Feylin - Tumblr Posts

PROMPTS FOR COMFORTABLE INTIMACY *  adjust as necessary, send 'reverse' for the reversal of the prompt

[ settle ] sender sits on receiver's lap and gets comfortable

[ sling ] sender slings an arm around receiver's shoulder

[ pinch ] sender affectionately pinches receiver's cheek

[ ruffle ] sender ruffles receiver's hair

[ recline ] sender joins receiver on their chair and snuggles against them

[ hand ] sender takes receiver's hand while driving

[ knee ] sender lays a hand on receiver's leg while driving

[ clean ] sender reaches up to wipe something off receiver's face

[ tie ] sender adjusts receiver's tie

[ collar ] sender smooths out receiver's collar

[ tickle ] sender starts tickling receiver

[ piggyback ] sender gives receiver a piggyback ride

[ pick up ] sender scoops receiver up into their arms and holds them as they walk

[ guide ] sender places a hand on receiver's hip and guides them through a crowded room

[ smudge ] sender cleans lipstick off receiver's face

[ gun ] in the midst of a stand-off, sender reaches over and gently guides receiver's gun down, making them lower it

[ behind ] sender comes up to receiver from behind and wraps their arms around their waist

[ nuzzle ] sender leans in and nuzzles their face into receiver's neck

[ relax ] sender rests their head on receiver's shoulder while they talk

[ arms ] sender hooks their arm with receiver's as they walk

[ itch ] sender assists receiver with an itch they can't reach

[ catch ] receiver starts to fall, so sender reaches out and catches them

[ calm down ] sender pets receiver's hair and tries to soothe them after a scary situation

[ check ] sender checks receiver's temperature by placing the back of their hand against receiver's forehead, trying to see if they're sick

[ tuck ] sender tucks receiver into bed

[ feed ] sender offers a forkful of food out to receiver, helping them eat

[ undress ] sender helps receiver undress

[ shoes ] sender helps receiver put on their shoes

[ intent ] sender leans their forehead against receiver's

[ bathe ] sender helps receiver wash themselves in a bath

[ shower ] sender helps receiver wash themselves in a shower

[ assist ] sender finds receiver has fallen down, so they rush to their aid and help them stand again

[ bed ] sender helps receiver into bed

[ greet ] sender greets receiver with quick kisses to each of their cheeks

[ high five ] sender gives receiver a congratulatory high five

[ makeup ] sender helps receiver apply makeup

[ injury ] sender cleans receiver's wound and patches it up

[ seek ] sender reaches for receiver's hand and laces their fingers

[ surprise ] sender sneaks up behind receiver and places their hands over their eyes, wanting them to guess who it is

[ walk ] sender helps receiver walk by staying by their side and holding onto them

Send me a Ship and a Number and I will Write a Kiss

…good morning.

…goodnight.

…goodbye.

…where it hurts.

…where it doesn’t hurt.

…on a falling tear.

…to shut them up.

…in secrecy.

…in public.

…desperately.

…in joy.

…in grief.

…discreetly.

…casually.

…passionately.

…lazily.

…to distract.

…as encouragement.

…for luck.

…on a scar.

…on a place of insecurity.

…in a rush of adrenaline.

…in relief.

…in danger.

…as a ‘yes’.

…as an apology.

…as a suggestion.

…as a lie.

…as a promise.

…as comfort.

…after a small rejection.

…to wake up.

…forcefully.

…to pretend.

…to gain something.

…to give up control.

…without a motive.

…because they’re running out of time.

…because time’s run out.

…because the world is ending.

…because the world is saved.

…out of pride.

…out of greed.

…out of lust.

…out of anger.

…out of envy or jealousy.

…out of spite.

…out of habit.

…out of necessity.

…out of love.

what do you think of the tamlin and briar ship (she's the human he helped save in acowar, along with feyre, azriel, and elain)?

I have only read the first book and for the sake my brain don’t plan on continuing, but Briar interests me! I like the idea that she’s essentially (at least at this point) a blank canvas that could be explored however a writer would like. I keep a fairly open mind when it comes to writing. I’ve always enjoyed canon character / obscure or original character, too. So, I would say — bring it on.

A  FUCKED  UP  KISSING  MEME  bc  who  needs  soft  kisses  when  you  can  have  This   !

(   send  me   ‘  💔  ’   to  generate  the  angsty  way  that  our  muses  kiss.  feel  free  to  specify  a  number  or  who  is  kissing  who  if  you’d  like.   )

a  kiss  when  it’s  not  wanted.

a  kiss  when  it’s  not  allowed.

a  violent  kiss.

a  bloody  kiss.

a  lying  kiss.

a  kiss  as  a  warning.

a  kiss  on  an  injury  your  muse  gave  to  mine.

a  kiss  on  an  injury  my  muse  gave  to  yours.

a  kiss  accompanying  your  muse  injuring  mine.

a  kiss  accompanying  my  muse  injuring  yours.

a  drunk  /  drugged  kiss.

a   ‘  goodbye  ’   kiss.

a   ‘  please  ’   kiss.

an   ‘  i’m  sorry  ’   kiss.

an   ‘  i’ll  be  back  ’   kiss.

a  kiss  to  gain  control.

a  kiss  to  give  up  control.

a  kiss  that  draws  blood.

a  kiss  with  tears.

a  kiss  that  won’t  be  remembered.

𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐃 [ 🎼 ] + 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐀 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐈 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 (𝟑-𝟓 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒) 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 𝐃𝐘𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐂.

softer shippy prompts.

soft & simple quotes for all your shippy needs! a lot of these can work as platonic prompts if that’s preferred. feel free to change pronouns, descriptors, and context when needed. combine prompts too if desired ♡

WORDS.

❝ you’re so cute when you blush. ❞ ❝ your hair is so soft … ❞ ❝ you smell really good … ❞ ❝ how is your skin so soft? ❞ ❝ your laugh makes me melt.  it’s super cute. ❞ ❝ god, you are so CUTE, it’s not fair!!! ❞ ❝ i bet you’d look really cute/pretty/handsome in a dress/gown/suit and tie/tuxedo/(article of clothing). ❞ ❝ you’re all i’ll ever need. ❞ ❝ you have such pretty eyes. ❞ ❝ you always know exactly how to make me laugh … ❞ ❝ your dimples are absolutely adorable. ❞ ❝ are those freckles on your cheeks that i see? ❞ ❝ i guess all the love songs i’ve ever sang were about you. ❞ ❝ is it weird that i’ve daydreamed about our wedding? ❞ ❝ the word ‘love’ can’t even scratch the surface of what i feel for you. ❞ ❝ you’re my person.  you’re beyond special to me. ❞ ❝ there are seven billion people on this planet, yet you’re the only one for me. ❞ ❝ there’s no touch that feels like yours. ❞ ❝ every morning i want to wake up hearing your voice, seeing your smile. ❞ ❝ you taught me what love is … and what it means. ❞ ❝ being wrapped in your arms is a truly special feeling. ❞ ❝ the sound of your voice is like heaven to me. ❞ ❝ i truly can’t control my heart when i’m around you. ❞ ❝ just stay here with me … by my side. ❞ ❝ promise you’ll always be here for me … ? ❞ ❝ i love you.  more than anything. ❞

ACTIONS.

send +↻ for the reverse!

[ sing ] — sender sings a love song to receiver [ bath ] — sender draws a bath for receiver [ cry ] — sender lets receiver cry on their shoulder [ tear ] — sender wipes receiver’s tears [ cuddle ] — sender cuddles up to receiver as they’re just waking up [ art ] — sender sketches a picture of receiver [ snap ] — sender snaps a picture of receiver when they’re not looking [ kiss ] — sender kisses along a stretch of receiver’s skin [ clothe ] — sender helps receiver remove an article of their clothing [ embrace ] — sender jumps into receiver’s arms [ carry ] — sender carries receiver to bed [ lift ] — sender playfully picks up receiver from around their waist [ pin ] — sender pins receiver underneath them [ massage ] — sender gently massages receiver [ sit ] — sender sits on receiver’s lap [ lean ] — sender leans against receiver’s shoulder [ scar ] — sender shows receiver one of their scars [ wrap ] — sender wraps their arm around receiver’s waist to pull them close [ pillow ] — sender uses receiver’s lap as a pillow [ goodnight ] — sender kisses receiver goodnight [ hold ] — our muses lace their fingers together [ dance ] — our muses slow dance together [ candle ] — our muses cuddle in a dimly candlelit room [ tub ] — our muses share a hot tub together [ nuzzle ] — our muses touch noses [ laugh ] — our muses laugh together [ bed ] — our muses share a bed

[ WORRY ]

This time, his scouting mission had taken three full days. That was not unusual, but as Feyre has adjusted to his presence in the manor, he’d tried to stay present whenever possible. There was plenty that Lucien could handle on his own; but solving problems along the border and helping refugees settle into new homes was something Tamlin oversaw personally.

He owed that to anyone who still believed in his court. Ensuring their protection and provision was his top priority. There were two new collectives of settlers inside his borders. A group of faeries fleeing their captivity under the mountain had been brought to the village just below the manor. His own eyes needed to stay on them, at all times. If there was a spy among them, it wouldn’t be Amarantha’s first try at using his people as a method to pry at his mind.

The others were a collective of Children of the Blessed. Once a year, typically around Calanmai, a group of humans journeyed into his land like a sacred pilgrimage. It was more annoying than it was an actual problem, but on occasion, one or two of them stayed behind.

