#past Feylin

[wallflowers-in-the-wind]

You will Always be a princess

A Tamlin one shot

The following is a story of fan written fiction. Tamlin and the setting belong to Sarah J. Maas.

Note: Tamlin’s daughter is named Bellarose in this story. There are also mentions of past Feylin

Tamlin stared at the piles of paperwork covering his desk and wished he could set it aflame and be done with it. If it weren’t for the threat of death by his older brothers for even thinking of taking this position Tamlin would say the endless piles of paperwork were his reasoning for not wanting to be the High Lord of Spring.

Constant forms of complaints about neighbors, pest infestations, and at least four letters from Mrs. Glendale about people destroying her gardens or talking too loud. There were a few serious ones about attacks or law reforms but they there always drowned out by everything else.

Tamlin sighed and leaned back in his chair. His right hand rubbing the temples of his forehead in an attempt to rid himself of the growing headache.

Perhaps he could take a break and check on Bellerose. He had promised to wander through the gardens and make flower crowns today. She would be thrilled if he decided to take her earlier than planned.

“Papa…”

Tamlin removed his hand from his face and immediately sat up. Just over the pile of paperwork he could see his darling little princess, Bellarose. She stood in the doorway of his study dressed in a light pink dress and was holding a hairbrush. Her hair was a bit messy and the white hair bow she was wearing had tilted to the right side of her head.

The most concerning part for Tamlin was that she looked like she had been crying. Immediately Tamlin leapt to his feet and moved around his desk toward Bellarose.

“Princess what’s wrong?” Tamlin asked. He knelt in front of her and gently began wiping her tears away. “Did someone hurt you?”

“No.” She replied.

“Did you trip?”

Bellarose shook her head.

“Did Uncle Lucien fall climbing through the window into the kitchen again?” Tamlin asked with a scowl.

“No Papa!” Bellarose laughed.

The sound of her laughter brought a smile to his face. At least what whatever it was didn’t cause her to lose her laughter.

“Then what’s wrong Bellarose?” He inquired.

Bellarose’s smile disappeared at the question and she appeared nervous and sad once again. She looked down and kicked the ground nervously. It seemed she chose not to wear shoes again today. This was something Tamlin would have to go over with her again but for now he wanted to focus on what was wrong.

“I don’t like my hair.” Bellarose whispered.

“What?” Tamlin looked at her in confusion. This was about her hair?

“I don’t like my hair.” Bellarose repeated. “It’s curly and tangled and it hurts when I try to brush my hair. I don’t want to deal with it anymore!”

Tamlin stared at his daughter. It sounded like such a simple problem but to her it must seem like a huge deal.

The paperwork could definitely wait, his daughter needed him right now.

“That is a big problem,” Tamlin agreed. “But there’s something I want to show you that might change your mind.”

Tamlin got to his feet and grabbed Bellarose’s hand. They walked together out of the study and turned left to go down the hallways.

The afternoon sun light was shining through the windows illuminated the green and golden accented curtains and the various tapestries hanging in the walls. Passing servants bowed in respect as the passed before returning to their tasks.

They walked until Tamlin paused in front of a wooden door with a golden handle. It was a room that Tamlin always struggled to enter due to all the memories that were held within. But this was for Bellarose.

“What room is this papa?” Bellarose looked up at her father in confusion.

“This,” Tamlin reached out and opened the door. “Is the portrait room.”

Bellarose walked in slowly and looked around curiously. Tamlin waited a moment to allow her to look on her own and build up his courage to walk into the room.

Immediately he could feel the judgmental painted eyes of his ancestors, his father, his brothers. Each painting was framed in a golden or silver frame to importance to the family. But there was only one gentle pair amongst them.

Tamlin walked until he stood in front of the painting. Bellarose, on the other hand, seemed completely entranced by the paintings around her.

“This is wonderful Papa!” She exclaimed excitedly then looked at him in confusion. “But what does this have to do with my hair?”

“Come her princess, and I’ll show you.” Tamlin encouraged.

When she was next to him Tamlin pointed to the painting he was standing in front of. “Do you see the woman in this painting?”

Bellarose nodded in response.

“That’s your grandmother.” Tamlin explains. He could feel the rush of memories and emotions trying to take over him but he pushed them down. “Your grandmother was a very important lady, just like you. And just like you she also had curly hair.”

“She looks so pretty.” Bellarose whispered.

“She is…. was, a very pretty lady.” Tamlin paused for a moment then continued. “And she passed her beauty to you princess. So if you’d like I will help you learn how to fix your hair. That way you don’t have to worry about those nasty tangles.”

Bellarose looked at the painting for a moment longer with a serious look on her face. Then, when she came to a decision, she nodded her head.

“I wanna be just as pretty as grandma.”

“Oh princess that’s impossible.” Tamlin said with a mock serious expression. He then leaned down and scooped Bellarose up into his arms. “You are already the most beautiful girl in the whole wide world!”

He grinned as the joyful happy look returned to Bellarose’s face. Knowing his daughter was feeling much better was worth everything in the entire kingdom.

Tamlin started walking toward the door. He still needed to finish his paperwork before they could play and he wanted to get it done as quickly as possible.

“Papa, what’s that one?” Bellarose asked, pointing to a painting.

That painting.

Grief slammed back into Tamlin full force stopping him in his tracks. The painting his daughter was pointing sat innocently in the corner. Still set up on the easel as if the painter could return at any moment to complete it.

“That one,” he could feel the tears threatening to fall but he held them back. “That one was made by someone Papa loved very much a long time ago.”

“What happened to them?”

Tamlin was unsure how to answer that question. It was one he had so much time to think about yet he never prepared to tell Bellarose what happened. Naively thinking she would never ask. But he promised he would never lie to her.

“They left.” He replied quietly. Silently adding every thing he wished he had said back then so that the painting had never been left of that easel, placed into this room filled with so many painful memories.

“That’s enough talk about paintings for now princess. Papa has work and you have your lessons today.” Tamlin stated, shifting the topic and shoving his feelings down once more. His princess shouldn’t have to worry about her Papa’s feelings.

“Awww.” Bellarose wined. “I don’t wanna go, I wanna stay with you! Lessons are boring!!”

Tamlin chuckled at his daughter’s antics and walked out of the room. The door shut behind them leaving the memories locked away for another day.

[thrumbolt]

Lmao people calling me a Feylin is probably the biggest insult.

I haven't liked Feyre since she turned fae. I don't want her anywhere near Tamlin. He can do better!

[queercontrarian]

dick so good and mental link so strong rhysand gets cc'd for every orgasm tamlin gives feyre between acotar and acomaf

[feyres-divorce-lawyer]

this is just criminal

[bookishfeylin]

Ok y'all I just updated The Power of Truth.

Summary: After Feyre returns to the Spring Court at the end of ACOMAF, the new High Lady of the Night Court is surprised that nothing is like she remembered, and that her own memories may not be as certain as she'd once thought. What is fiction, and what is reality? As Feyre spends more time in the Spring Court, an intricate web of lies about everything and everyone she knows and loves slowly reveals itself to her, lies that threaten to shatter her confidence in the Night Court, her trust in the Inner Circle, and her love for Rhysand.

Enjoy fellow Feylins (and non-Feylins, too!)

[gemstonerose]

Okay so i have to get this out or i am going to implode! First let me preface that i haven’t read ACOTAR! However, i have consumed a copious amount of ACOTAR stuff as well as watched videos explaining the plot and events (let me know if y’all want the links cause they are amazing!) so i know the plots and characters and whatnot. So, what does that have to do with the amazing song above? Because my brain has just thought of something wonderful.

So imagine: Sometime after the event of ACOSF Rhys is out looking for some magical object or something to help with the whole Koshei plot. He ends up going to an old cave that is located on the boarder of Spring. Tamlin shows up and it’s a whole thing. Before they can go at each other some type of magic shoots out of the cave and drags them in. This is one of the main story plots that goes on. Or it can be a shorter book on its own like ACOFAS.

So, Rhys and Tamlin both quickly figure out that if they are gonna get out of this alive they have no choice but to work together. Neither is happy about it but whatever. We get character development! We get to learn more about their history (i enjoy the idea that Rhys and Tam where friends before everything went to shit)! We get to see them pushing each others buttons bc even with all the bad years between them they still know how to! We get very angry scenes with them more than once getting into scuffles!

