#Amarantha origin story

[jules-writes-stories]

WIP | A Love That Bleeds

This is my Villains Week WIP. It's probably the closest I've ever come to writing anything considered Dead Dove (not because I'm anti, just hasn't happened yet--no TW for this excerpt). It's also the first story I will likely post, knowing it is still incredibly rough. But I'm trying to move past the unachievable quest for perfection and just share what I'm creating like a normal person lol. So here's Amarantha before she was Hybern's General, before Tamlin and Jurian's eyeball, and UTM...

Amarantha | Villains Week 2024 | Coming (hopefully) Day 7

Amarantha, eldest daughter of the House Ó Ceallaigh, hero of the Turas, was drunk. But the toasts had kept coming. And the warriors kept filling her cup. Father told her to switch to water, but she had not listened. Her head was fuzzy and the world spun on an unfamiliar axis. Several times the young Fae caught herself smiling for no reason.

She growled at the dour look on an old male’s face. He was staring at her from behind a painting. “What? Never seen a female win the Turas? Sail around the Isle in record time? Old gull.” Closing an eye allowed her to focus better. 

There was a small laugh from behind. Amarantha turned, palming her small dagger. There, in the empty corridor, was a human girl. It was her girl, from the Hall.

Amarantha resheathed her dagger and lifted her head, befitting the status of a legend. “Hasn’t anyone warned you it is dangerous to sneak up on the High Fae, mortal?” She tried to look down her nose into those enormous green eyes. It made her dizzy. So pretty. 

The human’s little rounded ears turned pink. Amarantha almost smiled again. “I beg forgiveness, Lady. I assumed one like me could not sneak up on a High Fae like you.” Her eyes sparkled with a wicked little light as they flicked towards the Fae’s pointed ears. 

Amarantha huffed. Clever creature. “Why are you lurking at these hours?” 

At this, the human curtsied, holding up her gray shift in her slender hands. She bore the brand of a crown along the inside of her wrist. Property of the King of Hybern himself. Of course. The royal household was known for hoarding the loveliest and strongest mortal slaves. They bred them regularly to keep them so. 

“His Majesty’s Steward sent me to your chamber. I was coming to find you. Her face flushed. She pulled parchment from her sleeve and lowered her head, holding out the roll.

Amarantha opened the letter and read the sloping words. A Gift. From the King of Hybern. Her dark eyes looked up at the human, who was watching her face with a keen gaze. Clever little creature indeed. 

She almost sent the slave back. The High Fae did not need another responsibility. Her narrow nineteen year old shoulders were buckling under her new role in Hybern’s court, watching out for a rebellious little sister, and trying to carve out her name on the Cliff of Legends. 

But it would be a terrible dishonor to refuse a gift. There were suddenly whispers coming from an alcove, the rustle of clothing, then a grunting sound. Amarantha needed to get out of the darkened hallway. It was not safe. She circled the slender, branded wrist. “Come.” 

She pulled the smaller female along several more doors until they approached her guest suite. It was a wing of honor, well appointed and luxurious. After locking the double doors and applying several wards, she allowed herself a chance to study the girl. 

She was more slender than Amarantha, and several inches shorter, but of a similar age. Human years were easy to discern. Her brown hair was tightly coiled, like little springs, and her skin was sun kissed. But it was those mermaid eyes Amarantha found herself falling into. 

She tore her gaze away and sat on the edge of the bed. The girl remained completely still in the moonlight, a lovely statue rescued from the ocean.

The warrior and seafarer was becoming a damned bard…

“Why did the King send you?” Amarantha asked, her eyes narrowing, as she continued to study her gift. The human was lovely and the new tug beneath her navel was back. Her breasts were small and firm. Amarantha imagined her nipples would be the color of the sky at dusk. Cauldron.

She cleared her throat, face burning. It was surely red as her hair. 

The human seemed confused. “It's tradition, my Lady. The victor of the Turas is gifted a slave from the King’s collection. His Grace noted your interest in– me– in the Hall.” She lowered her head full of curls once more. 

Amarantha felt like a fool. How was she to know of this tradition? Females were never permitted to race before, had never been offered a place in the Turas, and the only reason she was here, in this castle, instead of a cell, was because she’d won. It had been the gamble of her immortal lifetime. 

“Of course, dumb girl.” Amarantha scoffed. A shadow of anger might have passed across the slave’s soft features, but it may have been the flicker of flames from the hearth. “Well, what does the King call you?” 

When the girl did not immediately answer, she barked out, “What is your name?” 

“Peata, Mistress.” Her voice was a purr. Pet, in Old Hybernian. How fitting. It was common for the Fae to name their slaves after animals, objects, or even assign them roles.

[ae-neon]

She had a younger sister, Clythia

until Clythia fell in love with a mortal warrior...

[stormhearty]

Pairings: Rhysand x Reader, Feysand

Word Count: 5.5k+

Triggers: mentions of torture, blood, rape (all nothing explicit), insecurities, depression, PTSD

Summary: When Rhysand had gone Under the Mountain, you, his wife, followed him. However, neither of you knew it had been a trap set by Amarantha. And so, for forty-nine, while being trapped Under the Mountain, you had been his support, his pillar, his reason for living while he had been tortured and used by Amarantha. You had suffered along with him, helplessly watching from the sidelines as Rhysand had to whore his way in protecting his city, his family… and you. But little did you know that things would change when Feyre came to save the High Lord of Spring. Little did you know, that yours and Rhysand’s life would change forever. And how your husband’s bond with you would slowly unravel and wrap around the newly Made High Fae.

Note: I was sobbing while writing this. I have no idea where this came from, but I love it. I originally was thinking of basing this off a song from Phantom of the Opera, but it gotten so astray that it became this mess of emotions. This will also be some mini spoilers from ACOTAR through ACOMAF, so just an FYI. I legit thought of this while I was driving home from my 12-hour night shift nursing job. And I wrote this in a couple of hours because of how much inspiration I had! LMAO. I love Rhysand and I love Feysand so much, but I wanted to see write a story that told was so heart wrenching that it ended up being this. I have read a few fics here on Tumblr about Rhysand having a lover before Feyre ever existed. I loved reading and I wanted to have my own little spin to it. I hope you guys enjoy it!

It had been nothing but a trap.

You and Rhysand had gone to the masquerade party Under the Mountain blindly.

The echoes of Mor and Cassian’s begging for either of you to go to the party still ring in your head. The smile that you had given your family and your last words, We’ll be home before you know it, made regret ache in your chest.

It had been a long forty-nine years and the worst forty-nine years of your immortal life.

The first time that Rhysand had decided to become Amarantha’s lover, you all but begged. Begged the High Queen to spare your husband. To have him do anything besides share her bed, you had begged to have yourself tortured by the Attor — anything to save your husband from such a life.

However, Amarantha was ruthless. She wanted to have the High Lord of Night share her bed, a way to torture not only him but you as well.

Throughout the nights, for forty-nine years, you watched and waited every night, for your husband to return to your bed and cry himself to sleep. To have shivers and sobs echo through your dark bedroom. To watch him sit in the tub, trying to scrub away the indecent touches and kisses of the High Queen. You had held him, comforted him. Prayed to the Mother that both of you would be able to return home to your family with an ounce of your sanity left.

And for you, you had to stay strong, for Rhysand — for your home, for your family that was waiting for you beyond the walls of the mountain.

You held back all the tears, the heartache, the pain that racked your body every single night — so you could pick up the pieces of Rhysand that Amarantha would place in your awaiting arms every single night.

Every night you slowly placed Rhysand together, putting him back as whole as possible with all the love you can muster. Focusing on caring for him, focusing on his pain rather than your own. He was so traumatized, hating every inch of himself because of what he did when he was with Amaramtha. You watched as he was slowly breaking and you couldn’t let that happen.

You couldn’t tell him the amount of pain you were having, not when he had done everything he could to protect Velaris and you along with it.

Because while he was being used by Amarantha, you were tortured by the Attor.

That horrid creature that served the High Queen all but relished in torturing your body, mind, and soul. You had bled, unbled, and been tortured all over again — the Attor putting you back together like a child’s block and dumped back into Rhysand’s arms. And every single time, there was no evidence of your pain — no scarred skin, no broken bones. Nothing to show your suffering and anguish — nothing to show you were broken and touched by darkness.

And only you knew that your mind and soul were slowly being ripped apart.

For forty-nine years that was your fate.

For forty-nine years you were Rhysand’s pillar, his support — the one to pick up the pieces to put him together.

But for forty-nine years you were breaking, slowly but surely. And no one was there to put you back together.

And so, when that time limit was slowly ticking away, little did you know your fate was about to change — for the worse.

You watched on the sidelines, with Rhysand by your side, as Feyre Archeron, the fae-hating human, declared her love for the High Lord of Spring, realizing it was too late to save him.

You watched from the sidelines as Rhysand — being the savior that he was — secretly helped the human through her trials and tribulations against Amarantha. You watched as the bargain to keep her alive was made — watched Rhysand’s determination for the human. You couldn’t say anything, didn’t want to say anything… for you knew it would get you and your husband back home and end this long nightmare.

When Amarantha had speculations on Feyre’s winnings against her tests, she decided to use the Attor to torture you for information. In the dead of the night when everyone was high on fae wine, Amarantha had dragged you down and allowed the Attor to break you, and torture you for the information she wanted.

But you never gave up, you never let the truth slip from your lips. Even when your bones were breaking, the nails of the Attor breaking through skin to make you bleed, or when it tried to break through your mental shields to hunt for information — you held on. Fighting tooth and nail against the pain and agony — to protect your husband and the fate of Prythian. You bit down every strain, every struggle, every yell that scratched your throat — worried that anything that may come out of you would reveal the coup that was brewing under Amarantha’s very nose.

And every time Amarantha was done with your torture, the Attor would put you back together — only your mind shattered to pieces. And every night you would crawl back into bed, biting back tears and screams, as you allowed your husband to hold you throughout the night — unknowing of what had happened to you hours before.

You would feel him slip away at night at times, and you’d follow through caverns of rock only illuminated by fae light to the dungeons below, to the prison that held the human — watched as he slipped through the metal gates, all to heal Feyre from the inflicted wounds from her battles against Amarantha. You would watch as she would fight against him, spit at him, as he did everything to ensure her safety and healing. All you wanted to do was scream, but you didn’t… you couldn’t. You would slip away, returning to your bed, pretending you were asleep as Rhysand would return into your awaiting bed. And every single time, you bit your lower lip, to prevent the aching sobs that wracked your entire body.

When the final trial had come, and Feyre had completed the third trial and therefore tortured and killed by Amarantha, you watched as both Rhysand and Tamlin rushed to her aid, eventually ending the High Queen’s life and reign. You watched as all of the High Lords of Prythian stepped forward and gave that kernel of life — a bit of their lifeforce to the human and watched her transform into one of you, a Made-High Fae.

You were happy that Feyre was brought back — the Savior of Prythian, the Defeater of Amarantha’s Reign — she deserves the happy ending, after everything she had gone through.

And you had hoped that would be the same for you and Rhysand once you returned to Valeris. You stood by his side when he had greeted Feyre, and watched when Rhysand had stiffened at the sight of her. Feeling his arm wrap around your waist in a tight grip before winnowing away, watching her face shift into confusion.

Both of you landed in the Townhouse, Mor giving a screech of surprise, wide eyes as she took in the both of you.

“…Rhys… (Y/N)…” she breathed out in shock before wrapping the two of you in a death hug.

The familiar warmth of Mor had you breaking down, your own hands grasping onto her shoulders as forty-nine years of tears racked through you. The three of you fall into the wooden floors in a heap.

But the thing that ripped your soul the most — to the point that it was unrepairable— was the heartbreaking whisper from your husband.

“She’s my mate…”

It was as if your world tilted on its axis and you didn't know what was up or down, right or wrong. Your body froze, and slowly pulled away from Mor’s embrace and looked at your husband with wide eyes.

“What…?”

Rhysand looked at you, violet hues brimming with tears, agony shown through the usual twinkling stars, “Feyre’s my mate…” was all he can muster out.

Your head pounded, your blood ran cold, and all you could feel was your body scrambling away from the embrace, hands and feet clawing at the wooden floors.

Your chest heaved, as you stared at Rhysand.

How fate was so cruel to you.

You need to support him, you are his pillar, you reminded yourself as a strained smile tugged at your lips.

