Honestly, shipping Tamlin is hard for me since we don't really see him interacting with anyone positively. I can't really ship him with Feyre after ACOWAR, that's just not fair to him. And since he's been with Feyre and that ended how that ended, the other Archeron sisters are a no-go for me. He and Lucien had a fun aesthetic, though I'm not really able to read it as romantic no matter how hard I try. He and Rhysand could've/should've had a lust-hate relationship, but we hate Rhysand on this blog. I was mostly indifferent at first, but I’m actually slowly coming around to Tamlin x Briar.
But more than anything else, I ship Tamlin x An Author Who Knows What To Do With Him.
hey you guys ever think about how tamlin's whole journey is about everyone who loves him being doomed? his mother loved him and died. rhysand arguably loved him and his entire family gets murked because he loved tamlin so much. his sentries loved him and died. andras loved him and died. feyre loved him and died (granted she comes back but it still counts). lucien loves tamlin and loses his eye, his friends and his home. his people love him and his court gets destroyed.
lucien sneaking into tamlin's room in the middle of the night to put some fashionable clothes into his closet because he'll be damned if he lets tamlin walk around in public in a mid outfit
type: fluff/smut
warning(s): mature content
word count: 2846
*all rights reserved*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was hot in the room, boiling actually. Humidity was rising. And forming one clear thought that did not directly go to Elain Archeron seemed like a sheer impossibility for Lucien Vanserra.
The tall male was leaning against the wall in the family living room, his arms crossed in front of his broad chest. He felt a little bit silly wearing those plush fox ears but somehow Feyre had convinced him to do it, saying how happy it would make her if he came dressed up as a fox to her Halloween party. So Lucien did it—Feyre was his friend after all and it was just a pair of silly ears.
Lucien's heart was beating rapidly while he was assessing Elain the same way as she was checking him out. A fox warching its prey. Lucien had to chuckle at that thought. What the hell was going on in his mind?
Their gazes occasionally met, strayed away again yet their desire for each other stretched out between their two souls. Their longing made it hard to focus on anything else but the other person, made it hard to breathe, to think, to speak, to…exist. It was Lucien who acted first, his feet moving on their own accord.
For months it been going on like that—longing gazes were exchanged, sometimes deliberately or not their hands touched, sometimes they talked. It had never really gone beyond that. Somehow they constantly sought each other's company yet when they were around each other their conversations were uncomfortable, almost painful to watch from the outside. And that was exactly the problem: whenever they had a conversation or were about to have one they were watched and observed by their friends and family.
Elain laughed loudly about something Emerie had said. She tipped her head back, mouth opening into a big grin. Lucien’s heart swelled at the sight of that—Cauldron, she was so gorgeous.
He was close to her then, nearly having reached his mate. The smell of pumpkin and spices filled the emissary’s nostrils—the smell came from the tray Elain held in her hand.
Throughout the whole previous night he had been wondering what Elain would be wearing. All his guesses had been wrong. He had thought she would wear some innocent Halloween costume, as she was a rather modest and decent person.
Never would he have guessed that she would were something like she had donned.
Lucien’s throat worked on a swallow, his eyes following the soft curves of Elain’s body, the small fawn tail strapped to her backside, the tiny corset she was wearing, paired with the short skirt and the fawn ears. Lucien gasped—soundly, his eyes slowly dancing up her body when he came to a halt right behind her.
“Lady Elain,” he said as a form of greeting, his throat dry, his voice low and hoarse. Elain’s heart nearly jumped out of her chest when she sucked in a sharp breath and turned around to her mate. She hadn't seen him in so long, had only let herself think about him in the dead of night. And now he was here, standing right behind her, his scent already invading her nostrils. Holy gods, he smelled delicious—rich, lush spices, musky with a small note of something sweet.
“Lord Lucien,” Elain breathed, a cheerful tone in her voice. She simply couldn’t avoid it. When she finally looked fully up, her eyes first landed on the fox ears on top of Lucien’s head and she couldn’t hold back from chortling. “Cauldron, I love your costume,” she expressed and grinned at her mate. Lucien knew that that grin could light up the darkest night—he wanted to get drunk on it, drown in it.
“Fox and fawn, huh?” Lucien said, finding himself unable to form a coherent thought that would not fully reveal all that was going on inside him right then and there.