We get to a point where they both end up separated. We follow Rhys’ perspective and as he’s walking through the tunnel begins to hear a voice. Feyre’s voice. Rhys starts running and eventually is ingulfed by a bright light. Once it fades he finds himself in Tamlin’s study and there before him is Feyre and Tamlin. He quickly sees that this is some type of illusion or memory and judging by the way Feyre looks it’s taking place sometime after Under the Mountain. The two are having an argument (one of the many Feyre wanting to help around the court and Tam being like no). Rhys then watches flashes of more fighting scenes between them. Then we get to a scene where they are by the entrance. By this time the real Tamlin shows back up. He absolutely hates having to relive these events.

Now, why the song above? The fight that they are currently watching is the one that takes place before Mor comes to pick-up Feyre for good. The song incapsulate the scene. The woman singing would be Feyre, who’s had enough of doing nothing. The man singing would be real Tamlin talking to his past self begging him to listen to her. Losing Feyre will always be one of his biggest failures and he has only himself to blame. Tam wishes to go back and change things. Wishes he wasn’t such a paranoid fool and had just, for once, listened to Feyre. He shows so much pain and regret over how he treated her during those 5 months after the Mountain. In this scene we are in Tamlin’s perspective and so we are getting all his thoughts and stuff.

The memory ends and Rhys is actually feeling bad for Tamlin. He wants to say something to comfort him, but is honestly at a lost for words. Just before they can start walking again we see another memory/illusion. It’s of a scene we didn’t get in ACOSF. This is the argument that Feyre has with Rhys after Nesta told her the truth of her pregnancy. Once the scene is over Rhys just has the biggest ‘oh fuck’ moment. He was/has doing exactly, if not similar to what Tamlin had done. And Tam is the one to point it out.

But Tamlin doesn’t mock him or anything. They sit and after some silence start to talk. Firstly about Feyre, and Tam tells him to not make the same mistakes he did. Then about the Mountain (and i think it would be great to see scenes from the 49 years before Feyre’s arrival). I find the concept of Amarantha being Tamlin’s mate to be very intriguing. Maybe, we have Rhys talking about his trauma and abuse he suffered by Amarantha’s hands (bc that is something that is barely touched on in the books). And then finally about the past and us finally getting the truth about what happened before they lost everything and became High Lords. 

The openness and apologies that are shared between them end up being the key to revealing the magical object that Rhys was looking for. Once they touch it both are back at the entrance of the cave with the object in hand. Their relationship is not fixed and they both know it will never be the same, but maybe it is a start to reaching some type of civility and maybe some new type of friendship in the future. Tamlin returns to the Spring court and starts being a High lord again. Rhys heads home and starts making up for all the mistakes he made with Feyre (and we start to see more of pre ACOSF Rhys coming back to us).

[chrystabelleblaumferge]

Imma say it

I hate Booktok and everything it represents (glorification of anti-intellectualism and overconsumption) so by extension I despise ACOTAR but the anti-SJM fandom, particularly the anti-Rhysand, anti-Feyre and anti-Feysand peeps are some of the most intelligent people who have come out of the fandom from a book series I genuinely loathe.

I find it ironic yet charming that the anti side of this fandom is actually filled with brilliant and bright minds as opposed to the "pro" side of that fandom who speak and act like they've been programmed by a cult to repeat the same type of opinions like a broken record. The people accused of being "vile and hateful" happened to be some of the best human beings I've ever interacted with and are willing to listen to dissenting opinions and debate in a civil manner.

In contrast, the "pro" side of the fandom who love everything these books represent are generally some of the most unpleasant and vile people I've had the displeasure of encountering. I was already uninterested in the series but was peer pressured by an insane fangirl of this series to read it expecting me to love "the twist" and the same characters she does (*cough* Feysand *coughs*). I cut her off for being a generally horrid person over a damn book all because I dared to speak my mind (she threatened physical violence over my honest critique).

I'm a general fantasy reader (think JRR Tolkien, George RR Martin, Brandon Sanderson et al.) and do not like romance books therefore dislike romantasy in general since I am not the target audience for these books. I only "read", by that I meant pirating these books to form my opinion on them, will never buy them since they're rubbish and not worth my money (plus I hate the author for being a shit human being and would never give her my money). It was bleh and I found it painful to read since I've read fanfiction that was written more eloquently than this SJM-produced slop. I always hated bad boys even as a teenage girl and that sentiment still remains as an adult. So imagine how I physically cringed when the love interests were switched.

Getting back on topic to the "pro-side", they were genuinely hateful despite their incessant preaching about "love conquers all" and on multiple occasions loved telling me I should die (classy...) for voicing my honest critique that I didn't like it. What's more, is that the common sentiment of the "pro-side" was to coerce and brainwash me into liking 'le main characters' and how I had 'internalised misogyny' for not liking something I only consider as fairy porn with no substance to keep me engaged lmao

The best part is that I'm not even a shipper of their rival ship Feylin, Tamlin, or Nesta. I am ambivalent towards them at best but I started sympathising with them given that the story made me hate the main characters and their 'Inner Circlejerk of Bougie Faerie Arseholes' that love wanking their 'Dear Dictator Leader: Ricespam' (I'll never spell his name correctly since I hate rapists like him). It also helps that the fans of these 'antagonist characters' are genuinely nice and pleasant people. I'm almost tempted to so say I love Tamlin/Nesta just to rustle the Feysand cultists' jimmies lol

It seems like they only use "feminism" when it's on their side. Not bothering to accept contrasting viewpoints from women such as myself who do not like a book and are within our rights to do so. What's even surprising is that the pro-fandom is overwhelmingly like this. They'd bully you into submission if you don't kowtow to their demands. Having been bullied in my childhood, I can absolutely recognise the same pattern of abuse that I've been inflicted on in the past. Therefore, this produced the inverse effect than the one they had anticipated. I started hating their self-insert Feyre and Ricespam even more. If they weren't so toxic, I would have just remained a general hater but them acting like Jehovah's Witnesses over a shitty book definitely made me spiteful.

All I can say is: I'll never be a fan of these books nor part of the fandom because I consider it mid. But I do enjoy the thoughtful criticism the antis of said fandom provide and will likely continue hating the pro-side of the fandom for being hateful bigots (especially the Feysand shippers, never met a nice one. Not even once).

[potatoplace]

Omega Needs - chapter 3

Feylin, eventual Feysand

Chapter 2 Chapter 4 Series Masterlist

Story Summary: Feyre presented as an omega after being changed into a high fae Under the Mountain. Her heats have been hellish, and Tamlin has neglected certain aspects of her presentation. After the disastrous wedding ceremony, how will Feyre’s omega handle being away from her Alpha?

Words: ~2.1k

Warnings: just A/B/O dynamics, Rhys being a bit of a dick

Author's Note: having lots of fun writing this, I'm gonna try to post on AO3 too if I remember. I enjoyed this chapter, I hope you will too!

18+ only pls

🩵💚🩵💜🩵

“It’s… not what I expected?” Feyre admitted, surprise lacing her tone. “It’s a lot less… ominous then I thought it would look.”

Rhysand laughed, a lighter one than he used back in Spring. “You are probably picturing the other half of my court, but no need to worry my darling Feyre-”

“I’m not your anything!” Feyre interjected, moving a few paces away from him. “Do not act like me being here for a week every month gives you any kind of ownership over me!”

Rhysand held up his hands in surrender, attempting to placate Feyre’s still wired emotions. “I meant no claim in my statement, Feyre. If you’ll come with me, I’ll show you to where you’ll be staying when you’re here,” he told her, walking in the direction they were facing.

Feyre stared at him for a moment, wondering why he seemed so much more relaxed now that it was just the two of them. She tried to take a step forward to follow him, then remembered that she was still wearing those cauldron-damned heels that were far high and far too thin for her to feel safe in.

Carefully, she lowered herself to her hands then sat on the floor, attempting to reach past the skirts of her dress to untie the shoes.

“Feyre, what are you-?” Rhysand started, turning to face her again. “Oh, Feyre darling, would you like some help taking off your shoes?” He asked in a playful tone, already returning to her side, his citrus and sea scent washing over her in a wave of calm.

Seeing as she still hadn’t managed to get her hands on one of the shoes yet and her hands didn’t seem to want to help now that she’d scented him, Feyre sighed “Yes, please.”

“Good manners too, better than most of the times I’ve seen you.” His voice was full of mirth, but the compliment made her feel more at ease. Her omega was settling down, happy to be acknowledged for something, anything positive. He gently lifted the skirts of her dress, and quickly untied the heels from her feet, his hands lingering for a moment before grabbing the heels and standing up.

