them together in a nice little bundle. Their worship turns Tamlin into a more godlike figure. And in turn, he protects them, and loves them. They're his and he will keep them safe.

Title: Children of the Spring Relationships: Tamlin & Original Human Character(s) Characters: Tamlin, Original Human Character(s), Children of the Blessed Word Count: 3347 Tags: Worship, kindness, godlihood, creation, ascension, powers

Read HERE on AO3

Around them, the war raged on. Tamlin had long since lost his upper ground. Since he’d revealed himself to save Feyre, Elain, and that poor human girl who had been dragged around from camp to camp. He could still hear her screams sometimes. Every time he tried to rest, he could hear screams of some kind. Whether it was Briar, tied in some kind of wicked display to be laughed at and tormented. Her silver bluebell chains had clinked around her wrists and ankles as she writhed and sobbed. Or Feyre, waking up in the dead of night screaming. He’d been unable to help her lest it devolve into another row. Or Lucien… Gods, Lucien. The screams from under the mountain. The worst part was that he’d caused some of those.

His hands still shook when he thought about it. He could feel the weight of the whip in his hands, and it made him feel sick. His hands curled into fists. He was shaking, before he opened his eyes to defend against the onslaught of Lucien’s pain. He’d lost him too. Pushed him away. Just like he had everyone. If he hadn’t pushed him, he didn’t doubt that Lucien would have chosen him over Feyre. Although, perhaps not with Elain Archeron lingering over him.

He couldn’t hold that against him. Not when his actions had led to her capture. Not when it was his desire to bring Feyre back to Spring that had led to the desecration of his court. The displacement of entire villages and trade routes.

All he could do was sit in the forests, cross-legged as he closed his eyes and felt. He felt for the magic of Spring, which gave life and light to the nature around him. He ignored the distant screams of far off memory, and thrust them further and further away until all he could hear were the sounds of the wind. The trees, rustling and moving. The birds, still singing, even with no one to listen. The Spring fae - not the High Fae, but the ones from before - still existed within the relative silence. They still came out at their respective times. Still sat in the grove with him, whispering reassurances. From flower faeries to wind spirits, they reminded him that the magic of Spring lived in him; he would never be alone.

His path was not yet set in stone. He had chances coming to rewrite the stories in which others would paint him negatively. He had chances to atone for the things he had done. He wanted to atone. He wanted to speak up and make sure his story would be told with neutrality. He wanted not to erase the bad, but for his actions to be met with understanding and patience.

He deserved that much, did he not?

He shook it off. Now was not the time to sit around moping like he had forever to do so. He could have forever to mope after he helped defeat the king and his troops. There was so much to do, and he had to start planning.

He sent word to the other courts, anonymously even though he knew it would be obvious, letting them know about the current plans, and that they may be subject to change if the king thought the information would get out. He knew the other High Lords weren’t stupid, but their penchant for wanting to be right was known to cloud judgement. He was not immune to such things himself, but he was trying to be humble. He knew by allying himself with Hybern like his parents had, he was putting himself in a precarious position with both the Loyalists and Prythian alike. 

He could only hope no one from behind enemy lines caught on to what he was doing. Spring had suffered enough at their hands, and its siege had laid the road to Adriata bare. He was to blame for Tarquin’s current pain. The wall, too. The moment it had crashed down, Tamlin felt his power flare, trying to reach for the old lands of Spring in the south. He drew it back in. He would not fall to that. Spring was here. The mortals deserved their sanctuary. As long as Hybern’s forces did not march on them, Tamlin would steer clear of the mortal lands. It was the least he could do, to continue to protect their borders from wayward fae as he always had done.

Especially after seeing Briar like that. He came across Children of the Blessed every so often, and he wasn’t eager to let them cross the wall, especially now it had fallen. That made it more risky in some ways. Without the wall to signal when someone was trying to cross. He couldn’t save everyone; he was barely able to keep himself above water.

He spent his days patrolling the fallen border.

He came across a fallen human, a young woman with fear etched on her face. Her guts had been spilled, and Tamlin found himself mourning the senseless loss of life. He scented her for any clues, before carefully picking up her delicate form and carrying her back to the manor. He was no doctor, but he stitched her up as best as he could. He cleaned her up, and provided her with new robes. Priestess robes. Yes, maybe some would call it sacrilege. Tamlin called it respect. These humans, they worshipped the fae like no other. For no reason. After what Ianthe had done, he couldn’t think of anyone more fitting to earn the robes of a worshipper.