“What a coincidence,” Elain chirped and bit down on her lip. Not a coincidence at all, she had begged Feyre to convince Lucien to were those ears for months.
“I don't really think it was a coincidence, my lady. Feyre was so persistent and it makes me think that you played your role in it,” Lucien drawled. Elain giggled softly. A faint pinkish tone crept into the seer’s cheeks when she momentarily averted her gaze and looked at the tray with glasses filled with pumpkin juice on it.
“Lord Lucien, would like to taste my juice?” She changed the topic and lifted her gaze to meet her mate’s. Lucien’s eyes, one of russet and one of metal were glowing, pupils slightly dilated.
“I would love to taste your juice, Lady Elain.”
Elain smiled sheepishly, the colour in her cheeks intensifying. She carefully handed him a cup, which Lucien placed to his lips and tipped it up, savouring the first sip. His eyes never left Elain, not even when the sweet liquid trickled down the inside of his throat and he groaned lowly. “Delicious,” Lucien purred after having finished his drink and licking over his lips. Elain took the glass out of his hand, placed it on the tray and played the tray and out that on the table beside her. She felt hot all over, her skin all of a sudden so tight.
“I am glad you like it, Lord Lucien,” Elain said calmly and bit down on her lip. Their bond started to glow, making Elain’s knees wobble and Lucien’s hand tremble. He stepped closer to his mate, the heat of their bodies merging. Elain was sure that their tension could be felt in the whole room—she didn’t care.
The emissary moved another inch closer to his mate and lifted a hand to her face to pull out her lip from beneath her teeth. “Don't do that, it does…things to me.”
The seer sucked in a breath, her hands landing on Lucien’s chest. She tipped her head back the tiniest bit so she could meet his gaze. Challenge and temptation laced her features when she parted her lips. “What kind of things, Lucien?”
It was his name on her lips that was his undoing—so softly spoken yet so full of desire.
“Let’s get out of here. I want to be alone with you when I show you exactly what it does to me, Elain. Because there other things than your juice that I want to taste tonight.” There was commanding in his voice yet it were some of the softest and definitely sexiest spoken words Elain had ever heard. She loved it when he talked like that.
And her name on his lips —it was like the brush of a feather against her skin. It made her shiver, goosebumps appear and her toes curl in her heels.
“Come with me,” she breathed, interlacing her hand with his when probably a million sparks exploded in her chest. It was the very first time that their palms had touched—both of them felt the explosion, stopping in their tracks for a moment. The moment ended when Lucien cleared his throat and Elain started to walk again.
The wink that came from Cassian when the mated couple walked past him did not go unnoticed by the emissary and drew a small laugh from him. He had really come to like the general.
Elain did no longer have a room in the Town House so she opted for the closest room, wanting to be alone with her mate as quickly as possible. She had anticipated that moment —that night— for so long and now it finally was here. Finally they would be alone—just in each others presence.
“The High Lord’s office?” Lucien queried and raised a brow when he closed the door behind Elain. Elain grinned and dipped her chin. “Closest room. Now what is it you want to talk about?” she questioned and waddled over to the big oak table while Lucien let himself fall into one of the arm chairs that stood across from the desk.
Leaning back, Lucien sat in a sprawl and spread his long legs. He released a groan from deep in his throat, when his eyes once again landed on Elain. He let his eyes wander and Elain felt heat in every place they landed on. The emissary bit down on his lower lip, his eyes burning with desire when they finally returned to his mate’s face.
“Hell, I hate your costume,” he finally said into the silence of the room. Only the faint voices of the guests and some light music could be heard in the background.
Elain’s lips formed a pout when she leaned against the desk behind her and braced her hands on the surface. “What? I thought you would like it.”
“I hate it because the first moment I saw you in it I wanted to rip it off your body and claim you right then and there in the middle of all those people.”
That she had not expected.
Elain flushed bright red, every nerve in her body being on high alert, her blood blazing through her veins. Yes, she thought, claim me.
Elain pushed off the desk and bit down on her lip. “Why don’t you do it then? Claim me.”
“Because I don’t know if that is truly what you want.” Lucien assessed her—how her body reacted to what she said, how she acted around him, if she was comfortable around him. His eyes trailed her figure, her soft long legs, her lovely small breasts, pushed up by that stupid corset, her beautiful locks, her gorgeous smile.