Those were the ones who made him actually uncomfortable. Although they were a peaceable people, their admiration of his kind often went too far. Although Tamlin tried to welcome them into society, the fairies struggled to embrace the change. It often ended badly.

Tamlin pushed open the back gate of the garden, after stabling his horse, and wearily began walking back indoors. After a few days on the road, he was exhausted, hungry, and honestly cranky. He wasn’t fond of traveling. Staying home with a long book and a good cup of mead was much more his style. He began removing his cape, weapons, and boots before entering. The faster he could get his bare feet in the fresh spring grass the better!

Tamlin left his things in a pile behind him, knowing someone would gather them and transport them safely inside, and began a barefoot walk through the garden. Satiety rushed to his weary bones and he tilted his head towards the midmorning sun, taking in a deep breath.

Home. He was home.

The manor had never felt like home before.

He wondered what has changed.

When a small pair of warm arms quickly embraced his neck, suddenly, he knew. Feyre clung to his shoulders. He could hear her heart pounding from worry gone wild. Tamlin relaxed, firmly wrapping his strong arms around her.

“How’s my favorite human?” He whispered, tracing his thumb down her cheek.

“Your human?” Feyre murmured.

“Mine.” His voice rumbled in his chest and his hug tightened, lifting her off the ground, so he could see her better.

Her feet were also bare. Her face and hands were covered in paint. She was smiling, but there were dark circles beneath her grey eyes.

“Your human missed you.” Feyre found a comfortable place to rest in his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist. “…especially during those long nights.”

Tamlin’s face reddened, but he smiled. “I told the moon about you.”

“And I spoke to the stars of you.” Feyre bit her lip.

His eyes fluttered closed and he sealed their lips in a warm, welcome home kiss. Three days — it felt like a lifetime. Feyre folded into him, eagerly embracing the fact that for once, he kissed her in public.

As her hands began tracing his arms, Tamlin slowly started pulling away. The familiar sound of brisk footsteps caught his attention and Lucien rounded the corner.

“Glory!” He exclaimed, covering his eyes dramatically. “Either get a room or let me join you.”

Tamlin laughed brightly. His favorite fox could always make him laugh. He let Feyre slip from his arms and planted a ridiculously silly kiss on the redhead’s cheek. “There. Do you feel included now?”

Lucien wiped it away and rolled his eyes in jest. “Never enough, your lordship.”

“Too bad!” Tamlin grabbed Feyre’s hand and dragged her up the stairs, enthusiastically. “That’s the best ‘I missed your idiot face’ I can give!”

Lucien grumbled under his breath as his two friends ran away to make love somewhere in the sunshine. “Always the third wheel. When will someone bring the fourth?”

𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐃 [ 🎼 ] + 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐀 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐈 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 (𝟑-𝟓 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒) 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 𝐃𝐘𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐂.

🥀 Feylin

by starscrapers on Instagram

🥀 Feylin

by starscrapers on Instagram

🥀 Feylin

by starscrapers on Instagram

and I don’t give a damn about your tattoos

‘cause my heart is yours

so don’t you worry your pretty little mind

people throw rocks at things that shine

life makes love look hard

the stakes are high, the water’s rough,

but this love is ours

Yours. Yours. Yours.

His words resounded in Feyre’s ears, reflecting off the forgotten memories within her mind.

Safe. She was safe with her High Lord. Finally, she knew that she could rest in the arms of someone who cared. Care was a different kind of love. It was not passionate, or soul possessing — but the quiet strength that Tamlin carried was a bandage to her fraying heart.

Yet, Feyre could not rest. Before she’d even settled in his arms, intense pain shot through her core. It felt like she was ripping in two. She let out a strangled cry, clinging to his very bones as he carried her up three flights of stairs and into a tattered, but clean bedroom.

Her vision blurred.

“Wrong…” She murmured, hiding her face in his chest. “Something — wrong.”

Her skin returned to its clammy, cold state. Why am I so hot? Why is it all…so cold.

“ALIS!” Tamlin’s voice boomed around the walls of the manor, even as he knelt by the bed, protectively covering her body with his own. He conjured up a long, soft cotton gown and carefully pulled it over her head.

She was in critical condition — heavily with child and in the process of laboring. One of the last serious conversations that he remembered having with his mate was over her fear of childbirth. They’d been taking serious precautions. Clearly. Not everyone cared to do the same.

Rhysand. Tamlin felt anger pool in his fingertips. He forced himself to be gentle, resting a hand on her tense abdomen. She was right — something was wrong. Feyre was not Illyrian. Yet, he was eighty-nine percent certain that the baby she carried within her had some form of wings. Her body was not equipped to handle this task.

I have to shift them. He was grasping at straws trying to comprehend what was happening. There wasn’t much time. If it had taken her four years to break her bond with Rhysand, he did not have long before the dark daemanti showed up at his doorstep.

Tamlin pressed both of his hands against her stomach.

