#tamlin 🌷

[princess-tulip-writes]

rough tamlin

“sh, just fucking take it.” tamlin growled into your ear, as his strong hips smashes into your thighs roughly.

loud gasps escaped your mouth as you desperately tried to compose yourself, but failed each time.

“take it like a good girl.”

your eyes were half way into your head by now, the pleasure of the high lord’s cock inside of you was far too much for you to keep yourself from falling into subspace and giving him your body entirely. so, you stopped fighting it and just allowed the feeling to flow through you.

“you’re so tight.”

“m-more pl-ease.” you squeaked as your legs began to shake around his shoulders.

his eyes locked with yours and before you could register anything, he had flipped you over into a spooning position. his arms wrapped themselves around your bare middle tightly, as if silently asking if you were alright to continue. when you whimpered at a small plea, he resumed his harsh pace.

“you’re so greedy.”

[foxcort]

“Tragic, for him to die so young and so . . . bloody.”

written for day 5: shapeshifter of @tamlinweek.💚🌷/ one moonlit, eerie night, two monsters strike a bargain. / (SW)

a/n: this is a little fic based off of an edit i did a while back of a concept of werewolf!tamlin and vampire!nesta but put them in a guy ritchie's sherlock holmes backdrop (or late victorian/early edwardian), because why not.

tw: none.

He caught her in the gardens, looking as innocent as a thorn on a rose, her crimson dress fluttering around her when she whipped around to face him. As soon as he’d seen her slinking away from the overzealous crowd of guests, he’d followed after her, his steps not quite as silent as hers.

“Are the festivities not to your liking, my lady?” Tamlin gestured a ways behind him, where warm light illuminated the high windows of Greenwood Manor and the sounds of merriment rose and fell to the tune of the small orchestra. “I told my emissary a circus would’ve been more lively this year.”

She didn’t titter or blush at his jest, didn’t flush at being found in an odd position. Instead she glanced him once up and down, a slow perusal not unlike a predator sizing up an adversary. Her heels clicked against the stone pavement as she strode closer to him, still a smile absent from her red painted lips.

Lady Nesta Mandray was more formidable in person than he imagined she would be. Recently widowed and thought to be a recluse, he'd sent her an invitation to his annual Spring Equinox ball anyway and was mildly pleased she'd taken the bait and made an appearance.

Even if her state of dress was not what he was expecting.

The gown that adorned her body was still modest in fashion, as all dresses worn by genteel women of high status tended to be, but the vibrant red was a stark contrast to the lilacs and tangerines and yellows swirling around the ballroom right now.

At last, she gave him a smile, though it was too sharp and too fleeting. "I wasn't aware all your guests were to be kept prisoner in that stuffy old ballroom." She threw a dismissive look at the manor behind him and Tamlin found himself growing more fond of her for it. "Am I not allowed anywhere else on the grounds?"

He chuckled softly, head bowing as he closed a few more steps between them, “Forgive me, I've been a horrendous host." Tamlin paused, taking his turn to study her, and understood that perhaps he was the prey. "Would you care for a tour of the grounds, Lady Mandray?” 

“Lady Archeron,” she corrected. “I’m afraid Tomas’ name died along with him.” Her sharp gaze seemed to say good riddance.

He smiled. The first real one he’d permitted to show her. “Would you care for a tour of the grounds, Lady Archeron?” 

She regarded his offered arm with unconcealed hesitance, her silver eyes flicking up to meet his as she spoke her next words slowly, carefully.

“Should I be frightened of you, Lord Greenwood?” 

“No.” He was not the kind of monster he suspected Lord Mandray had been. “Not as I am now.”

She arched a brow, and he could almost see the cogs in her brain turning, trying to piece together what he meant. Not as he was now. Not when the moon was only half-full.

It was a tentative, deliberate action but after a few moments of silence, Nesta relented, her fingers curling lightly over his upper arm. Even through the layers of his expensive coat jacket and shirt, he could feel the unnatural chill of her touch.

Without meaning to, Tamlin shivered at that touch and she gave him another one of her rare smiles. “My apologies.” She sounded anything but, and he swore an undertone of delight colored her voice. “I haven’t seen much sunlight since Tomas’ death.” A hunting accident of sorts, he’d heard, though Tamlin didn’t doubt he had help reaching his end.

He struck an easy pace through the gardens and the vineyard, moonlight illuminating their path. “I would offer my condolences, but it would be a lie to say I’m not pleased you no longer have a husband.”

Nesta laughed, a cold and lovely sound. “If you’re attempting to court me, you’ll have to do a lot better than that.”

“Without a chaperone? I wouldn’t dare besmirch your reputation.”

She waved a hand in the direction of the revelry, her nose crinkling in distaste. “If I cared for a moment what those peacocks and pigeons thought of me, I wouldn’t risk being caught in the shadows with you.”

They were almost upon the winery now, a more modest building in comparison, but still sturdily built. And conveniently vacant.

Tamlin slowed their pace, coming to a halt before the padlocked front door. “Something tells me you accepted my invitation and came all this way to risk something else entirely.” He felt her grip on his arm tighten almost imperceptibly. “Your late husband was quite a paranoid man, last I remember.”

The shift in conversation seemed to ruffle her feathers a little and Nesta gently pulled away from him, her fingers digging into the folds of her dress. “And when do you remember him last?”

“I believe it was right before his death.” He said it matter-of-factly, his eyes tracking her movements with quiet interest. “Tragic, for him to die so young and so . . . bloody.”

She shrugged, and he had the impression that both of their masks were rapidly slipping. “He wasn’t a very smart man.” Nesta began to walk, circling him slowly, her eyes half-lidded yet somehow more aware. “I always did tell him to pick his marks carefully, and he always did aim a little higher than he should have.” The tips of her fingers grazed over her exposed collar bone, where he could faintly make out the remnants of a scar. Puckered but fading. Almost as if there’d once been a bullet wound there. “I wonder, Lord Greenwood,” her eyes sharpened and she stilled in front of him, “do you consider yourself a smart man?”

“Oh, only the smartest,” he admitted calmly, an amused smile curving over his mouth. “Though I prefer you be the judge of that.” With that, he strode to the door and removed the padlock, quickly pocketing the small key afterward. Tamlin swung the door open and tilted his head towards it in invitation.

Nesta threw him a suspicious, narrow-eyed look but otherwise strode into the dimly lit winery without another word. He guided them once more, walking deeper and deeper into the barrel-filled building with complete confidence that they would run into no one. Other than the fact that his guests and staff were too drunk on spirits and levity to be roaming so far from the manor, Tamlin had strict rules imposed on the security of this particular building. The most prominent being that no one was to step foot in the building after dark and the door was to always be locked. The key was either always on his person or given to his emissary, Lucien, on the nights he needed someone to lock him in.

His staff was more than willing to believe the lord of Greenwood Manor had a haughty opinion of his stock, that perhaps he took certain measures because the secret to his winemaking was something he coveted greatly. And Tamlin let them believe as such. For the alternative — the truth — would see him in bedlam.

They finally halted before a set of cells. Two large, cold imprisonments hidden deep in the winery’s basement, the turn almost blocked by yet another high-stacked row of barrels. Understanding dawned on her face when Nesta took in the contents of the cells. Long, sturdy chains hammered into enforced concrete walls, the ends of them finished with shackles too big for anything human.

