#Amarantha acotar

[theegemini92]

The diddy and Cassie case has got me thinking about the Rhysand fandom.

The SAing of feyre being for her own good

When RHYSANDS claimed to be raped by amarantha see how every woman is swooning to accept him. Yet if it’s the other way around and it was feyre, the fandom is calling it for her own good.

Men view rape as an accusation against their community instead of a horrible crime against the victim. In turn Rhys viewed it as a kick to his pride because if he had done it to amarantha a woman and succeeded it’d have been called what????????

[lifeisabiscuit]

TAMLIN killed Amarantha. Yes, Feyre eventually broke the curse that allowed him to get his powers back but Tamlin is the one who actually killed her.

I don't know what nonsense Feyre is spewing in FAS about her and Rhysand killing her. Miss thing, you did NOT survive Amarantha. She killed you. Rhysand attempted to attack her and was thrown against a wall. Yall didn't do shit to Amarantha except piss her off. Tamlin was pissed and going to kill her anyways, Rhysand did not have to parade Feyre around practically naked, make her drink and dance til she threw up and sa her to make Tamlin mad enough to kill her.

I feel like everyone forgets this (including the high lords who are "oh so powerful blah blah blah" but believe the lies of a 20 yr old and her mate who was evil for the last 50 yrs over the high lord who saved them).

Give the male his flowers.

[loonylooly]

ladies and gents happy villain week here's amarantha

@sjmvillainweek

[acourtofmishapandmistakes]

Absolutely no one:

Amarantha with Jurian:

[achaotichuman]

Can someone make me a pretty picture of Knight in Shining Armour!Feyre saving Pretty Princess!Tamlin from the Evil Dragon!Amarantha pls, this is the best I can do.

[bonecarversbestie]

For @sjmvillainweek Day 2: Planning

Amarantha plotting her takedown of a human teen

[readychilledwine]

The Fashion of Fear

Happy @sjmvillainweek Day 6!

I was pretty excited when we all decided fashion was a must for this week. I am looking forward to this prompt a lot. Without the Maasverse being made into a TV show or movies, it allows us as the readers to create our own imagery and ideas behind the fashion, the places, etc. I want everyone to keep that in mind today as they go through everyone's headcanons, artwork, fics, and mood boards. How I saw a character may not be how you did and that is the magic of reading. Take it as an opportunity to discuss things! Message a creator and ask about their ideas!

Also, keep in mind that it's very common for women to get to live out fantasy and have these amazing gowns and outfits from fandom culture custom made. It isn't as common for men, which is a shame and it needs to be more normalized, so we are going for vibes on some of these. Bare with me

🗡Villains Week Masterlist🗡Master Masterlist🗡

Ps.. a message from Liz at the end

Beron Vanserra -

I firmly believe Lucien and Eris get their fashion sense from Beron. The male thrives on control and power. Fashion throughout history has been a sign of power

Beron perfers rich warm jewel tone colors. Deep olives, wine reds, plum purples. These tones used to be considered "weathy" in our real-life history. The dyes to make them were very expensive, so having clothing in those deep colors was a sign of status. Purples especially, look up "Tyrian Purple" for more history 💕

Beron also adds elements of nature into his wardrobe. Elements of leaves, vining, and other filigree are pretty common signs of his clothing for the maid who handles his clothing.

Controversial, but let me explain, I think Beron would be the most likely to have a crown of antlers of the High Lords. I know this is commonly associated with Tamlin, but Autumn is a season representing by harvest and hunt. A sign of a prized buck and stag will be it's rack (the antlers) and there are trophy hunters who will wait to find the perfect set and hunt for that purpose instead of food *side note Liz has issues with all forms of trophy hunting so, let's not dive into this one* It makes the most sense that Beron, High Lord of the Court that would be most associated with hunting, would have a crown and possibly throne of antlers.

I think shades of red are the most common in Beron's wardrobe. A tribute to his wife and one of the only signs of his twisted form of love for her.

Keir-

I also know male corsets are associated with Rhysand frequently, but I like to think they're actually fairly common. This goes back to the history of the item in our world. I just warped it for ACOTAR Liz Lore. Corsets also used to be seen as a sign of nobility due to how they constricted movement. It was a symbol of wealth that showed the wearer was essentially so wealthy they didn't *have* to move

Keir is in the Night Court. He has no choice but to daddy. I feel this mood board definitely speaks for itself, but I like to indulge.