“This is going to hurt.” He whispered. “But then it will get so much better.”

Feyre was sweating and tears poured down her face. She was in no state to speak. Especially, as another contraction began and her stomach twisted. It felt like something was tearing its way out of her.

“T—T—Tamlin.” She stuttered. “What is happening to me?”

“You’re in labor.” He said calmly. “Try to breathe.”

“Labor?” Feyre was not in the present. She was lost. The last thing she remembered was their wedding day. “Tam — we promised. We promised.”

Her face contorted in pain.

“I know.” Tamlin smoothed her sweaty hair away from her face. “I’m so sorry.”

He knew Rhysand would never apologize. She deserved one.

“We…” She gazed up at him, her eyes swimming. “We’re having a baby?”

A part of Tamlin’s shattered heart pierced his mind. This should be their baby. If things could’ve gone differently, it would be. Could’ve been ours. Should’ve been ours.

Ours.

Accepting offspring whom your mate bore with another was no easy task — it went against the very nature of the bond; but Tamlin had fought enough for the bond. He wasn’t going to start living by its rules today.

He concentrated, carefully smoothing his hands across her and mitigating the damage with a soft shift of the little Illyrian inside. Almost instantly, both mother and child relaxed, falling back into a daze, against the pillows.

Alis came scurrying in the doorway, breathless. “Good gracious, Sire. It took me seven tries to find you. This house has too much space for —“

She stopped, staring at the bed. “Lady Feyre? Did you — Tamlin? What is this?”

“She winnowed here.” He whispered. “The last place she remembered safety.”

“And she’s —“

“Yes, yes —“ He began pacing the room. “I cannot take back time. Despite that she does not appear to remember.”

“This is…his child?” Alis knew better than to say Rhysand’s name.

Tamlin shook his head. “She is my mate...”

What did that mean for their future?

“He’ll come after her.” Alis shuddered. “That man always was relentless.”

“Not this time.” Tamlin pressed his lips into a firm line. “Watch her, please; I need to put up wards.”

With a flick of his hand, he disappeared, warding the bedroom with anti-winnowing spells. The rest of the manor…the rest of Spring…if he did not protect it now, everything would slip from hands and into the darkness — again.

He wasn’t going down without a fight.

Feyre awoke to a deep seated ache in her back. She blinked, heavily — trying to remember where she was now. Memories of her wedding day flitted to the forefront of her mind. She yawned, expecting to see a horrifically puffy dress awaiting her, hanging from the wardrobe.

There was nothing and no one. The room was dusty and silent.

I have clothes. A strange relief flooded her as she saw regular cotton garments stretched across her skin. I…I am with child. How?

I must be dreaming.

We swore —

Feyre sucked air in, quickly, as the contractions began again. I am in labor.

Tam. Tam. Tamlin. Her brain repeated his name, urging her towards the only person who could make sense of this mess. TAMLIN.

Tamlin was in tune to Feyre’s daemanti calls. He heard his name and instantly winnowed back to her side, only to be slammed away by the barrier of his own creation.

The High Lord unlocked the door the human way, closing it behind him with the a rapid firing of protective spells. No one was getting in here — not if he had any say in the matter. “Feyre?”

She was lying in the same place, grasping at the bedsheets, as pain gripped her body. “Tam…Tam — what’s going on?”

It was like a broken record. Tamlin took a seat on the edge of the bed and took her hand.

She strangled his fingers.

Damn. He winced, sending a pulse of pain relief in her direction. “You’re struggling to remember. It’s not our wedding day, Fey. But it is your son’s birthday.”

“Mine?” Feyre whispered, looking lost.

“Our son.” Tamlin swallowed, correcting himself, and carefully placing his pain on a high shelf to be dealt with later. Right now, he had to focus on her. “Our son. You can’t fight this anymore.”

Feyre met his eyes, broken trust burned between them, but she slowly nodded. “Don’t leave.”

“I’m right here.” Tamlin brought her hand to his lips. “I’m right here and I swear that I will never let anyone touch you again.”

Closer together contractions pulled her attention away from him, as Alis hovered nearby monitoring every moment.

“Push, Feyre.” The old faerie urged.

She did and she screamed — the broken, terrible sound of a cracked soul slowly merged with the innocent cry of new life.

A baby boy — Tamlin felt his heart drop into his stomach. He’d only just shifted him. What would he look like?

Alis placed a healthy baby on his mate’s chest. The small Illyrian was bright pink. Thankdully, gis eyes weren’t purple. They were gray. He looked almost entirely like a mini Feyre. Only, his mother was brunette and his true father was raven haired, so why did this baby have soft…blonde…curls?

“By the cauldron.”

His shifting was just what Feyre needed in order to bond with her child. She looked at Tamlin — and then her son.

I did the right thing. Someday, they would explain. This was never going to be his own child, but he was not about to give up a single moment of being a father.