“Shackles? In a wine cellar?” She stood at the threshold of one of the open cell doors, a hint of amusement glinting at her eyes when she flicked them up to meet his. “Hardly a proper thing to reveal to a lady, your nighttime . . . activities?”

“Ah.” His mouth curved into a slow grin as he leaned against the iron bars, and when he spoke again his voice had gone rough. “But you’re no lady, are you?”

She turned, her smile unbidden now, as if all the pretense of propriety had been lifted. “No. But you’ve known that for some time now.”

“Ever since Tomas confided in me that he believed his wife would kill him, I admit, I’ve been suspiciously curious.” Nesta’s smile faltered, but he continued on. “He thought my connections with the Yard would be enough to condemn you to a madhouse. I, of course, refused him any help.”

“How chivalrous of you,” she drawled, “Unfortunately, I have no need of a white knight.”

“Good,” he smiled, letting a bit of the contained ferality peek through his expression. “I would hate to disappoint you.”

“Then tell me, Lord Greenwood—” Nesta paused, stepping closer to him, a serious and impatient tone settling over her features, “Why do any of this? What do you want with me?”

“I have a . . . proposition, of sorts.”

“Go on.”

He laughed nervously, taking a moment to admire her straightforward demand, before asking, “Will you marry me, Lady Archeron?”

Those silver eyes narrowed again, and she gave a lazy perusal of him once more, only this time he had the feeling she was sizing him up for entirely different reasons. “Are you so eager to meet an end similar to Tomas?”

He pushed away from the bars to move closer to her, that gruff undertone returning to his speech. “If it were by your hands, I would die a happy man.”

Her eyes widened a fraction and he saw a faint flush of color rise over her cheeks. Before she could indeed make the decision to gut him right then and there, Tamlin said, “I believe a marriage would be beneficial to us both. To the secrets we want to hide and the habits we cannot break.”

Nesta regarded him quietly for a long moment, and he imagined she could see the advantages of his proposal. Of sharing the burdens of their secrets with one another. Of hiding the suspicions that would start to rise for the both of them as the years went on.

Finally, she tipped her chin and gave him another sharp, little smile. “I accept, Lord Greenwood.” Tamlin felt his heart jump at her words, a reaction he hadn’t anticipated when he’d set out to strike a bargain with Nesta Archeron. “Although I wouldn’t entirely rule out the possibility of mariticide, if I were you.”

“If you do decide to murder me, promise me you’ll keep my name.” He offered her his arm again, with the intention of leading them out of the winery to resume their stroll under the moonlight, his smile wider than he could constrain.

“A possessive man? How disappointing.”

“I don’t mean to own you, my lady. I mean to haunt you.”

Nesta laughed as she looped her arm around his, more at-ease now as she followed him back through empty building and out into the night. “I think it wouldn’t be too difficult to keep that promise.”

a/n: once again a super specific little piece that was meant to be posted a lot sooner 😀 but i had a lot of fun writing it and i hope you guys enjoy it too!

[violetasteracademic]

Sarah J. Maas is sick and tired of people minimizing Elain and treating her like she is not a complete person who did not undergo tremendous trauma and then be completely overlooked. In her own words, she set up a lot of what the next book was about in ACOSF (I love the Eva Chen LiveTalksLA 2021 with SJM interview for these details) and here is what Sarah wrote about Elain throughout ACOSF:

Nesta was so terrified of how depressed Elain was that she couldn't sleep because she was afraid Elain would literally unalive herself (this is a very sensitive subject to me. Please be kind in the comments):

Elain suffered with her powers of being a seer ALONE (*ahem except time quietly spent with Azriel*) No one was training her. No one was teaching her how to manage her powers. No one understood how to get through to her (*ahem except Azriel*) and everyone focused on themselves:

Feyre processes the guilt of realizing that even though she worried over Elain, she hadn't quite paid attention to her:

Let's focus on helping one sister, then the other:

The reality of the situation is if you like Gwyn as a character better than you like Elain, there's actually a very logical reason for that (I love her too, btw). If Gwyn had stayed in the library, never faced her demons, never fought, never worked through her trauma, she would actually be very similar to all the negative things people say about Elain. But Nesta fought to get the priestesses to join Valkyrie training, and now Gwyn has had a complete character arc in the service of another main character's story. You are comparing a character at the peak of their arc to a character that hasn't had theirs yet. Because Elain has been confirmed to be getting her own book for years, and this is where her arc will take place. But Gwyn needed Nesta. She would not have done it on her own.

If Feyre had continued on with Tamlin without extreme intervention from Rhysand, she would be very similar to Elain as well. But again, Feyre was pulled out of her situation by the Inner Circle and encouraged to fight and become stronger and choose her path.

This is what Sarah is talking about when she is discussing the different kind of strength Elain has. No, she is not warrior. But no one reached their hand out to her to pull her to a greater version of herself. She pulled HERSELF out of that darkness while everyone wanted to continue to coddle her because it was easier to manage for themselves. Imagine if Feyre had everyone telling her to stay with Tamlin. To keep giving him a chance. To let things get better, because this is just how things are. If NO ONE helped her, friends, family, "enemy" courts, what-have-you. If NO ONE ever saw her or listened to her or tried to understand exactly what type of help she needed.

This is Elain's story. She is standing up for herself. And she will fight for herself. She has already saved herself. And now she is going to play her part in saving the world. (And yes, hopefully get railed by the hottest bat boy.)

Thank you for your time 🩷🌷💞

[acourtofimagines]

Summary: You ask your high lord of the spring for a special request. Will he grant it?

AUTHOR NOTE: despite what I've said before this page will now be a Tamlin hate free page. If you don’t like him please just scroll on. Thank you.

I do take requests just check the requests and info post.

If you wanna be added to my tag list let me know.

🌳🌸🌺🌻🌷🌳🌸🌺🌻🌷

You had met the high lord of Spring not long after Feyre left. He was broken. He told you what happened. Did he handle things badly? Yes, but even so you knew his actions weren’t meant with ill intent. So you decided to befriend the royal fae.

It took a while but Tamlin did start to open up more. Let you in more. You had grown close. Both growing feelings for one another but neither is ready to speak of them. Until one night you two sat talking and before either of you knew it you both leaned in and kissed softly. And that was that.

As time went on your romance blossomed. One day you were walking around the court with your high lord. Something had been on your mind for a while. “I’ve been wanting to ask you something,” you told him.

“You can ask me anything,” he told you softly.

“Well, it’s more of a request” you informed. He took your hand in his gently.

“Anything you want is yours,” he said kissing the back of your hand.

“I would like to see your beast form,” you told him. He tensed for a moment. Worry flashed in those beautiful emerald eyes.

“Are you sure my love?” He asked. A tone of worry in his voice.

“I am,” you told him. He nodded and led you into the forest just outside of the spring court. Once he was sure you two were far enough into the forest. He stopped and turned to you.

“You’re sure?” He asked again. You nodded.

“I’m sure,” you said nothing but trust and calmness lacing your words. He gave you a soft kiss before he nodded and took a few steps away from you. You turned around trying to make it easier on the faerie you loved. You heard a low growl and a hard thud.