He extended his free hand, which Feyre ignored. She managed to get on her knees again, but the weight of the dress and her exhaustion combined was too much for her to get her feet beneath her again. She sighed again, grabbing his hand and letting him help her the rest of the way up, brushing against his chest on accident, getting an even deeper breath of him this time.

Lovely. Refreshing. Safe.

“They really didn’t want you to run away, did they?” Rhysand asked after they started walking.

“Excuse you?” Feyre asked, stunned by the question and her thoughts.

“I just mean that they have you in a dress you can barely walk in from the weight and shape, and shoes that seem a bit dangerous to wear. Especially on grass,” he points out, shaking the heels still in his hand.

Feyre leaned over and snatched them from him. “Impractical is the fashion, it does not mean they want me to be shackled to Spring.”

“Two things can be right at the same time, Feyre,” he said, stopping in front of a door to their right, turning the handle and pushing it open, allowing Feyre to walk in first.

The open wall at the back had silk curtains of different hues of blue covering it and swaying in the slight breeze. The bed was situated against the left wall, also covered in deep blues and purples, and a canopy of fabric above it, with drapes tied up and ready to be let down- perfect for feeling safe in a heat, her omega whispered inside of her, a thought she crushed down deep inside of her.

The bed was lovely though, it looked soft and comfortable and ready for her to take a nap in.

Looking over the rest of the room, Feyre saw a large open archway at back of the right wall, presumably leading towards a bathroom, as well as a vanity with a mirror, a large armoire, and a plush looking chair in the corner. Near the back of the room was a small round table with two chairs, and she knew she wanted to have breakfast or tea there one of her days here and look out at the mountains… she might even daydream about painting them.

Feyre walked further in, wanting to see the bathing room. And she wasn’t disappointed- her mouth fell slightly open, staring at the large tub, nearly the size of a small pond, with an open wall facing towards those very mountains she wanted to admire.

Maybe this was where she would take her tea.

Today, if possible.

She moved back into the main room, back towards where Rhysand was standing in the doorway.

“What do you think?”

“It’s… beautiful,” Feyre admitted reluctantly. She had been prepared to hate her time here. Hate everything here. But so far, everything… even Rhysand has been tolerable. Lovely, even, in the case of her room.

“Thank you, Feyre. I’m glad you like it.”

Feyre chewed her lip, trying to force out the question sitting in her throat.

Violet eyes tracked the movement, his brow cocking a moment later. “Yes, Feyre?”

“Were you…” she paused, embarrassment at the question building. “Were you serious about returning me to Spring if I… gointoheat?” is forced out of her, needing to know the answer.

“Of course, sweet omega. I would never deny you going back to your chosen alpha when in need,” he said reassuringly. Her cheeks flushed at pet name, unable to make herself as mad about it as she should be, since he had taken her away from said alpha and her wedding ceremony itself-

Oh, the anger was coming back. She had been taken from her alpha.

“But you’ll take me from him on my wedding day.”

Rhysand rolled his eyes. “You were panicking over your wedding day Feyre, shooting all of those emotions right down the bond at me,” he said, waving his left hand at her. “I saved you from having to run away in front of all those guests, from the alpha who still hasn’t claimed you after a year.” His voice quieted at the end, rage pouring into it.

Feyre inhaled sharply, her fear suddenly a gaping wound, she knew it wasn’t right that Tamlin hasn’t marked her yet-

“And while I would love for you to be my sweet, claimed omega, I know that you are very much in love with Tamlin.” Feyre bared her teeth slightly at his words, anger bubbling to the surface over her hurt. “It’s just too bad that there were all those petals everywhere, too bad that your betrothed couldn’t bother to make the ceremony feel safe for you.”

“How dare you!” Feyre yelled, hurling one of the shoes in her hand at his head, striking him on the forehead. She raised the remaining shoe as he opened his mouth again, ready to hit him again if he continued insulting her alpha.

“I have merely stated the truth Feyre.”

The second shoe went flying, disappointingly caught in his hand instead of by his stupid, perfect face. “I did not ask for your warped version of the truth, Rhysand. I also did not ask for you to save me from my wedding.”

He considered her words for a moment, and then the shoe was dissolving into nothing but dust. “And yet I did anyways,” he said with a smirk, turning to leave her room. “Do remember, I gave you a whole year before calling in the bargain. I was simply worried about you, Feyre darling, and decided to pay you a visit.” He picked lint off of his finely tailored suit, before looking Feyre in the eyes again. “I will see you for breakfast in the morning, Feyre. Taking your meals with me will be my one requirement of your time here. Dinner tonight will be on your own, however. Nuala and Cerridwen will be available to help you if you need it-” he paused at her look of confusion. “The shadow wraiths who helped you Under the Mountain,” he explained, and Feyre nodded her head tightly at the reminder.

Rhysand moved towards the door, taking a moment to look back at Feyre, still in her wedding gown. “Would you like me to have them come in now to help you take off that monstrosity of a wedding dress? Or perhaps I could-”

“Rhysand!” Feyre yelled in answer, storming over to the door as fast as she could to slam the door in his face.

Feyre turned the lock on the door, nearly sliding down it before she remembered that she was unable to get up on her own. She trudged over to the vanity, observing herself in the mirror. Her makeup was still alright, but her hair looked worse than before, now a frizzy mess on her head. She began pulling the various pins from her, each one followed by a small sigh of relief. Once she had finished, she shoved the pins into one of the drawers of the vanity, not caring about being clean at the moment.

All she could think about was getting out of this cauldron damned dress and into that amazing tub just a few feet away.

She tried to remember how Alis had put her into this thing, but her memory was of no help to her. She knew it had gone over her head, but she thought Alis had secured it somehow, buttons maybe?

But she couldn’t reach them. No matter how hard she fiddled around, she was stuck in the dress.

If Tamlin were here, this would be so much easier. He would probably rip straight through it and tear it off me, Feyre thought, a shiver of anticipation running down her spine. But Tamlin wasn’t here. So she continued trying to free herself.

After a quarter hour struggling with the damn thing, she gave in and reached out through her bond with Rhys.

Could you send Nuala and Cerridwen in to me?

Of course, darling, was his answering, insufferable reply.

A minute later, the two wraiths were at her door, before Feyre remembered she had locked her door, and would take a while to get up alone. “I locked the door and can’t get up, could you come in anyways?” She asked, her voice small.

They passed through the door, becoming corporeal on the other side.

One of them helped her to stand, and the other immediately set about finding the buttons holding her inside of the dress.

They worked incredibly quickly, one twin working on the buttons as the other lifted the layers upon layers off of her body, and within five minutes she was left in just her slip dress and lingerie.

“Thank you,” she smiled at the two.

“Of course, Lady Feyre,” said one of them. “Is there anything else we can do for you before dinner?”

Feyre chewed her lip, then asked “would you get me a pot of tea please? On a tray I can have next to the tub, if that’s possible. Oh, and please call me Feyre.”

“That should be no problem at all, Feyre. We’ll be back in a few minutes, feel free to get comfortable in the bath if you’d like.”

And with that, the quiet and gentle twins left the room, taking the pile of tulle with them.

Feyre looked over to the archway, and like a moth to a flame drifted into the bathroom, landing on the edge of the tub, dragging her fingers through the water. Already the perfect temperature.

Her slip went over her head as she walked back into her room and was thrown onto the large chair near the armoire. She sighed as she slipped off the bra and panties she had been so excited to show her husband fiancé, and tossed those on the chair as well.

Returning to the bath, she tested the water again with one foot, and then stepped in fully, sinking down and submerging herself up to her neck, tilting her head back to wet her hair.

She floated over to the edge of the bath, resting her head along it and looking out into the beautiful, snow capped mountains.

Aside from how annoying Rhysand can be, and how he knows just how to get on her nerves, the Night Court doesn’t seem to be as horrible as Tamlin and Ianthe claimed it would be.

After all, she has a room fit for a queen and a view so spectacular, her fingers are itching to paint for the first time in over a year.