“That's great, my love…” you whispered, voice shaking as you tried to find the words of happiness. But it was so difficult to find — for you knew that his new-found mate, was in love with someone else; was in a whole different Court. And that echo of half of a mating bond would slowly break your husband.

You maintained your composure, scrambling over to gently wrap your arms around Rhysand, running your fingers through darkened hair, “You will be fine…” you whispered as you felt him quiver in your arms, wetness soaking your shoulder, “You will get through this…”

Both of us will get through this… was all you could wish the Mother for.

The first three months after the events of Under the Mountain were the hardest. Every night Rhysand would still wake up in the middle of the night in cold sweat, screaming. Every night you'd wake up right beside him as he vomited his guts out thinking he was still Under the Mountain, still under the hands of Amarantha. Every night you would hold him in your arms whispering how much you love him and that he was safe with you, that he was back with you in the City of Starlight — back with his family.

You would hold him until he was back asleep, the nightmares kept at bay with you at his side.

But little did he know you were also fighting your own nightmares.

You'd wake up, a hand over your mouth as you held back screams, your nails digging into your skin to stop from waking your sleeping husband with the fear that crippled your body. You would slip from your large bed, down the stairs to the cool breeze of Valeris, kneeling on the ground as you held back every vomit, every groan, every nightmare that shook your body.

You couldn't be weak, not when your family had relied so much on you to keep them together. You were the glue that kept them sane, that kept them from shattering.

But who was going to pick up your pieces when you finally break? You didn't know, and you didn't have the luxury to ask.

The first time Rhysand had winnowed to retrieve Feyre for their “bargain”, all you could do was smile. Gently handling Feyre like a newborn lamb. You cared for her, as she tried to figure out her way through her new body. You watched from the sidelines as Rhysand interacted with the new High Fae, seeing a new light in him that was sparking — one that wasn't there when he was with you.

The second time Feyre was brought to Valeris, you watched as Rhysand pushed her to try to get better, pushed her to feel something rather than the emptiness she was radiating.

“She’s killing herself, (Y/N)…” he had told you one day as the two of you walked through the streets of Valeris, “I need to help her through this…”

Your chest ached with an unpleasant feeling, your whole body screaming that it should have been you that he was saving. But you shook that unpleasant feeling and gave him a small smile, “… You're right…”

Breaking… Your husband was breaking you… bit by bit.

When you had heard the echoes of Tamlin locking Feyre in Spring Court, the anger that Rhysand seeped was enormous. He had ordered Mor to save the poor girl from Tamlin’s clutches and whisked her away back to Night Court.

The look that Rhysand had given you when Feyre all but locked herself away, withering away in that room made you break even more.

You took it upon yourself to slowly help the female, caring for her — and building her confidence and health.

You were the pillar of this family, you had reminded yourself over and over again, all the while being chipped away slowly, No one gets left behind.

You watched as Feyre gained her health, became that girl that you saw Under the Mountain — regained that spark that was put out by Tamlin for all those months. You helped Feyre find herself in this new world, but little did you know you were slowly losing yourself too.

You had given up so much of yourself for your family, for your Court, for your husband that you didn’t know yourself anymore. You questioned your self-worth — wondering if what you have done for the past few centuries was all worth it.

What had you contributed to the Night Court for all these centuries? What had you done to earn your spot next to Rhysand? You were nothing special, the dark thoughts whispered into your ears — insecurities rising from the depths of the shadows. You weren't gifted the powers of the seven High Lords like Feyre, you weren't beautiful or frightening like Mor or Armen, and you didn’t know how to fight like Azriel or Cassian — weren’t trained on the ways of Illyrian fighting. You had nothing to contribute. You had no idea why Rhysand had kept you beside him all these years.

But you continued to give and give for the people you loved. You continued to give little of yourself each time someone from your family broke down — still healing from the effects of Amarantha’s rein. You gave a bit of yourself up to Feyre, your husband’s mate, so she can heal herself from the traumatic experience of her first love. You gave a bit of yourself up for Rhysand, as he slowly healed from his trauma from Under the Mountain.

You became the crumbling pillar in their lives.

Crack, crack …you were like glass, being slowly chipped away by the people you love. Those who you had tried to protect Under the Mountain. The very people that had taken advantage of your love and care without them even knowing.

“She’s in the cabin in the mountains… The Suriel told her that she and Rhysand were mates and that the bond finally snapped in her. And Rhys’ up there too… with her.” Mor had told you over a glass of wine.

Your body froze, which seems to be a common occurrence these days, as the glass of wine slipped from your fingers, shattering on the wooden floors. Your chest burned as you stared down at the shards of glass that covered the floor, your eyes dimming as Mor’s words echoed in your head.

The bond finally snapped in her… And Rhys’ up there too… with her.

Panic filled your senses as you stood up from your chair, shards of glass digging into the bottom of your feet as you fled the room, not sure where your bleeding feet were taking you.

“Shit, (Y/N)! What’s wrong? What happened?” Mor panicked, running after you, a hand reached out to gently grab your shoulder and stop you in your tracks.

It took a moment for you to react, dull eyes blinking, as you pulled your mind from such a muddled state. You turned to look at the blonde, who stared at you with a worried gaze, eyes glancing from your face to your feet, “…I… I don’t know. I’m sorry…” you whispered, not sure why you were apologizing in the first place.

You had looked down, your naked feet oozing out bright red blood, and dulling eyes tracked your footsteps behind you. You couldn’t feel it… the pain. There was nothing… no dull or stabbing pain. You had just felt the cool red liquid on your skin beneath your feet.

“… (Y/N)… (Y/N)!!!”

Head snapped up to look at Mor who shook your form gently, “Hey… What’s going on? Why aren’t you crying, screaming in pain? You stepped on so much glass… Let’s get you to Madja, okay?”

Brows furrowed and you tilted your head at the blonde, “…But it doesn’t hurt…” you all but whispered to her, “… I… I can’t feel the pain…”

Mor blinked in disbelief before shaking her head, “…I’m taking you to Madja… We need to get you seen and healed up…”

Mor gently held both of your hands, giving you a tiny smile before she had winnowed you away to the healer.

“… We’re losing her… mind, body and soul, Rhysand…”

You don’t even remember falling asleep.

“She hasn’t slept, nor ate… She has gotten so thin and so weak over the last couple of months… Has no one in the House noticed?”

You hear filters of conversations as you weave in and out of consciousness.

“Have you been really that busy to not pay attention to your wife, High Lord?”

You recognized voices but were unsure what they were talking about. Was it about you? What was going on?

“I don’t know Madja… She always looked okay. (Y/N) was just busy with her duties… ”

That was Rhysand. Had he really not been paying attention to you lately?

“It doesn’t seem like she’s okay, boy…Why is she like this? Like an empty shell that barely is walking this Earth?”

That was Armen’s voice. She sounded angry.

“… I — I… don’t know.”

“She stepped on glass and didn’t even flinch, Rhys. What’s going on?”

That was Azriel, the steel in his voice was unmistakable.

“We won’t get answers unless we look into her mind, she should be unconscious enough that you could break through her walls.”

You could feel the hesitance in the room before you felt warm hands run through your hair.

“I’m sorry (Y/N)…”

Claws of darkness tore through your mental walls and everything sprung out.

Your memories of the Attor and Amarantha torturing you when you were Under the Mountain. The feeling of your bones breaking, skin bleeding, tears, and screams ripping through your very body every night you were tortured. The feeling of emptiness every time they had put you back together to do it again and again. The emotions of anguish and fear crippled your very soul every time Rhysand was taken away from you each night. The constant worry about your family, fear that if Amarantha found them everything would be all for naught. You had to put on a brave face for not only yourself but for Rhysand to get through this ordeal — to help him heal and push on. Because if you didn’t, you would have failed to keep your family safe.

Everything was revealed, on how broken your soul had become while Under the Mountain. And how broken you were when you realized that your husband was mated to someone else. On how little of you was left when you heard that your husband had completed the mating bond.

On how little of you was left as you gave yourself for your family.

Get out of my head…!!! you pushed Rhysand out of your mind, blockading your memories and pain with metal walls and darkness — impenetrable to the Daemati abilities of your husband.

A gasp escaped your body, back arching as eyes opened wide. Your body sitting up as you pushed hands away, scrambling away as you pressed your back against the headboard, panting as you clutched the fabric of your nightgown against your chest, eyes wide as you stared at your family.

“How dare you rip my mental shields, Rhysand??” you whispered in disbelief, your voice shaking with every word, eyes blurring with tears that threatened your vision.

Chip, chip… crack. The glass has finally broken.

“How could you do that? You had promised all those centuries ago, that you would never do that… And yet here you are… breaking that very promise!!”

You watched as the High Lord flinched, violet eyes diverting away.

Bloodshot eyes stared at the people in the room — your family surrounding the large bed that you had laid on.

“… Are you all just noticing my pain now? Was this the only way you would have ever realized the pain I had to endure for you? On the nightmares that have plagued my dreams for years on end? Have I hidden my pain so well that none of you would have seen it? Without ripping my sanity apart?!

“I’ve given so much of myself for all of you. I have fought tooth and nail to ensure that this family would continue to prosper after Amarantha’s rein… Became that pillar all of you had so wrongfully placed on me… That expectation… was a burden. I realized I couldn’t show any weakness, that I couldn’t break down and show my own nightmares because all of you were still trying to heal.”

“We never expected you to do any of that…” Rhysand started.

“Yes, you have! Who would keep this Court afloat when you were still healing? Every damn night you woke up feeling disgusted under your own skin due to everything that woman had done to you. How could I have asked you to move on and rule over your Court? I couldn’t. I needed you to heal for your own health, for your own sanity. For your family’s sanity and well-being. How could I ask any of you to move on after not having your brother for the past forty-nine years while he was being raped Under the Mountain by that woman? I couldn’t! Everyone was healing! But all of you saw how strong I still was and presumed I was alright… that it hadn’t affected me. That these past forty-nine years didn’t cause me to break… But guess what, it has! More than you have ever believed.”

You took a deep breath, tears spilling over as you fought the panic that threatened to take over your whole body.

“I was tortured, every night for the past forty-nine years by the Attor. To be ripped apart, mentally and physically… every damn night and then put back together as if nothing happened. And I would go back into the dark room with you, Rhys… to watch you break apart after what Amarantha had put you through. I watched you claw your skin at the very thought of her touching you… That her very scent seeped so deep into your skin that you wanted nothing but to claw your very soul out…”

Rhys’ gaze snapped back to yours, agony in its very depths.

A broken laugh escaped you, “How could I have told you what had happened to me when you were so broken… You cried, every night, wondering if you were still yourself… Wondering if you were enough still. How could I tell you of my pain, when you were wallowing in so much of it?

“I had to be strong… for the both of us. So that both of us could return home to our family and heal together. I became strong so that you can heal… and get us out from Under the Mountain… Together. But… I realized… after all these months… You were the only one that was able to make it out… You and Feyre…”

Your gaze drifted to the Made-Fae behind Rhysand.

“While I am stuck… Under the Mountain, with the claws of the Attor and that woman still rooted in my nightmares. And when we got out, back home… I thought that was when I could tell you of my pains, my nightmares… but, I still couldn’t. Not only did that woman still plague your dreams, but your connection to your mate haunted you as well. You felt everything that Feyre felt while she was in the horrors in Spring Court.”

A shiver broke through your fragile body, you felt as if your whole body could just shatter into millions of pieces at that point. And at that point, you wish it did. You wish you didn’t have to expose your soul to the people who broke you apart.

“You prioritized the safety of your mate, one who didn’t know of the bond, who hated your entire being… over the person who had gone through the torture and pain with you Under the Mountain. You chose your mate…”

A smile tugged at the edge of your lips, one that did not reach your eyes, one that did not twinkle as it usually did.

“And I can’t fault you for that… I want to… with every being in my body… every cell of my immortal life. But I can’t..” you whispered, your head shaking in disbelief, “I want to fault you for not choosing me. But I just can’t…Your other half, the part of your soul with breaking, dying… And I couldn’t hate you for it. I stayed strong… so that she could heal… so that both of you could heal so you can make it out of that darkness…”

And yet I brought both of you together… by healing the both of you and breaking me at the same time… You thought to yourself, your brows furrowed with pain.

A shaky sigh escaped you as you opened your eyes, and found yourself staring into violet hues. Rhysand kneeling in front of you on that bed. Shaky hands coming up to cup your face, only to have you turn away, averting his touch.