“I want you to claim me, Lord Lucien. Make me yours. But for now—” Elain released a mischievous giggle, turned to the side and wiggled her round bum with the small fawn tail fixed on top. “Make me scream your name, Lord Lucien!”
He didn’t have to be told twice. He stood in one swift movement, strutting over his mate. His large, warm hands fell to her hips where they rested for a moment. “There is nothing I rather want to do. You want to stay here? In Rhysand’s office?”
Elain deliberated for a moment, then brushed her own hands up Lucien's chest to his neck. “Payback for all the times he an Feyre are so damn loud,” Elain said, some cruel, wicked delight sparking in her eyes. And Lucien loved it. He loved this side of her. He loved who Elain truly was under the mask she had built over the past years but which finally started to crumble more and more.
Elain pulled Lucien closer by his collar, his mouth mere inches from his. “I really want to find out if you taste as sweet as your juice. And yes, my lovely lady, I am not only talking about your mouth.”
With that being said their lips connected. At first it was a soft, careful kiss, exploring what the other person liked. But it soon changed—turned into a passionate connection of their mouths. It was an almost ravishing kiss, like they had been starving for each other for decades. Their tongues fought for dominance, teeth clashing together when Lucien lifted his mate onto the desk behind her, his hands sliding up her soft thighs, higher and higher and—
Lucien breathlessly pulled back. "You cruel wicked thing,” breathed, a thin film of sweat coating his forehead. His gaze dropped to Elain’s very centre, now exposed since he had moved the skirt up. “Did you plan on something like this to happen? Is that why you came prepared? Is that why you forgot your panties?”
Elain grinned from ear to ear and dipped her chin. “I hoped for something like this to happen.”
“Gods, I don’t deserve you.” Lucien’s lips closed over Elain's once again, his hands starting to explore once again, finally being able to get the skirt of her, leaving the tail there though. When pulling back once again he smirked and said: “Let’s leave the tail there.” His hands had now found the straps of her corset, pulling on them and exposing her small but nevertheless beautiful breasts to him.
“You are stunning, Lady Elain. The most beautiful female I have ever seen.”
That saying did something to Elain’s heart and made her forget that she was sitting butt-ass naked on her brother-in-law‘s desk with her mate now descending down her body.
Gods, this was actually going to happen, she thought and released some happy yet moan-like noise when her mate’s lips closed over her right nipple. Lucien’s other hand came up, kneading her left breast, his palm so warm against her sensitive skin. Elain tipped her head back, gasping loudly when Lucien shoved her legs apart, kneeling down in front of her. His hand moved into his hair where he wanted to get rid of the ears, but Elain stopped him. She leaned her head forward and shook it when Lucien looked up at her. “Leave them on. If I keep the tail and the ears I want you to keep the ears as well, my fox.”
Lucien showed her a lop-sided grin, gave his head a tiny shake and then connected his lips with the soft skin of her right knee. From there on he made his way up, kissing her thighs, his fingers already exploring her throbbing centre before he finally let his tongue slide against her and he groaned loudly, sending vibrations through out her whole body.
His voice was muffled when he spoke against her hot flesh, "Are you always this wet for me, Lady Elain?"
He did not wait for answer before continuing with his ministration, softly teasing the bundle of nerves before fully dipping his tongue into her.
It was then that Elain was fully gone. It was too much—almost overwhelming. The strokes of his tongue, how two of his long, warm fingers accompanied his tongue, how his thumb rubbed the bundle of nerves, the sounds he released, how good he made her feel.
Lucien’s fingertips dug into Elain’s soft hips, trying to hold her against the table the groaned under what they were doing. For a split second Lucien had thought about having to explain what had happened in here to the High Lord of Night but it all vanished when Elain had revealed her reckless side. Lucien wanted to explore this side of her and would have never said now.
The seer’s fingers threaded into Lucien’s hair, pulling on a few strands and forcing his head closer to her centre. Her other hand she had braced on the table, fingers curling around the edges to steady herself. She was moaning loudly, breath coming out in quick pants while Lucien was feasting on her like a starved male consuming his first meal. His tongue was teasing her, yet also softly stroking and licking her. He knew exactly what he was doing, how he had to do it.