[the-lonelybarricade]

TheLonelyBarricade Feysand Masterlist

All works excluding drabbles are avilable on AO3

🌶️= Smut/Works with explicit content

A Court of Faded Dreams Masterlist🌶️ - acotar rewrite/timetravel fic. (WIP)

Darling, Let's Run 🌶️ - Cat!Rhys and his general trickery (Completed)

As the River Flows Masterlist 🌶️ - Regency Feysand with a magical fated mates twist (completed)

Till Death Do Us Part Masterlist - A slice of life chronicalling the adventures Grim!Rhys and his reluctant wife Feyre (WIP)

Queen of Thieves Masterlist 🌶️ - Con-artist Feyre makes an ill-placed bet with the High Lord of the Night Court (WIP)

Take My Hand, Wreck My Plans Masterlist 🌶️ - Modern AU where Feyre gets pregnant from a one-night stand with a violet eyed stranger (WIP)

We Bleed the Same Masterlist 🌶️ - An acotar retelling where we cut out the feylin love story entirely (WIP)

The Other Side of the Apocalypse 🌶️ - A canonverse AU following human Rhys and Feyre as they journey through all seven courts (WIP)

Canon:

Hate Me If It Helps 🌶️ - Feysand angsty sex pollen fic.

The Most Magnanimous High Lord 🌶️- Rhys gives Feyre a reading lesson

Five Times the Beast Was Subdued (and the One Time It Wasn't) 🌶️ 🌶️ - Part 1 ⟡ Part 2 - Feysand beast form, monsterfucking, breeding kink filth

ACoMaF Wedding Scene - Canon compliant Feysand wedding scene.

The Chains That Bind Us - Feysand are married and Rhysand’s mating bond snaps w/ someone else. 

When The Glass Shatters - Feysand are married and Feyre’s mating bond snaps w/ someone else.

A Conversation At Dawn - Rhys takes a quiet moment to reflect with his mother. 

Just Can't Prove It - Feyre meets a stranger on a flight

All By Design - What if Isaac Hale was Rhys all along?

-

AU:

It’s Nice to Have a Friend  🌶️ - part 1 ⟡ part 2 -  Modern AU best friends to lovers/accidental kiss.

Ten Past Five 🌶️ - plotty Feysand NYE meet cute

Snow on the Beach 🌶️🌶️ - Daddy kink, Feysand join the mile high club

Can’t Keep My Hands to Myself 🌶️🌶️ - Part 1 ⟡ Part 2 - Feysand Sugar Daddy AU 

The Music of the Night 🌶️🌶️- Demon!Rhys visits Feyre in her dreams (dub-con)

Violent Delights 🌶️🌶️ - Feysand vampire smut (dub-con)

Be a Doll, Darling🌶️🌶️ - Feyre's Sex Doll comes to life (dub-con)

Cakes & Cupid - Birthday party meet-cute. (Modern AU)

Scaring Is Caring - Halloween themed meet-cute. (Modern AU)

Arrowmusings B-day Present - Lucien x Rhys x f!reader fluff (Modern AU)

Long Story Short - Feyre gets stood up in a restaurant. (Modern AU)

The Dating Game - Modern fake couple AU. (Modern AU)

The Outlier - part 1 ⟡ part 2 - Timetravel fluff / university AU. (Modern AU)

A Letter Never Sent - Christmas fluff (Modern AU)

Caught Up In You - Rhysand Celebrity AU (Modern AU)

Don't Be a Jerk (It's Christmas) - Coffee Shop Christmas fluff (Modern AU)

Down the Water Well - Eldritch Horror Vibes AU

if you ever think you got it wrong - modern hurt/comfort friends to lovers

Good Morning, Darling - Feysand & baby Nyx fluff 

Behind You - Batboy Snowball fight featuring Nyx

Like An Illyrian - Rhys and baby Nyx fluff

No One Has to Know What We Do - vaguely smutty angst

Every Time I Look at You, It's Like the First Time - Feysand fluffy proposal

Guess I’ll just stumble on home to my cats - Feyre drunk at a party

[positivelyruined]

“Always.” He said, looking up into her clear gray eyes, as dawn shone through the pearlescent sheets, and cast a bright glow around them. “Nearer unto the light. Until the darkness fades.”

Feylin + post a court of thorns and roses hurt/comfort requested by @wallflowers-in-the-wind

unbeta read. we write and die like Poe.

NEAR TO THE LIGHT

It started as a soft whimper that could easily be confused as a stray kitten who’d wandered to his bedside. It fell into a cry that made his ears twitch. Someone — injured, lay nearby.

A blast of cold air hit him as someone yanked the sheets from around his body.

Tamlin sat up with a start, breathing heavily. He was no stranger to nightmares. They were his lifelong companion, yet these differed. He starred in the daunting dark until the soft cry came again.

Babe or beast? It was hard to discern.

Neither.

Feyre.

Tamlin turned his head to where she shivered on the other side of his bed, equally as naked as himself, but fast asleep. Her gaunt cheeks were marked with tears.

How did I sleep through this. How could I —

Tamlin resisted his urge to slam his head into the wall and wrapped his much larger body around her tiny, cold one.

“I’m here.” He whispered, placing slow, languid kisses down the side of her neck. “I’m here. I’m here and you are safe.”

For a moment, Feyre stiffened in his arms as fear of captivity again took hold, but his soft kisses against her skin slowly relaxed her body and drew her away from the terrors of her dreams.

“Tam…” She reached up, placing her thin hand against his warm cheek.

“That’s me. I’m here.” He repeated, hugging her closer, and burying his face in her shoulder length hair. They’d both cut theirs after coming home. It was cathartic — in a way. He still remembered finding Feyre on the bathroom floor with a knife and running to take it from her hands.

“Tamlin, stop! I just want it gone! “

“No! You can’t — I can’t lose you. Hand me the knife, Feyre. Please…”

“Then you do it. Cut it off!”

“No…”

“My hair, Tamlin. Please —“

Her words echoed through his mind and his shoulders began to shake. He stiffened, forcing back the onslaught of memories. It had been three months since they’d returned from under the mountain, but life had been changed forever. Nothing would ever be the same again.

“Tam.” Feyre’s voice was different this time: more persistent. She rolled and pressed her body against his. “Tamlin. Stop — you do not always have to be so strong.”

“Oh, but I do.” Tamlin pressed his forehead to hers, hating every single tear that slipped past his tightly shut eyes. “I do.”

“We’re a team —” Feyre’s voice broke. Her fingers drifted along his face, catching the fallen tears. She kissed each streak they left behind, well knowing that to him, it felt like lashes. “let me in. Let me love you.”

He shuddered, forcing his swollen eyes open, near to the light. “I fear that I am past loving.”

“Never.” Feyre wrapped her arms around his neck and cradled his head in her hands. “No matter how much this world breaks you — you will never be too broken for me to love.”

“I do not deserve you. I could not save you.” Tamlin shuddered, falling against her breasts. “You faced your death because of me, Feyre. If I had never entered that cabin in the woods…”

“I would still have died, Tam.” Feyre pushed his hair behind his ear, seeking his gaze. “And starvation is not gentle. Because of you…I have known what it is like to matter…to someone.”

“You matter.” His eyes pooled with regret. “You reminded me of the good everyday. I could not — I cannot…lose that.”

“You won’t.” Feyre whispered, pressing her lips to his temple. “I am here, Tam. I am here.”

Tamlin hesitated before slowly joining their lips in a soft, languid kiss. He invited her into his lap, treasuring each little sound that his affection pulled from her.

Feyre pressed her palms against his shoulders, gently forcing him back onto the mattress. “Kiss me, my lord. Kiss me until dawn. Until light draws near. Kiss me until I forget the dark that chases us.”

“I want you…” Tamlin murmured, accepting her invitation. “Near to me. Always.”

“For the rest of time.” Feyre wrapped her lithe legs around his hips, and pulled the sheets over them, and bent to his touch.

“Always.” He said, looking up into her clear gray eyes, as dawn shone through the pearlescent sheets, and cast a bright glow around them. “Nearer unto the light. Until the darkness fades.”

[foxcort]

But with it came an opposite realization. Of a young, human girl who’d dared to defy these immortal beings for love, and won.

written for day 2: protection of @feylinweek. / or feyre and tamlin refuse to uphold the bargain made under the mountain 🌹

a/n: this one is sort of a rewrite of one of the earlier chapters in acomaf (though feylin’s relationship is portrayed differently from canon) and might contain a few taken or paraphrased sentences from the book.

tw: vomiting, slight rhysand bashing whoops

Three months.

It took exactly three month following Under The Mountain for Rhysand to come and collect her.

Three months in which she’d slowly rebuilt herself.