“…Please don’t touch me, Rhysand…”

You watched from the corner of your eye how the High Lord’s body stiffened at the sound of his name escaping your lips like that. You never had called him his full name, not in the centuries you have been together. It had always been Rhys… with the laugh that would accompany it, the smile that would tug at the edge of your lips when you called out to him.

Not anymore. That person had died Under the Mountain — forty-nine years ago.

“…Please don’t touch me when you have held your mate…” you pleaded, wrapping your arms around yourself — wanting to crawl into yourself and disappear, rather than have Rhys touch you, and comfort you.

“—- I…”

“—-Don’t say you’re sorry…. Just don’t. If you were truly sorry, this wouldn’t have happened…” you looked and turned to the healer, “Madja, please escort them out… I don’t want to see them right now…”

The pleas from your family went deaf to your ears, you closed your eyes hearing the yells and cries as Madja removed them from the room, the doors finally shutting, leaving you in silence.

And when you were finally alone, you finally broke, a scream so excruciating that it echoed throughout all of Prythian.

“You’re going to become a statue at this point, (Y/N)…” murmured the Captain as he placed a light shawl over your shoulders.

It had been almost a decade since Madja had gently handed you over to the High Lord of Dawn Court.

The Night Court healer realized that you had been too broken — too fragile to be glued together by her ancient, old healer hands. Madja knew you’d continue to suffer underneath the skies of Valeris, to be so close to those who had ripped small pieces of you away, leaving nothing but the raw edges.

You needed somewhere to heal, and Thesan had willingly opened his doors up for you after hearing what had happened. The High Lord remembered you from Under the Mountain, a figure that had always stood by Rhysand's side — a figure of support for the High Lord of Night Court.

And yet when things fell apart, they had left you… pieces on the ground — shattered. He couldn't leave you that way, not after everything that you went through.

So he took you in, healing your mind, soul, and heart.

It had been a tough few years. You were an empty shell of your former self. You never ate, never slept, didn’t even say a word to anyone — just stared into the golden light of Dawn Court skies. It took a lot of coaxing from both Thesan and his lover to get you to start healing.

It was slow, excruciatingly slow. But Thesan knew that it would take years, centuries even for the amount of pain and trauma to minimize.

When you felt the light shawl drape over your shoulders, you looked up at the Captain and gave him a small smile, nodding your head to thank him.

The Captain of the Peregryn hummed out a stood next to you while you sat in your chair, awaiting his lover to join the two of you. You knew that the High Lord had a meeting with one of the Seasonal Courts that day and it would have been a long meeting and Thesan didn’t want to leave you alone too much due to your delicate condition; and thus having his lover stay by your side.

You heard the door open, but it sounded distant as you just stared absentmindedly outside, allowing the cool breeze of Dawn Court to wrack a shiver through your body.

“I told you to watch over her, my love…” Thesan’s voice echoed through your room.

What you didn’t expect was another pair of footsteps to follow Thesan’s. Your body stiffened, an unknown person entering the sanctuary of your bedroom. Feeling a familiar weight on your shoulder, you looked up to gaze up at the High Lord of Dawn who gave you a gentle smile, “You will get a cold, my child…” he murmured.

“That’s why I gave her a shawl…” you heard the Captain murmured. And the light battering between lovers caused you to tug a tiny smile on your features.

Your eyes moved from the couple to the person that had occupied Thesan’s side. You recognized him — the High Lord of Summer, Tarquin. You met him briefly Under the Mountain, but never spoke to him. Turquoise eyes met yours and he bowed his head, and you just tilted yours in question.

Thesan watched your movement and glanced at the Summer High Lord.

“My child… I think it’s time that you make new friends…”

Tarquin stepped towards you and set out his hand. You stared at it for a few moments before you raised your own to place on top of his palm, “It’s an honor to meet you, (Y/N)…” he hummed out, pressing a kiss on top of your hand, “My name is Tarquin — -”

“… I know who you are High Lord of Summer…” your voice weak, a whisp of sound in the Dawn wind, “Why are you here? Why are you willing to see me?”

Tarquin’s brows scrunched together before he relaxed his features, “… I want to help you heal… A decade in Dawn Court sounds boring…”

Thesan’s quip on the side caused a quirk in your lip as you focused on Tarquin.

“Come with me to the Summer Court, hopefully the warmth there will heal you a bit more…”

You stared at Tarquin, hesitance in your every feature, a hesitant nod causing Tarquin to smile before winnowing you away, landing in Summer soil, greeted by the warm sun.

[hellodarling1357]

Flames and Embers - Cassian x Vanserra!Reader (slow burn)

Summary: As Beron's sixth child, and only daughter, you had spent your whole life being overlooked and under utilitised. It wasn't until Amarantha's reign that your talents were truly recognised for what they were - too bad you were forced to make a bargain to keep them secret

A/N: Hi! This started out as a request I received the other week but then turned into something completely different and so far from the original request that it’s now getting it’s own multi-part story

This will eventually become a Cassian x Reader fic with a bit of angst, fluff, slow burn, enemies-to-lovers, and all the other fun tropes we know and love!

Enjoy 🥰

Word Count: 3k

Being the only daughter of the Autumn Court’s High Lord, alongside having seven brothers to compete with, you had been overlooked for most of your life which was just fine by you.

You had used the cover of being just a female in an archaic court to your advantage and took the time to observe and learn whatever you could. After being forced to witness how your brothers treated Lucien, you had always tried to have his back, which only went so far when any show of defiance from you was met with a beating. When Lucien had been forced out of your home, you had been heartbroken it had come to it but also happy that your youngest brother could finally become his own person and escape the cruelty that had followed him around his whole life.

Eris had always tried to keep an eye on you. He wouldn’t give up the façade in front of the others, however, he would find the time whenever he could to take you out riding into a long-forgotten part of the woods where he would teach you how to fight. The day you landed him on his ass had been one of his proudest moments, but that didn’t stop him from upping the pressure, forcing you to become stronger and more tactful in each step. Knowing that you could easily take on the rest of your brothers is what kept you from lashing out at their comments and actions towards you; with Lucien gone, you had become their next punching bag to which your father turned a blind eye.

Then Amarantha showed up and everything was turned on its head.

It was in no way a pleasant 50 years, however, you managed to stay out of harm’s way, no doubt at the hands of Eris' doing, and managed to avoid most of the horrors that occurred. However, once the human girl, Feyre, had arrived, you made yourself more present in the ongoings of Amarantha’s court, unable to leave the girl fully alone and fending for herself. Your need to help her was further spurred on upon realising that Lucien appeared to be her friend.

Lucien. The thought that your brother, the one who had managed to escape the past 50 years of torment, was now here as well had you feeling as though you had somehow let him down, even though it was completely out of your control. You hadn’t been present the first time Tamlin had sent Lucien to seek out Amarantha, the time when she had so viciously carved out his eye that even some of your brothers seemed somewhat affronted. However, you were there now. You had watched on in horror as Lucien defended Feyre, and then the 20 lashes Tamlin was forced to give after he helped with the first task…

Once Lucien had been allowed to retreat to his room, you had spent the next hour finding out as much as you could about Amarantha's plans for Feyre and your brother. With healing supplies in hand, you ventured into the sprawling court to where you had been told Lucien resided. With a quiet knock on his door, you entered the room and felt your heart break at the shaken, broken form of your brother. Despite the clear pain he was in, he had leapt off the bed at the sight of you and was quick to pull you into a tight embrace.

“Y/N,” He had exclaimed, carefully surveying you for any signs of injury. “Are you alright? What’s happened? Cauldron, I’ve missed you.” Then he was pulling you into another hug that left you in tears.

When was the last time you had seen him? It had been decades.

“I’m fine,” You brushed him off and made him sit so you could assess his injuries. “You look like you’ve seen better days.” He made a non-committal sound in response, taking in a deep breath at the sting of the healing balm you helped spread across his back. You pushed onto your heels, assessing the damage and your makeshift attempt of bandaging the wounds.

“What can I do?” You asked, feeling just as helpless as you did when growing up.

“Check in on Feyre. Please. I can’t…I can’t do anything, not now. And whatever game Tamlin is playing, he won’t go see her. Please. She’s all alone.” You hesitated for a moment but found yourself nodding.

“Of course. Of course I’ll go and see her.” You lowered your voice, not trusting that anywhere in this place was truly safe. “Does she truly love him?” If she did, then you all had a chance of getting out.

“She does.” Lucien answered, a small smile tugging on his lips.

“Anything else, let me know, alright? I’ll go and check on her.” You gave your brother a final hug and then slipped from the room, making your way towards the dungeons.

*****

“Feyre?” You whispered into the darkness, the guards were in the middle of their rotation, so you had few valuable minutes to slip in and out undetected, the limited healing supplies and food you managed to take with you were clutched tightly into the folds of your dress.

An incoherent groan sounded from further down the dark, cage-lined corridor. You hurried over, halting in your steps when you saw her sitting against the wall still covered in blood and mud, a pained expression on her weary face.

“Feyre? I’m Y/N. I’m Lucien’s sister, he asked me to check on you, see how you were holding up.” You tried to stay optimistic but the wound on her arms was nothing that you could fix. Maybe before Amarantha stifled everyone’s magic you would stand a chance, but not now when all you could offer were some clean rags, a bit of water and a scrap of bread.

You knelt on the floor in front of her cell, unable to get in without your magic or access to the key.

“I know it hurts, but are you able to move a bit closer, I can’t help you from here.” You cringed as you watched Feyre grit her teeth, slowly moving across the floor, pain evident on her face.

“Y/N?” She asked in a strained voice, you nodded with a small smile, passing her the bread which she quickly bit into. “Lucien told me about you. Said that you were here.”

“I don’t have long, here, give me your arm I’ll do my best to clean it but there’s not much else I can do. At least not right now.” You wiped away the blood and muck that lingered from the first task, trying not to grimace as you took in the severity of the wound. The sound of movement spurred you on, quickly ushering her to drink the water and finish the bread so you could leave before getting caught.

“I’ll try to get back here soon, okay?” Feyre was already making her way back towards the rear wall where she slumped against it. You were almost out when a small voice called out.

“Y/N? Thank you.”

*****

Managing to obtain some of the healing balm that you had used on Lucien's injuries, you kept to the shadows as you made your way back down to the dungeons.

You had been keeping an ear out for what Amarantha’s plans were for the girl; if she planned on healing her before the next task or leaving her in the dark cell to fend for herself. Either way, you couldn’t be too obvious in your efforts to help, lest you get caught and wind up dead for the blatant disregard of Amarantha's orders.

The sound of voices had you slowing in your steps as you overhead the back end of a conversation. Someone was in Feyre’s cell with her.

“Oh, that’s wonderfully gruesome.” You recognised that voice, but surely it wasn’t…

Feyre swore at the male, earning her a chuckle as he taunted, “Such words from a lady.”

You edged closer to the cell, unsure what your next move would be from here but still unwilling to leave her to fend for herself against Rhysand.

“Get out,” Feyre’s voice was frail as she tried to show her strength against the High Lord.

“Don’t you want me to heal your arm? Or is that what Y/N Vanserra is here to do? I know you’re there, Y/N.” His voice called out to you now.

Shit.

You approached the cell; it was too late to turn back. Your best chance was to play along with his games, there was not point in running, not when he knew you were there and that it clearly wasn’t your first visit.

“Hmm, wiping away the grime was a valiant effort, and what’s this you have?” The healing balm disappeared from your grasp, reappearing moments later in Rhysand’s hand. “Well, that’s not going to do much against the infection and broken bones.”

Rhysand turned back to face Feyre, “But how about a trade? I’ll heal your arm in exchange for you. Two weeks every month, two weeks of my choosing, you’ll live with me at the Night Court. Starting after this messy three-trials business.” You desperately shook your head, trying to tell her he couldn’t be trusted.

“No.”

“No? Really?”

“Get out.”

“You’d turn down my offer – and for what? A fool’s chance that this healing balm will work? Or are you holding out for your friend – for Lucien, correct? After all, he healed you before, didn’t he? Then convinced his dear sister Y/N to come down to tend to you after the first trial.”

Now Rhysand turned to face you, giving you a look that had you thinking he could see your every thought, which, you remembered with dread, he probably could. You had never been taught how exactly mental shields worked but you did your best to block him out. It clearly wasn’t enough judging from the chuckle and assessing look he gave you before facing Feyre again.