I think Night court fashion, even in Hewn City, would be sleek with signs of sex appeal. Open buttons on shirts, tight fitted trousers, surprise lace detailing. Skin is a sign of high fashion. Just in some places, not all of the members of the Court get to partake.

Keir loves ornate details. Something to draw attention to himself. He prefers hand stitched everything. His wardrobe cost a pretty gold mark because of that.

I think he'd lean towards golds due to Rhysand leaning towards silvers, but black and silver will always symbol the Night Court, so that color pairing is in most of his clothing

I love the idea that Rhysand and keir secretly influence each other's fashion. A constant one upping battle to see who is ahead of the newest trends and curves first. They're both absolutely blind to the fact that this symbolic power struggle has made them the curve. They are both the moment. Absolute icons to the seamstresses and fashion world.

Amarantha-

I firmly believe Amarantha is a snake of many colors. I think her fashion sense would show that.

Amarantha as an emissary to Pyrthian would have adapted, purchasing fashion from all 7 courts to ensure she did not stand out too much.

That act of appreciation turns into an act of cruelty as she spends 50 years tainting each courts fashion. Everytime she's targeting a certain High Lord, she's wearing symbols of his court and it sticks.

I believe, regardless of the Court she mocking, Night Court's sex appeal plays into the design. Amarantha knows she is beautiful. She was never used to hearing no from a male. It makes sense that she'd use fashion to brag about what she knows are her finest assets.

Maeve-

The queen arrived.

I see Maeve in moody colors like dark jewel tones, blacks, and blues so deep that light seems to fall into them.

Maeve priorities comfort in footwear in my head. She pulls out heels for special occasions, but she is a flats girlie. Preferably flats with arch support.

Maeve, like Amarantha, loves to look and feel luxurious and expensive. Hand sewn beadwork and crystals are a must for her.

Maeve loves unique designs that pull elements from nature or architecture. Twisting vines, antler, filigreed lace work. These are things very common in Maeve's closet

Maeve is also known to mix up fabrics. Buttery cottons, high-end organza and gossamer, rare wools. The more expensive, the better.

She also isn't afraid of different silhouette styles. Ballgown, mermaid, aline. Maeve knows her body, and she knows her body will work for everything.

Pollux-

Everyone say, "Liz is sort of down bad for Pollux, and we forgive her." That damn line about him and his heavy cock... 🙄

Pollux leans to casual and comfort, preferring the gym over lavish outtings.

He is definitely the male your mother cried and begged you to stay away from, though.

Tight suits, buttons undone, shoes that properly match the belt. When Pollux goes all out, he goes all out in the newest fashions.

His streetwear is a mix of his suits and athletic wear. But he treats the public to the sight of him in a sweater with a leather jacket and tight jeans frequently.

Pollux is very clean cut fashion. Clean lines, not too much. Not distracting from his good looks and big wings. Very mindful of others who want to admire him, very classy, not too fashion forward and loud. Very demure.

His clothes are custom tailored. That's it. That's the headcanon. They all fit him as if he were poured into them.

Also, yes, Liz acknowledges this board is very eye candy.

The Viper Queen-

She inspired fast fashion. This is the icon we all follow on tiktok, drooling as she styles her exclusive wardrobe with pieces we think we have then can't pull off.

Very high fashion. The Viper Queen walks into stores and requests the latest lines. She pays for them in full.

During casual times, one would never suspect this is a full boss bitch. Her streetwear is very playful, still pulling in elements of high-grade materials, but she manages to blend into society when she wants to.

During her fights, you'll find her easily. Gowns that command attention, sparkling crystals, smooth silks, peeps of soft skin under netting.

She is the queen in her domain and everyone knows it.

Ankle bootie heels. With red bottoms. Don't know why. Don't ask questions. I can't explain it. It is just a feeling I can not shake.

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itsswritten @milswrites @littlest-w01f

Ps from Liz:

I want to apologize for my Villain's Week things being late. You know when you read so much it makes you question what you're doing (other writers will)? That has happened to me this week. I'm being very careful to avoid touching things so I don't mass delete and give up. I'm giving myself a little grace and only touching the last edits when I am in the mood too 💕

They will all be posted, hopefully, by Sunday/Monday.