“His name?” Tamlin whispered, hoarse.

“Nyx.” Feyre mumbled, closing her eyes. “I focused on one star to bring me home to you. My lucky Nyx.”

Nyx. Tamlin crawled up on the bed, sheltering his sudden, found family in his arms. Welcome home.

and I don’t give a damn about your tattoos

‘cause my heart is yours

so don’t you worry your pretty little mind

people throw rocks at things that shine

life makes love look hard

the stakes are high, the water’s rough,

but this love is ours

Yours. Yours. Yours.

His words resounded in Feyre’s ears, reflecting off the forgotten memories within her mind.

Safe. She was safe with her High Lord. Finally, she knew that she could rest in the arms of someone who cared. Care was a different kind of love. It was not passionate, or soul possessing — but the quiet strength that Tamlin carried was a bandage to her fraying heart.

Yet, Feyre could not rest. Before she’d even settled in his arms, intense pain shot through her core. It felt like she was ripping in two. She let out a strangled cry, clinging to his very bones as he carried her up three flights of stairs and into a tattered, but clean bedroom.

Her vision blurred.

“Wrong…” She murmured, hiding her face in his chest. “Something — wrong.”

Her skin returned to its clammy, cold state. Why am I so hot? Why is it all…so cold.

“ALIS!” Tamlin’s voice boomed around the walls of the manor, even as he knelt by the bed, protectively covering her body with his own. He conjured up a long, soft cotton gown and carefully pulled it over her head.

She was in critical condition — heavily with child and in the process of laboring. One of the last serious conversations that he remembered having with his mate was over her fear of childbirth. They’d been taking serious precautions. Clearly. Not everyone cared to do the same.

Rhysand. Tamlin felt anger pool in his fingertips. He forced himself to be gentle, resting a hand on her tense abdomen. She was right — something was wrong. Feyre was not Illyrian. Yet, he was eighty-nine percent certain that the baby she carried within her had some form of wings. Her body was not equipped to handle this task.

I have to shift them. He was grasping at straws trying to comprehend what was happening. There wasn’t much time. If it had taken her four years to break her bond with Rhysand, he did not have long before the dark daemanti showed up at his doorstep.

Tamlin pressed both of his hands against her stomach.

“This is going to hurt.” He whispered. “But then it will get so much better.”

Feyre was sweating and tears poured down her face. She was in no state to speak. Especially, as another contraction began and her stomach twisted. It felt like something was tearing its way out of her.

“T—T—Tamlin.” She stuttered. “What is happening to me?”

“You’re in labor.” He said calmly. “Try to breathe.”

“Labor?” Feyre was not in the present. She was lost. The last thing she remembered was their wedding day. “Tam — we promised. We promised.”

Her face contorted in pain.

“I know.” Tamlin smoothed her sweaty hair away from her face. “I’m so sorry.”

He knew Rhysand would never apologize. She deserved one.

“We…” She gazed up at him, her eyes swimming. “We’re having a baby?”

A part of Tamlin’s shattered heart pierced his mind. This should be their baby. If things could’ve gone differently, it would be. Could’ve been ours. Should’ve been ours.

Ours.

Accepting offspring whom your mate bore with another was no easy task — it went against the very nature of the bond; but Tamlin had fought enough for the bond. He wasn’t going to start living by its rules today.

He concentrated, carefully smoothing his hands across her and mitigating the damage with a soft shift of the little Illyrian inside. Almost instantly, both mother and child relaxed, falling back into a daze, against the pillows.

Alis came scurrying in the doorway, breathless. “Good gracious, Sire. It took me seven tries to find you. This house has too much space for —“

She stopped, staring at the bed. “Lady Feyre? Did you — Tamlin? What is this?”

“She winnowed here.” He whispered. “The last place she remembered safety.”

“And she’s —“

“Yes, yes —“ He began pacing the room. “I cannot take back time. Despite that she does not appear to remember.”

“This is…his child?” Alis knew better than to say Rhysand’s name.

Tamlin shook his head. “She is my mate...”

What did that mean for their future?

“He’ll come after her.” Alis shuddered. “That man always was relentless.”

“Not this time.” Tamlin pressed his lips into a firm line. “Watch her, please; I need to put up wards.”

With a flick of his hand, he disappeared, warding the bedroom with anti-winnowing spells. The rest of the manor…the rest of Spring…if he did not protect it now, everything would slip from hands and into the darkness — again.

He wasn’t going down without a fight.

Feyre awoke to a deep seated ache in her back. She blinked, heavily — trying to remember where she was now. Memories of her wedding day flitted to the forefront of her mind. She yawned, expecting to see a horrifically puffy dress awaiting her, hanging from the wardrobe.

There was nothing and no one. The room was dusty and silent.

I have clothes. A strange relief flooded her as she saw regular cotton garments stretched across her skin. I…I am with child. How?

I must be dreaming.