He could cover more ground in his beast form, so he shifted, gathering her in a large wicker basket. He had woven it himself in the time she had been there. He carried her for three days and three nights, stopping only when he got to the resting post of which she smelled. From the forest outskirts, he could see more Children of the Blessed, and a campfire in the centre. He knew he would be safe to enter. There were no other humans around. This must be the only place where they were safe. He knew fae and humans alike were cruel to them.

He padded into the throng, men and women rising to their feet to look at him. He did not stop until he reached the campfire, and only then did he lower the wicker basket to the floor. He stood tall, and looked from each man and woman around him.

“You must not return to the wall. There is a war happening, and fae there who will harm you. I bring you your kin as proof, and as an offering of peace, so you may provide your funeral rites for her.”

Humans surrounding him dropped to their knees, bowing, all but one woman, older, wearing chains of silver that almost made Tamlin flinch as he heard them. So similar to Briar’s. But he stood strong as she threw herself atop the deceased with a wail. Her mother, perhaps? How many humans were born into the belief that the High Fae would accept them? How many each year suffered? How many had Tamlin not found?

He wondered how many sons and daughters had suffered at the hands of monsters during the Blight? How many during Amarantha’s reign had been dragged in and torn to shreds, like those the soldiers of Hybern tormented?

“State your name,” the elder woman declared, staring at the beast before her. Tamlin realised she did not ask for his name. She followed old traditions about names holding power. Interesting.

“You may call me Tamlin, High Lord of the Spring Court.”

Whispers raised around them, but the woman simply pushed herself to her feet and stepped towards him, meeting his gaze as she stood firm.

“My name is Babette. I give you my gratitude, for returning my child to me.”

Tamlin bowed his head. He lowered his snout to the floor, and felt his magic touch the earth. He could feel the remnants of Spring here, from where it had once spread into these lands. So he closed his eyes, breathing magic into the land. He granted the Children of the Blessed sanctuary, bluebells blooming in a perfect circle around their camp. His magic touched each of them, claiming them as Spring’s own. Not as fae had before the wall went up. Not as slaves. He claimed them as protected. In doing so, he claimed this one area as an extension of his court. But his magic also touched Babette specifically.

“You will be marked as the protector of this grove. And I shall in turn grant you protection from fae that wish you harm.”

It was an old magic that rushed through him. It made him shudder and his fur stand on end, but he welcomed it. Babette too. He saw her eyes glow with a long forgotten power, something similar to his. She bowed to him, and the other acolytes followed suit.

Tamlin feasted with them for one night only.

He could still feel them when he returned to his court. He could feel the pressure of a new grove of Spring-blessed land. It was nice, in truth. Knowing that he could offer even a small group protection in return for loyalty.

Prayers reached him that night. No longer did they grasp at the wall. No longer did they fight to find any high fae that may listen. They found Tamlin. Not just any High Lord, but theirs. He did not ask for service, only that they provide a home to any humans cast out because they weren’t afraid. Only that they provide aid to any misplaced by the war. In turn, if anyone showed up in their little corner of land, Tamlin would be there. He would tear them to pieces.

The battle fast approached. Tamlin heeded the call for aid. He doubted they expected him to show up. He knew what they thought of him. The breeze carried whispers to him. But he went, ready to fight. For Prythian. For his Court. For that little pocket of land, three days into the mortal lands. He couldn’t fall; he had promised them protection. So he took note, and even dragged Beron into war with him. Prythian would not fall. 

He felt strong as he stood on that battlefield. In fact, he felt stronger than he had before. Like he had eyes all over the field in which he stood. He didn’t understand it, but he was grateful for it as one of the king’s creatures tried to come at him from behind. He leapt up, twisting in the air and sunk his teeth into the back of its neck, shaking violently before planting a paw on its spine and ripping. The blood flooded his mouth, but he carried on. He tore through creatures and fae alike. Ripping, tearing, clawing. He was not without his own share of injuries. Blood trickled down his chest, shimmering with an almost imperceptible golden hue. His eyes narrowed. It was a question for another day.

Even when the Bone Carver fell, even when Stryga was thrown to the ground and eaten by the naga hounds, Tamlin didn’t waver. He led his remaining troops into battle. He threw himself between Hybern’s soldiers and his own. Threw himself between those from other courts when his eyes on the battlefield indicated it was necessary. Those phantom eyes on the battlefield became his saving grace. 

A blade, tearing through his fur and skin; slicing into his throat.