“The way I see things Feyre, you have two options. The first, and the smartest, would be to accept my offer.” Your eyes widened in anticipation as Feyre spat at his feet, but Rhysand continued pacing the length of the cell.

“The second option – and the one only a fool would take – would be for you to refuse my offer and place your life, and thus Tamlin’s, in the hands of chance.”

Rhysand had stopped pacing, staring hard at Feyre who had turned white as a sheet and looked as thought she may pass out at any moment.

“Let’s say I walk out of here. Perhaps this healing balm will work,” He tossed it back to you, desperate in your attempt to grab it before it could shatter to the floor. “Perhaps Lucien will come to your aid and offer his magic. Or perhaps he won’t come at all. Between you and me, he’s been keeping a low profile after his rather embarrassing outburst at your trial. Amarantha’s not exactly pleased with him. Tamlin even broke his delightful brooding to beg for him to be spared – such a noble warrior, your High Lord. She listened, of course – but only after she made Tamlin bestow Lucien’s punishment. Twenty lashes.”

Feyre started shaking, eyes darting up to you in confirmation and what looked like betrayal. You hadn’t told her about the lashes.

“Although, from what I heard, the punishment wasn’t overly effective seeing that the wounds somehow healed over within a few hours without the assistance of magic. You would almost think that something like that healing balm you've got there, Y/N, was used despite Amarantha’s order that there was to be no assistance provided.” Rhysand tutted as he turned to you with a smile that made your stomach coil but said no more on the matter.

“So, Feyre, it’s really a question of how much you’re willing to risk it. I don’t need to invade your thoughts to know that you’re wondering if that fever of yours is the first sign of infection. I already know that you’ve slowly been realising that you’re dying.” There was a beat of silence in which Feyre stared back at him with such hatred, you felt your pulse quicken at the thought that it may be too late to help.

“Well?”

“Go. To. Hell.”

Before you could react, Rhysand lashed out and twisted Feyre’s arm, her scream echoing throughout the cell as she thrashed against him. But he kept his grip, twisting the bone a final time before releasing her arm as she half sobbed and panted through the pain.

“This is the last time I’ll extend my assistance. Once I leave this cell, my offer is dead.” Feyre spat at him again but remained silent.

With a disappointed sigh, Rhysand began to ripple with darkness. You weren’t sure what to think; you couldn’t trust him but if Feyre really was dying and this was her only chance of survival…

“Wait.”

The darkness around the High Lord vanished, solidly appearing again with a grin as he faced Feyre.

“Yes?”

“Just two weeks?”

“Just two weeks. Two teensy, tiny weeks with me every month is all I ask.” He was kneeling in front of her now as he purred out his terms. As if suddenly aware of how much time you had already spent down here, your senses picked up, listening closely for any sounds of the returning guards, but there was nothing.

A surge of magic had you turning to face the cell just as Rhysand grabbed Feyre’s arm. She let out a scream before fainting, head falling against the wall.

“What did you do?” You yelled, banging on the bars of the cell in a futile attempt to get in.

“Exactly what we bargained for. Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about you, Vanserra.” Before you could process his words, Feyre was suddenly sitting up, with the blood and mud completely gone you could do nothing but watch as some colour finally returned to her cheeks. Letting out a sign you offered her a small smile, at least he had kept his word and healed her arm. The remainder of the bargain was something to think about later when you all got out of this mess. If you all got out of this mess.

“What have you done to me?” Only then did you notice the black swirls that covered her skin and the large eye tattooed in the centre of her palm.

“It’s custom in my court for bargains to be permanently marked upon flesh.”

“Make it go away.”

“You humans truly are grateful creatures, aren’t you?” Rhysand stood back up, darkness wafting around him again. “I think I’ll wait to tell Tamlin about our little bargain. I do wonder if he will be as appreciative as you are. Rest up, Feyre.” And then he was gone in a shadow of night.

“Feyre? Are you alright?” You knelt on the floor outside the cage, surveying her for any signs of potential harm caused by Rhysand, but she just looked tired, troubled.

“I’m fine. My arm is fine. I just feel stupid, he didn’t do that to help me, he did it to hurt Tamlin.”

You let out a sigh, “We’ll deal with that later, alright? At least you’re not about to die, so we will take that as a win.” Standing back up you surveyed her again; she was so young and had already faced so much more than most of the fae here. “I’ve been here too long, I need to go before the guards return. But, Feyre, I’ll be back. I promise.”

*****

You slipped out of the dungeons and hurried down the corridor, quickly ducking behind a corner at the sound of the guards returning.

“Hello, Y/N.”

You jumped at his voice, heart hammering in your chest as you turned to face Rhysand where he casually leant against the wall, picking at his jacket as he surveyed you with mild interest.

“I was starting to wonder about what you had been getting up to after all these years here. We never see you at any of our Lady’s…festivities.”

“I must have missed the invite.” You tried to step around him. You had gone this long without piquing the interest of any of Amarantha’s cronies, managing to stay relatively to yourself, and you’d be damned if you were forced to show your face now.

“Interesting,” His violet eyes continued to assess you. “You know, it doesn’t surprise me really. I remember back when we were just children, playing court whilst forced to join in on the formalities. You always managed to remain in the shadows, yet even back then, you somehow knew everything and got away with so much.”

You stared back, eyes narrowing as you waited for him to continue. He clearly had some angle he was getting at.

“Yes. Those particular skills may be useful to me one day. And while I’m in such a giving mood, how about a bargain of our own? You be my eyes and ears,” You scoffed, already shaking your head as you attempted to walk away again. “And in return, I’ll keep your role in all of this quiet. You wouldn’t want Amarantha to know that it was you who helped Lucien, and now Feyre, would you? After all, I’m sure she would be pleased to be reminded of your presence in her court.”

Glaring at him, you knew he had you cornered. The satisfied smirk that played on his face told you that he knew as well.

With a reluctant sigh you stretched out your hand which he firmly grasped.

“Fine.”

“Lovely.”

You refused to break eye contact with the High Lord as you felt his magic encase your upper arm and shoulder, no doubt leaving a similarly intricate pattern to the one now splayed across Feyre’s arm.

You looked down to see if there was any visible evidence of the bargain, but it was completely covered by your dress. Good. At least that would stop any questions from being asked.

“I’ll be seeing you around, Y/N.” And then he was gone in another shadow of darkness.

[readychilledwine]

Thrive

Summary - After being sent to the Spring court by her new High Lord, y/n Vanserra is in for a bigger surprise and welcome home than she could have ever imagined. (Smut)

Warnings - mentioned failed engagement, praise kink, mention of breeding kink, vine related bondage, sex pollen, Rhys kind of being a dick, and some Rhys slander, unedited by an outside source (dying on the inside about that, so will continue to you know constantly fix it)

A/N - I apologize for the delay on this. After rereading the original, I REALLY hated how I had Rhysand treating my Vanserra reader when the reality is he is pushing her there for the good of everyone involved. I'm still not 100% happy with this piece, but I'm a sucker for the Tamlin.

There were perks to being Lucien's sister.

You always had the best clothing, sparkling jewelry, and Lucien, ever the dutiful brother since the shared banishment, would always ensure you were warm and safe.

There were also downsides to being Lucien's sister.

The biggest was sitting across from you at his mahogany desk, inky dark hair a mess from the verbal disagreement you two were having.

You hated the Night Court. Rhysand reminded you too much of Beron, too much of Eris. And for no reason.

The most powerful High Lord in the History of the lands, but he couldn't be bothered to take care of all of his fae? Just the ones in his precious Velaris?

That wasn't power in your mind. It was discrimination. It was willful ignorance.

“You cannot command me to go to a court I am banished from, therefore to my fucking death, just to repair YOUR mistakes. Send Azriel or Lucien.”

Rhysand sighed and leaned back. “Azriel has better things to do than play liaison between the Night Court and Tamlin. Lucien was also beaten the last time he was there.”

Rhys paused, locking the door with his magic as footsteps were heard approaching. “You know damn well why I am sending you.”

“He doesn't want it, Rhysand,” defeat laced your tone. “He made that pretty clear.”

“That was when Amarantha was alive. When being with you would have endangered your life. See it from-”

“I see a male who went to war for someone else,” you interrupted. “Who is mourning someone else.”

Rhys slammed his hands down and stood, “Enough! You're going. Pack a fucking bag and get ready.”

An order.

You felt it sit into your bones, weighing them down. You stood and left the office, Lucien closing his book as you did and walking beside you.

“It will be fine,” Lucien seemed to be convincing himself more than you. “He won't hurt you.”

The reality you didn't respond with was that he already had.

Azriel walked beside you silently. You were leading him, gently tugging that frayed bond to lead you to Tamlin. “I won't leave you.”

You nodded. “I wish you would.”

He looked up and sighed. “He shouldn't have asked this of you.”

“He didn't ask,” you clarified. “He ordered. I wasn't given a choice but to obey.”

Azriel's jaw tightened. “I wish you two would get along.”

“Tall ask. You can go. I know where he is.”

It was the same place he always was after Feyre left.

The same place Lucien had found him.

It was the same place you knew you were walking towards for the last mile.

The Starlight Pool.

You had heard the whispered ghost stories. The now almost legend of the High Lord of Spring, a male so lost in grief over the loss of his love that he changed himself into a beast and seemed to have lost the ability to turn back.

The myth Tamlin had become was almost laughable.

Children would whisper that he'd shift back for true love and nothing else. Once that shift happened, Spring would repair and thrive under his hand.

You sighed, sitting next to him as he glared hard at you. True love, my ass, You thought to yourself. “Don't look so thrilled to see me. I'm not exactly excited to be here either.”

Tamlin seemed to roll his eyes before placing His head into your lap. He didn't verbally respond in your mind. Just kept staring ahead at the pool, watching as sunlight danced off the water.

Your hand absentmindedly went to scratch behind his ears, a soft chuckle escaping as he began to purr softly. “We're worried about you, Tam. About Spring. Dad has allied Autumn with a Death God. The continent is an unknown ally. He sees your current state as a chance to start war between the courts.”

His eyes shifted towards you, and he stood. He seemed to motion for you to follow. Eyes locked towards where the remains of his home, your former home stood. “I'm not going in there,” you whispered. “The last time I was in there-”

You didn't need to finish the sentence.

He had locked you and Feyre inside. Trapping you both there.

Only she had been saved by Mor.

His efforts to lock you in had been greater.

Leaving you in just your room with only Alis allowed to enter and leave until he and Lucien returned. Your captivity didn't end until he banished you after Feyre and Lucien ran.

It was worse than being confined to Amarantha's room with Rhys as your only company.

Here you had been alone. Truly alone.

At least Rhys had tried to make light of the situation.

And if you were honest with yourself, constantly seeing Rhysand naked also helped. But he's had told you many times that feeling was mutual.

Tamlin stopped. He turned to you with his head cocked as if questioning your stubbornness and then stalked over to you. “We talk where there won't be ears listening or not at all, y/n. You decide.”

You didn't have time to answer before he all but headbutted you onto his back and began walking.

Tamlin all but threw you down when you two entered the manor. He sat staring at you, not shifting from his beast form. “Did you forget how to shift back? Or do you just not want to?”

Tamlin huffed again, eyes staring into you as you dug into the broken glass on the floor with your foot. He disappeared for a few moments, returning to you in his fae form.

“Tam..” You moved to him, hands holding his dirty face. “You can't keep living like this.” His normally silky golden hair was tangled and stained. Grown out and matted from a lack of maintenance. He was covered in dirt, and Mother knew what else. “Tamlin-”

He shook his head, moving to the stairs while holding your hand in his. “There's still one safe place here. Come.”

You followed him, heart aching as you took in the wreckage of your home. Your former safe haven. Glass and splintered wood were everywhere, deep claw marks down formerly painted walls. Doors ripped from hinges and rooms ransacked for money, for goods, for anything worth a mark.

He took you down a familiar path, down a familiar hall. He took you past the room's Feyre and Lucien had occupied, down further and further until you were in an all too well-known spot. The hall you and he had occupied.

His room was destroyed as well. Windows shattered, floor boards missing.

But two doors at the end of the hall stood closed and heavily warded.

The one you two had built a nursery in.

And the one that led to what would have been your quarters as Lady Spring.

He opened the door to your chambers, wordlessly, and pulled you in. He watched in silence as you stood there.

Nothing had changed.

It was as if your room had stood completely still as war raged all around it.