[merwgue]

@sjmvillainweek DAY 2: WEAKNESS

Summary: amarantha gets interviewed for her crimes.

A/N: The organisers probably hate me for always doing law related stuff but at least it's good😢, pls tell me u like it

They think they’ve won.

Dragging me into this pit, chaining me like an animal. The darkness of the dungeon is nothing compared to the darkness inside me, the one I’ve lived with for centuries. The guards yank at the chains, pulling me into the interrogation room as though I’m some cornered beast, some defeated thing. Fools. All of them.

I won’t break. I can’t break.

I smirk through the grime caked on my face, ignoring the ache in my limbs. Let them have their little show of power. It means nothing. It’s always meant nothing. Power… real power, isn’t in the iron clamping my wrists or the locks on the doors. It’s in here. My mind. My will.

The interrogator sits there, too calm, too composed. I hate him instantly. I can smell the arrogance on him, the smugness of someone who thinks they can peel back my layers, see what lies beneath. He’s a vulture, circling what he believes to be a dying animal.

---

Amarantha: “So. This is your grand plan? To lock me up in this filthy hole and try to… what, make me confess? Apologize?”

I throw the words at him, each one a sharp-edged dagger. My voice rasps from disuse, but I make sure it drips with disdain. I want him to know—no matter what they do, they’ll never take away my pride.

He doesn’t react. His eyes remain cold, calculating. I want him to sneer, to snarl, to feel the bite of my words, but instead, he leans forward, his fingers tapping lightly on the table between us.

---

Interrogator: “I didn’t come for apologies, Amarantha.”

---

His voice is soft, like he’s dealing with a child. Patronizing. Infuriating.

---

Amarantha: “Then what are you here for? To watch me rot? To gloat?”

---

He doesn’t rise to the bait. That calm demeanor—it’s unnerving. I’ve had stronger men crack under my gaze, but this one… this one is different. He’s playing a game.

---

Interrogator: “No. I came to understand.”

---

Understand. I let out a sharp, cruel laugh, the sound echoing off the stone walls. What could he possibly understand? He, with his polished clothes, clean fingernails, and a life free of true suffering. His words are meaningless. But still, I can feel something shifting in the air.

---

Amarantha: “You think you’ll understand me? Me? You pathetic little worm—”

---

Interrogator: “You’ve spent your life being misunderstood.”

---

The way he says it, like it’s a fact, makes my breath catch in my throat. There’s no accusation in his tone, no threat. Just a statement. And it burns. I hate that it burns. My lips curl, but for a moment… just a moment, I hesitate.

He’s not wrong.

---

Amarantha: “And now what? You think you’ll figure me out? Crack me open like a nut and see what spills out?”

---

I sneer again, forcing venom into my words, but my grip on the chains tightens. I can feel the cold metal bite into my flesh, and I welcome it. The pain helps me focus. It keeps the memories—the ones clawing at the edges of my mind—at bay.

He doesn’t respond. He just watches. Waiting. He knows. Somehow, this snake knows that the silence will unravel me faster than any accusation or threat ever could.

---

Interrogator: “You weren’t always like this, were you?”

---

My heart skips a beat.

---

Interrogator: “Once upon a time, you were something else. Something… vulnerable.”

---

The word hits me like a fist to the gut. Vulnerable. It’s the one thing I’ve never allowed myself to be, the one thing I’ve buried so deeply that no one—not even I—should be able to reach it. But here it is, staring me in the face, waiting for me to acknowledge it.

No. I can’t. I won’t.

---

Amarantha: “I was never weak!”

---

I snarl, yanking hard on the chains, making the guards flinch. My blood pounds in my ears, hot and deafening, but even as I shout the words, they taste hollow. Weakness. Vulnerability. They were never the same thing, were they? They were intertwined, though. I’ve spent centuries twisting them together, hiding one behind the other.

The interrogator knows. He sees it. He doesn’t need to say it.

---

Interrogator: “Weakness isn’t the same as vulnerability, Amarantha. But you’ve been running from it for so long, haven’t you?”

---

I freeze. My throat tightens, and I can’t seem to swallow. His voice is softer now, like a blade dipped in honey. He’s trying to cut me without me noticing.

---

Amarantha: “You know nothing.”