It would have made him fall. Should have. His power waned, just briefly, and then it flared with a gale-force wind that grew into a hurricane like Spring had never seen before. He felt it then, the prayers. Carried on the spring breeze and they bolstered him. Those eyes sharpened. Manifestations of prayers to aid. He could see. He had eyes everywhere. Omniscient.

He was not just a High Lord. He felt the surge of strength. It wasn’t much. He was nothing like the Mother, or even the Old Gods. He was Tamlin, God of Spring, and his powers reflected that. Vines sprouted among the warring sides, and his eyes glowed. Gold overtook green in a burst of warm magic. He sent waves towards Winter and Summer, at those closest to his own court. He felt for them. He sent winds to them. Blizzards and Thunderstorms clashed in midair. They rained down on enemy soldiers with devastating precision. They hindered their movements; slowed them down. It was all Tamlin needed. That reduction in speed let his magic catch up to them, holes opening up in the earth. Vines sprouted. They curled around necks, and grew through bodies. Carnivorous plants took chunks out of naga hounds and swallowed soldiers whole. Even as Tamlin felt other High Lords pulling back, running out of magic, he fought on. He pushed, and raged, and threw himself into the fight harder.

Lucien returned to them.

It was the only time Tamlin paused. He met his friend on the battlefield, and their gazes met. He knew Lucien would be on the lookout for Elain. But at least for now, they met each other where they needed to be. Back-to-back like old times, with eyes on the monsters that approached. They sliced through them. Synchronisation came like a memory; they knew each other. They could mirror one another and slice or shred through hordes without any problem. Until Tamlin heard that scream. A name, one of Rhysand’s inner circle, on female lips. Fear. He felt the pulse of energy around the battlefield, and he sought out that female. Archeron. Nesta, he believed.

Behind her, behind Cassian, he saw a hound. The king of Hybern advanced on them from the front as they were stalked by a beast of scale and sulphur. Tamlin prowled closer, keeping his body low to the ground. His steps were silent, tail cutting through the air as he assessed the beast’s movements. He sought out the weaknesses he recalled, and then pounced. He flew over the couple and dragged the hound to the floor, his teeth tight around its throat as he shook it. He ripped out its throat and threw it to the floor, turning when the king made a choked sound.

He swivelled to see the sword glistening with blood as it pierced through his neck.

Good.

Nesta rose, and he was reminded of the ferocity with which she had left the Cauldron. Her movements were fluid as she joined her sister at the king’s back. He crouched by the side of the Illyrian general, watching for more threats.

None came.

The battlefield was silent as Nesta’s hand covered Elain’s on the hilt of a sword, and twisted. Twisted. Until the king’s head came clean off in front of him. Tamlin snorted lowly, and the fe- no. Woman. The woman stooped to seize the royal bastard by the hair. She held his head aloft, like a trophy. Tamlin howled, victorious.

As the Cauldron rumbled, fae turned to the mountain on which it stood. As the world began to crumble, Tamlin realised that many of the fae looked scared. He did not feel scared. Even as Prythian threatened to fade, some part of him realised that he would not fade with them. As long as his small grove was protected. As long as they kept whispering his name in reverent tones. He would live on. The magic would protect him.

But just as it started, it stopped. Silence. No crumbling, no destruction. Just a stabilising force that held the magic lands together. He turned, and raced up the mountain to examine the damage. Only to be met with screams. Agonising, terrible screams. He’d never heard anything like it. His ears were pinned back against his head, and he had to shift back just to give them a break. He stood before Feyre, as she was pleading with the High Lords.

Bring him back.

He could refuse. He could declare Spring neutral, and never again concern himself with Rhysand’s infuriating presence. But he had loved Feyre, once. He had loved Rhysand, once. In fact, he still held love for both of them. He saw the kernels of power as they entered his chest, and watched as Rhysand remained still.

“Please,” Feyre whispered. Her eyes fixed on him, rimmed with red as she begged. “Please save him.”

Tamlin reached out his magic. He felt for Spring, and he felt it. But something else, too. He felt the primal power, long forgotten associations of his season that had been left to rot. He felt life. New life. Returning life. He felt the Mother, but something more beside her. The Mother was Creation. But Tamlin was Life.

He stepped forward, and extended a hand over Rhysand’s chest. His power surged, and Spring leapt through the battlefield like no other Court had done. Flowers sprouted in a circle, similar to his Mortal Children. But these weren’t bluebells. Daffodils, the flowers of Imbolc. They were flowers of a new life. Eternal life and soul bonds. His magic twisted into a golden tendril and pressed against Rhysand’s chest until it pushed through. And with that connection made, night dark magic began twisting up the tendril. Blending, sharing, growing. Tamlin gazed at the magic, feeling the strength pulsing behind it. Feeling it grow stronger, more resilient. He did not stop until he felt the Night Court shudder against that magical bond. It welcomed its High Lord home. Only then did Tamlin disengage, leaving the faerie ring around them as Rhysand’s chest stuttered back into life.