Countless flower crowns hung on the walls. Their beauty perfectly preserved. Your perfumes, makeup, lotions, hair brushes. They all sat neatly lined up on that carved rosewood vanity, mirror still tilted exactly how you liked it. The romance novel you had been reading sat, bookmark still in place on the coffee table.

Even the two-piece light blue dress you had planned to wear that day he sent you from home was hung up in the exact spot.

“I had always wanted to see you in that dress,” Tamlin walked to it like a ghost, fingers reaching for the material before pulling back. “You never wore it, though.”

Your response was quiet, brain still processing the room, “I didn't ever have an occasion to. We purchased it for our engagement tour.”

Tamlin hummed softly. “I never wanted to call that off.”

The confession hung. Ringing in your ears as he moved to your bathroom, also untouched as the day you had left, and shut the door behind him.

You turned to that other rosewood door. The one you knew led to the nursery for the future babe you and Tamlin had planned on trying for before Amarantha came and ruined your wedding, your mateship, your lives.

You turned the golden knob before freezing completely.

Nothing had moved. The stuffed animals still sat in their hammocks. The crib was still made. The soft curtains still drawn to allow in light.

He preserved you. Only you. Only memories and places involving you. A familiar deep voice entered your mind. I sent you for a reason. You are just too damn stubborn to listen. Claws left as quickly as they came. Your mind empty until two now clean hands found your upper arms.

“I have a lot to make up for-”

You stopped him before he could start, turning rapidly in his arms and pulling his lips down to yours.

Apologies didn't matter to you right now.

You had always believed actions spoke louder than words ever could, and his actions were screaming. They were pleading, no begging, for you to see what Rhysand must have when he came here.

Tamlin didn't want Feyre.

He didn't want that forced love that came from dire circumstances.

He wanted you.

He wanted that love that had started as friendship when you took asylum in Spring.

He wanted that love that grew from several years of courtship.

He wanted the love you two shared that came long before a Mother placed mating bond ever snapped.

Tamlin quickly lifted you, carrying you into the bedroom. You pulled away, forehead resting On his to catch a breath. “I never stopped loving you, and I am so sorry my anger, my hatred, and my need for control stood in the way of that. I will never be able to fix what I broke.”

You shook your head, ignoring the tears forming as he stroked the bond gently. “Sometimes broken things become better once they're allowed to grow and repair.”

Tamlin hummed softly. “You're making this easy on me.”

You responded only with a kiss as he laid you on the bed, hands finding his bare chest. “You cleaned up quickly.”

“You tend to when the love of your life is standing in your ruined home and all you want to do is show her how much you love her, how sorry you are, and worship every inch of her body.”

Tamlin began kissing your cheekbones, then ear, then down your jawline. You nodded as he paused at your neck, a brow raised and waiting for confirmation and consent. You eagerly nodded. Mind already getting lost in the sensations you had not felt in over 50 years.

You knew the anger would come back, the absolute rage with him for what he did to you, to Feyre, to Lucien. You knew the hurt would come back. You knew this was a bandage on a gapping wound just waiting for infestation, but all you could think about what his soft lips kissing and marking their way down the column of your throat, and those wandering hands.

“Hate Night Court attire,” he mumbled into your collarbone before both hands ripped the dress to your navel. “Might as well wear nothing.”

You hand traced to his hair, gently massaging his scalp as he continued to kiss down to your breasts. “So perfect,” he seemed to be speaking to himself, mind trapped in a fog as he licked between the valley of chest and squeezed both of them. He flicked your right nipple as he gently pinched the left before beginning to lick and suck at the sensitive peak, smirking as your back arched and a soft whisper of his name fell from your lips. He waited until he was satisfied before releasing the bud with a soft pop and moving to the other side.

His hands continued moving down, lifting his body slightly, he tore the dress the rest of the way, leaving you bare to him and allowing his hands to move down to your hips, thumbs softly massaging the area.

Tamlin had always been a gentle lover with you, kissing and worship, murmuring praise and adoration into your skin as if those words would erase the years of degradation and pain your father had inflicted.

It was like a fever had hit you the second you realized his lips had followed his hands and he nipped at your hip bone with a hum. You sniffed the air as you felt him chuckling below you. “Unfair,” you whined, back arching again as he kissed your inner thigh before placing your leg over his shoulder. “Tam!” You almost jumped as he kitten licked your core, a growl coming from him as the sight of your soaked heat just begging for him. “Tamlin, I'm not going to last if you keep-” a lick through your folds that nudged the bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs made silence fall over you.

You sniffed the air again, scenting that almost sticky sweet scent again as your body began to heat up and relax further into his touch.

Being the mate of the High Lord of Spring had it's perks.

The first was the male, due to years of celebrating Fire Night, knew what he was doing. That was evident as he alternated now between pushing his tongue into your core, opening your walls for him, and suckling and rolling that sweet bundle of nerves over and over humming with each moan that tumbled from your lips and each tug of his hair.

The second perk was also a downside.

Tamlin's powers allowed him to control pollens.

All pollens.

Including the sweet smelling one that was adapting it's self to a scent of musk and rain, wrapping you in the all too familiar and intoxicating scent of your mate and sending your body into overdrive with need.

Sex pollens were Tamlin's favorite thing to use on you.

He loved watching you writhing below him, begging incoherently for something-anything- to ease the heat and arousal paining you.

He loved how quickly you became cock drunk for him, eyes glistening and glazed over from tears. Mouth open as you panted the entire time.

And he loved how quickly and how many times he could force you to cum.

He was pushing for that one, eating your pussy for his pleasure as if it was the most divine meal he'd had in years. Savoring each drop of you like it was the finest wine in the land.

You were almost in tears at this point, riding and grinding on his face until a forearm came and held your hips firmly against the bed. A warning of the third perk of being his mate if you did not behave. “Stop. Moving.” He growled at you, “Or I will stop you myself.”

“Yes, High Lord,” he growled again at the submission, going back to his task at hand. A long whine left your throat as he sucked your clit into his mouth and his free hand moved up your thigh, stroking the soft inner skin there before running along your dripping core. He didn't ease you in, pushing In two wet thick fingers and make your mouth fall open into a silent scream.

He curled them up exactly where he needed to and began hitting that spot over and over in time with his tongue, humming and moaning into you as he got off on your noises of need and pleasure.

You could feel your peak building rapidly and the bond beginning to vibrate for release. “Tam,” you panted out. “Fuck! Tamlin!” You came without warning, screaming his name as his tongue circled your clit again. He never slowed his assault, forcing you to ride it out until your body began to slowly calm itself from the dragged out high and the heat from the sex pollen subsided slightly.

Tamlin released your clit and pulled his fingers from you, licking and sucking them clean as his eyes closed and he almost purred.

He crawled back up your body, kissing you softly. “More,” you begged as your stomach began to retighten, pussy clenching around nothing.

He kissed your neck, nipping at the spot that he knew drove you wild with need. “More?” You nodded eagerly, hands shooting for his pants only to stopped by a familiar thick crawling feeling.

Vines wrapped around your wrists and ankles, pulling your hands above your head and your legs wide open for him. Trapping you with nowhere to go and completely at his mercy. “I told you to stop moving,” he tutted softly.

You watched as he stood, fighting helplessly against the vines pulling tighter and tighter until you stilled. Tamlin removed his pants antagonizingly slow before getting back on top of you. You whined again, unable to communicate what you needed as a full pollen induced haze left you nothing but a mess soaking the sheets below you. “There's my lovely little mate,” a finger stroked your cheek, affection and adoration pouring down the bond. “So pretty when we need our High Lord's cock, aren't we?”

“Please,” his eyes fluttered shut at The plea, loosing your legs slightly to wrap and lock them around his waist using the vine. “Mate, please.”

That one word.

That one Mother blessed word.

It had his end of the bond screaming. Pushing lust, love, and primal need to breed down to you.

Tamlin lined up either your entrance, head of his cock already leaking as he twitched with anticipation. “Mate, take me, please.” He pushed in to the hilt swiftly causing a gasp to push through you as he all but ripped the Air from your lungs.

He didn't wait For you to adjust, that feral urge now winning over, and he set a rough fast pace. Pulling back and slamming into you over and over causing the headboard to pound against the wall.

You had forgotten How he felt, stretching you wide and kissing your cervix with each harsh thrust. You had forgotten how good he felt, each vein massaging your walls and hitting nerves Helion's court had even discovered or named yet. You had forgotten how perfect and complete You felt below him, how his length filled you to the brim, slotting him inside of you like your pussy was a sleeve made just for him.

You remembered now why You had turned every lover away at your Door now.

No male or female could make you feel the way Tamlin did as he threw his head back, eyes squeezed shut moaning your name.

Even in submission, spread wide and laid bare for your mate, Tamlin made you feel power as he fucked you, taking your very being into his hands and craddling you tenderly.

“Fucking love you. Love you so much, y/n.” He groaned again, feeling your walls twitch. “Won't last in this perfect pretty pussy, Baby.” His hand moved, coming to your clit again. “Need to feel you cum on my cock. Need you to scream my name. Need to cum inside you, petal.”

You moaned, eyes beginning to water and drool coming out of your constantly open mouth. You were so lost in each thrust, each roll of his hips, each soft circle his finger made on you that you could only lay There. All words besides his name and the pleading for him to keep going to keep fucking you had eddied from your mind.

You felt your walls begin to twitch and then as your need for release began to approach a crescendo. “Tamlin,” whispered. “Tam-”

“I know, petal. I know. Me too. Need you to cum, y/n. Need you to, baby. Please.”

And there is was. His submission and begging sent you over the edge, screaming his name as you began to milk his cock and tightened your leg around him.

He spilled into you seconds later, moaning your name loudly as he buried himself deep inside of you.

Neither Of you spoke as you came down from that shared high. Vines slowly removed themselves from your body, causing you to fall limp onto The bed in a mess of whines and whimpers.

Tamlin rolled over, pulling you onto him and keeping his cock deep inside of you.

He reached to where the covers had been kicked to, pulling them on top of both of you and cradling you against his chest.

You felt the shields go back up. Eyes fluttering shut as he played with your tangled red hair.

“Y/n, you knew what today Was before you came. Right?” You hummed against him with a shrug. “Petal. It's Calanmai. We just-” Tamlin stopped speaking when he saw you were deep asleep. “We'll talk about it in the morning.”

[achaotichuman]

Recently I delved into the depths of my docs to find the first fanfiction I wrote for ACOTAR that never saw the light of day.

Obviously it's horrible writing, but I like the premise and since I am addicted to piling more projects on top of my scheldule I rewrote the first chapter and redid the plot for it.

Originally these events take place a year or two after the war with Hybern, and everything is the exact same EXCEPT for somethin Tamlin is doing.

I changed it so that this is a fic of what would have happened if Tamlin didn't give over that drop of power to bring Rhysand back.

Anyway, here's there rewritten chapter. Tell me if you guys like it!

“Be happy Feyre.”

The words nearly tumbled out of his mouth. The carefully loving words that wrapped like ivy around his throat, choking him, those last cords of love that had twisted into something else. That had made him soft for her. He had offered his heart like ripe fruit on a silver platter for her to take and now look at where he stood. 

Bloodied, gore and guts clinging to his armour like a second layer of skin, mud caked on his legs and arms. Hair a mess, dirty and disgusting. His people, his armies, whom he had gone to his knees to earn the trust of them back, after she twisted their minds, undid their memories, stared in every personal thought to create a new story for all of them. One that fit her narrative. 

The damage she had caused, the things she had taken. What she had done, what she had cost not just them but all of Pryhtian. Destroying the Courts she had saved not even a year ago. 

Now, on her knees, holding the man who had assaulted her night after night after night whilst she vomited, cried and danced and laughed, and been drugged. She screamed his name whilst she cling to his lifeless form. 

The good for nothing bastard Lord was finally dead. Tamlin should have breathed a sigh of relief. 

Instead every High Lord stood around awkwardly, as one after the other they had willingly handed over their magic despite what this man had done to them. Despite how much they all hated him. They did it for his grief-stricken mate who screamed for them to help. To bring him back the same way she had come back. 

But he was dead for what he had done. Giving over power to remake the Cauldron, the mother had taken his very soul with the magic, the price paid to put the world back together. 

Truly, who were they to defy her?

Tamlin stood up straight, when Feyre stared up at him, eyes filled with tears as she saw his stone-cold face. 

“Please,” She screamed, “Please I’ll do anything!”