---

But my voice shakes. The words aren’t as strong as they should be. My hands tremble in the cuffs, the cold metal suddenly feeling like it’s suffocating me. I clench my fists, digging my nails into my palms until I feel the skin break. The pain is grounding, but it doesn’t drown out the flood of memories that are rushing to the surface.

---

Interrogator: “What are you so afraid of?”

---

I laugh, a sharp, hysterical sound, but the fear is rising. I can feel it, crawling up from the pit of my stomach, wrapping its icy fingers around my heart. Afraid? I’m not afraid. I’m Amarantha. I have never bowed, never broken.

---

Amarantha: “I’m not afraid.”

---

But it’s a lie. We both know it. The silence presses down on me like a weight, and suddenly the room feels too small, the air too thick. My breathing quickens, my pulse racing in my ears.

I was never afraid of losing power. Not really. I was afraid of being seen. Seen for what I am.

---

Interrogator: “You’ve always been afraid of weakness. But not the kind others fear. You’re not afraid of death, or pain, or losing control. You’re afraid of what’s inside. Of that vulnerability you buried so deep you can’t reach it anymore.”

---

I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut.

---

Amarantha: “Stop.”

---

The word comes out choked, barely more than a whisper. My throat is tight, and I can feel tears stinging at the corners of my eyes, but I won’t cry. I can’t. Not here. Not in front of him. But it’s too late. The memories—the ones I’ve tried so hard to bury—are crawling up, clawing at me.

The day I learned I would never be loved. The day I realized I was alone, even in a court full of people who feared me. They feared me because I made them. But no one… no one ever wanted me. Not for me.

I became cruel because it was easier than being cast aside.

---

Interrogator: “Power couldn’t protect you from it, could it? No matter how much you took, how much you destroyed… you couldn’t escape it.”

---

---

Amarantha: “Shut up.”

---

My voice trembles. The chains are so tight. I pull, yanking at them until my wrists bleed, but I can’t escape. My breath is coming in short gasps now, and I can’t seem to draw in enough air. It’s suffocating me, the weight of it all.

---

Interrogator: “You were never as invincible as you wanted the world to believe. And now, you’ve run out of places to hide.”

---

I bite down on my lip, tasting blood. It’s like I’m crumbling from the inside out, and I can’t stop it. I hate him. I hate him for seeing me, for knowing exactly where to dig. But I hate myself more for letting him in.

---

Amarantha: “I’m not weak. I’m not…”

---

The words feel foreign in my mouth, like a lie I’ve repeated so many times that I don’t know what’s real anymore. Tears blur my vision, but I blink them away, desperately trying to hold on to the last shred of control I have.

But I’m slipping. I can feel it. The mask I’ve worn for centuries is cracking, and underneath… underneath there’s nothing but a broken, terrified girl who once believed that power would save her.

---

Interrogator: “No one is invincible, Amarantha.”

---

The guards are moving now, pulling me up, dragging me away. But I can’t fight them. I don’t have the strength. The cold metal digs into my skin, and my body is limp in their grasp.

I can’t remember the last time I felt this empty.

As they pull me down the dark corridor, the whisper escapes my lips, barely audible, but the words hang in the air like a curse.

---

Amarantha: “I’m not weak…”

---

But the lie echoes back at me, hollow and haunting.

[sjmvillainweek]

SJM Villain Week Day 2 Masterlist (Prompts: Planning/Weakness)

Fanfiction

Echoes of a Shattered Heart (Erawan x OC) by @sonics-atelier (AO3 Link) Wrap Me In Your Skin And Bones (Beron Vanserra x Lady of Autumn) by @achaotichuman (AO3 Link) Amarantha Interview by @merwgue Beron Vanserra by @shadowqueenjude A Burden To Carry by @readychilledwine

Fanart

Amarantha plotting by @bonecarversbestie Maeve and her walking shoes by @climbthemountain2020 Ianthe by @loonylooly The Unfading and The Scorched by @geniemillies Maeve and Athril by @katharsiii

[author-dapa]

Under the Mountain

This is the first chapter of my fic Alder Beast but I think its nice as a little feylin angst oneshot. CW: character death

.....

The cold stone floor seeps its chill into his body as he is brought to his knees before the woman he loves.