All eyes on him, he did not respond. He merely bowed to his former lover and her mate, though he still slept on.

“Be happy, Feyre. Both of you.”

He turned then, and walked back down the mountain, pausing only beside Lucien and Elain to cast them with a curious glance. She had cast the first blow. A worthy mate for one who had been his most loyal friend. If she chose to accept the bond, of course.

“You must know, you shall both be welcome in Spring, should you ever feel the need.”

The invitation was open, and he didn’t wait for a reply. He had somewhere to be.

The celebration lasted a tenday. There was laughter and fire. Chatter the likes of which he hadn’t seen in decades. The Children of the Blessed, his Mortal Children of Spring flocked him. They bestowed gifts on him; sacrifices of meat, and plants. They communicated with the faeries that came to meet them, and for the first time, it felt like unity.

He returned year after year, to regale his Mortal compatriots with tales of the war. He told them of Elain. The former mortal who braved danger to save her sister. He included Nesta in those tales, but the stories of Nesta seemed to exaggerate her part. In Tamlin’s view, at least. Elain had been the one to stab him. Whichever way one spun it, it was a story of familial love and sacrifice. 

The first time Elain came to visit, she was unaware of her own importance. Tamlin did not show just anyone to his Sacred Lands. His power grew, and outward influences on him shrunk. He no longer felt inclined to cower from Rhysand’s visits. No longer dreaded them, for he knew he could stand tall.

Eventually, he did introduce Elain to his Children of Spring. Her awe spoke for itself, and she was immediately welcomed as Protector. Patron of their Hallowed Grounds.

If Tamlin noticed, some generations down the line, that his Children were starting to be born with pointed ears and fairer features; it was only Spring’s way of blessing those that had helped it rebuild. With Spring’s resurgence came a new and beautiful magic. One that led to antlered Children with cloven hooves. Winged Children with flowered freckles. And Children that looked more and more like High Fae with each passing generation.

This was Tamlin’s Spring.

Dividers and page breaks by @olenvasynyt <3

Banner by me following template guides by Tamlin Week

[some-sort-of-firefly]

My favourite day!

TAMLIN WEEK MASTER LIST: DAY 2

Tamlin Week is still charging right along, with 42 submissions for day 2! I'm sure our favorite Spring Lord is feeling very appreciated!

As always, if we have missed your post, please let us know so we can reblog you and add you to the master list! We will never intentionally ignore a post. Make sure you continue to tag @tamlinweek in your posts as well!