In the beginning, when every night was disturbed by nightmares and trips to the bathroom, Tamlin and her had held an unspoken agreement to let each other suffer silently. To not acknowledge that Amarantha still plagued them even after it was all over. Feyre couldn’t count the amount of times she’d held onto the cold porcelain of the toilet bowl and emptied everything in her stomach, and then some. Or how many times Tamlin had shifted into that beast and stayed awake all night, keeping watch for a phantom threat that never appeared.

That unspoken agreement unraveled quickly after the first month. When she felt Tamlin’s fingers gently tie her hair up and his presence settle next to her, his hands moving to rub comforting circles onto her back, as she expelled everything into the toilet. And a few nights later, when she’d wrapped her arms tight around his torso and pulled him back into bed at the tell-tale signs of shifting.

Little by little, piece by piece, they’d pulled the fragments of each other back together. A slow, arduous process — but they were steps that would put distance between the past and the future they wanted.

It became a routine, and by the time the third month rolled around, Feyre hadn’t realized how much she’d hoped Rhysand had forgot their bargain. She could never forget. No, not with the tattoo climbing up her arm and ending at her elbow. But the silence at his end had given her an eagerness to believe that maybe, in the end, she wasn’t worth his time.

She hoped.

Though she should’ve known nothing was ever so easy.

Feyre awoke one morning to the sound of low, deep voices in the hallway outside her bedroom, a stark contrast to the dawn-risen birds chirping melodies by the window. And despite their early roll in the sheets, she closed her eyes and pulled the covers up, attempting to block out the voices and return to her not-so-easily acquired sleep. Nightmares didn’t bother her so much during the day, or when Tamlin was there, and there was a distinct absence of warmth where he should’ve been.

A growl cut through the walls and Feyre opened her eyes again.

“Get out,” Tamlin warned.

She threw the covers back, slipping out of the messy bed, halfway to the door before she realized she was completely naked. Thanks to Tamlin, her clothes had been shredded and flung across the other side of the room, and she feared going through her armoire would alert them to her wakened state. Thankfully, Feyre caught sight of his tunic, haphazardly thrown near the foot of the bed, and snatched it off the floor to pull it over her head, relieved it was long enough to give her some decency.

On silent feet, she crept upon the door, opening it just a fraction to peer out, even as suspicion began to bloom in her chest, her heart racing.

The hair on her arms rose and a jolt of panic streaked through her. Rhysand stood outside her room, the grin on his face faltering as he caught her opening the door anyways and turned to face her. No, no, no, no. The nightmares came back in a flurry. Dark, endless and cold hallways. The slithering of the attor. A flash of batwings and the ghost of a pain where her tattoo now sat. He couldn’t be here. Not today. Not now. Not ever.

“Feyre?” Tamlin, who’s back had been to the door a moment before, was now by her side, peeling the door back a little with a strained look on his face. “Go back to bed, I’ll take care of this.”

Rhysand’s eyes lingered on her, taking in every detail in a way that made her skin crawl. “Are you running low on food here?”

“What?” Tamlin demanded, words half a growl as he whipped back around to face him.

Her stomach sank. It hadn’t been easy to keep the food down. Even with the small steps they were taking, those nightmares hadn’t stopped chasing her, and Feyre wondered if it was because subconsciously she knew she wasn’t completely done with Under The Mountain. She wondered if was the bargain that loomed over her. That the idea of being back in the dark, or facing batwings and a male cruel enough to force her into a life binding contract had been the reason she couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t eat. Couldn’t feel right in her new skin.

Those violet eyes softened as if the stream of her thoughts had reached him. Rhysand extended a hand towards her. “Let’s go.”

“Get out.” Tamlin pointed to the staircase. “She’ll come to you when she’s ready.”

Rhysand conceded a step toward the stairs and slid his hands into his pockets. “You really should have your wards inspected. Cauldron knows what other sort of riffraff might stroll in here as easily as I did.” Again, Rhysand assessed her, a mix of emotions on his face, though when he spoke his voice was hard. “Put some clothes on.”

The simple demand sparked a flame of anger and Feyre bared her teeth as she stepped completely out of the room, “You’ve already forced me to do something once. It won’t happen again so easily.”

“But you are bound to the bargain you made Under The Mountain.” The flicker of softness before disappeared and she wondered if it had ever been there in the first place. Feyre felt her heart beat faster, the consequences of her actions approaching too quickly. “So, let’s go, Cursebreaker. You have a debt to pay.”

Fear and anger mixed, a feeling of sinking and burning enveloping her, but before she could retort back, Tamlin stepped between them. “You end her bargain right here, right now, and I’ll give you anything you want. Anything.”

Feyre’s heart stopped dead, and she turned to Tamlin, who didn’t spare her so much as a glance. The look on his face, however, was determined, not distant. She felt the back of his hand brush against hers. Trust me. She could almost hear the gruff tone of his voice pleading with her.

The problem was she did trust him. She trusted that he would give his soul if it meant she could be free from her bargain. Tamlin was her protector, how could she not know that he meant every word of what he offered to Rhysand? That he was willing to make a dozen sacrifices for her, for the peace they’d cultivated and the steps they’d taken to free themselves from Under The Mountain?

A tightness grew in her chest, eyes pricking with hot tears.

She saw it, then. Their eternity laid out before her, a string of bargains and curses wedged between them. Tamlin tearing off bits and pieces of himself and the shadow of batwings haunting her every time she closed her eyes.

But with it came an opposite realization. Of a young, human girl who’d dared to defy these immortal beings for love, and won.

Because she had killed for love.

Drove her knife into three faeries for love.

And — she realized with a clarity that burned through all the pain, loss and fear — she would do it again.

The anger within her crested and the walls began to shake. Beneath them, a rumbling sounded, spiking rapidly to the levels of her emotion.

"Feyre?" She heard Tamlin's voice as if it were spoken from miles away, the roaring in her ears threatening to engulf her whole.

Feyre only had eyes for Rhysand. For the way his face hardened, violet eyes blazing with a mix of irritation and . . . was that fear?

"Feyre, darling," he chastised, though he was clever enough to remain wary, "Behave."

But she was past the idea of listening to him.

Ripping through two floors of the manor, thick, thorned roots burst through the wooden paneling and wrapped itself around Rhysand. A shout of pain sounded from the High Lord of Night, but Feyre ignored it.

“Yes, I made a bargain with you.” At her most desperate of moments, and he’d known that. He’d taken advantage of it. Twisted her bone and tasted her tears. “And you’re welcome to try and take me. But I wonder—” she held her tattooed hand up, fingers curling into a fist, nails digging into that ever-watchful eye. “If I kill you, Rhysand, who will come to call upon my debt?”

It did something to her, to see his perfectly coifed hair in disarray, the pristine clothes he always wore torn and ripped and ruffled. To see the male that haunted her, struggling in her grip.

“Break the bond.” She gestured to her tattooed hand with her chin.

“What?” he laughed — a breathless, panicked sound.

Feyre twisted her enclosed fist and a root mimicked her motion, digging into his flesh and earning another strangled shout of pain from him. “Break. The. Bond.”

Fury gleamed in Rhysand’s eyes and he gasped out a string of words as power glowed over his body. She felt a heat over her arm and gasped, dropping to her knees. Tamlin was there in an instant, shielding her with his body as the roots and thorns began to sink away. When Feyre looked back over her arm, she saw unmarred skin, devoid of any inky black whorls.

“Feyre?” Tamlin’s voice was so close to her ears, feeding the happiness flooding through her body. “Are you okay? Are you alright?”

“It’s . . . It’s gone.”

“Yes,” disbelief colored his laughter, “It’s gone.”

But she hadn’t forgotten their intruder, and Feyre snapped her head up to look at Rhysand as he unfolded himself from the crumpled heap on the floor and stood. That fury was tinted with a wildness she’d never seen before and she scrambled to stand, to put Tamlin behind her, only to find him doing the same.

“You may have broken this bond here.” Rhysand’s voice was ragged, unhinged. “But you’ll find soon enough, Feyre, darling, that there are other bonds that you cannot escape.”

And as Feyre felt Tamlin squeeze her against him, shielding her from whatever he believed Rhysand would do, the High Lord of the Night Court vanished in a wave of shadows.

a/n: my girl needed more 'thorn-personified' moments imo. (iirc mates can’t hurt each other? we’re forgoing that here because where’s the fun in that)

[wallflowers-in-the-wind]

A single thread 🧵

One shot featuring past Feyre/Tamlin, Feyre/Rhysand, Nesta/Eris, Nesta/Cassian, Elain/Lucien, and mentions of Elain/Azriel

The following is a work of fan made fiction, the characters mentioned belong to Sarah J. Maas.