Green eyes cut from her to the other Lords. None made eye-contact with him. All looking elsewhere, anywhere, the grey-red clouds above, the torn battlefield layered with bodies on decaying bodies, the rivers running red with blood. Some of them, no doubt reminded of Amarantha’s reign of terror by the bloodshed, looked to the muddy ground. 

But none dared look in his eye, all knew what she had done to him. Her reasons for doing so. They also all knew what he had done to her. 

But staring down at her now, thinking back on all of it. 

Thinking back on the slander of Court, the destruction of his people. The lying, the scheming, the pure hatred. 

Then there was one final thought that struck true. 

What would they have all done if it had been him dead on the floor and not Rhysand?

The image of his bloodied mother, his dead brothers, even as cruel as they were, flashed before his eyes. 

“No.” He said. Standing tall and true, “I will not hand over my magic.”

“You fucking monster!” A girl with gold streaked blonde hair lunged at him from out of nowhere. Morrigan. 

She didn’t get far, from where she was knees deep in the mud. A flash of gold and a short-sudden scream from her. She was pinned to the floor with golden threads. Not painful, but certainly startling, and no doubt humiliating. 

Tamlin couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

Feyre stared up at him. Her wet blue eyes boring into his own with a deep-cut grief that would have broken him just a few weeks ago. 

Now. 

Now all he felt was mild pity, and a distant sadness, for the girl who had been killed under the mountain and never brought back. 

“Who's to say the real Rhysand would even return?” Tamlin said, voice mockingly kind, “When the first time we brought a human back, she was not the same at all?”

Feyre’s saddened eyes turned wrathful, her beautiful face twisting into a deadly scowl. All that hatred, focused solely on him. 

“You were what led me to my death! And now you refuse to even help him!” She screamed, the pain and grief tearing through her, along with the emptiness of where her mating bond used to be no doubt fueling her rage. 

“You led yourself to your death as did he.” Tamlin said, perfectly calm and stoic. She wouldn’t get a rise out of him. Not anymore. 

Tamlin looked to the others, “Think about all that male has done to us. Think of what his mate has brought down upon our lands. And maybe rethink tossing your magic carelessly at whatever dead corpse lays before you.”

“He is not a corpse!” Feyre shrieked. Her cries and screams becoming distant. Vague. As weariness bore heavy on him. For the mortal, the living, unfortunately exhaustion was a natural occurrence. 

Tamlin’s eyes went down to Rhysand. Least he’ll never be exhausted again. 

The thought was cruel, and maybe he was a horrible man for feeling relief. Staring into that lifeless face, knowing he was dead forever. Gone. Bound to never bring him misfortune again. 

“You are a heartless male.” A seething voice said somewhere near him. Tamlin looked towards where a limping Illyrian with blue siphons hissed, looking like he wanted to tear the High Lord to shreds but his own limitations and injuries prevented it. 

A cold, humourless smile broke out on his face. The Spring Lord looked down upon Feyre. 

“Give him your own magic.” He said, tilting his head, “Why don’t you hand over those drops of power you claim to make yourself so, so powerful?”

She was silent, as tears continued to stream down her face, he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “Oh right, you can’t.”

He would leave after this and never see her face again, he hoped, but he didn’t bite his tongue to prevent the final blow, “Our magic is the only thing holding you together. You claim yourself so powerful. Above the rest of us entirely. The self-proclaimed High Lady of the Night Court, equal to the most powerful in all the Earth. But you really aren’t. You need our magic to survive.”

Tamlin looked back at Rhysand, and didn’t hide the relief on his face, “You can’t bring him back without us.”

The Nightmare was gone. Now all that was left was the cleanup. 

Feyre screamed, whether it was an insult, her hatred or simply incoherent, he didn’t know. He winnowed away. Back to Spring. 

It was time for a cleanup. 

And he had plans to make things right in his Court. In Prythian in its entirety. 

***

I probably will not continue this fic since I have so much I need to write already, but I think its fun to go back and reflect on my old ideas and rewrite to compare to how my form was before and how it is now.

[umthisistheonlyusernamenottaken]

Neslin AU idea -> A ballad of beasts

AU where Tamlin, unwilling to deal with his brothers' power struggle for the High Lord title after their father's death goes FUCK NO, and legs it for the mortal realm.

He eventually finds refuge in a little, faraway village called Carterhaugh. But even though he's fae, he has no idea how shit works in the mortal realm, and he needs a safe place to stay.

BUT, he can't just saunter into the place and be like 'please will you let me into your house and give me a safe place to stay??'

That goes against all the fae rules, sanctuary must be given freely of a mortal's own choice and mind, no asking allowed.

SO

He transforms himself into a cat and wanders around until he comes across Nesta; the prickliest woman of the village, who couldn't give less of a shit about other people, but who is instantly besotted by the bedraggled and clearly malnourished cat that's mewling pathetically at her village bookshop door.

<><><>

"Oh, you poor thing," she cooed, gathering up the golden cat into her arms and scratching it under the chin.

It purred happily, and she immediately made for her small cottage at the edge of town.

"You must be hungry, don't fret little one, I'll look after you."

<><><>

She takes him home and gives cat-lin a bath and feeds him, and everything, but Tam starts feeling guilty so he poofs back into his fae male form and Nesta rightfully freaks out, screaming at him to get out of her house but eventually she listens to his story

High Lord powers -> WILL be killed by brothers

Nesta's still kinda eh,

So Tam just PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE's and Nesta is eventually just like 'jesus fucking hell, fine, but i'm gonna make you do unpaid labour in the bookshop if you're gonna stay.'

So that's how life is for a while, they grow closer, and eventually Nesta tells him her story.

Years and years ago, her sisters were out playing in the woods near their home, and she was tasked by her mother with looking after them. But then as she was watching them, a thick wreath of shadow just... gathered them up and disappeared them from sight. They were never seen again, and Nesta's mother had hated her for it until her death, and Nesta has spent every day since then hating herself for it.

<><><>

"I- I tried," her throat bobbed, eyes going distant and hazy.

"I tried to go back for them, I took my winter cloak and walked to the wall to bring them back home."

A tear slid down her cheek, "I failed."

<><><>

Tamlin immediately goes sHaDowS? kidnapping? that fukcing bastard Rhysand -> Shit, I'm pretty sure I know where your sisters are -> cue trip across the faery world to find Feyre + Elain

SO, they finally trek to the wall, trek across the courts, end up in Night, and Tamlin + Rhysand confront each other (bitter ex lovers energy, obv)

<><><>

EXTRA BACKGROUND

Tamlin's father dies of illness or smth and his two older brothers fight to the death for the High Lord title, cept the winner almost forgot about Tamlin until the magic fails to go to him and he's like 'fuck', forgot to kill the other one, so he goes after Tamlin. BUT he makes the fatal mistake of asking Amarantha for help, and she's like, oh, you're trying to kill my beloved??! UNO reverse, fucker.

DEAD.

So now she's taken over the Spring Court and still trying to find Tamlin to make him her 'mate' and become High Lord/ Lady of Spring

BUT fae magic can't be sensed in the mortal realm, so she's just kind of been wasting time being a shitty ruler.

ALSO

Turns out Rhysand has only been taking young girls from the mortal realm to keep Amarantha happy-> she sacrifices them for her magic rituals, or if she likes them enough, keeps them as serving girls/ maids, and she'd originally wanted RHYSAND'S SISTER as her companion, so he was doing it for family. doesn't make it any better, but yeah

<><><>

"But if however, I were to present you to her... I am sure her appetites would be satiated for quite some time." Rhysand's eyes glittered and Nesta's stomach roiled at the implication. Beside her, Tamlin only listened with a stony silence.

Don't. she begged. Don't you fucking dare leave me.

<><><>

Rhysand brings them both before Amarantha, who is instantly threatened by/ jealous of Nesta x Tamlin

So she proposes a bargain.

<><><>

"Is your love true, I wonder?" Amarantha's wicked fangs leered down at her.

Nesta fought to keep her voice even. "It is."

"Would you love him if he were a mere man?"

"I would."

"Would you love him if he had nothing?"

"I would."

"Ah, but would you love him if he were a beast?"

She turned to him then. To Tamlin. To the man that she had grown to love so purely and wholly. It was to him that she spoke her next words.

"Man or beast, I would love him with all my heart. Thorns and all."

<><><>

Thus begins the trial of beasts.

A blood red ribbon is used to bind Nesta and Tamlin by their wrists.

Amarantha uses Tamlin's shapeshifting powers against him and forces him to shift into beasts of all kind without any control over his body.

If Nesta can maintain her hold on him throughout his beastly transformations and endure the claws/ fangs/ gashes/ bites without cutting the ribbon, Amarantha will let them all go (Nesta, Tamlin, Feyre and Elain)

Nesta, being the bamf she is, completes the challenge.

Amarantha, pissed as hell thinking that Nesta wouldn't be able to do it, but unable to break her bargain without repercussions, has no choice but to let them go.

the end

or is it???

AMARANTHA LETS THEM GO, BUT NOWHERE DID SHE SAY SHE WOULDNT ATTACK THEM AFTERWARDS, SO THAT'S WHAT SHE DOES

she goes for Nesta, and THAT'S when Tamlin's High Lord power finally snaps into place, because it was dormant the entire time he was in the mortal realm and he goes full beast mode on Amarantha and murks her once and for all.

[sjmvillainweek]

SJM Villain Week Prompts List (October 1st - 7th)

Day 1- Villain Origin Story/Sacrifice

Villain Origin Story:

There's always been a question of if evil is made or born. Were our Villains evil from their first breath, or did a forbidden Romance gone wrong create the bad guy? Or was it an abusive family, perhaps a curse?

Sacrifice:

What did our villains give up or lose to reach this point? Was it ripped from them or was it something they willingly gave? What did they gain from what they've lost?

Day 2- Planning/Weakness

Planning:

What went into making this happen? How did Maeve truly rise to power? Was it all warfare, or what shady deals were made and with who? Our villains can't be the origin of evil, so what happened beforehand to encourage this

Weakness:

Achilles had his heel, Percy Jackson has his loyalty, Aelin has self sacrifice. What is the villain's tragic Weakness? What would have brought them to their knees had the bad guys been able to find it out? How do they hide it? What have they done about it?

Day 3- Secret Skills/Deception

Secret Skills:

Is there a weapon they are skilled with? What does training look like for them? Do they have powerful magic? What does their spellbook collection look like? Do they have a hobby that has turned into an advantage for them? What is hiding in their arsenal?

Their Deception:

We got here somehow. Write that origin, that first lie that allowed our villains the position of power they've gained. Is there a lie they regret, or one they're proud of the most? Can anyone see through their lies?

Day 4- Their Reign/Behind Closed Doors

Their Reign:

We never truly see things from the villain's perspective. What did things look like Under the Mountain? What happened in Maeve’s throne room? What is the Eternal City like when just the Asteri are there? Was it all truly bad or was there fun? Did their Reign actually do anything potentially good?

Behind Closed Doors:

What's the villain like when they're truly alone? Are they lonely? Do they feel shame? Are they self righteous? Do they cuddle up with a glass of wine and their beloved secret pet? Do they have an odd habit that brings them joy?

Day 5- The Villain Wins AU/Aftermath

Villain wins AU:

Either in an AU world or the one we know and love, tragic news has broken: The hero has fallen (either by death or in love with our Villain) and hope has left the Maasverse. What happens now that no one stands in the way of evil? Will our hero and villain enjoy an unexpected mafia style romance, will they become the rulers or their world?

Aftermath:

What impact has the villain left? What will be their legacy, their infamy? What is the ancient story told about them to keep faelings from disobeying their parents? How has the world changed due to them?

Day 6- Afterlife/The Villains Sense Of Style

After life:

After the villain is gone, they've entered the world beyond their own. What does their fate look like? Is it filled with regret, punishment, finding peace? Was it worth all of this?

The villains sense of style: 

Most of SJM’s female villains are described as beautiful creatures. Maeve with her dark song and beauty, Amarantha is known as the “Never-Fading Flower.” We have even heard her refer to Beron as handsome in ACOTAR. What does our Villain do for their care routine? What's their fashion sense like? How high of a priority is their appearance?

Day 7- Free day

Self-explanatory, this is a day to go utterly wild. Write whatever your heart desires about our favorite villains. Their world is entirely in your hands.

Here is our list of Villains from across the SJM universe for reference.