Elain was riding her mate’s tongue, grinding against his face, making the desk shake until she finally came with a scream that was both a curse and her mate’s name. Tendrils of hair curled around her sweat-slicked face, the fawn ears still on top of it. Lucien released a loud breath, licked his lips, kissed Elain’s thighs again before straightening up. The noticeable tent in his breeches pressed against his mate’s core when he moved her closer to him, his arms sneaking around his mate’s still trembling body. “And that is how the fawn fell for the fox,” Lucien drawled and kissed his mate’s shoulder, his head falling into the crook of her neck. Elain’s own arms slung around her mate’s strong torso. “And how the fox fell in love with the fawn and claimed her as his. That was indescribably, Lord Lucien. I have never felt like that. So good.”
Elain was already fumbling with the laces of his breeches when Lucien shrugged off his shirt. Finally letting his breeches drop, Elain reached for his already rigid length, positioning it against her wet heat. But Lucien stopped her, his warm hand curling around her wrist. “Easy,” he drawled and placed a kiss to Elain’s temple.
“Slow, my sweet. You are very tight, I don’t want to hurt you.”
Elain pouted her lower lip and stared up at her mate with big eyes. “You are not going to hurt me. I trust you, it will be alright.”
Their bodies came together, mouths connection, tongues meeting with every stroke while their hands explored every part of naked skin they can reach.
It was Lucien’s first hard thrust right to the hilt that shattered her. Elain had never felt such pleasure, never felt so filled. He stretched her out, yet the sting was pleasant.
Tipping her head back, Elain brought out a, "Gods!" She squeezed her eyes shut while her nails softly scratched the skin of Lucien’s broad shoulders.
Muffled moans, soft cries of pleasure, deep breathing and the groaning of the table under what they were doing were the only sounds audibly, drowning out all the background noises. Elain clawed at Lucien’s shoulder, fully giving herself to her mate, biting down on his soft skin, tasting his lips and devouring his sounds.
“You feel so incredibly good, Elain. Look how perfect we fit,” Lucien breathed and made Elain looked down between her bodies. It was then that a wave of release crashed into her, drowning her, sucking her under and making her moan loudly. Lucien’s hand fell to the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs, his thumb rubbing and teasing it exactly in the way that pushed Elain over the edge. She came once again with her mate’s name on lips, screaming in pure pleasure.
“Can I? In you?” Lucien was panting, his voice clipped when he spoke. Elain threw her hair back, legs curling tightly around her mate’s hips to pull him even closer and deeper into her. “Yes,” she breathed, “in me.”
It was what Lucien did, growling under his breath, while fisting Elain’s hair and meeting her mouth with his once again in a passionate kiss. “Gods, little fawn, you are so perfect.”
and since this is a Halloween special I am dedicating this to a few of my favourite Elucien writers: @velidewrites @daydreamer-anst @moononastring @separatist-apologist @the-lonelybarricade
Tamlin and Lucien noticed my mood and kept conversation between themselves... [Tamlin's] mask was bronze in the darkness, and the emeralds glittered. “You seem … upset.” ... My fingers stung and ached, but I still held on to the rose as I said, “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—shouldn’t feel that way, should I? I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it.” The rose hung limply from my fingers. “All those years, what I did for them … And they didn’t try to stop you from taking me.” There it was, the giant pain that cracked me in two if I thought about it too long. “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 still caring.” He was silent long enough that I added, “Compared to you—to your borders and magic being weakened—I suppose my self-pity is absurd.”
“If it grieves you,” he said, the words caressing my bones, “then I don’t think it’s absurd at all.”
...
He took a step closer to me, the laughter still dancing on his face. “Feeling better today?” I mumbled some noncommittal response.
“Good,” he said, either ignoring or hiding his amusement. “But just in case, I wanted to give you this,” he added, pulling some papers from his tunic and extending them to me. I bit the inside of my cheek as I stared down at the three pieces of paper. It was a series
of five-lined … poems. (ACOTAR Chapter 19)
So here we have Tamlin noticing Feyre's emotional distress and responding to it, something he is somehow incapable of doing in ACOMAF, despite having no issues reading Feyre and comforting her prior. A very subtle detail of Tamlin's characterization in ACOTAR is that he's actually really observant, especially pertaining to Feyre. He realizes that her mother is dead from being in her house all of (1) time:
After a rather stilted pause, Tamlin asked, “How did she die?” When I lifted my brows, he added a bit more softly, “I didn’t see signs of an older woman in your house.” (ACOTAR Chapter 8)
He also picks up on the fact that Feyre is a huntress by simply looking at her hands:
Tamlin broke the silence. “Feyre likes to hunt.”