It always starts with a nightmare.

Sometimes, Feyre finds her self back on the battlefield holding Rhysand’s lifeless corpse. Or watching her sisters forced into the cauldron. There were even moments when she is back in the Spring Court manor watching Tamlin closing the door as she begs him not to leave her there.

But in the end, Feyre can never wake herself up. This dream, this nightmare never, allows her to leave until she is standing in the endless abyss. Alone. And faces whatever it has planned for her.

Feyre had voiced her concerns to Rhysand when they first started, four days since her rescue from the Spring Court. The nightmares had scared her so badly that she refused to sleep. Believing that if she closed her eyes to sleep she would not return from the nightmare that trapped her.

When she had told Rhysand why she couldn’t sleep he had brushed it off as merely a nightmare, and told her not to think about it too much. Claiming the trauma and horrors they experienced needed to work itself out in their dreams to they could get better. But for some reason, Feyre didn’t believe him then, and she still doesn’t to this day.

She never dared to voice her skepticism about Rhysand’s unbothered response to her nightmares after that. Feyre had even gone so far as to banish the thought from her mind so Rhysand didn’t come across it by accident.

The nightmares only got worse.

Feyre stared out into the darkness once again. Dressed not in her armor from the battlefield, or the rags she wore when she was human. Just the small light blue nightgown she wore to bed almost every night. With nothing to provide any reassurance of protection.

The initial fear she had felt when she had first dreamt of this place never left. Even after so many years of being forced into this empty prison it still terrified her.

“It’s just a dream, it’s just a dream.” Feyre whispered, her eyes darting out in every direction for something, anything to jump out. Nothing ever did. But the paranoia never left.

At some point her legs gave out and Feyre collapsed to the floor. She hugged her knees to her chest and closed her eyes; continuing to whisper the quite reassurances that soon she would wake up and it would all be over.

“Feyre…”

Feyre opened her eyes and lifted her head, believing for a moment that Rhysand was trying to wake her up. But it didn’t sound like him. The voice was quieter, more feminine.

“Feyre…” the voice whispers again ending in a laugh.

“Go away!!” Screamed Feyre, her voice echoing around her but it just made the voice laugh harder and harder.

“Stay with the high lord Feyre.” The voice mocked. Then it vanished, as if it was never there to begin with.

Feyre closed her eyes and lowered her head once more. This was usually where the nightmare ended. Soon she would awake in her house, with her husband, and their darling baby boy. Everything would be alright with the world and the nightmare would be over until the next night.

But when she opened them again, she was still in the abyss.

It didn’t make any sense. Feyre scrambled to her feet unable to believe her surroundings. The nightmare usually ended there, it always did! So what changed?

Then, she looked down at herself and nearly stumbled back in shock. A golden thread appeared to be attached to her night gown, right where her heart is. It stretched on and on further into the darkness until it reached someone standing a few feet away.

“Tamlin.” Feyre whispered softly.

The High Lord of the Spring, her ex fiance (her ex love), stood there dressed in a loose white shirt and green pants with brown boots and his long golden hair looked like he had just ran his hands through it. Gone was the guarded and sharp expression he had given her over the years. Instead he looked at her with the soft loving expression he always did when she was at the manor. The one she used to adore more than anything in the world.

The thread between them seemed to grow warm, like a nice sunny day and hummed with a bond that felt all too familiar.

Tamlin started walking toward her, that soft smile never faltering or growing cold and his eyes seemed so warm and inviting. Like he was the Tamlin she knew before Amarantha tore them apart. The one she had gone under the mountain to die for.

But before he could reach her the sound of scissors snipped through the air and the thread was broken. The bright warmth was replaced with the bitter frost and the golden thread faded to black.

Tamlin’s face crumpled into a pained expression and he began to reach out for her. Instinctually, Feyre reached out too, not understanding why she felt the need to ease the pain. To make it go away. They could fix it, they just had to tie the string together.

A familiar hand grasped her outreached hand and pulled her back. Feyre stumbled back into familiar protective arms. Sure enough, when she looked up it was Rhysand holding her against his warm chest. But where she normally felt protection something felt off. Almost wrong.

But that couldn’t be right, Rhysand was her mate. He loved her. Why would Feyre ever feel unsafe when he loved her?

A strange tugging sensation at her heart urged Feyre to look down at where the string used to be. No, not used to be. When Feyre looked down the string was still there. But the golden thread faded the further it went along until it lost all of its color, tied to another colorless string that faded to a dark red color attached to Rhysand. Her light blue night gown had somehow faded to a dull grey.

Wrong. It felt so wrong and Feyre wanted to back away but Rhysand used his right hand to tighten his grip on her arm and the left to pull her closer to him.

“Feyre darling.” Rhysand whispered, sending fear down Feyre’s spine.

Panicked, Feyre looked back across to where Tamlin stood, wishing he would save her, but he was gone.

Feyre desperately looked around for any sign of Tamlin, that he didn’t disappear, he can’t be gone! But instead of Tamlin, Feyre saw someone she wasn’t expecting.

“Nesta?” Feyre whispered in disbelief.

Sure enough her sister was standing a few feet to Feyre’s right. But instead of the cold and bitter expression Nesta had always wore her face looked calmer, more gentle. Gone were the battle leathers of the Valkyrie Nesta wore with pride, in its place was a dress made of fabric that swirled in orange, yellow, and reds.

Nesta also had a string attached to her heart. Unlike Feyre’s golden string this one appeared like silver. Yet attached to the other end was not Cassian, like Feyre’s expected, it was Eris.

He stood there in dark red robes accented with gold trimmings. The way Eris looked at Nesta was unlike anything Feyre had ever seen. It should have felt wrong for Eris to be looking at her sister in such a way. He wasn’t Nesta’s mate, wasn’t he?

Feyre watched helplessly as the pair started walking toward each other. The string between them seemed to glow brighter and brighter as they got closer to each other.

‘This isn’t right, this isn’t right, this isn’t right!’ Feyre thought over and over and over again.

Then the horrid snipping sound returned. Eris vanished as if he was never there and Nesta crumpled to the ground.

“Nesta!” Feyre screamed. She struggled against Rhysand’s hold but his grip was like iron.

The silver thread attached to Nesta began to fade and Feyre began to struggle harder. If she could just reach Nesta. She could tie the string to hers and Nesta would be ok. Feyre didn’t know what the strings were for but she knew they were important.

A few feet away from Nesta the darkness seemed to part allowing something to come through. But instead of Eris, it was Cassian.

Feyre stopped struggling and watched with relief as Cassian walked toward Nesta. He paused in front of Nesta and reached down to grasp the silver thread attached to her and yanked hard. Nesta screamed out in pain and tried to pull the string out of Cassian’s grip but Cassian tied the silver string to the dark blue string attached to him. The once vibrant dress Nesta wears begin to fade until the dress is pitch black.

Cassian then hauled Nesta to her feet and forced her to stand in front of him. And Nesta looked out into the abyss with the same dark yet vacant look Feyre had seen all of her life.

The horror of what Feyre saw kept replaying in her mind. As if her mind couldn’t comprehend the cruelty Cassian just used against her sister. This was not Cassian.

‘What if it’s not the one he shows you?’ A traitorous thought questions. But Feyre shakes it off.

No, the Cassian she knew would never be this cruel, especially to Nesta. They were mates. Right?

Yet Feyre doesn’t have long to contemplate the possibility of Cassian and Nesta as her attention is drawn to the left of her. The light is almost blinding but as her eyes adjust she can see Elain.

She wears what Feyre could only guess through the light is a light pink puffy dress. Elain is smiling as if the world is filled with a never ending sunlight.

Across from her stands Lucien. He has a ‘devil may care’ smirk on his face and is wearing a simple shirt and pants.

Between them, is what Feyre could only guess is their string. Yet it shines so brightly it seems impossible to tell what color it is. But what Feyre knows is that it’s attached to Elain. And if she was right, someone or something, was going to cut their string.

And Feyre did not want to see what would happen if it did.