The creature behind him towers over him, its own scent of dry blood and wet grime almost making him gag. While the cloth over his head stifles the Attor's putrid smell somewhat, it means little to him when he can smell almost everything in the area if he focuses. 

When he does, a cavern stretches before his senses, sounds and smells filling in the world he can't see. People mutter and shout all at once, like the fluttering wings of a hawk over a butterfly, and he feels his head beat with agony. He grits his teeth, breathing through them, and catches the scent of the Attor again. This time he does gag. 

Then, like a sigh against his ear, as the cloth is removed from his head, he hears her gasp. 

It takes a moment for him to not be overwhelmed by the flickering torches and sounds of spectators fidgeting in apprehension, the smell of them all combined into various feelings of horror and tense giddiness. His world spins with these senses and somehow, even though his stomach is turning unpleasantly, he finds her among them all. 

He can smell her own particular scent, although faded from her usual smell of soft grass and warm sun to something that smells more of still water and mud. Despite this isolated place where no sunlight dares to shine, she reminds him of home. 

He can sense it as it flows and flows, carried by the gentle draft in the cavern, until it comes close enough to reach him–and the smell of blood coats his entire world. Not her blood, he knows, despite her muffled sobs and ragged breathing. 

Her tears fall silently to the ground over sullen cheeks. Her usually straight caramel hair is twisted into curls as white gems glitter between the strands. Jewels adorn her arms and neck in long streams of silver. Her dress is of a familiar thin silk that she has worn night after night, dancing fae dances she never could know the steps to. When she moves forward, the slits of her dress reveal legs covered in gleaming silver jewels all the way to her thigh. She is still painfully thin, a ghost of a woman who once carried muscle as well as her bow. 

She is still beautiful and as radiant as the moon–and drenched in blood. It drips onto her dress from the ash wood dagger she holds in her right hand. 

His eyes catch on her trembling left hand covered in a black tattoo that reaches up her arm like tendrils of smoke. Like a promise. 

Distantly, he remembers Rhysand, no doubt lounging with Amarantha above them. 

He breathes deep, steadying himself, and on the damp air, he faintly smells her heavy with grief and dread. She trips towards him, her bare feet shuffling alongside her sleeves of silk. 

Silenced by magic, he can't even open his mouth. He can't reassure her, tell her that everything will be alright. 

That she will be alright. 

When she finally does reach him, she scrambles for his bound hands, dropping the dagger, and tries to rip the metal shackles infused with faebane off of him. She sobs with her efforts and gasps for breath as her warm tears fall onto his fingers. 

“Tam,” she mutters in agony, “I can't…” 

She leans forward and embraces him. She buries her face into his neck, her tears wetting under his ear. He embraces her as much as he can with his bound hands reaching for her. 

Peace fills him for a brief moment, memories of her swirling behind his closed eyes; her glare as they bicker over fae and human legends, her smile shining brighter than any star in the night sky, watching her paint his portrait and joking about adding some ridiculous feature history will remember him by, his fingers trailing over her soft expression in sleep. 

When he opens them, he sees her under the gems and sparkling jewels, the blood and hidden grime, and sees all that he adores.

He breathes in shakily, his brow deepening as he takes her in, decision already made. 

Quickly, he pushes her back and he feels a prick of guilt as she catches herself by her thin arms on the floor. Before she can react, he reaches for the ash wood dagger. 

He feels a sort of deep bitter sorrow in his throat that he can't tell her he loves her one more time before he plunges the dagger deeper into his own neck. 

Pain flashes like firelight through his throat and blood coats his bound hands, washing away her tears. He chokes on his own blood, brows furrowed, as she screams his name. 

Even still, as she rushes to hold him, shaking hands clasping his neck, she floods his senses. 

Amarantha laughs, her pure delight sounding through his body. She claps and his mind latches onto the sound alongside Feyre's harsh sobs. He feels his life and power seep from him as his blood does. His heavy eyelids open to see Feyre trying to tell him something. 

I love you, he sees her mouth the words as the world around him rings and darkens. 

Please, please, stay with me, please–

He can barely move his own mouth, everything weighing him down into the cold stone floor. He thinks he says the words back but blood surges from his throat and out of his mouth. 

I love you, he thinks as the world blurs with thoughts of blood on soft grass and the memory of warm sun. The burning pain fades and the last of his power returns to the earth. 