GENERAL TAMLIN

A Star goes to Spring by @shi-daisy

The Court of Beauty and Bluebells by @some-sort-of-firefly

What once was yours by @umthisistheonlyusernamenottaken

The Hollow Awakening by @sonics-atelier

Floralia by @matrixsss

Fire Night by @songofthesibyl

Three Steps into the Roots by @room217prayer

The Mourning Stone by @booksnwriting

Come peaceful, Purgatory by @velarisbynight

TAMLIN/LUCIEN

Dark Spring by @thornsinwinter

Shelter by @irithiadourden

Cradle Me by @yaralulu

TAMLIN/ERIS

Hounded by @justatouristhere

TAMLIN/NYX

A Court of Chaos and Darkness epilogue by @witch-and-her-witcher

TAMLIN/ORIGINAL CHARACTER

Beauty and the Beast by @nocasdatsgay

The Curse of the Third Son of Spring by @sadlybluespirited

Dark Spring by @tbdel

TAMLIN/READER

Tale of the Spring by @mika-no-sekai-blog

GENERAL TAMLIN

A Spring Court hunt by @thrumugnyr

Seaside performance by @bonecarversbestie

The Spring Storm by @vermilionskiinmorning

Tamlin's bouquet by @chunkypossum

Dark Spring Lord by @lucychanart

Calanmai Tamlin by @fourteentrout

Tamlin in the garden by @froggybogwitch

Spring reclaiming its High Lord by @claws-and-all

The one who devours by @flat-neines

turning to the dark side by @lzrsaugust

TAMLIN/LUCIEN

Eternal Spring by @achaotichuman

The King of Beasts and Spring by @winged-freaksometimes

Fiddle of Dawn book cover by @whatisamettafor

TAMLIN/RHYSAND

"Why did you leave?" by @taymartiart

TAMLIN/AMARANTHA

Tamlin's tiny chair by @copypastus

Queen O' Fairies by @geniemillies

GENERAL TAMLIN

The Blooming Beast by @sonics-atelier

variance by @spore-loser

When Hunger Blooms by @fairymusings

GENERAL TAMLIN

And I was in the darkness by @climbthemountain2020

Dark Spring by @whisperingmidnights

Season of Shadows by @slytherin-pen

TAMLIN/ERIS

Tamlin/Eris dark era by @justatouristhere

Tamlin/Eris headcanons by @irithiadourden

GENERAL TAMLIN

A Word from Tamlin by @booksnwriting

Dark Spring playlist by @trash-shrike

[some-sort-of-firefly]

For @tamlinweek day 3, I decided to go down the worship route. Based during the war, Tamlin has already been through so much, and he's alone. He's regretful that his actions have coloured people's views of him, and he's doing his best to be a good person while he is surrounded by people who are fighting against his country. People he cares about.

I restarted this fic about 3 times in one day, because I wanted it to be a Tarquin/Tamlin fic. Then I considered Thesan/Thesan's Peregryn/Tamlin. Then as I was writing the beginning of what would have been that fic, Ailbhe appeared. And she stayed. And I really loved her and what she represented. I hope you all do too.

This one's a lil saucy, approach with caution? :P

Title: Sweet Innocence, Gentle Sin Word Count: 3412 Relationships: Tamlin/Original Female Character(s) Characters: Tamlin, Original Female Character(s), High Lords of Prythian (mentioned), High Priestesses of Prythian, Original High Priestess character(s) Tags: Worship, Religion, Mating Behaviour, Body Worship, Sex used as Prayer, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Divine Blessings.

Read HERE on AO3

The High Lord’s meeting had been a partial success. There had been agreements made, anyway. But Tamlin just felt exhausted. It was hard playing double agent, even harder when it seemed everyone was so quick to believe all the Night Court said. It was infuriating, when Rhysand had been so readily accepted as one of them again. As if he hadn’t spent fifty damned years kowtowing to Amarantha’s whims. Less than a year of Tamlin trying to work out what the king was planning, and the whole of Prythian was willing to accept he was paving their way in. As if Tamlin was just another villain in the shadow left by his family. Following in his father’s footsteps, as if he ever would have done something like that.

He was just trying to keep himself afloat. Just trying to keep the wall up. But it was hard. Harder than he’d thought it would be. With his court in tatters, and everyone around him seeming to find his downfall necessary or amusing. His sentries abandoning ship like there was no tomorrow. While his people ignored his pleas to evacuate. He couldn’t stay here. Just knowing that Feyre was here. Knowing what had been said. What they wouldn’t let him defend. He had to go.

He was walking through the halls, trying to clear his head. It was no use trying to winnow if he couldn’t think clearly. He’d end up getting stuck, or leaving his head in one place and the rest of him elsewhere. Tamlin exhaled slowly, and sought out the exit into the gardens. He’d always liked the Dawn Court, he had visited frequently in the time after he had taken up the mantle of Spring. Dellingr had always been pleased to have him. He had found peace in Dawn, and even when Dellingr perished, Tamlin had found time to be there for Thesan, and in doing so, had been able to form something of a friendship with him after the war. 

Until Amarantha.

She had done everything in her power, and succeeded, to make Tamlin public enemy number one. He couldn’t fight against her. It had been his refusals that had led to their powers being stolen. He couldn’t make things right, couldn’t make them forget what they had lost, not when his very presence made things worse. Yet, Kallias was able to speak civilly with Rhysand, even after the death of Winter’s children. Rhysand claimed it was another. Tamlin knew other daemati did exist, but if there had been another in Amarantha’s makeshift court, Tamlin had never met them. Perhaps there was another. Perhaps not. He wanted to believe that Rhysand had morals; lines he wouldn’t have crossed. 

But just as Rhysand and Feyre wanted to believe Tamlin was a bad person, Tamlin didn’t want to do the same. Tamlin wanted to believe the best in his former friend. But he didn’t know him anymore. Didn’t know which lines he considered unimportant. It was hard, learning about all the ways people had changed in their fifty years under that damned mountain. Tamlin would like to level the thing if only the sacred neutral ground didn’t still hold meaning. Amarantha’s reign did not erase all it had been before.