By the sheer luck of surprise Feyre manages to break free from Rhysand’s grip and runs toward Elain and Lucien. She is unsure what she will do when she reaches it. How she will stop whoever or whatever it is that are cutting these strings. But Feyre was going to do everything in her power to stop it.

Feyre reaches out; her hand barely touches Elian’s shoulder when the world begins to scream. And Feyre wakes up.

Air rushes into Feyre’s lungs as she sits up in bed. In, out, in, out. Breathe, Feyre needed to breath she looks around the room and her eyes slowly begin to adjust to the darkness around her.

Feyre was home, she was not in the abyss, and the screaming was Nyx (hungry for his nightly feeding.

Rhysand groans beside her and shifts around until the pillow covers his head. Typical. Feyre rolls her eyes fondly and gets out of bed to tend to her screaming infant.

It takes a while but Feyre managed to get all of Nyx’s needs met and she collapses into the rocking chair. Nyx was feeling extra clingy and was sleeping against her chest, her heartbeat seeming to be the only thing that calms him.

As she rocks back and forth, trying to prevent herself from falling asleep, Feyre thinks over the nightmare. Every time she had been in the abyss it had never shown her that. The voice would always laugh, scream, and taunt until Feyre woke in terror. But this, she wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.

Then again it was just a nightmare. Perhaps she was looking too much into it. Yet something nagged at the back of Feyre’s mind that it was much more than that.

[feylinweek]

What an incredible five days we had. A huge thank you to who participated whether through contributions or simply spreading the event around. Every fic, moodboard, poem, art, etc. was incredibly appreciated. It was an honor to run this week and appreciate Feylin with all of you, and to make next year's better you can share your thoughts and opinions on the event.

Masterlists will be released May 9th at 6:00 PM EST, and submissions will be reblogged even past that date but only submissions before will be added to the Masterlists.

To fun and Feylin, see you next year 💚

[achaotichuman]

Bravery Is In Spite Of Fear

Day 2 of Feylin Week!! I hope you guys enjoy the feels in this one!

Prompt- Protection

Read on Ao3 or below the cut!

“Will you be okay?” 

Her hands on his arms, eyes glaring into his. Feyre attempted a staredown with the male towering over her. Tamlin raised an eyebrow as Feyre slowly sucked in a breath, nostrils flaring. An intimidation tactic that she slowly realized was working very poorly. 

Tamlin put his hands on her waist and leaned down to whisper, “I will be fine.”

“You cannot be sure.” She countered with, “Hybern is dangerous and I-”

“Feyre I swear.” Tamlin took her hand, the hands with black swirling tattoos. She turned her glaring eyes to stare at it in disgust. Feeling the Night Lord’s hands on her bare body once more, she shuddered, eyes falling closed at the memory. 

A part of her was still closed off the male standing before her. Still left in that pit of utter despair and hopelessness. Every night was a struggle to not fall into it, to not go back to living in that dark cell in her dreams. 

Tamlin wasn’t any better, staying in beast form when he could not sleep, and pacing the grounds when the walls became too much like the rocks of the Mountain. 

The same coin, two different facings. They struggled at the start, but with the past only getting further behind them, new trouble lay ahead. With Tamlin now being requested to visit the Court that witch originated from. 

The thought of him back in a scene like that again. Back at her mercy. Back in the darkness. Back in that danger. 

Feyre grabbed his wrist and forced him closer, standing to the tips of her toes to harshly say, “I will not let you be hurt again. I will not let you be taken from me again.”

She said it, and she clamped her mouth shut after she did. Broaching the topic she had been keeping locked inside her. How it felt like torture to see him leave every morning. To not be close, to be gone, to not be around. Like at any moment, claws of red would emerge from the darkness and whisk him away, to where she would never see him again. 

To lose him again… it would break her. In a way she didn’t think she could possibly recover from. 

Tamlin had gone silent, he watched her with those deep green eyes that seemed to bore into her soul. Saw past the exterior and into a part of her she had been keeping locked up tightly. 

Everything she kept locked up, the chains loosened at the look in his eyes. She screwed her eyes shut because she couldn’t, not yet, she couldn’t face what was underneath her yet. 

“Feyre.” He whispered, not a question, just acknowledgement. Still keeping her eyes tightly sealed, she felt a soft, tender kiss to the crown of her head. 

Just like the loosened chains in her soul, her eyes gave away from the tension, against any will of her own. Like it all crumbled before him. 

She held onto his hands. Grasping his fingers tightly, “Please. I can’t lose you again.”

“You never lost me.” He murmured, pressing another kiss, this one to her brow, “You have never lost me.”

A tear, hot and wet slid from her eyes and down her cheek. Burning into her with the sensation. One hand released hers and he wiped it off with his thumb. Catching her chin between his fingers, Tamlin coaxed her into looking up at him, so she did. Meeting those spring green eyes with her stormy blue. 

It was strange the things that mirrored each other in them. If he was the soul of the land, Feyre felt like the wind and sky, the storm that rained down on the Earth. Unbound and wild. Though she tried to keep the wildness down, if only because it was another form of protection in the newly bloomed Prythian. 

“Swear it to me.” She demanded, “Swear you will be okay.”

“I swear it.” Tamlin said, with all the sincerity in his words as the day he had said those beautiful and still dreadful words, “I love you, thorns and all.” That day had always signified the change in their relationship, she couldn’t help but love it, but hate it all the same time. If only she had whispered it back, instead of pretending to sleep. 

She released a breath, then launched forward, sending him sprawling to the ground as she wrapped her arms around his middle. 

“Feyre!” He shouted, but unable to hide the laugh behind the words. 

“I will not let you go!” She said, despite herself a smile bloomed on her face, “You will have to pry yourself from my cold, dead hands.”

In an instant, Tamlin flipped them around, pinning her to the soft carpet of their bedroom. Staring down at her with a satisfied grin, “Cold and dead? You seem very alive to me.”

She huffed as she struggled against his hands. But was no match, even if Tamlin had lost some muscle due to the stress of the days after the Mountain, he was far stronger than her. That did not mean Feyre would not, or could not, put up a fight. 

She kicked up into him, causing Tamlin’s breath to whoosh from his lungs as she quickly scrambled and flipped them back over. Straddling his waist, she grinned with victory. Tamlin laughed, as he let his hands drift to her waist. Seemingly content to remain put. 

“Alright then, my thorn, you have me beneath you, what will you do with me?” The words were amused, meant to incite whatever Feyre had next planned. 

She considered him for a moment, hands drifting down the planes of his chest. Touching and feeling. One hand tangling in the waves of blond before her. Finally she said, “I want you to be safe.”

The grin slowly slipped away from his face, replaced by a tender softness. He gently took her hand and kissed the skin of her wrist, before pulling her gently down. His lips meeting hers. Feyre hummed softly, a sigh escaping her throat, as she kissed him back. The fire between them burning with their intimacy. Whilst it was not the hours long, moaning mess they both became at night, it was something deep and fiery nonetheless. Just as, if not more, intense than any long night spent together. 

Memories bore into that kiss, and Feyre felt another tear slip from her eyes. Tamlin brushed them away with ease, leaning back just enough to whisper, “I never left, and I am not leaving now.”

She nodded, she knew he wouldn’t. Knew with his full magic back, Tamlin was stronger now and could protect himself with ease. Protect himself in a way Feyre never could. But still the worry and anxiety festered in her gut. 

“I know, I just…” It was hard to forget, she wished to say, but words were stuck in her throat. She wasn’t a poet, and did not know how to conjure up the way of conveying perfectly to the male beneath her how she felt. 

“I am afraid.” She said, and nothing more. She could barely say those small three words at all. 

Tamlin looked at her, that strange look that she couldn’t understand. But then he wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her close. Feyre laid her head down on his chest, pressing herself tightly against him, keeping him as close to her as their physical bodies allowed. Like if she just held on tightly enough, he wouldn’t leave. 

He kept his big arms tightly around her. His warmth seeping into her, pushing back something horribly dark and frozen, like a cold front beginning to press in. Something about the steady beating of his heart, his breathing, his skin touching hers, it all felt like it was thawing something frozen in her chest. Feyre felt her body relax against his, becoming a puddle in his arms. 

“I’m afraid too.” He whispered, which caused her arms to tighten, but he quickly continued, “But we’re brave for it.”

She blinked as she looked up at his eyes, gold flecks gleaming. Cutting through the striking green. The small traces of color and detail in his eyes that she had been unable to see until he received this new, strange body. 