And remember these prompts are just meant for inspiration, use them as loosely or as strictly as you want. With the Villains in the spotlight, who knows where they'll take you.

We'll see you in October.

[separatist-apologist]

The Thing About Mor

I'm gonna say this and then I'm gonna shut up about it.

I don't think it's necessarily the fandom's fault for the way they read Mor, just as a disclaimer. Nor am I saying you are required to like her. Please reread those sentences before we continue.

The thing about Mor is that she's originally set up to be both a foil to the traditionalism of the Spring Court and a counterpart to Feyre's friendship with Lucien. Feyre is immediately struck by Rhys naming not Cassian or Azriel- who seem terrifying to her- as his second in command, but Mor.

Mor is also placed directly between Cassian and Azriel in what I think was originally supposed to be some kind of love triangle for the three, with the ultimate pairing as Mor and Azriel. I think the narrative of ACOMAF sets Mor and Azriel up as potential mates just waiting on a snapping bond, with Cassian as maybe her first choice given how she slept with him as a teenager.

Throughout ACOMAF, we see Mor as someone who can hold her own against the men in her lives. When they go to Hybern, Mor is the only warrior left standing and is the one who ultimately rescues them. She's also the person Rhys trusts to get Feyre in the Spring Court (ignoring the strange "politics" of why Rhys' second-in-command can break into Tamlins manor but the High Lord can't).

She is ALSO the person who goes to Feyre once Feyre realizes Rhys wasn't honest about the bond, and she's the one who asks "would it really be so bad to join our family?"

I don't know what changed for SJM. I think the nessian of it all ended whatever potential love triangle might have happened with Cassian-Mor-Azriel, and I've heard rumors she was getting a lot of pressure to make her stories more diverse (who was asking SJM, of all people, to tell a compelling queer story?). Regardless, somewhere between ACOMAF and ACOWAR, Mor's trajectory changes.

This is seen so clearly with the rise of Eris who, up until ACOWAR, is an undisputed villain in the story. Not just Lucien's story, but the story as a whole. We're told he holds Jesminda down while Beron beheads her, and he participates in tracking Lucien down with the intent to kill him. He gleefully watched Lucien tortured in the second trial UTM, and is willing to give up Feyre's name to Amarantha IF he knew it.

And in the beginning of ACOWAR, Eris is still the villain. He chases Lucien and Feyre across multiple courts at the behest of his father, presumably to hold Feyre ransom back to Tamlin in exchange for who knows what, and see Lucien executed. Eris's cruelty on the ice sets up a truly cinematic moment for Cassian and Azriel to come swooping in and save the day, and once again highlights our good guys (Lucien especially) and our bad guys.

And I do feel like somewhere in this passage, SJM falls in love with Eris and begins to give him the Rhys treatment at the EXPENSE of Mor. Rhys, who we're told, respects Mor over nearly everyone, unilaterally decides that they're going to trust Eris. There is no discussion to be had here. I think this creates a specific moment for readers to be like, okay well if Rhys did this without talking to Mor, then maybe he doesn't trust her. I don't even think its an explicit thought- but implicitly, whatever Eris shared with Rhys is enough to convince him of Eris's goodness over Mor's hatred. And I think that lends itself to a lot of the "maybe she's lying" theories that come about, ESPECIALLY after ACOSF and Eris telling Cassian that there was more that happened than Mor has shared with them.

Additionally, Mor is supposed to oversee Hewn City which means this deal SHOULD have included her because Kier's Darkbringers are part of her jurisdiction, but unless I misremember, this deal is brokered by Rhys, Eris, and Kier. So Mor's position in Hewn City feels ceremonial-I think this is partly because SJM ascribes to a very narrow definition of masculinity and power, and even though Rhys claims to share it, what she shows us does not match with the telling. Rhys decides what happens in Hewn City and he can make decisions without Mor's input so what's she even doing down there besides acting like decoration?

This is also where, I think, a lot of people get frustrated and confused because the "court of dreamers" are sold to us as a family. And in the confession between Mor and Feyre, we suddenly learn Mor is afraid to come out to the people she claims are her closest family. In our current understanding of the world and what it often means to be queer, your found family are supposed to be your safe people, the people you can be unapologetically yourself with ESPECIALLY when your blood relatives reject you. And here Mor is, telling us she is too afraid to come out to the point she sleeps with men specifically to keep Azriel off her back (unclear how that's helping) AND to not arouse suspicion.

So like- it's not a leap to understand why the fandom writes Mor off as a liar or someone that can't be trusted because SJM has inconsistently applied her personality in order to suit her narrative versus telling a consistent story with consistent characterizations. The fandom is left to string it all together and creative a cohesive story and I do think the problem with that is we don't agree.

Interpretations of the text vary, so on one end you have "I think Mor is lying because the narrative, whether it means to or not, is implying Mor shouldn't be trusted. Rhys no longer trusts her and is keeping secrets for her, and its through Rhys we're told Eris CAN be trusted." and on the other its "Mor isn't responsible for the men around her and is held to a different standard than the other characters who are better fleshed out (in part because they're associated with a man)."

Again, a lot of this is speculation. I don't know what SJM's true original plans were, nor can I speak with 100% authority why she changed them. I can say that SJM is notorious, across all her works, for changing motivations and characterizations to fit her narrative and that ACOTAR feels the most egregious. I don't think she ever had a solid plan for ACOTAR beyond the feysand romance, and everything else has been slapped together based on how she feels in the moment, which leads to a lot of the arguments and frustrations we currently experience around most of the characters, honestly.

[ataraxiasflame]

In doing some research for my fic, I encountered a few names from different SJM books that seem to be derived from similar origins and I went on a bit of a trip trying to consider all the connections:

When researching some information regarding the inspiration for Helion (the God Helios) I discovered that Helios’s mother is called Theia and his sister is called Selene. Theia, Helios and Selene are all connected through solar elements like light, the sun and the moon.

If we recall from HOFAS, Silene was Theia’s second daughter who Azriel also claims looked like Rhys’s sister. We also know that she too was able to wield her mother’s Starborn powers (which is essentially starlight).

Helion’s power is also light and also has several similarities to Helios:

And I always question the potential foreshadowing of the scene below.

- ACOSF ch 41.

If I had to guess, perhaps Silene or a descendant of hers was married off to a member of the Night Court, which is why Rhys’s sister looks like her. But my real interest is the connection that Helion (and Lucien) has to the Trove, and their potential challenge to the theory that Rhys has a claim to the throne as a descendant of Fionn/Theia. The similarities in name could have been mere coincidence but the effect the trove had on Helion creates that potential connection to Theia and Fionn (I’m not saying he is Silene’s brother but they could be the ancestors to whom he is referring in ACOSF)

Then perhaps this chapter in ACOSF (ch 42) in which Amren urges Rhys to conquer Prythian claim the throne and he declines several times, only to have her respond with this line:

…might suggest that there are others who have equal claim to the throne.

Personally, I hate the potential High King plot line, especially if Rhys and Feyre will claim the throne (I could write an essay on why this would make no sense from a narrative perspective). There are so many references in HOFAS that highlight why Prythian failed under the ruling of one sovereign and we as readers experienced the reign of a sole ruler in book one. It just makes no sense for Prythian to return to a proven failed form of sovereignty, especially with Rhys and Feyre in those positions of power, when they only recently broke free from Amarantha’s reign.

However, should the High King and Queen narrative be necessary to the plot line, I would far prefer Helion/Lucien be the potential challenge to the throne over Rhys. The end of HOFAS even opens questions regarding Nesta’s future in a position of power in Prythian.

High King plot aside; these potential clues do make me even more interested to see how Lucien’s past will affect the rest of his story and the over arching plot of the series, how his power could be even stronger than we expected, how they could come into play with the Koschei plot line and whether he will play a larger role in the political future of Prythian as well.

But most interestingly is that Theia (the mother of Helios and Selene) was the Goddess of Sight and Vision, possessing prophetic powers, and it seems fitting that Helion’s own son is mated to a cauldron-blessed Seer. Mates fated to be together who are true equals in every way.

[thedickgraysons]

i made a post that briefly dipped into the "amarantha was tamlin's mate" theory not long ago, and now that i've seen a handful of posts about it, i like repeating myself, and yelling into the sky while shaking my fist is my favorite hobby, i feel legally obligated to touch on it again (even though no one wants me to).

in my original post i said something about how the theory reeks of victim blaming, and honestly? i stand by it.

people often bring up this theory when talking about tamlin's behavior post-utm. they use it to explain why he was so volatile and why his mental health declined once he killed her and left the mountain or to talk about why amarantha would pursue tamlin at all. its a theory that, at its core, pins amarantha's actions entirely on tamlin.

amarantha was his mate, and the rejection of the bond caused her to snap; amarantha was his mate, so of course he went mad once she was dead; amarantha was his mate, which was why she tore apart prythian for him.

what amarantha was, is full grown. she was a power hungry general who was established in her field. she was mad, obsessive, and the object of her desire was a child who she met through his father.

it is a theory that takes away from tamlin's story, from the impact of the decades of mental abuse and psychological warfare that he underwent by amarantha's hand, and writes it all off as a consequence for him not accepting his abuser's harassment and advances. it makes him responsible for amarantha's wrongdoings, blaming him for her actions because, in the end, tamlin just wasn't a good victim. tamlin didn't square his shoulders and accept the bond to quell her.

[jules-writes-stories]

A Love That Bleeds

SJM Villains Week 2024 | Day 7 | Free Day| Chapter 1/2 AO3

Before The War, before Jurian and Clythia, before Tamlin, Rhys and Under the Mountain, there was Pet...

TW | Dead Dove for human slave x High Fae sexual content, and more. Read tags on AO3. (No warning for excerpt below).

Amarantha, eldest daughter of the House Ó Ceallaigh, hero of the Turas, was drunk. But the toasts had kept coming. And the warriors kept filling her cup. Father told her to switch to water, but she had not listened. Her head was fuzzy and the world spun on an unfamiliar axis. Several times the young Fae caught herself smiling for no reason. 

She growled at the dour look on an old male’s face. He was staring at her from behind a painting. “What, you old gull? Never seen a female win theTuras ? Sail around the Isle in record time?” Closing an eye allowed her to focus better. 

There was a small laugh from behind. Amarantha turned, palming her small dagger. There, in the empty corridor, was a human girl. It was her girl, from the Hall.

Amarantha resheathed her dagger and lifted her head, befitting the status of a legend. “Hasn’t anyone warned you it is dangerous to sneak up on the High Fae, mortal?” She tried to look down her nose into those enormous green eyes. It made her dizzy. So pretty.  

The human’s little rounded ears turned pink. Amarantha almost smiled again. “I beg forgiveness, Lady. I assumed one like me could not sneak up on a High Fae like you. ” Her eyes sparkled with a wicked little light as they flicked towards the Fae’s pointed ears. 

Amarantha huffed. Clever creature . “Why are you lurking at these hours?” 

The human curtsied, holding up her gray shift in her slender hands. She bore the brand of a crown along the inside of her wrist. Property of the King of Hybern himself. Of course. The royal household was known for hoarding the loveliest and strongest mortal slaves. They bred them regularly to keep them so. 

“His Majesty’s Steward sent me to find you.” Her face flushed. She pulled parchment from her sleeve and lowered her head, holding out the roll.

Amarantha opened the letter and read the sloping words. A Gift. From the King of Hybern . Her dark eyes looked up at the human, who was watching her face with a keen gaze. Clever little creature indeed. 

She almost sent the slave back. The High Fae did not need another responsibility. Her narrow shoulders were buckling under her new role in Hybern’s court, watching out for a rebellious little sister, and trying to carve out her name on the Cliff of Legends. 

But it would be a terrible dishonor to refuse a gift. There were suddenly whispers coming from an alcove, the rustle of clothing, then a grunting sound. Amarantha needed to get out of the darkened hallway. It was not safe. She circled the slender, branded wrist. “Come.” 

She pulled the smaller female along several more doors until they approached her guest suite. It was a wing of honor, well appointed and luxurious. After locking the double doors and applying several wards, she allowed herself a chance to study the girl. 

She was more slender than Amarantha and several inches shorter, but of a similar age. Human years were easy to discern. Her brown hair was tightly coiled, like little springs, and her skin was sun kissed. But it was those mermaid eyes Amarantha found herself falling into. 

She tore her gaze away and sat on the edge of the bed. The girl remained completely still in the moonlight, a lovely statue rescued from the ocean. 