“You can look now if you want,” he said. His voice was deeper than usual. You turned. You weren’t sure how to describe his beast form. It looked to be maybe a mix of a lion and a bear. With a big curled horn on each side of his head. Massive claws. His usually green eyes are now a fiery amber color. And golden fur. “Does this form of me scare you?” He asked. You smiled.

“Not at all,” you told him. He gently walked over to you leaning his head down careful his horns didn’t hurt or poke you. You pet his head. His fur was soft.

“No matter the form,” you told him planting a loving kiss on his head “it’s still the faerie I love”. Tamlin nuzzled your hand softly. You giggled not being able to resist. “Really just a big puppy”.

A deep chuckle came from him and being playful back he licked your cheek like a puppy would. “Hey!” You giggled. He laughed before moving in front of you and lying on his side. You smiled and sat behind him. Tucking your legs under you, you gently laid against him and pet him. He seemed to almost purr as you ran your fingers through his thick, golden fur. You both laid there content. You were the one who was truly meant to tame the beast.

REQUEST INFO

[juniorsized]

a court of thorns and roses is 230 pages of wading through vague world building while Feyre and Tamlin frolick in the spring court and then 186 pages of riveting, page turning fantasy with deadly action and plot twists with an explosive conclusion

tldr:

acotar pages 0-230: 🙄🌷🤷‍♀️🎨🥱

acotar pages 231-416: 😳⚔️🤭💀👀😰❤️‍🔥

[acourtofthought]

Hello :) Maybe I’m off base, but I think this is also proof that Elucien may be endgame (narrative wise):

Feyre ended up with Rhys, and developed a strong bond with his best friend, Cassian.

Nesta ended up with Cassian, and developed a strong bond with his best friend, Azriel.

Elain ends up with Lucien, and will develop a strong bond with his best friend, Tamlin.

I know this is controversial, and maybe you won’t agree, but I think that Elain and Tamlin - as friends - would get along really well. I also think it ties into all the Spring foreshadowing connected to Elain, and I do wonder that if Elain is indeed a shapeshifter (a theory I’ve had for a while now), that Tamlin will be the one to help her master these powers. It would lead into his ‘redemption arc,’ because one of the main criticisms of Tamlin in books prior is that he refused to train Feyre (so it’s as if he learns from this mistake - and it would be somewhat poetic that he trains and helps Elain… the one person who people, especially the IC, believe actually needs protecting…).

SJM is clearly still keeping the door open for Tamlin (especially with those quote in ACOSF; “Not if Tamlin cannot master his guilt and grief and become what he once was.”) His story is still to be told… and it fits in perfectly with an Elucien book.

To me, it just makes sense 🌸🌷🌿

While I'm not sure that Elain and Tamlin will be close friends in the way Nesta / Az and Feyre / Cassian / Az are, I do think that her relationship with Tamlin will be different than what we've seen between Tamlin and the other Archeron's.

In SF we have this:

"I don't care how much you apologize or try to atone for it or claim you didn't know the King of Hybern would do such a thing or that you begged him not to do it. You colluded with him. Because you thought Feyre was your property."

In the novella we have this:

Eris's mouth curved in an adder's smile. "Because Tamlin's territory is the only one that borders the human lands. I'd think that anyone looking to expand would have to go through the Spring Court first. Or at least obtain his permisson."

Another person she'd one day kill. If Feyre and Rhys didn't do it first.

It didn't matter what Tamlin had done in the war, if he'd brfought Beron and the human forces with him. If he'd played Hybern.

It was another day, another female lying on the ground, that Mor would not forget, could not forgive.

and this:

"Do you think she will forgive me?" The question was a rasp. As if he'd been screaming.

I knew whom he meant. And I didn't know. I didn't know if her wishing him happiness was the same as forgiveness. If Feyre would ever want to offer that to him. Forgiveness could be a gift to both, but what he'd done..."Do you want her to?"

His green eyes were empty. "Do I deserve it?"

No. Never

Rhys goes on to say (in regards to his mother / sister), "As if an apologize would ever right it. As if an apology would ever cover the loss that still ate at me, the hole that remained where their bright, lovely lives had glowed.

Then, "It was not forgiveness - it was not kindness. I could not, would not, ever forget what he'd done to those I loved most."

So.......we have Nesta hating Tamlin, Mor hating Tamlin, Feyre and Rhys hating Tamlin.

I definitely don't think Lucien hates Tamlin and I think he does probably forgive him for the abuse however I am not sure what has been broken can be repaired and that they'll ever go back to how they may have once been (in the centuries before Amarantha).

I'm also not sure whether or not Tamlin will ever be able to resume his position as High Lord because his people have lost all faith in him.

But....it's clear SJM can't keep Tamlin the way he is. She doesn't seem to be fond of his character, saying he sucks in one interview and saying he's an example of toxic male masculinity in another (I could swear there was a third where she calls him a douche).

But he's not a villain either so his character does need resolution and the other characters hating on him forever and ever just stands in the way of their own true happiness, like Rhys says, offering forgiveness can be a gift to all parties involved and it's something Tamlin clearly needs in order to let go of his guilt.

I think Elain will be the person to bring that change about for everyone. Whether it be her simply offering Tamlin forgiveness and that helps him on his path of healing which in turn is something the others note and let go of their past grudges is one possibility. Whether she actually talks to the others and encourages them to let go of the old animosities is another. But I don't see Elain as the type to hold on to a grudge, no matter what part Tamlin played in what happened to her and I think having even one person who he wronged show kindness and forgiveness will be the turning point for him.

But either way, I'm not sure I see him playing a major part in Elucien's journey, not where they're all hanging out as buddies laughing.

Forgiveness is one thing but becoming close in the way the others are with their mates friends doesn't feel right to me.

Either Elucien will end up in Spring for a time and Tamlin will set off on his own to finally find what makes him happy (because he never wanted to be High Lord in the first place) or they'll help get Spring and Tamlin back on their feet and they'll set off for Day.

Since Elucien's story also seems to be hinting at them traveling to the continent (a place we know Vassa will end up in), I imagine Jurian will become someone Elain develops a close friendship with as Jurian is currently the person Lucien is thankful for in terms of male friends. He's also got his head on his shoulders in a way that Tamlin doesn't which means he could actually offer friendship to Elain versus Tamlin who Elain would be offering something to and probably not getting as much in return.

But as Elucien makes friends wherever they go, we also might see them develop new friends in Day. We might see Lucien reconnect with Eris and maybe she'll develop a comradery with her brother in law once he stops hiding behind his mask.

I could see Elain getting on well with Helion, maybe he'll even fill some of what's been missing since she lost her own father.