“I don’t like to hunt.” I should have probably used a more polite tone, but I went on. “I hunted out of necessity. And how did you know that?” Tamlin’s stare was bald, assessing. “Why else were you in the woods that day? You had a bow and arrows in your … house.” I wondered whether he’d almost said hovel. “When I saw your father’s hands, I knew he wasn’t the one using them.” He gestured to my scarred, callused hands. “You told him about the rations and money from pelts." (ACOTAR Chapter 8)
Realizes that Feyre was not born into poverty by her language:
He went under again, and when he emerged, he ran a hand through his golden hair. “How did your father lose his fortune?”
“How’d you know about that?”
Tamlin snorted. “I don’t think born peasants have your kind of diction.”
Some part of me wanted to come up with a comment about snobbery, but … well, he was right, and I couldn’t blame him for being a skilled observer. (ACOTAR Chapter 18)
And he notices Feyre stealing a knife from the dinner table, remarking that he was trained to be observant:
“I’m curious,” he said casually. The amber in his green eyes was glowing. Perhaps not all traces of that beast-warrior were gone. “Are you ever going to use that knife you stole from my table?”
I stiffened. “How did you know?”
Beneath the mask, I could have sworn his brows were raised. “I was trained to notice those things. But I could smell the fear on you, more than anything.” (ACOTAR Chapter 12)
So Tamlin has always been very observant, very aware of what Feyre is thinking and feeling, and very in tune with her emotions, even when she tries to hide things. And unlike Rhysand, he's not a mind reader, so no privacy is violated! Tamlin is literally just... observant. His sudden inability to notice her suffering in ACOMAF or know how to properly comfort her screams of a retcon. And lest anyone say that it's because hIs TrAuMa UnDeR tHe MoUnTaIn ChAnGeD hIm:
On and on, until every newly heightened sense was chafing and raw, and Tamlin at last noticed my dull eyes, my silence, and took my arm. He escorted me through the labyrinth of tunnels and hallways until we found a quiet bedroom in a distant wing of the court. (ACOTAR Chapter 46)
So even *after* being traumatized, after the events of UTM, Tamlin noticed Feyre was not doing well(TM) and that she was getting overwhelmed by new sensations--despite the chaos that was occurring Under the Mountain following Amarantha's death that could have kept him distracted--and he took Feyre away from everyone else and led her to a quiet bedroom where they could sit alone and where he could heal her.
So yes, even after Tamlin was traumatized he also noted her feelings and demeanor. His inability to see Feyre's spiraling mental health and inability to properly respond and know how to truly comfort and support her in ACOMAF is, of course, a retcon.
When Tamlin is writing or teaching music, he’s definitely the type of guy to hide little Easter eggs in the sheet music. I mean this is the same guy who made little poems with the words Feyre wrote on a list which she threw away. He’s a doofus(affectionate). When I mean Easter eggs I mean this:
This doofus will write music and make faces out of the notes and you can’t pry that head canon out of my cold, dead hands.
@illyrianhighfaerie this is your doing. All I have been thinking about is Tamlin teaching Dahlia how to read music and he does this.
A new image from NASA's James Webb Space Telescope reveals a remarkable cosmic sight: at least 17 concentric dust rings emanating from a pair of stars. Just 5,300 light-years from Earth, the star duo are collectively known as Wolf-Rayet 140. Each ring was created when the two stars came close together and their stellar winds (streams of gas they blow into space) collided so forcefully that some of the gas was compressed into dust. The stars' orbits bring them together about once every eight years, and forms a half-shell of dust that looks like a ring from our perspective. Like a cosmic fingerprint, the 17 rings reveal more than a century of stellar interactions—and the "fingerprint" belonging to Wolf-Rayet 140 may be equally unique. Other Wolf-Rayet stars produce dust, but no other pair are known to produce rings quite like Wolf-Rayet 140.
Learn more about Wolf-Rayet 140.
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