Perhaps he could redeem himself by returning it to the space it once was. Perhaps he would be able to breathe again.

He walked through the gardens, until he came across the familiar shrine in the eastern quarter. Where the sun rose, and Dawn came to life. He gazed at it, frowning. Dusty, neglected. It felt wrong. Dellingr was out here each morning to pray and offer the Mother his blessings. But of course, for fifty years it had gone untended, and the overgrowth was threatening to claim the dais on which the altar stood. Of course it would, as nature had a way of fighting back against things forgotten. Tamlin knew that more than most. 

But letting it stay like this, forgotten and forlorn, felt so unbelievably wrong, even if Tamlin hadn’t prayed in so many decades himself. He still believed there was someone out there listening. He just wasn’t sure it was The Mother of Prythian.

He didn’t dare use his magic on a sacred display, and instead he knelt at the altar and began to pull at the weeds, bringing himself closer to nature, and the being that had once been worshipped here. The vaguely repetitive task was calming after the events of today, and he found himself able to breathe easier, able to exist without worrying about whether he was making enemies of his former allies by trying to spy for them.

“No one has knelt at that altar for near on a hundred years,” a soft, feminine voice drifted over him, making him jump as he turned to face her.

The female behind him only laughed, a melodic sound as she stepped up to his side and knelt beside him, reaching for one of the weeds herself. She tugged it up from the root, and turned to Tamlin again. 

“It is nice, to see one tending to it. Especially you, High Lord.” 

Tamlin’s brow arched in question. He couldn’t recall the female in front of him. His gaze flicked up to her forehead, where an invoking stone sat, her circlet nestled in deep red hair. Unnaturally red, like wine. But it suited her, framing tanned features, and deep blue eyes that matched her invoking stone so perfectly.

“High Priestess… Have we met?” 

She smiled, the expression serene as she nodded, turning towards the altar once more and reaching for some more weeds.

“Once, Tamlin. When you became High Lord, you came to visit, and you were feeling quite distressed. Of course, we were both young then. I am not surprised you don’t remember. But I have thought of you often. I considered moving to Spring myself, but then… She came, and I, like others, had to flee. My name is Ailbhe.”

The name, more than anything, struck Tamlin, and his brows furrowed. He recalled her, of course, she had been a comforting presence in that time. She had held him, and stroked his hair. She had been close in age to him, perhaps a bit younger. But something seemed… different.

“I thought you had–”

“Wings? Yes,” she replied softly. “When Amarantha’s forces claimed Dawn, they came after us. They plucked my wings. And when there was nothing left to pull, they cut them off. It is only through the Mother’s blessings that I still live to see the dawn. My mother, a Peregryn, she was not so lucky. She was in High Lord Dellingr’s personal legion, and pledged herself to High Lord Thesan when he came into power. She fell during a raid, trying to protect the temple.”

Her gaze didn’t lift from the altar, as if she was trying to make sense of her own history. He could relate to that. He felt the overwhelming urge to comfort her, reaching to lay his hand on her shoulder. He moved closer to her and wrapped his arms around her. She pressed her head into his shoulder, and he felt her tremble slightly. Her tears came silently, tugging on something deep in Tamlin’s chest. He wanted to help her. The very idea of her crying felt wrong, pulling on some primal part of his being that hadn’t been ready before.

“Why did you want to move to Spring?” he found himself asking, hoping the subject wasn’t tied too deeply to the sorrow she was feeling.

“I feel connected to it. To you, after we met. When I began my training, I was aware that your court had temples in which I could practice. But then Amarantha started visiting, and there was safety in numbers. And texts, scrolls, history to protect. So I stayed with my Sisters, and we fought back in the ways that we could.”

“Would you still move into Spring?” He wasn’t sure why the idea felt so appealing, especially after Ianthe. But perhaps having a new Priestess would give his people something to believe in. Someone who could help them far more than he could.

“In an instant,” she said, “But I have too much to do here. Dawn needs to recover too.”

Tamlin could understand that. They had all lost in the war. People, buildings, history, as Ailbhe had said, history and texts. While Day was considered the Court of Knowledge, Tamlin knew that religious texts were most important in Dawn.

In silence, they continued to clean the altar, before they settled back on their knees together. Ailbhe lowered her veil, and Tamlin felt her take his hand. They sat together as they thought about what was. What would be.

“Our Mother, we pray today for guidance, for signs we are on the right path. We ask that you take the blight away from our lands, and restore our courts to health. Oh, Lady of the Cauldron, bless our lands with the magic you once gifted us, and let us breathe in your divine knowledge as we learn to grow again.”