There are a lot of directions SJM could take with their story.l but I agree with you that Elain may be able to shift as it does tie in with the High Lord of Spring

[nantosueltas]

✨🌷Artio ✨🌷

✨🌷General Information ✨🌷

AKA

Princess Artio of Nantarora

The Girl from the Apple Tree

✨🌷Relatives ✨🌷

Widow Queen Cauaria (mother)

King Gobannus (father, deceased)

Merida (girlfriend/wife)

Elinor (mother-in-law)

Fergus (father-in-law)

✨🌷Occupation ✨🌷

Princess of Nantarora, Fairy of the Apple Tree, Vessel of the Ogham Quert

✨🌷Favorite ✨🌷

Favorite meal: Apple Tart

Favorite drink: Mead

Favorite flower: Apple blossom

✨🌷 Personality traits ✨🌷

Birthday: Oct 31st

Zodiac sign: Scorpio

MBTI: ENFP-T

Ogham Quert

✨🌷 Physical description ✨🌷

Gender: Female

Height: 163cm

Eye color: Dark Green

Hair color: Light Blonde

✨🌷Appearance ✨🌷

Artio is a slender youthful girl, apparently in her early twenties. She has long golden hair split in two long braids, that remind two bunny ears. Her eyes are deep green with yellowish/golden details. Her skin is milk bottle white with lovely pinkish blush. She dresses very elegantly, like an Iron Age Celtic princess, her fashion style is similar to Elinor’s. She wears a variety of gold and silver, mostly rings. She wears a bear necklace representing her father Gobannus tribe.

✨🌷Personality & Background ✨🌷

Artio was raised completely isolated from humans, in the Otherworld, which she named Albion (the White World or the High Lands in Gaulish) and she has no memory of her life on Earth with her family and even though she has some “flashes” and emotional response to them, she can't grasp what they mean.

She had constant contact with Faery beings throughout her life in Albion but none was able to connect with her at a deep level, since she always knew she wasn't one of them. She remained with an emotional hole until Merida's arrival.

Artio is warm-hearted, gentle and kind, understanding and sweet. She is jolly and energetic, not as fiercely as Merida but enough to give some trouble to the Fae during her childhood. She likes to chat and tell stories as much as listening to them. She is sometimes very innocent or out of orbit, doesn't get many references or figurative language since she spent most of her life in the Otherworld.

Despite her usual bright personality she might succumb to her curse – the rising sadness within herself, the melancholy that breaks the hearts of the women of her family through her ancestor Gwydion, from her mother's side. The Faery World protected her from it, but outside she can be consumed, even with the immortality powers of her ogham. Tamlin, her familiar, is her bridge to the spiritual world and prevents her from succumbing completely.

✨🌷Powers & Abilities ✨🌷

Artio’s apple tree can blossom and bear fruit simultaneously (like the trees of the Otherworld in the Celtic lore). She has enough power to make flowers bloom and trees bear fruit in the middle of winter and build her own personal springtime world at any place whether in human or the Fae world.

Her apples contain a variety of properties, including healing, increasing intuition and changing emotions. Some of the Fae say she can create those who can aake eternal love or despise or even bring immortality.

She can invoke objects out of thin air if they're connected to her domains. She can talk to birds and understand them. She has silver bell anklets and a golden ceremonial bell that can invoke spirits and Faery beings and set her in a state of trance.

✨🌺🌿✨🌿🌺✨

✨ Artio of Nantarora ✨

Here is the newest profile art and some of Artio's lore! She was created especially to be a LI for Merida, since it was too long I wanted to write a Brave fanfiction and I thought it was going to be interesting and a challenge to pair Merida with someone :3

Also, yes, I changed my user/artistic name to something that seems more suitable. I'll explain more about it on my Instagram stories ✨

This is a very condensed version of her lore, if you want to know more about how her abilities, powers and personality unfold I suggest you check it out on my AO3, where I'm posting the fic, named The Arrow and the Flower.

Artio is also related to Chiara, Aradia's sister and my MC to Muriel's route. They are both of the lineage of Gwydion, a mythical-like hero inspired by the Welsh mythological figure of the same name.

Finally, I hope you can actually read it because instagram is not exactly the best platform for texts lol and you'll be learning more about her and relationship with Merida in posts to come ✨🌺

support me on: ko-fi | ✨dm me for your own magical illustration ✨🪷

follow me on: instagram | tiktok 🪷

[nikethestatue]

Hello 🌷

I wanted to ask if sjm has ever spoil any endgame couples. Since a lot of fans state that elain and lucien are endgame because sjm said they will have a healing journey together. I mean that could can understood as they will be together, but i can’t but wonder to think she didn’t mean romantically ,since she doesn’t really gives spoilers because legally she can not

Even tho i am a eriel since book 2 i don’t wanna be blind to other possible theories or evidence

What do u think?

I don't think it's been this wild before.

I remember the 'end' of Moriel was a shock to some people (not sure why), but they were upset and left the fandom.

With Nessian, SJM was never secretive. She said that it will be Nesta and Cassian pretty early on.

I mean, that Q&A with the Lucien and Elain question happened RIGHT AFTER ACOSAF--what is she going to say? LOLz, just kidding they won't end up together!!

So she avoided being forthcoming as much as she could. Again, if it's Elucien, don't see the reason not to be upfront about it. If she wanted to drive Elucien home, why ................... not just do it??? There was no secrecy with Nessian. Why bring Azriel and Vassa into the fold as love interests? Why ship Lucien all the way to the Human Lands and have him live there? Why not set up Elucien with 'looks and occasional brushes of fingers"?

People in this fandom LOVE conjuring weird ships and then claim that they are the real deal. Not as in crackships, but full on ships, where it's pretty clear that it's not going to happen. Like, Tharion and Hypaxia, Aidas and Bryce, Tamlin and Briar...And then act all upset when they don't happen.

People like to act like SJM's made some shocking changes and like, no she hasn't. Was Rowan and Aelin really shocking? Were Rhys and Feyre? No. Ruhn and Hypaxia? He had more chemistry with Flynn than with her. Same with Elriel and Elucien--is Elriel really that shocking?

[bowdawn]

Can you do an Elucien one shot including the quote “get your grubby claws off my mate”? Pleeeease

hey anon! alright i got you! this is a continuation of this fic i've posted you don't have to read it to understand it, but if you wish for context, there it is.

🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷

Her steps crushed the flowers of her garden, and yet Elain did not care at all. She was going to murder her little sister and her stupid mate who had no consideration for the lives of others, as long they were serving his purpose as High Lord.

Lucien had travelled for Spring Court again. He had told her on a rushed letter a couple days ago and he assured her - after she pounded and yelled at their bond senseless - that it was a routine trip, and he wasn't bearer of any ill news that could potentially set Tamlin off.

And of course nothing followed according to plans because her stupid brother-in-law was too much of a git when it came for being petty to the beast who was on command of Spring Court.

All would end now.

Elain marched inside the house, carrying dirty all over the place, making enough noise for Feyre to come rushing, baby Nyx almost dozing off in her arms.

Her sister gave her one look before widening her eyes. Usually Elain wouldn't dare to wake her nephew at any cost, but her rage fogged her mind.

"Call your stupid mate right now Feyre."

"Elain-"

"No. Shut up. Call that idiot right now." Feyre starred at her as Nyx mumbled cries started. Elain simply did not care.

She felt Rhysand's dark presence as soon as he winnow outside their home. She debated walking to him, but thought he would be more pissed going after them instead.

As he reached the dinning room his face and power were rumbling. Nyx was fussing officially and Feyre struggled to settle him.

A strange force also rumbled through Elain - and it chanted ancient. Rhysand didn't seem to notice, his eyes were glued at her. But she was ready, as soon as he stepped in her reach, her hand flew to his face.

The slap cracked on the room. Feyre gasped beside her, Nyx only cried louder. Elain didn't care as she pointed her fingers at Rhysand.