We swore —

Feyre sucked air in, quickly, as the contractions began again. I am in labor.

Tam. Tam. Tamlin. Her brain repeated his name, urging her towards the only person who could make sense of this mess. TAMLIN.

Tamlin was in tune to Feyre’s daemanti calls. He heard his name and instantly winnowed back to her side, only to be slammed away by the barrier of his own creation.

The High Lord unlocked the door the human way, closing it behind him with the a rapid firing of protective spells. No one was getting in here — not if he had any say in the matter. “Feyre?”

She was lying in the same place, grasping at the bedsheets, as pain gripped her body. “Tam…Tam — what’s going on?”

It was like a broken record. Tamlin took a seat on the edge of the bed and took her hand.

She strangled his fingers.

Damn. He winced, sending a pulse of pain relief in her direction. “You’re struggling to remember. It’s not our wedding day, Fey. But it is your son’s birthday.”

“Mine?” Feyre whispered, looking lost.

“Our son.” Tamlin swallowed, correcting himself, and carefully placing his pain on a high shelf to be dealt with later. Right now, he had to focus on her. “Our son. You can’t fight this anymore.”

Feyre met his eyes, broken trust burned between them, but she slowly nodded. “Don’t leave.”

“I’m right here.” Tamlin brought her hand to his lips. “I’m right here and I swear that I will never let anyone touch you again.”

Closer together contractions pulled her attention away from him, as Alis hovered nearby monitoring every moment.

“Push, Feyre.” The old faerie urged.

She did and she screamed — the broken, terrible sound of a cracked soul slowly merged with the innocent cry of new life.

A baby boy — Tamlin felt his heart drop into his stomach. He’d only just shifted him. What would he look like?

Alis placed a healthy baby on his mate’s chest. The small Illyrian was bright pink. Thankdully, gis eyes weren’t purple. They were gray. He looked almost entirely like a mini Feyre. Only, his mother was brunette and his true father was raven haired, so why did this baby have soft…blonde…curls?

“By the cauldron.”

His shifting was just what Feyre needed in order to bond with her child. She looked at Tamlin — and then her son.

I did the right thing. Someday, they would explain. This was never going to be his own child, but he was not about to give up a single moment of being a father.

“His name?” Tamlin whispered, hoarse.

“Nyx.” Feyre mumbled, closing her eyes. “I focused on one star to bring me home to you. My lucky Nyx.”

Nyx. Tamlin crawled up on the bed, sheltering his sudden, found family in his arms. Welcome home.

and I don’t give a damn about your tattoos

‘cause my heart is yours

so don’t you worry your pretty little mind

people throw rocks at things that shine

life makes love look hard

the stakes are high, the water’s rough,

but this love is ours

Yours. Yours. Yours.

His words resounded in Feyre’s ears, reflecting off the forgotten memories within her mind.

Safe. She was safe with her High Lord. Finally, she knew that she could rest in the arms of someone who cared. Care was a different kind of love. It was not passionate, or soul possessing — but the quiet strength that Tamlin carried was a bandage to her fraying heart.

Yet, Feyre could not rest. Before she’d even settled in his arms, intense pain shot through her core. It felt like she was ripping in two. She let out a strangled cry, clinging to his very bones as he carried her up three flights of stairs and into a tattered, but clean bedroom.

Her vision blurred.

“Wrong…” She murmured, hiding her face in his chest. “Something — wrong.”

Her skin returned to its clammy, cold state. Why am I so hot? Why is it all…so cold.

“ALIS!” Tamlin’s voice boomed around the walls of the manor, even as he knelt by the bed, protectively covering her body with his own. He conjured up a long, soft cotton gown and carefully pulled it over her head.

She was in critical condition — heavily with child and in the process of laboring. One of the last serious conversations that he remembered having with his mate was over her fear of childbirth. They’d been taking serious precautions. Clearly. Not everyone cared to do the same.

Rhysand. Tamlin felt anger pool in his fingertips. He forced himself to be gentle, resting a hand on her tense abdomen. She was right — something was wrong. Feyre was not Illyrian. Yet, he was eighty-nine percent certain that the baby she carried within her had some form of wings. Her body was not equipped to handle this task.

I have to shift them. He was grasping at straws trying to comprehend what was happening. There wasn’t much time. If it had taken her four years to break her bond with Rhysand, he did not have long before the dark daemanti showed up at his doorstep.

Tamlin pressed both of his hands against her stomach.

“This is going to hurt.” He whispered. “But then it will get so much better.”

Feyre was sweating and tears poured down her face. She was in no state to speak. Especially, as another contraction began and her stomach twisted. It felt like something was tearing its way out of her.

“T—T—Tamlin.” She stuttered. “What is happening to me?”

“You’re in labor.” He said calmly. “Try to breathe.”

“Labor?” Feyre was not in the present. She was lost. The last thing she remembered was their wedding day. “Tam — we promised. We promised.”