A bargain fulfilled. 

…..

“Tamlin darling,” Amarantha asks him with a facade of gentleness, “Why don't we make a bargain?”

He doesn't even glance her way. 

“Oh, don't be like that,” she chides happily, her dress swishing around her as she comes to stand before him. She gently pulls up his chin with her fingers, “I'll let that human live if you do.” 

He quickly finds her dark eyes heavy with a gleeful sort of promise. 

He opens his mouth to ask her but she puts her fingers over his lips, “You must promise me something of her equal value to you. You know how these work, what I want.” 

He narrows his eyes and shakes off her hand. 

She simply laughs and leans into him more, “I am going to have her final trial tomorrow, she will have to kill three fae with an ash wood dagger in order to free you. That is what I will tell her, but my dear darling Tamlin, you will be the third one she kills.” 

Surprise floods through Tamlin, weighing him down into the velvet chair he sits on, as she tells him, “Tomorrow, you will die.” 

Amarantha presses into his chest and kisses his lips sweetly, dark eyes staring right into his, “Didn't I tell you? If I can't have you, then no one can.”

“No,” she pulls away slightly in realization and her red lips smile into something beautifully sinister, “I will have your corpse.” 

[theegemini92]

MATING BOND IS NOT LOVE ‼️‼️‼️

I wanna talk about the Mating bond because I don’t think people understand.

Dictionary/ Google definitions:

Mating is the act of pairing organisms for sexual reproduction, and can refer to the pairing of opposite-sex or hermaphroditic organisms. It can also refer to the period when a seasonally breeding animal is able to mate

the action of animals coming together to breed; copulation.

Hence the mating bond doesn’t mean love, it means a strong animalistic urge to copulate. This is my thoughts and theories on the mating bond:

• there are two types of mating bonds, the Land magic blessed ones aka soul mates or what I’d call instantaneous bond and there is the IMPRINT BOND. Soul mates in many definitions doesn’t mean love but it could mean anything, I digress.

Rhys, feyre and Lucien and Elain are so far the only two couples in all of the Massaverse are the only known ones that to my knowledge have had the Bonding EXPERIENCE… that INSTANTANEOUS FEELING by just SEEING or LOOKING at their mates. (Correct me if I’m wrong)

• I know for a fact the mating bond exist to help the fae procreate only the strongest or healthiest offspring’s. HEAR ME OUT: the only two most powerful HL of the ACOTAR verse known to us are Rhys and Tamlin. Both their parents were mates. (In my head Tamlin mother was the second wife lol) it is also clear that many fae don’t Marry for mating sake but political gain aka Beron. So does it not explain why these strong powers skip generations? Or even skip heirs? Because the land magic only picks the strongest and the fae hierarchy DEPENDS on that, their NATURE IS to have survival of the Fittest, perhaps it’s why Rhys tries so hard to build his selfish reputation of EVIL OVERLORD 😂

• now let’s talk about those bonds IMPRINTED or MADE. The one that we actually read about happening in the moment and described. Nesta and Cassian. Their bond was made DURING COPULATION. Not a happy moment in time or a regular time of the day. IN THE MOMENT!

Rhys said: sometimes some people reject the bond and if she’s female the males sometimes go and physically fight for these females. So sometimes I think about this: what if Nesta’s Real Mate ever appeared? The mate that is land magic given, the real soul mate. What happens then? Could it be possible? I think so. Just like a mother can give birth to three children and still feel the pain of each child when they’re in trouble or hurt. I should think those invincible bond strings apply. So will Cassian bond fade if that happens or become weak or will be weak compared to the real mating bond?

• the mating bond is said to be rare and why to me it is, is because the actual land given mating bond finds the strongest best mates, selection to breed and not create any weak fae, to keep the balance. The fae also live way too long to just procreating with just anyone one like us human beings.

• if the mating bond meant LOVE or STRONG MUSHY FEELINGS then Theia would’ve never killed Fionn, RHYSANDS father and mother would’ve never had a strained marriage. Elain won’t be trying so hard to avoid our boy Lucien.

A few follow-up questions:

• why do the bat boys want to lock down the archeron sisters so bad with a mating bond?