"You will take me right now to Spring Court." Rhysand growled at her and before he could react she slapped him again - harder. "You've sent my mate to deal with that unchecked High Lord. Lucien is hurt and you're going to take me there right now Rhysand. And you will not sent Lucien again to that place and I don't give a flying fuck if you're the High Lord of this fucking Court or not. Tamlin is Feyre's mess. She is the one who fucked his Court. So she deals with him, or your stupid inner circle. Lucien is out of the question."

"You can't order me Elain."

The hymn inside her exploded around her, Rhysand straighten his back only for a second. "Try me Rhysand. You forget I'm a Seer, Cauldron Blessed, and that my mate has connections. If I desire, I can end your reign. If I desire I can turn this Court into shambles for Nyx to inherit only dust. Do. Not. Dare. Me."

"You dare threaten me?"

"Rhysand, Elain..."

"No threat. Warning. I had made explicit Tamlin was not Lucien's problem anymore and you ignored me. So yeah, make your move and I will make mine."

Rhysand stared at her, whatever darkness he wanted to unfold on her contained. "Your mate is old enough to say no to me."

"We both know this is bullshit. You're bullshit. I mean it Rhysand, just dare me."

"Rhysand-" Feyre reached her hand and touched her mate's arm. He didn't break eye contact with Elain. "Elain said Lucien is hurt, we can have this conversation when everyone is save and calm."

"This is for you too Feyre. Fix your shit with Tamlin. But sending Lucien to Spring to contain him stops now."

Elain walked out of the house, message clear. She didn't have to tell Rhysand to follow her, he knew better. For her to act so aggressively, it meant Elain had had enough.

Her brother-in-law offered her no words as he grabbed - in fairness, gently - her wrist and they winnowed in Spring. Rhysand must have sensed Lucien's mind because they landed exactly where her mate stood.

Lucien sat on the ground, breathing heavily, his hand on top of a bleeding wound. Elain rushed forward, a mixture of distress and pure vile rage left her throat.

"What happened?" Her knees fell next to him and her hands shook as she wondered if she should touch him or not.

"You shouldn't be here Elain." Although injured, Lucien's voice was strong. A good sign, she thought. "He should have not been here."

"Rhysand is going to deal with Tamlin, aren't you Rhysand?" She didn't take her eyes of Lucien and still, she felt Rhysand's annoyance.

"Apparently." Was all he offered.

A roar echoed around them and Elain closed her eyes, finally turning to glare at her stupid brother-in-law. Lucien's free arm circled her waist, pulling her back behind him. A warm wind surrounding them.

It lasted only a second before a body tumbled on top of Lucien, sending her away and pining him to the ground.

The rage she felt before was nothing compared to seeing that beast attacking Lucien. Darkness surrounded them all, as Tamlin growled at Rhysand, Elain felt something click.

She stood up, and kicked Tamlin in his chest, sending him flying to the ground. The pulsing inside her had a rhythm, and Elain followed it's guidance.

Her fae body was stronger than she had guessed for the kick had been hard enough to turn Tamlin back to his male form. "Get your grubby claws off my mate."

Again, the ancient call surrounded around her and Tamlin pale expressed hardened. "Rhysand, take your subject out of my land and leave. I will consider an invasion next time."

As Rhysand made his way towards them, Elain spit on Tamlin. "If you so think of hurting Lucien again I will put a knife on your neck just as I did with Hybern." She had no idea that type of violence could exist within her - at least not again.

"You can't threat me." Tamlin was standing, but he didn't move. Lucien too had found his feet and stood behind her, a hand on her shoulder - more than fire glowing around them both.

"Try me Tamlin, I already bossed one High Lord today." She grabbed Lucien's hand, steadying him as much as herself, and without looking she grabbed Rhysand's arm.

Back at Velaris Elain said no words to either him or her sister. Her focus was fully on helping Lucien. Later she would have words with them again, no apologies though.

"Let's clean this mess." She guided him to the kitchen, making him sit on the chair while she cleaned his wound. It had been nasty but it was already mending - thanks to fae magic.

"I think if you kiss me it will heal at once." Lucien's words sounded joyful, pride layering it. Elain didn't need to check the bond to know Lucien had been quite pleased at seeing her claiming him like that.

"I'm too angry still Lucien, don't tempt me."

He chuckled, gently his fingers gripped her chin and they stared at each other's eyes for a moment.

"Let's leave Velaris." She whispered, finally voicing her wishes.

"Where do you wish to go?" He didn't ask her why, she counted that as a blessing.

"Anywhere, everywhere. Let's just go, I'm tired of all these games." She dropped her forehead on her mate chest and treasured the reassuring heart beating.

"Alright. Let's travel then. What do you think?" He kissed the crown of her head and Elain beamed at him.

"I think it is perfect. Can we go to the Continent? I always wanted to go there."

Lucien nuzzled his nose at her. "Let's see this world and more."

"Deal."

[princess-tulip-writes]

before tamlin turned absolutely FERAL i must admit i did have fantasies about him and lucien being soft doms. like imagine ur kissing tamlin sweetly and lucien pulls you into his lap and it’s all soft and cute and stuff happens 🫠

tamlin’s lips caressed yours softly, his hands running through your body sweetly before pulling away to admire your face briefly.

“you’re so pretty, y/n.” he mumbled.

you blushed before giving his cheek one last kiss and turning to your other lover.

“come here, my sweet princess.” lucien beckoned you, his hand patting his thigh gently while locking eyes with you.

you smiled softly to yourself as you strode over to your mate, content with the spring breeze flowing through the open windows and into the fabric of your sundress.

the aubern haired male looked you up and down, a small smirk on his face— but not a naughty one. a smirk of cocky adoration, as if he was proud to call you his.

[foxcort]

"Think of me what you will, but do not think of me as my father's son." Rage burned in his chest. "There are limits to my depravities, and lows even I would not sink to."

written for day 1: brotherhood/family of @erisweek2023. 🧡🔥 / a look into eris' pov if he had been the one to save lucien by delivering him to the spring court after jesminda's execution. / (AO3)

a/n: this little au has been on my mind ever since it became canon that eris played a part in lucien's escape to spring by alerting tamlin. i know in canon lucien runs away from the autumn court on his own, but I always imagined that would probably be very difficult without some kind of help! so, i thought, why not kick it up a notch?

tw: domestic abuse mention, jesminda's execution ( ;-; )

For a brief moment, all Eris knew was the feeling of weightlessness.

Then his knees slammed onto the marble floor of a darkened foyer and the unconscious weight pressed against his side sagged further into him, sparking a reaction of blinding pain across his nerves. He'd used too much magic when his reserves were non-existent, stretched himself thin enough to tear. But desperation had pushed him to the strangest of his few options, and he didn't have the luxury to regret his decision.

He gasped, a palm shooting out to balance his weight, just as a quick crack of noise filled the foyer and the High Lord of the Spring Court appeared before him.

With a baldric full of knives strapped to his chest, he looked ready for a fight. Or an intrusion, as Eris hoped he would be, when he barreled through Tamlin's wards and winnowed himself directly into the High Lord's manor.

Tamlin's narrowed gaze sharpened over him. Over Lucien. And widened when he finally understood what hunched before him. Two Vanserra brothers. Tattered, broken, half-conscious. Bleeding all over his pristine floors.