Her face contorted in pain.

“I know.” Tamlin smoothed her sweaty hair away from her face. “I’m so sorry.”

He knew Rhysand would never apologize. She deserved one.

“We…” She gazed up at him, her eyes swimming. “We’re having a baby?”

A part of Tamlin’s shattered heart pierced his mind. This should be their baby. If things could’ve gone differently, it would be. Could’ve been ours. Should’ve been ours.

Ours.

Accepting offspring whom your mate bore with another was no easy task — it went against the very nature of the bond; but Tamlin had fought enough for the bond. He wasn’t going to start living by its rules today.

He concentrated, carefully smoothing his hands across her and mitigating the damage with a soft shift of the little Illyrian inside. Almost instantly, both mother and child relaxed, falling back into a daze, against the pillows.

Alis came scurrying in the doorway, breathless. “Good gracious, Sire. It took me seven tries to find you. This house has too much space for —“

She stopped, staring at the bed. “Lady Feyre? Did you — Tamlin? What is this?”

“She winnowed here.” He whispered. “The last place she remembered safety.”

“And she’s —“

“Yes, yes —“ He began pacing the room. “I cannot take back time. Despite that she does not appear to remember.”

“This is…his child?” Alis knew better than to say Rhysand’s name.

Tamlin shook his head. “She is my mate...”

What did that mean for their future?

“He’ll come after her.” Alis shuddered. “That man always was relentless.”

“Not this time.” Tamlin pressed his lips into a firm line. “Watch her, please; I need to put up wards.”

With a flick of his hand, he disappeared, warding the bedroom with anti-winnowing spells. The rest of the manor…the rest of Spring…if he did not protect it now, everything would slip from hands and into the darkness — again.

He wasn’t going down without a fight.

Feyre awoke to a deep seated ache in her back. She blinked, heavily — trying to remember where she was now. Memories of her wedding day flitted to the forefront of her mind. She yawned, expecting to see a horrifically puffy dress awaiting her, hanging from the wardrobe.

There was nothing and no one. The room was dusty and silent.

I have clothes. A strange relief flooded her as she saw regular cotton garments stretched across her skin. I…I am with child. How?

I must be dreaming.

We swore —

Feyre sucked air in, quickly, as the contractions began again. I am in labor.

Tam. Tam. Tamlin. Her brain repeated his name, urging her towards the only person who could make sense of this mess. TAMLIN.

Tamlin was in tune to Feyre’s daemanti calls. He heard his name and instantly winnowed back to her side, only to be slammed away by the barrier of his own creation.

The High Lord unlocked the door the human way, closing it behind him with the a rapid firing of protective spells. No one was getting in here — not if he had any say in the matter. “Feyre?”

She was lying in the same place, grasping at the bedsheets, as pain gripped her body. “Tam…Tam — what’s going on?”

It was like a broken record. Tamlin took a seat on the edge of the bed and took her hand.

She strangled his fingers.

Damn. He winced, sending a pulse of pain relief in her direction. “You’re struggling to remember. It’s not our wedding day, Fey. But it is your son’s birthday.”

“Mine?” Feyre whispered, looking lost.

“Our son.” Tamlin swallowed, correcting himself, and carefully placing his pain on a high shelf to be dealt with later. Right now, he had to focus on her. “Our son. You can’t fight this anymore.”

Feyre met his eyes, broken trust burned between them, but she slowly nodded. “Don’t leave.”

“I’m right here.” Tamlin brought her hand to his lips. “I’m right here and I swear that I will never let anyone touch you again.”

Closer together contractions pulled her attention away from him, as Alis hovered nearby monitoring every moment.

“Push, Feyre.” The old faerie urged.

She did and she screamed — the broken, terrible sound of a cracked soul slowly merged with the innocent cry of new life.

A baby boy — Tamlin felt his heart drop into his stomach. He’d only just shifted him. What would he look like?

Alis placed a healthy baby on his mate’s chest. The small Illyrian was bright pink. Thankdully, gis eyes weren’t purple. They were gray. He looked almost entirely like a mini Feyre. Only, his mother was brunette and his true father was raven haired, so why did this baby have soft…blonde…curls?

“By the cauldron.”

His shifting was just what Feyre needed in order to bond with her child. She looked at Tamlin — and then her son.

I did the right thing. Someday, they would explain. This was never going to be his own child, but he was not about to give up a single moment of being a father.

“His name?” Tamlin whispered, hoarse.

“Nyx.” Feyre mumbled, closing her eyes. “I focused on one star to bring me home to you. My lucky Nyx.”

Nyx. Tamlin crawled up on the bed, sheltering his sudden, found family in his arms. Welcome home.

Tamlin- *Existing in his office*

Distantly- "Parkour."

Tamlin- "Did somebody say parkour?"