• there is a theory out there that Rhys somehow contributed to the mating bond with the bargain he made with fey UTM. ( I doubt that)

• Are some bonds forced? I think Tams mothers could’ve been with a father like his…. lol but then again Rhys has his reputation so we’d never know…

Please stop throwing mating bonds around like it’s forever love. It’s not. Feel free to drop your thoughts 🫶🏽

EDITED:

So this part was brought to my attention because I was solely focused on ACOTAR. But the mating bond applies to all of the massaverse. Let’s talk about throne of glass mating bonds. There were only two by my memory which was Rowan and Aelin and aedions parents. (Correct me if I’m wrong) Sjm didn’t really elaborate on it and how it worked but only described it when Rowan was talking about his false bond to his dead wife which was her personality. So in ToG interpretations, personality is a bonding source or the smell of the bond be it mates or offsprings and not strings or a halo of light like ACOTAR but that’s about it. They are mates because Maeve saw it and changed it. Sjm made sure she changed the mating bonds in all her books depending on the world so the land magic works differently. I think people compare ACOTAR to the other worlds and miss the whole point of these worlds being different.

So if Maeve can change and take away bonds, it means bonds can be broken or temporarily subside.

[vermilionskiinmorning]

Amarantha’s whore…

[loonylooly]

i would like to thank Sjm villain week because im working on stuff for it and amarantha is so ridiculously fun to draw

[achaotichuman]

What You Might Have Been

For Day 3 of @sjmvillainweek, sorry I am a little late to this day!!! I had an idea for Amarantha and Tamlin months and months ago, and decided I really wanted to fit it in for this event. I am very loosely using today's prompt Deception.

Summary-

He's something she could never be. Somehow, everything she hates and wants woven into one being. Soft, kind, loving. Everything a leader shouldn't be. Everything she's spent her life cutting from her being. Yet, when she sees it in him, she cannot help but want it more than anything.

A short story of Amarantha and Tamlin, two polar opposites locked in eternal orbit of each other.

Read on AO3 or below the cut!

“You learned to mask it all, finally, it made you a stronger leader.” She said, edging closer, step by step. 

“Get out.” He knew he couldn’t order her down here, this was her territory now. He tried all the same. 

“You used to cry in the beginning, when you still felt everything, when it was all new and unknown. You were used to being silent, but you weren’t used to hiding your emotions.” She said, her voice no longer the seductive pur, but simply stating facts. The General in her was showing its face. 

“You forced me to be silent,” Tamlin stated, trying to keep his composure, trying to not let the burning rage simmering under his skin show. He was facing away from her, eyes locked on the door carved out from the cavernous wall. This place was a temple, it shouldn’t have been touched, ruined, like this. The Spring Lord may not believe in a God, but he knew for certain the Cauldron had ties to places like this, and going against powerful magic entities like the Cauldron was inviting trouble into their lands. Practically begging for trouble in fact. 

“I did, but I didn’t stop you from feeling fear did I? I let you cry, I let you scream at times. I let you get angry, you used to spit curses at me, do you remember that?”

“I am supposed to thank you for that?” Tamlin spat, looking over his shoulder to where Amarantha stood, she was wearing that damning blue dress. Tamlin hated that dress. 

She snapped her fingers, her eyes lighting up with cruel amusement as she pointed to him, “That! That right there. That’s how you used to snap at me. Oh, the fun times, when everything was still so new for you. You got quite boring after a while, when you knew what was going to happen, when you realised you couldn’t fight me.”

Tamlin huffed a laugh, “Sorry for that, should I have made myself more entertaining? Was I, after being told I would be sold to you, supposed to be better at acting the part of personal jester?”

Amarantha just smiled as she stepped closer, “You and I are quite alike you know.”

Those words made sickness twist in his stomach, Tamlin looked away from her again, closing his hands into fists, “I am nothing like you.”

“Well that's not true and you know it. I think you used to think you weren’t like me, but all this… loss has made you realise you are indeed exactly like me. The loss made you stronger. It hardened you, you were too soft before. Too kind.”

Claws shot through his fingertips. Red blood fell from his palms. Tamlin remained silent. Even in anger, he knew he couldn’t lash out at her, it wouldn’t end any of them in a good place. 

“Dear friend, you know as well as I, that after a certain amount of grief, you go numb, you were no exception. You stopped feeling so much after a while.” She was right behind him now, her warm breath fanning against the crook of his neck as she leaned in close. Her hand slipped out and traced the curve of his waist. 