"Brun! Hart!" Tamlin’s voice echoed through the halls of the manor and Eris shifted with a grunt as the High Lord closed the distance between them and dropped to take Lucien’s weight. “What happened?” he said quieter, directed towards him this time.

Two sets of footsteps sounded down the hall, heavy and urgent.

Eris’ grip on Lucien tightened. “Beron,” he gasped. Some small, vain part him was mortified at how weak he sounded, his voice hoarse from screaming, from coming so close to begging for the pain to stop. Lucky he had his father’s pride.

Tamlin’s face darkened in understanding, his jaw tight, green eyes flashing as he assessed the damage done to Lucien. The two names he’d called for finally entered the foyer, rushing to their lord’s side and sliding under his brother’s arms without any need for direction or order.

But perhaps they needed it, for Lucien whimpered softly in the transfer and Eris was upon the nearest male with a sharp hiss. “Careful.” He might as well have been spitting venom with the way the burly male’s face paled, guilt awash over his features as he stammered out an apology.

Tamlin set a steadying hand on the male’s shoulder. A placating, pleading touch. Be more gentle next time. “Take him to Acesis. Notify me the moment he wakes.” The young male nodded and this time Eris took it upon himself to guide his brother into the male’s arms, his legs screaming in protest as he finally stood and made to follow them.

A firm hand curled around his arm, "Not you, Vanserra." Before he could rip his arm away from Tamlin's grip, that feeling of weightlessness returned. Light and airy and then he was slammed back into existence once more. Into a room full of warm candlelight and the smell of old books. The High Lord's study.

Eris whipped around to face Tamlin, lips pulled back in a sneer. "How will I know your shortsighted sentries won't kill him on the way to the healer?"

"If you thought Lucien would come to harm here, you wouldn't have brought him to me." Tamlin paused, eyeing him in a way that made Eris' stomach churn. Suspicion. There was only a small glint of it, but it was doubt that flickered in the brilliant green of the High Lord's eyes. The implication that perhaps Eris had done this to Lucien. And the reason he hadn't let him go with Lucien.

Anger flared, stoked by the pain and blood littering his body.

"Don't look at me like that," he spat, trying and failing to stand upright. Worse than the pain, worse than Tamlin's cutting gaze, was the doubt he held for himself. He wasn't wholly unconvinced he didn't deserve such accusations. After all, he'd stood there and watched, frozen with horror as their brothers forced Jesminda to her knees and his father swung his sword clean through her neck.

He'd only come back into his body when the rough hands of his father's guards jostled him away to the dungeons. To be dealt with, Beron had said. His father hated disobedience.

"Think of me what you will, but do not think of me as my father's son." Rage burned in his chest. “There are limits to my depravities, and lows even I would not sink to.”

Eris dropped into the nearest armchair, his head bowed, fingers curling into tight, white-knuckled fists. He was tired of wearing masks, of moving brothers like chess pieces, of the permanent gut wrenching fear that something terrible would happen to his mother. But nothing compared to the feeling of defeat. That he wasn't two steps ahead of Beron as he imagined he was. And that it meant he was wildly unfit for any ruling position, much less High Lord of a court.

Tamlin had eased his stance, a small sigh leaving him as he took a seat opposite of Eris and leaned forward to quietly ask, "What happened to Lucien?"

Heat swam in Eris' vision, but he blinked it back furiously. Perhaps what he tired of most was appearing and feeling week. And if he could at least keep himself from crying in front of Tamlin, he could claim one victory in a sea of losses.

"Beron executed Jesminda." Tamlin swore lowly, a hand raking through his hair roughly. "He planned to do the same to Lucien in the morning." The High Lord's gaze turned murderous, and Eris thought for a second that he could see claws sharpen over his nails.

But then Tamlin's breathing became measured and his hands looked normal and the anguish returned to his features, winding his brows in a knot. Either way, it assured him that he'd certainly brought Lucien to the right place. That if Tamlin could be tempted to such rage with a few words, Lucien was quite possibly in the safest place in Prythian.

Tamlin's eyes flicked over Eris, over the state of him. " . . . And you?"

“I refused to participate. He took offense.” His jaw tightened, thoughts battering away any emotion or memory that would drag him back into the dungeons prematurely. He would face that again soon, but every moment away was his. "As soon as he realizes Lucien has escaped he'll send the others to hunt him down."

A thoughtful look passed over Tamlin's face and he stood, walking over to a decanter full of a rich, amber liquid. "If you wanted him hidden, you should've taken him to the Continent."

"My mother said about as much." Eris watched greedily as he poured the liquid into two glasses and handed him one. He accepted without an ounce of decorum, downing it immediately and relishing in the burn. Setting the glass down, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before setting Tamlin with an even stare. "But for all the acquaintances and loyalties Lucien has collected, he doesn't have one quite as powerful as you. Or quite as committed."

Tamlin stared back for a long moment, his features giving away nothing of what he felt. Then, "Do you believe you'll need power in the event your brothers come looking for Lucien?" He took a sip of his drink. "You're the eldest. Can't you persuade them that it isn't in their best interest to step foot into my territory?"

A bitter laugh fell from Eris' lips. "If you could have been so easily influenced by your elder brothers, we wouldn't be having this conversation." The High Lord smiled humorlessly, a self-chastising look, as he tipped his glass in Eris' direction.

"Beron has poisoned them beyond my influence." Eris felt the weight of a festering guilt sit heavy in his stomach. "Beyond my mother's love. Whatever happens to them now is out of my hands." He cleared his throat, stamping out the emotion building there. He wouldn't name them. Wouldn't think of their faces. Or the inevitable death that would meet them should they cross into Spring. "Tamlin." The High Lord's gaze shot to his at the change in his tone. "They'll kill him. And anyone who harbors him."

"They'll try."

Envy pricked Eris' heart. At the growl lining Tamlin's words, the threat laced there. So opposite to the cold bond between him and Lucien. He'd cultivated it, himself. Refined it and built it with such a strong foundation, he believed even a thousand years of life would not be able to repair the broken strings that barely held the two of them together.

And so it was an envy he had no right to.

Eris pushed himself from the armchair, shooting Tamlin a glare when he moved instinctively, as if to help him. "And Beron," he said, waving away the other male, "There could be grounds for hostility between our courts."

“I’ve had a lifetime of tyrants disguised as fathers." Tamlin eyes sparked with a silent fury. "Let me make an enemy of this one.” Eris didn't doubt the High Lord would rip the throat of anyone who came looking for trouble. Perhaps he sought it. "You could stay, too," he said, giving him a poorly hidden look of pity. "The Spring Court is large enough to house more than one fugitive Vanserra."

"He doesn't know it was me," Eris said, quietly, "He can't know. And neither can Lucien." Only his mother knew. It had been her who'd released him from his dungeons without the knowledge of the guards or his father. Her, who had begged him to take Lucien away. "Beron did this to me," Eris gestured a hand towards the half-healed atrocities peppered across his skin, "Simply because I didn't follow his orders. If he discovers my denial is more than a stubborn reluctance . . . I can't afford to look weak. Not in that den of wolves."

"At least let Acesis take a look at your wounds before you go."