“How? How are we brave, Tamlin?” Her voice was small, a hushed whisper, unable to speak louder for fear of breaking into a sob. 

“Because we are still moving forward in spite of fear.” He said, his voice harsh but solid and true. Like he was telling himself it as well as her. Tamlin cupped her face, “We are still going.”

She nodded, closing her eyes, “We are.” 

He pressed their foreheads together. Just remaining close, feeling the heat of the other, until he finally maneuvered them to stand. Feyre went easily. Standing before him as she had stood firmly the day she steeled herself to enter Under the Mountain. Despite the fear, despite the thoughts that begged to go back, despite the instinct to now pull him close and never let go again. Feyre remained upright, and strong. Her back like steel, her hands clasping his. 

“There is not a soul in Prythian more brave,” He whispered, “Then you, Feyre. Then the woman who won back Prythian.”

“No.” She said, voice ringing true, like thunder in a storm, “I did not win back Prythian, that is not what I set out to do.”

Before he could refute, before he could continue to praise her as if she were better than any God in the sky, she cupped his face and brought him close once again, “I won back you. That's what I set out to do. That is what I will always set out to do, you will never be taken from me ever again.”

For once Tamlin appeared utterly speechless, and Feyre smiled. A pure genuine smile. All at once the chains over her heart loosened and she did not tighten them again. 

She kissed him again and fell back into that warmth. Into that wonderful bliss. 

@feylinweek

[shi-daisy]

hi hi it me for the CHARACTER BREAKDOWN game thing!! obvs I gotta ask u about Tamlin!!!!

Hiiiii sweetie! Okay so we're going with my best boy!

How I feel about him?

He's precious, I loved how silly and awkward he was on book 1. I think he's really handsome despite my type being brunettes rather than blondes, he is strong in a fight but I love his quiet scenes and how much he cares for his court even if this is a duty he never wanted. Tamlin owns my heart and was a comfort for me during a dark time in my past. I love him very very much!

All the people I romantically ship this character with

Man has darn harem.

First in line obviously Lucien because these two as friends to lovers would heal me and they're absolutely adorable (sjm don't ruin them) Feyre before book 3. I loved their relationship and held out hope he'd win her back, alas after book 3 even if they go back to being friends I can't see them getting back together. Still love book 1 Feylin and Feylincien tho

Briar, I'm a basic bitch and while he haven't seen Briar again and she's human, I think she's sweet and would love to see them get together as long as it does not end in tragedy or bittersweetly.

Cresseida, Also kinda crack but I could see them starting as a political marriage and the slowly fall for one another and bond over Night screwing them over. They'd be cute

Hybern. I cannot get the appeal of Tamsand because this ship is a 1000 times more compelling to me. A decent into evil by Tamlin when everyone leaves him behind as he's hurt? Bloody revenge? Spring not being destroyed but turned dark and used to destroy Tamlins enemies? Homoerotic tension? That scene where Hybern binded Tamlin with magic? Cmooooooon, I need evil Tamlin or redeemed Hybern fics with them for sustenance they're so interesting to me.

Non romantic OTP for this character

Jurian, they'd be a cool ship but given Jurian's sass and him helping Tamlin as a double agent and being buddies with Lucien too. I'd love to see them hanging out more.

Andras, these two were beasties and I headcanon Andras went out saq Feyre and meticulously planned for her to break the curse because he knew Tamlin would like her.

Unpopular Opinion

He does not need to apologize to the IC. He helped them in the war and brought Rhysand back despite all he'd done to him. Man should be left alone and book 3 actually did before SJM chose to kick him while he's down. If he apologizes let it be to Lucien and Feyre if she loses the bad attitude. Otherwise I want him to heal away from Night.

Something I wish would happen

That he gets an uncontested adorable happy ending because he deserves the world.

[bookishfeylin]

Of Beast and Beauty

@feylinweek

For Feylin Week Day 4: Beauty and the Beast. This references some of my other oneshots where I delve into Tamlin's childhood and adolescence.

It begins when Beron makes a small, snide comment to Feyre at the first meeting of all the High Lords around a year after Amarantha.

“How can you love a monster like that?”

At the time she’d rolled her eyes and turned to talk to Tarquin instead, not noticing how Tamlin had stiffened beside her.

Tamlin had implied that he was viewed as more… animalistic, perhaps, than other Lords due to his shapeshifting abilities. And Feyre sensed that there was something very important about Tamlin’s past that he was refusing to share with her, as her lover himself seemed to have a curious love-hate relationship with his magic. And after Beron’s comment, Tamlin had grown more distant. 

But after days of her seeking him out and being relentlessly affectionate, Tamlin was acting normal, and had seemingly forgotten what Beron had said. 

Seemingly.

But it's after they announce their engagement that the drama truly begins, in the form of Rhysand winnowing directly into Rosehall manor one bright spring day. He’d walked through the hallways, dodged Tamlin as he attempted to throw Rhysand out, and casually slid into Feyre’s painting room, closing the door behind him. 

Then Rhysand turned around on his heels and said, “you do know what he is, don’t you?”

Feyre had been stunned, at first, that Rhysand would be so bold that he’d stroll into her painting room in broad daylight, but she quickly recovered and glared at him. “Get out.”

“Hush, and listen to me. You know that your fiance is a beast, don’t you?”

“Get out of here, Rhysand, and don’t speak of him that way.” Her voice trembled, and Feyre slowly sat down her tray of paints on the easel she’d been using. With a flick of her hand, Feyre summoned a small flame between her fingers, but Rhysand merely looked at the fire and shrugged. 

“I’m trying to talk to you,” Rhysand began, before dematerializing into a cloud of shadow when Feyre attempted to flick her flames onto him. He rematerialized behind Feyre and grabbed her, holding her arms together tightly and preventing her from using her magic. “Perhaps you haven’t been told that Tamlin spent a decade straight of his life as an animal?”

That made Feyre freeze, and she turned around to look at Rhysand, frowning. Tamlin had what?

“As I said, your fiancé is a beast, Feyre. Do not let the façade of civility he wears convince you otherwise.”

Then Rhysand was gone, and soon even the shadows had retreated so hard it was almost impossible to believe he’d been there.

With a sigh, Feyre walked over to the doors of her painting room, opening them to reveal a stricken-looking Tamlin.

“Tam—“

Her fiancé flinches at the sound of her voice and pulls away from her touch, and a heartbeat later he’s gone, disappeared out the window in a flash of light. 

~~~

Tamlin doesn’t return for hours, and by the time dusk begins to bleed into night he’s still gone.

After a quick conversation with Lucien, asking him to look after the manor while she’s gone, Feyre grabs a blanket and pillow and heads off into the woods, determined to track Tamlin down so she can, at the very least, sleep beside him tonight. 

Feyre spends several hours checking all of Tamlin’s favorite hiding places, and glares at any puca who attempt to follow her—though they know to keep their distance from the future spouse of their High Lord—and in the end winds up in a meadow on one of the rolling hills overlooking the manor. It’s beautiful view, looking at Tamlin’s lands—their lands, and Feyre is content to sit and stare at their home and the night sky beyond it while the gentle breeze carries her scent around the forest, trusting she knows Tamlin well enough to know he won’t leave her alone, at night, in the middle of the forest. 

It’s not long before her patience is rewarded when a giant, golden beast slowly emerges from the woods, giving her an exasperated look, before trotting toward and curling around her.

Leaning against Tamlin with the blanket over her shoulders and the pillow at the back of her head, Feyre begins to stroke the fur around his antlers, before whispering, “Tell me, if you want.”

He looks at her, his green eyes oh-so-recognizable even in his beast form, before nuzzling against her torso as he begins to speak. As he speaks of his father and his older brothers, of railing against injustice and years forced in a form not his own as punishment. 

The truth wears on Feyre like a cold, heavy stone. 

She’s not sure how to comfort him, or what she can say, to tell him his father was wrong about him, to voice the absolute horror she feels that a parent could do that to their own child, to convince Tamlin that he’s not a monster or creature or beast when he has spent centuries thinking otherwise. A few loving words cannot ease centuries of pain. Telling him he’s not a beast won’t do anything to prevent him from ignoring her and continuing his self-loathing.

So in the end, she declares something else. “I love you no matter what you are, Tamlin. If you are a man then you are mine. If you are High Fae then you are mine. And if you are a beast, then you are my beast.” And she holds him close.

And as beauty holds her beast and her beast cradles her, they finally, finally manage to find peace and fall asleep.