“I know how that feels,” she said, “I know what you feel. You and I are so alike. We would have made the world kneel at our feet.”

“I am nothing like you.” He whispered again. 

At that she breathed a laugh, it was not cruel, and it was not cold, it almost seemed… sad, resigned, “Perhaps not, but perhaps I was like you.”

Tamlin blinked, and anger gave way to confusion, “What?”

“Lovely Tamlin.” She breathed, hitching her chin to rest on his shoulder, “I was once young too, you know. I was once innocent, not cruel. The cruelty came with time. I was hardened in the same way you were.”

She trailed a hand lower, playing with the waistband of his trousers. She wouldn’t touch, she had made a plaything out of the Night Lord, Rhysand was enough to satiate her hunger for now. At least until their loose strings were tied up.

“Though I suppose I cracked into the cold, cruelness sooner than you. Perhaps that makes you stronger than me, that you’ve survived this long without losing your heart.”

Her hand came back up, tracing the outline of his heart, “You know what they used to say about you? Back in Hybern? They used to say you had a heart of pure gold.”

That claw she called a fingernail pressed harder against his chest, pushing into the hard flesh above his racing heart. 

Tamlin felt the quiver of magic that fluttered through his veins as Amarantha seized control of his power. Her hand turned to actual claws. 

“Let’s see if that is true.” She grinned before searing pain consumed him as she plunged her hand into his chest. 

______________________

Hours had passed, he only knew from the tall grandfather clock that stood proudly in the room, ticking with each painful, passing second. 

And in the corner, sprawled across a red velvet chair, she watched him. Picking at her nails as she watched him rouse from slumber. 

“Not gold.” She said, “The rumours were false.”

As she said the words, it was like they awakened the aching pain that throbbed through his chest, sending bolts of screaming electricity through his ribs. Tamlin groaned and tried to remain as still as possible, hoping it would slowly subside if he remained entirely still. 

“Why?” He whispered into the still air, it was a futile question, but what did he have to lose? “Why do all of this?”

She laughed, “You know why.”

“Is it the power? The fame, the fortune, just… didn’t you have all of that in Hybern?” 

He didn’t understand. He didn’t understand why anyone would want any of this. To willingly live beneath a mountain, to never taste the rain, to never bathe in sunlight, to never feel the wind on your skin. He didn’t understand why she wanted him, and he didn’t know why she wanted him caged with her. 

“I did have all that in Hybern, but I didn’t have it all.” Amarantha answered. 

“What could you have possibly wanted for?” At this point, Tamlin wasn’t even attempting to stall whatever horrible other things she had planned for him. 

He just…

Needed to know. 

She seemed to think about her answer for a good long while. With every second that passed, the clock ticked and his heart ached, despite it no longer beating. 

“You.” She murmured. 

“You had me.” He said, “All those years ago.”

“Yes, but… I did not have you. Tamlin I-” She sighed, tipping her head back.

This was…

This was different. 

But also the same. 

The woman she had become to the faces of the High lords, sickeningly sweet, putting on a performance that deserved an award. Charming and worming her way into their thoughts and hearts, until she had them wrapped around her finger, and soon their magic. 

But back then. 

Back then, Tamlin remembered a different Amarantha. One that was worn down by battle and settling disputes. One that was stoic, uncaring, unfeeling. 

Raging with grief. 

“After a certain amount of grief, you go numb.”

Was that why it was so easy to put on a performance? Because underneath it all, there was nothing really there.

“You were everything I didn’t have. Everything taken from me.” She murmured, “Pure, kind of heart, soft.”

A serpent’s smile creeped along her face, “I could not have you. So I had to take it from you.”

It was at that moment that she stood, that the lies and faces slid back into place. She leaned over him and grasped his chin. 

“I took it all from you. Drained you of that purity. That innocence.” Her lips brushed his cheek. 

“After all,”

Amarantha spoke against his mouth. 

“That's all beasts like us deserve.”

[bonecarversbestie]

Where did Amarantha get her riddles from?

Like does she have a copy of Riddles and Brainteasers to Expand Your Mind or does she stay up late into the night pacing her room to make them up?

Does she write down every riddle she hears in case she needs to use it on an illiterate teenager in the future?