He shook his head, instead stumbling across the room to pour himself another glass of the amber liquid. "If he heals me, they'll know I left." He downed the glass. "My only chance at survival is keeping my position as heir solid. I know what I have to do to obtain that." And then muttered to himself, "I've always known." Eris focused on the smooth touch of the glass, the severe expression on Tamlin's face, the warm candlelight glinting of the polished floor. Anything but what he had to force himself to return to.

And just before he could register the return of the heat behind his eyes or the way his heart squeezed in his chest when he thought of Lucien's broken body, he glanced up at the High Lord and said, "Do what you need to. Keep him alive."

And winnowed back into the dark.

a/n: thank you so much for reading! 🧡🧡🧡

[yazthebookish]

Hii yaz,

What do you think it means that Elain's scent is Jasmine and honey ?

SarAh places a lot of importance on scents.

I have seen several posts saying that that scent is the scent of the Court of Night and Velaris and that it is therefore proof that Elriel is real, since Elain's scent is the home scent for Azriel.

What do you think?

Which by the way: yes Jasmine is the scent of the night court and the "official flower" of the court.

But it is not the scent of Velaris, Velaris smells of citrus and sea breeze.

Ps: sorry for the grammar.

Sincerely: A concerned Gwynriel.

Hello concerned Gwynriel,

Do not be concerned any longer.

Why do you think Elain is constantly associated with the Spring Court?

The world had become richer, clearer. The brook was a near-invisible rainbow of water that flowed over stones as invitingly smooth as silk. The trees were clothed in a faint shimmer that radiated from their centers and danced along the edges of their leaves. There was no tangy metallic stench—no, the smell of magic had become like jasmine, like lilac, like roses. I would never be able to paint it, the richness, the feel … Maybe fractions of it, but not the whole thing.

When Tamlin removed the glamour, this is the Spring Court's scent which Feyre smells for the first time.

• Jasmine (Elain's scent)

• Lilac (dominant flowers in the Spring Court and also the color Elain wears often)

• Roses (often associated with Elain and painted on her drawers)

And what does the smell of honey has to do with the Night Court? Honey bees often build their beehive on a tree. Where are trees dominant? Spring Court or Night Court?

You're welcome 🌷

[acourtofimagines]

This is A Full List of all my fics. Please read summaries and Author notes for warnings. For request rules and info go here

💜🌙✨⭐️🪻🍋‍🟩 RHYSAND 🍋‍🟩🪻⭐️✨🖕💜

Reunited

Let Me Take Care Of You

Midnight Flying

A Whole New World

🍎🍁🍏🍎🍁🍏 LUCIEN 🍎🍁🍏🍎🍁🍏

A Relaxing Swim

Acceptance

Only For You

Blissful Morning

🌳🌸🌺🌻🌷 TAMLIN 🌷🌻🌺🌸🌳

Mended Hearts

A Tamed Beast

A Spring Night Caress

Play It Again

What A Pretty Little Flower

🐬🌊🐠🌴🌤️ TARQUIN 🐬🌊🐠🌴🌤️

A Beautiful Summer Night

🌑✨👣🗡️🔵 AZRIEL 🌑✨👣🗡️🔵

You'll Never Celebrate Alone

🔴🌕✨🗻⚔️ CASSIAN 🔴🌕✨🗻⚔️

I'll Give You A Ride

[foxcort]

spring memories. feyre/tamlin, established!feyre/rhysand angst | ao3

—

In the silence of still nights, lying beneath an audience of blinking stars, memories of lazy spring afternoons beckoned her heart to weep.

—

Rhysand was away tonight. Which meant she'd get no sleep.

The side of the bed her mate normally slept in felt cold and stiff and her arm stretched out, palm sliding across the luxurious dark silk as if reaching for him.

There was always the bond, but on nights like these, she shuttered that bond closed and let the wall of onyx stand tall and firm. Some things — some thoughts — were not for him or anyone to witness. Some thoughts were just for her. Secret little morsels that felt wrong and right yet owed no explanation to anyone or anything other than her own heart.

Moonlight spilled in through the open balcony doors inviting the heady scent of hyacinths and roses to trickle into her room. It wrapped itself slowly around her, careful not to smother, and Feyre hurriedly blinked back the familiar sting in her eyes as she peered out into the illuminated sky. In the silence of still nights, lying beneath an audience of blinking stars, memories of lazy spring afternoons beckoned her heart to weep.

Remnants of human memories sifted through her mind as she squeezed her eyes shut and curled her fingers into the silk. I do not mourn the girl I was, she told her heart. A pinprick of sensation rippled through her chest, distant and blurred and echoed, and she could have sworn she heard her own voice answer back. Younger and more human. I mourn the girl you became.

Emotion lodged in her throat, threatening to choke her as she fought against the amalgam of denial and acceptance thundering in her mind. Eyes locked tight, she could only feel as her surroundings shifted, as the hyacinths and roses got stronger and stronger, and a cool spring breeze caressed her bare arms and legs. Just as the storm inside of her crested, as the words spoken by a distant human girl faded, a wave of calm washed over her slowing the rapid beat of her heart.

For a moment she laid in that stillness, that eternal silence, until—

"Open your eyes, Feyre."

Wetness clung to her eyelashes as she peeled her eyes open in slow and deliberate increments. It was night here too, and the same moon hung over her. Yet she now laid on a bed of grass, a song of crickets and bumblebees flickering all around her.

Gold-flecked eyes stared back at her, warded and soft all the same. Tamlin's blond hair was still visible in the dark, splayed out around him as he laid next to her, his head turned to face her.

"Tamlin."

His name was a whisper bouncing between them, a resignation of all that he'd done and all that she'd done. Heat seared in her eyes and water blurred her vision — at once, the two of them carefully reached for each other. Perhaps not soulmates, but bonded through time and circumstance anyways. Feyre's arms wrapped around his neck and she felt him burry his face into her hair, droplets of water hitting her bare shoulder as his arms circled her waist and held tight against him. She breathed him in; crisp, rain and earthen.

"I'm sorry," she heard his voice echo in her mind.

"I'm sorry," she whispered back into the night.

They lay there, twined together, desperately holding onto whatever warmth the other offered as the light of the spring moon cocooned them against the world. For this moment, they pulled aside the pain inflicted between them and buried it deep. For this moment, the High Lord of the Spring Court and the High Lady of the Night Court slunk into the past of their memories and grieved the softness of a love that broke curses and eclipsed boundaries.

Only for a moment.

With each blink of memory, with each lungful of daffodils and honeysuckle, Feyre felt herself slipping back. Until her fingers were no longer curled around the back of Tamlin's shirt, until cold silk chaffed against her skin and slowly he had disappeared. Only the waft of flowers forever in bloom remained, easily mistakable from the flowers planted out on the balcony.

Silent tears cascaded down her cheeks as she ran her palm over the opposite side of the bed, the faint indent of a male body outlined there.

—

a/n: full disclosure, i haven't read the books in a while (going through a reread right now) so there might be some (a lot of) discrepancies. i also have not written in a while so this might not be my best work but i'm working on it! this is set a couple of years after the destruction of spring in a kind of 'what if feyre eventually realized that some of the things she did were in fact, not cool?' also the baby plot does not exist.

[foxcort]

comforter (feyre ver). feyre/tamlin, feyre/cassian au, fluff | ao3

a drabble(ish) series of my favorite feyre ships based off these prompts by @dont-call-my-name-alejandro 💚 / floral banners by saradika.

feyre + tamlin; A waking up because of B getting out of bed to do something. A gets out of bed, finds B, and drags them back to bed.