Tamlin felt the power behind the prayer, and didn’t dare to look at her as the soft wash of brilliant blue against his eyelids, caressing him. He knew how the power of High Priestesses felt, since Ianthe hadn’t been shy to use it. But this felt different. It didn’t claw and grasp at him. It touched him softly, stroking along his neck and down his back. He didn’t want to flinch from it, like he had from the sharp rasp of Amarantha’s power. Instead, Tamlin found himself leaning in. He relaxed into the soft words until Ailbhe gently touched his shoulder. His eyes opened to lit candles on the altar, flames glowing in that same soft blue that had coloured his vision.

The Mother, he realised. Through the invoking stones, she listened. And she granted her Priestesses the power to reach her. Tamlin couldn’t help but wonder what she had thought about how Ianthe was using her gifts.

He rose to his feet, and extended a hand to help Ailbhe stand. She took him up on the offer, and Tamlin couldn’t help but smile as she offered him a little curtsy in thanks. He took it upon himself to kiss the back of her hand before releasing it. They went their separate ways after that. Tamlin had things to do after all. His court wouldn’t rebuild itself; his people wouldn’t recover alone. And he had no wish to overstay his welcome when many of the courts wanted to treat him like the enemy.

Spring felt… just a little empty as he returned. Not just due to the lack of sentries, either. He stubbornly refused to put words to it though, lest he make things real. That would just be speaking more ill will into existence or something. He didn’t get nice things, after all. Not anymore. But he kept turning as he saw something in the corner of his eye, the red flowers giving him pause. Blue skies at noon making him stare in wonder. 

And all the while, his heart felt far away. It hadn’t done in so long. Not since he sent Feyre back to the Human Lands. But he felt like he was running on instinct. Running without any true idea of what he was doing. He helped his people rebuild their ransacked homes. Helped them clear roads and trading routes. He made quiet, and private, apologies to some who had lost the most to Hybern. He had never intended to be in this deep. And yet there was no way out for him. Not yet. He needed to see this through. He needed to have eyes and ears in enemy territory, especially now they’d already torn through his lands. He would not let his people down even more than he already had. This had to be worth something in the end. He’d learn how they fought. He’d be able to spot their weaknesses in the name of defending them.

And then, when the war reached its climax, he would unleash Hel on them. For his friends, his family. Ailbhe. He didn’t know where that thought came from, but he knew it was true. For Ailbhe, and all she had lost, he would unleash everything. His rage. Heartbreak. Fears. He’d make them feel it all if it kept her from losing more. Ailbhe would have a world in which to worship.

He found himself in the temple on his grounds, staring at the remnants of a missing Priestess and those she had claimed as hers. His gaze lowered, and he frowned. He only hoped that Ianthe would see that working with the enemy wasn’t all it cracked up to be. It was an unavoidable reality. Being a double agent made you many enemies. And unless you could spin stories like a spider’s web, they weren’t liable to let you in after you revealed your intentions. 

He had to assume that was how Rhysand got in, anyway.

He threw himself into it. Traces of Ianthe were washed away, he had fae come in to help him cleanse the temple on the full moon, and they gave the Mother her space back. He created a space, truly dedicated to worship. He created a welcoming space; something that would outlive him, hopefully. All that was missing was a priestess.

Preferably one with red-wine hair who shone like the morning sun.

She came to him in the morning. Without any warning nor fanfare, she walked in as Tamlin was dining with his remaining companions. She looked each of them over with an air of indifference before striding forward and taking a seat. As if she had always been there. As if she belonged.

Tamlin felt it then, the way his chest seemed to grow in size, warmth radiating around the room, and he could sense her. If he closed his eyes, he could feel her, and that tugging feeling in his chest was relentless. Mate. He stared at her across the table, and her gaze slid over him as if she was disinterested. He couldn’t help the low growl of frustration that slid past his lips. She’d walked in as if she owned the place, and didn’t even look at him?

It wasn’t until after he’d sounded his irritation that he saw the playful smirk on her lips. It actually caught him off guard, and he huffed in response.

“Didn’t actually think I’d ignore you, did you, Tamlin?”

He opened his mouth to respond, hesitated, and then tried again. His cheeks heated, and her soft laugh surrounded him in a warm blanket. He shuddered slightly, and shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts so he could respond with some semblance of intelligence.

He didn’t succeed.