Feyre- *Falls through roof*

Tamlin- *Existing in his office*

Distantly- "Parkour."

Tamlin- "Did somebody say parkour?"

Feyre- *Falls through roof*

I honestly cant think of a more crrative caption but here is furrycon attendee Beast Tamlin for @tamlinweek2023 Day 1: Beast

Art by me/@/vivictory_draws on ig

HEY GUYS HEAR ME OUT: "EVERYTHING SUCKS" IS TAMLIN SONG

Cuts and Scars

— No! - The sound of the blow resounded through the studio, a quick thud that soon fell silent. The silence was only more terrifying than the act of speaking, of exposing to view what really needed to be exposed but couldn’t be, because if there was something to be exposed, it implied that there was something wrong; and there wasn't.

It was agonizing, his face devoid of expression, perhaps something he did on purpose. There was no expression when he turned his face towards his own feet, no expression when he gently brought his hands to his own face, and no expression when he fixed his eyes on me. But his emerald eyes expressed everything his face did not. Pain.

— Fey, I’m sorry… - my teeth clenched, I couldn’t look him in the eye. He was suffering too, I knew it, I knew it. But it wasn't fair, it wasn't. If I told him that when I looked at my trembling hands, I saw them stained with blood, would he laugh at me? If I told him I couldn't stand seeing rose petals anymore because they reminded me of the blood gushing from the faerie chests I had killed, would he treat my pain as lesser? I wanted him to understand. I wished I hadn’t done what I just did.

— Shut up! - I hated this. I was never allowed to be weak. I couldn’t let them see me cry, for I had the duty to stay standing and ensure my family survived. So why were tears falling from my eyes, why couldn’t I hold back the sobs that now tore at my throat, why… did he have to see me like this? I needed to calm down. One, two, three… one, two, three… inhale and exhale. — Please, stop apologizing.

— If I did something wrong to you, the right thing is to apologize… — If you did something wrong, the right thing is to apologize and not repeat the mistake again, Tamlin. - a bitter smile formed on my face — Are you going to lock me in here every time you leave the mansion, is that it? - He sighed loudly, as if he were the only one tired in this situation. — You would follow me… — I would! - my hoarse scream echoed through the studio, and I had the impression that the walls trembled — Because I can't stand being trapped anymore, it’s suffocating me!

His beautiful green eyes wandered around every corner of that room, but not for a second did they land on the storm of my blue eyes. I seethed with anger and cooled with guilt, sometimes wanting to strike a second blow, other times wanting to apologize. But I would do neither. A dread of blood had infiltrated me, but at that moment I would cut myself in half, and he would see all my insides. I would open up and bleed everything that was in my body. Even though I knew she would visit me, proclaiming her victory in my nightmares.

— It’s for your safety, Feyre. If they lay hands on you, I can’t… — I didn’t know whether to shout a bit more or laugh. — Look into my eyes… Look, damn it! - his face finally turned and looked back into mine. His drooping eyes sank a bit more with his furrowed brow. — Listen, I spent part of my life taking care of myself, taking care of my family, in the cold, in hunger, and any adversity that came my way. I don’t need to hear from you what’s best for me! I don’t need it!

His face seemed to slowly transform, his pain also turning into anger.

— Why do you have to be so stubborn?! For the Mother sake, Fey, if they get their hands on you, do you have any idea what could happen? Do you have the slightest idea?

— Fuck you! - the more exasperated and louder my voice became, the more my tears fell — You keep saying how much you want to protect me, but you don’t even tell me what the hell you’re protecting me from! - I approached him slowly, until my face was inches from his, my teeth clenched, like one animal challenging another — And if they, whoever they are, show up when you’re not here? huh? You don’t even… give me what I need to protect myself. You don’t even tell me who I should protect myself from, god...

For a few seconds, we just stared at each other, until I got tired of all that crap and went to sit on one of the sofas, made of thick trunks and cushioned with leaves and cotton. I took a deep breath and sighed, as if letting all the weight out through my lungs.

— I don’t want you to protect me, if protecting me means you have to do this. I’m not saying that I only want to protect you alone either, like… Like under the mountain. I thought the purpose of us being together was to do that for each other, together. — When I raised my head and looked at him again, with red eyes and a trembling mouth, it was almost a sacrifice to make the words come out again — I love you, Tam... Truly. But I can’t bear to go through this another day.

Silence fell again, but what needed to be said had already been said. Maybe that’s why I didn’t notice the footsteps, which seemed to bring a gentle breeze, or the weight of the man next to me when he sat close to me. But I listened, very carefully, when he started talking about the enemy. When he started telling everything he knew.

About Hybern.

well, don't know what this is or what I wanted to do with it, I just know that I wanted to write something ahahah so, I hope you guys liked

give genderswap feylin AU, please... gimme. I need hot tall Blondie Tamlin and basic skinny Feyre please thank you very much