So distantly it was like being wrapped in a fog, Feyre felt the bed shift, the sheets rustle and the sound of light footsteps retreat from the room with attempted quietness. "Tamlin?" she croaked, some barely risen part of her acknowledging he was gone before she patted the empty space beside her.

With a groan, she rolled from the bed, a flurry of messy hair and barely clad skin, before grabbing her discarded robe from the floor and slipping it on. Feyre sifted her fingers through her hair as she followed the path Tamlin was most likely to take, the cold marble underneath her feet gradually waking her with each step, until she ended up at the threshold of the council room. A fairly new addition to the manor, it was one Lucien had insisted be built to house council for both inner and outer court meetings.

At the moment, only Lucien and Tamlin occupied it, the pair of them standing at the head of a very long, ornately carved table washed in the early morning light spilling from the three large windows framing the eastern wall. Tamlin was dressed similarly to her, which was to say half-dressed at best, in a pair of hastily thrown on pants and a matching dark green, silk robe. A delight to her vision, the robe was left loosely tied and mostly open to expose the muscled, golden skin underneath, accentuated even more by the position of his arms crossed over his chest.

And perhaps she hadn't realized just how much Tamlin's visage was affecting her, for Lucien abruptly stopped talking mid-sentence and took a step back to give the high lord a sharp look of indignation. "I understand I've just pulled you away from your wife, but some decency and decorum would be lovely, Tam."

Tamlin, still half-asleep, gave his emissary a confused look, until whatever Lucien had felt belatedly hit him and his gaze shot to hers like some invisible thread had pulled it. Feyre resisted the urge to kiss him right then and there as he sent her a soft, knowing smile. "Morning, love." His voice was husky, unused and did absolutely terrible things to her self-control.

"No. No, no, no, no." Lucien shoved himself between them even as she stalked closer, her eyes never leaving Tamlin’s. “Just because you—" he pointed an accusing finger in her direction, "—are already prepared for this High Lord meeting, does not mean you can come in here and distract Tamlin when I've finally gotten a chance to prepare him." He folded his arms over his chest, looking every bit a courtier in his formal attire. "Don't forget you are the precise reason I haven't been able to find any time to council him yet, Feyre."

Feyre frowned, her gaze shifting between them, before she declared, "He's hardly dressed for a High Lord meeting."

Tamlin gave a low laugh, his fingers working to tie his robe closed and making her wish she'd chosen a different retort. "Lucien's right. As High Lord of Spring, I'm ill-prepared for this meeting."

"So when the time comes, let the High Lady of Spring take the lead," she challenged, turning her attention to him with a smile that was too predatory to be innocent. "You can sit pretty next to me."

Tamlin's returning smile grew wide, though it seemed he was fighting to control it. He turned to his emissary, a sheepish tinge to his smile now. "I could use the extra rest before they all start arriving."

"Please." Lucien rolled his eyes. "Cauldron knows the two of you don't actually use a bed for its intended purpose."

"A bed can have many purposes, Lucien." Feyre moved closer, looping her hands around Tamlin's neck, who was only too eager to lift her into his arms, one arm slung across the back of her thighs and the other supporting her lower back. "Just because you only use yours for sleeping, doesn't mean the rest of us don't have more creative ideas for it." Lucien gave her an unamused look, but she caught the grin curving Tamlin's mouth as he began to walk them out of the room.

"I'd better see you back in here in an hour, my lady."

Feyre had only a second to shout a replied "Fine!" down the hall, before Tamlin's mouth met hers and everything else was forgotten.

feyre + cassian; A keeping B from getting out of bed by holding them closer, maybe a few kisses here and there. / slightly nsfw!!

"You're terrible."

"Mmhm." Cassian's rumbling response, so close to her ear when he had her trapped in his arms and squeezed against his chest, sent a shiver down Feyre's spine. Cauldron boil him, but he knew exactly how to make her body react. Even when he was half-asleep, and almost as well as she knew how to coax a response from him.

Somehow she managed to remember the reason a sense of urgency had woken her from her sleep, snagging onto it even as the warmth of his arms threatened to envelop her whole. “Emerie’s going to kill me if I show up late again.” She'd promised her friend a morning sparring session with the rest of their training group. Unfortunately, Cassian was Cauldron-bent on making her late to everything nowadays and a tiny, restless part of her couldn't blame him. After all their time skirting around the pull that drew them to each other, after finally admitting what they felt . . . neither could convince the other leaving their bed was worth it.

Feyre froze as he dropped a kiss upon her bare shoulder. “No, she won’t." He sounded like he was smiling. “I told her you'd be training with me today.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks, her heart thundering in her chest. “Cassian.”

"Yes, Feyre?" She could feel the teasing smile against her shoulder, her neck, her jaw. Her thoughts were muffled, lost in a collision of a train wreck, the reasonable part of herself drowning in a slew of indecent thoughts just as his fingers curled over her hip. "Should I stop?" He paused his descent and she squeezed his forearm, nails drawing half-moon patterns across his skin. "Would you prefer training with the Valkyries today?"

Frustration flared and Feyre realized he didn't sound so sleepy anymore. No, the bastard was fully awake, tapping those fingers against her hip and refusing to move closer to where she wanted them. "Cassian," she repeated, a growl more than anything.

She felt more than heard his chuckle against her ear, before his fingers dipped lower and she was lost to her pleasure.

[foxcort]

for @isterofimias 🩶 because the brilin asoiaf au is kicking my butt and i want to give you something in the meantime / based on prompt #3 by @dumplingsjinson.

“You’re in love with me.” Surprise lifted Briar's tone, her eyes — big and round and staring directly at him with the intensity of the sun — unblinking and steady as the truth settled into her.

Tamlin shook his head, brows furrowing, breathing suddenly difficult. “I’m not—

“Look me in the eyes and tell me it's not true.” A dare. One he could not meet. She scoffed, shaking her head and stepping closer to him. "You can't, can you?"

He took a step back, a heat in his voce when he spoke. "There's no use saying it when nothing can come of it."

Hurt flashed across her face, fleeting and rare. Briar was human, but she never relented to the Fae around her, never let them think she feared them. The worst has already happened to me, she'd said one day so matter-of-factly it froze him in his spot, and I'm too tired to be scared anymore. It made him feel like a decrepit bastard to be the one to make her falter.

“You think you’re brave for saying something like that?” she whispered, tone sharp, words half-jumbled together.

Tamlin held firm, arms crossed tightly, even as his heart beat erratically in his chest, begging him to take it all back. “I think I’m protecting us both from a mess of pain that neither one of us can afford right now.”

She shook her head, fingers harshly wiping at her reddened eyes. “You’re not brave, Tamlin. You’re not protecting us from anything.” Now there was anger in her gaze, an emotion he was use to seeing in of all his loved ones. Rhysand. Feyre. Now, her. Surely, he was cursed. Surely, he’d done something to the Mother for her to keep tormenting him like this.

Something like disappointment unfurled her brows and Tamlin’s arms slackened when she spoke again. “You’re just a coward.” And it was the way she said it that broke him a little. Voice cracking on the edge of a sob as she pushed past him and left him standing there with a gaping hole in his chest.