Tamlin led her to the temple after breakfast, presenting her with the restored space. It was an excuse to put off work to be near her, honestly. He wasn’t prepared to leave her side. He didn’t think he’d ever be prepared to leave her side. He could only steal glances at her, and it felt like he could breathe. He leant into her slightly, drawn in by the sweet scent of petrichor and lavender. It felt comforting.

She wasted no time striding past him to inspect her new home altar. He watched her keenly as she ran her hand over the soft golden cloth reverently, before turning around and hopping up to sit on it, turning her gaze on Tamlin with a smirk. He went weak at the knees and stepped forward. She extended a hand, crooking a finger to beckon him even closer as she spread her legs.

“Aren’t you going to help me pray?”

Fuck. Fuck. She was going to be the death of him. And he was going to allow it. He moved forward, stepping between her legs. Her fingers caressed his jaw lightly, and she drew his head down to capture his lips in a claiming kiss, a demanding kiss. Something that almost had a life of its own as Tamlin melted into her touch, reaching a hand to rest on her hip, claws already digging in slightly.

She took charge, pressing down on his shoulder until Tamlin went to his knees, tilting his head up to look at her. The morning light filtered through the window, giving her an ethereal glow that only accentuated all the features Tamlin hadn’t been able to stop thinking about. He slid his hands up her thighs, tearing his gaze from her face so he could make sure he was doing things right by her. She moved her robes aside, free hand sliding into Tamlin’s hair and pulling him in. He went willingly, easily, letting her pull his face between her legs. She hooked one over his shoulder, and glanced down with a smirk.

“Well? Get praying, High Lord.”

He shifted slightly, leaning in the rest of the way to bury himself in her folds, tongue sliding between them and tasting her for the first time. His claws dug into her thighs, enough to draw blood. It wasn’t effective at anything other than drawing a feral growl from him though as he gripped her tight, sliding his tongue into her and lapping. He alternated his technique, paying as much attention to her clit as he was her pussy, eventually sliding two fingers into her as he focused more, sucking lightly on her clit, even biting ever so gently, just to feel her jolt beneath him. Through his own sex addled haze, he could hear her moans, feel the way she pulled on his hair when he did something she liked. 

There was a lot of hair pulling going on.

Tamlin groaned softly as she bucked her hips, pressing against his nose as if she wasn’t all he could smell anyway. She was his entire being in this moment and he could only begin to explain what he was feeling. His power flared, blocking off the temple entrance with thorny vines, and around them, more vines sprouted around the altar, magic filling the temple like it never had before. Tamlin stood, claiming her mouth with his before she could say a single thing. Fangs brushed against her lip, and he couldn’t hold back from biting her. He realised her own hands were curled into talons, digging roughly into his shoulders as she drew him in closer. Instinct took over.

Tamlin pushed her back onto the altar roughly, not caring that her shoulders would likely bruise. He dragged her to the edge and waited only for her to catch her breath before slamming into her. Her talons dug in harder, and she cried out in pleasure, The Mother’s name on her lips as her back arched. Tamlin’s gaze drifted over her, his own growls punctuating her much softer moans. 

Her invoking stone began to glow, blue light enveloping the temple and playing with Tamlin’s power. He gained his own boost of strength, and he heard the altar crack as he thrust into her harder. Magic flared in a way that it didn’t often do. It was reminiscent of Calanmai. Tamlin’s eyes glowed with ancient power as the ghost of Ailbhe’s wings beat against the altar. Their souls intertwined, indistinguishable from one another. The invocation of The Mother’s name burst through the Temple doors and windows, bathing the Court of Spring in an otherworldly power as Ailbhe came, dragging Tamlin to climax at the same time before they collapsed together atop the altar.

The Mother’s blessing washed over them together, as rough bites turned into lazy kisses, and clawed fingers became light caresses in the midst of a post-orgasmic haze that had Tamlin panting into Ailbhe’s shoulder. Her fingers lightly threaded through his hair, lightly tugging at some knots that she had definitely created.

“Are you satisfied, High Priestess?”

“Extremely.”

After the war, Ailbhe and Tamlin had their mating ceremony. It was a wonderful affair, with the courts coming together to celebrate something after so long fighting for their lives. Tamlin was so absorbed in his own happy ending, that he didn’t even notice that the Night Court failed to show up. It was about time they stopped living in his waking thoughts. He had far better things to do. His life was only getting better, and it was all because of his High Priestess. Ailbhe, his Lady of Spring.

Ailbhe and Tamlin. <3

As always, borders and page dividers by @olenvasynyt <3

Picrew by the talented @copypastus

Banner by me, following template guides by Tamlin Week