The warrior and seafarer was becoming a damned bard… 

“Why did the King send you?” Amarantha asked, her eyes narrowing, as she continued to study her gift. The human was lovely and the new tug beneath her navel was back. Her breasts were small and firm. Amarantha imagined her nipples would be the color of the sky at dusk. Cauldron.

She cleared her throat, face burning. It was surely red as her hair. 

The human seemed confused. “It's tradition, my Lady. The victor of the Turas is gifted a slave from the King’s collection. His Grace noted your interest in– me – in the Hall.” She lowered her head full of curls once more. 

Amarantha felt like a fool. How was she to know of this tradition? Females were never permitted to race before, had never been offered a place in the Turas , and the only reason she was here, in this castle, instead of a cell, was because she’d won. It had been the gamble of her immortal lifetime. 

“Of course, dumb girl.” Amarantha scoffed. A shadow of anger might have passed across the slave’s soft features, but it may have been the flicker of flames from the hearth. “Well, what does the King call you?” 

When the girl did not immediately answer, she barked out, “What is your name?” 

“Peata, Mistress.” Her voice was a purr. Pet, in Old Hybernian . How fitting. It was common for the Fae to name their slaves after animals, objects, or even assign them roles.

“Pet, are you trained in how to serve a Lady?” she asked. The slave nodded. “Good, then you’ll know I’m exhausted, and wish to retire.” Again the girl nodded and glided towards Amarantha. It was then that she noted the mortal wore the silk slippers of the house slaves of Hybern, which had allowed her to sneak up on Amarantha earlier. That would be remedied. 

Peata moved behind Amarantha, and she stiffened, not trusting her back to anyone beside Clythia. Gentle hands loosened the row of buttons along her spine. The slave slowly pulled the stiff gown from her shoulders, down each arm, and the heavy brocade fabric pooled at her ankles. She crouched to collect it as Amrantha stepped away.

Next came the ribbons at her breasts. Her nipples pebbled as cool air met her skin. Warmth pooled at the apex of her thighs. 

Why did Amarantha, High Fae warrior , feel so vulnerable, standing naked in the silver light, before this small human watching her with clever green eyes? 

Before she could say more, Peata walked to the adjoining chamber, its marble floors heated by magic. Amarantha followed the sound of running water and slipped into the warm bathing pool. 

It was soothing to her sore shoulders and back, still smarting from the brutal race and the force of magic she’d held in her body for weeks, before pushing out to force the skiff to the finish. She must have let out a sound of pleasure, because Peata was smiling when Amarantha opened her eyes. 

“I can ease your pain, Mistress.” The slave was kneeling over her, lathering something that smelled like lavender into her hair. Amarantha dipped her head into the warm water again, then sat up. She considered.

“Well, get on with it then,” the High Fae sniffed with arrogance. She had no idea what the human was on about, but if it would ease the knot in her shoulder, she would pretend... read full story on AO3 here

Thanks to @born-to-riot for being an eleventh hour beta queen!

I am tagging people who expressed interest! I forgot to ask for official tag list but please let me know if you ever want on/off a tag | @the-darkestminds @mistandmemories @sjmvillainweek @theartofmischief @achaotichuman

[sonics-atelier]

𝐕𝐞𝐢𝐥 𝐎𝐟 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐭

Unveiling ( Pun intended ) the First chapter of my A Court of Thorns and Roses Fanfiction

𝐕𝐞𝐢𝐥 𝐎𝐟 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐭 , 𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝟏 : 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐔𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧���� - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐲

For @sjmvillainweek Day 1 : Villain Origin Story

Protagonists :

( more will be revealed as the story progresses )

Ianthe - Priestess of the Spring Court. Amarantha - General of Hybern. Miryam - Slave to the Black Queen. Jurian - Spy

Relationships :

( more will be revealed as the story progresses )

Ianthe x Amarantha

Miryam x Drakon

Summary :

Ianthe has spent a lifetime yearning for escape, ever since that fateful night so many years ago. Crossing paths with Hybern’s general was never her intention, but their fates are being woven by forces far beyond her control, mere marionettes in the hands of the gods.

Miryam is driven by a singular mission: to slay the Black Queen who once enslaved her, free her fellow humans, and claim her long-awaited revenge. Yet one infuriating prince stands in her way, provoking her to the point of wanting to strangle him. Drakon, however, has never encountered anyone as wild as Miryam.

Jurian traverses the vast lands of Prythian on a noble quest, working as a spy to free the oppressed and bring justice to his people. His journey takes him into the unknown, forcing him to face both literal and inner demons, unaware that enemies are closing in on him.

Now, a new threat rises in Prythian, shaking the very foundations of the land as mountains quake and tides turn under its mysterious power. As the world teeters on the brink of chaos, will our protagonists fight for what they hold dear, or will they be swallowed by the flames of this growing darkness? Discover more as their fates unfold.

The Link

Taglist : ( dm me or send me an ask if you wish to be added / removed ), @achaotichuman , @ae-neon , @aho-dapa , @umthisistheonlyusernamenottaken , @flat-neines , @merwgue , @deafeningblazecolor.

Dividers by @im4yeons <33

[acourtofthought]

This is the new argument from e/riels:

"Yes Lucien was feisty and powerful and sassy and funny in the first book, and that personality slowly started to fade in book 2. This happened because Lucien was originally supposed to be Nesta's mate, but then SJM changed her mind. Lucien slowly became a shadow of his old self to the point where he barely exists in the story. Yes it can partially be attributed to trauma, but he had lived through immense trauma already at the start of book one and still managed to be his foxy, witty self. This is because he will not be a lead in Elain's book or any book. SJM is purposefully downgrading him because he is not meant to fill the role of MMC. She realized that Azriel and Elain have much more chemistry, hence the famous statement about how sometimes she puts two characters together and they just won't work. She left readers a hint about the fact that she was doing this: 'Why make them mates? What if that is what she needs?' using Feyre's words."

What are your thoughts on this?

My thoughts? There will be many 😂

Feyre also said Az would probably never stop loving Mor.

Feyre also told Elain that Lucien cared for her and that he was a good male.

Feyre also once considered Ianthe a friend.

I don't think Feyre's word is one they want to get hung up on.

Lucien did experience trauma in book 1 however the majority of that trauma, the things that impacted him on a bone deep level, happened to him centuries prior. Lucien's main source of trauma in book 1 (to me) was not when Amarantha permanently scarred him but when he lost Jesminda and was chased out of Autumn after having spent years being tormented by Beron and his brothers. But he found some semblance of peace with Tamlin. Was he truly content? Not really but he had a friend, a place in Tamlin's court, the people of Spring looked to him to set the example (friends and purpose, sounds familiar, right?). Despite his past he had still had enough time to settle into his sassiness because his life was somewhat consistent.

However book 2 changed all that. Tamlin and his court began to suffer as a result of what happened during and after UTM. There was the added fear of what Rhys was possibly doing to Feyre and how that affected both he and Tamlin. The stability (illusion of?) he had grown accustomed too (even during Amarantha's reign), began to crumble and the threat of a war was pressing down on them all.

Should Lucien have remained sassy while worrying his friend and his other friends fiance was being tortured? Should he have been feisty knowing they were preparing to ally with the KoH in order to try and get her back? While his friend had taken to threatening him? While his friend was falling apart? While being sexually harassed by Ianthe than having to perform the Rite with her? It's funny how they claim Gwyn won't be ready to leave the library in her book or for sex with Az years after her SA but expect Lucien to be an absolute hoot while his was going on.

Should he then have been sassy knowing that Feyre was plotting the downfall of Tamlin in book 3? After finding out that his lost mate wasn't actually his mate and that his real mate had been taken by his enemy? Should he have been cracking jokes after his magic was stolen and he nearly died trying to fight his way to Elain's side to make sure she was alright? Should he have then been the life of the party while surrounded by multiple characters treating him like dirt in the NC?

Should he be witty and fun and snarky upon the realization that he had no place to go except the human lands after the war? When Tamlin gave him a black eye and cut lip?

SJM isn't putting Lucien through all of this so Az can lead a book with Elain. SJM is putting Lucien through all this so he becomes the ultimate underdog story. In an interview, someone specifically asked SJM if we were going to see the return of sassy Lucien and she said something along the lines of, "I hope so, he's going through a lot right now." The author knows exactly what she's doing with his character and it's not because he's being downgraded. Downgraded men don't get an upgrade to their father and Court they belong to. Downgraded men don't have the author confirming (after ACOMAF had already been written, the book she made Elain and Lucien mates) that Lucien has always been one of her favorite characters. Downgraded men don't school Cassian in his own book with a single word.

"Easy," Lucien said.

Cassian snarled.

"Easy," Lucien repeated, and flame sizzled in his russet eye. The flame, the surprising DOMINANCE within it, hit Cassian like a stone to the head, knocking him from his need to kill and kill and kill whatever might threaten -

If the author wanted us to believe that Elain and Lucien have no chemistry than she would not have had any reason to have Elain ignore him. Instead they would have shared many conversations on page and we would have seen that lack of chemistry playing out in real time. Instead she had Elain cut off communication with Lucien the second she no longer mourned for Graysen to the extent she once did. That's because a single Elain is an Elain that's going to fall in love with Lucien way too quickly, an Elain who shares very obvious chemistry with him and that can't happen before their book.

[theladyofbloodshed]

It's been an age since I read the series, but I do think Rhys was intended to be one of the villains for the trilogy:

SJM scrapped her original plan for ACOMAF and wrote the current one. ACOMAF is touted as a hades x persephone retelling but it isn't really that at all. On her second (?) visit she decides to stay.

Rhys very much is the villain in book one but the end scene when they talk and the bond snaps was a different tone entirely - which makes me think it was a last minute edit to set up the new sequel

There are no mentions to Illyrians in ACOTAR - despite later finding out they did serve alongside Amarantha and were executed for it - the attor is the only one described as having leathery wings

There are also no mentions to Darkbringers who did also serve

Why would they serve Rhys if they hate him? It's explained as them being SO evil that they revel in Amarantha's punishment, but they would still need to follow his orders so it makes no sense that they would listen to him when they could bypass Rhys and bend the knee to her

It is retconned that with his single drop of leftover magic, he is able to shield Velaris and remove Amren, Mor, Cassian and Azriel from the memories of every single person in Prythian - which includes Mor's family, every Illyrian, the Vanserras, and Tamlin (in book 2, Tamlin and Lucien comfirm they know Cass & Az, Eris was engaged to Mor, Lucien calls Amren a scary story they tell children, the CoN apparently knows about Velaris) If Rhys wasn't the originally intended villain then...

Why does the king of Hybern who trained Amarantha - she uses his book of spells - do nothing for fifty years? The Suriel states that a hundred years earlier he sends spies to Prythian but Amarantha betrays him and traps the high lords and he then just chills

Why does he wait until the high lords are back to full strength to start a war to take over Prythian? He had fifty years to take over prythian when all of the high lords except one were trapped - but what? He was too scared of Amarantha? He needed an extra 8 months to launch his war?

Amarantha is his student so it stands to reason that he is stronger than her and could quite easily take over her coup with the army that was seemingly ready to go at any time. There's even a part in acotar where one creature questions the attor over whether amarantha thinks she's above the king. It's also stated that her revenge on jurian cost him the war because she didn't march with her section of the army, but he's benevolent enough to let her rule for 50 years

Hybern is made out to be this ghoulish country where they're all evil (just like Illyria and the Hewn City) with no variance amongst the people; they're all warriors too, clearly no children or farmers or smiths or matronly women. They're all nameless and faceless cannon fodder. There is no concern for the state of post-war Hybern or who rules in the king's stead, for the orphans and windows. It is underdeveloped as is the nameless king who is foolish enough to try and take over prythian only *after* its high lords have all had their power restored and are fortifying their courts

[decadentpostnachos-evil-twin]

I'm making it official, the acotar tiktok fandom is my villain origin story.

That was of course completely altruistic of him. No question.

Drugging, humiliating and degrading Feyre was so much better than just leaving her be in hopes of Amarantha ignoring her existence, of course.

Having her dance in through the night, clothed in a TISSUE was helping her rest physically. Because you're so rested when you literally danced all night.

What they're doing there is real mental gymnastics.

Moving onto this gem:

Using the same logic on that: People who think Rice sand was valid for anything he did have evidently never been drugged and SA'd in a club, which is not a fun experience altogether.

"He never hit her, but he was an abuser" for not letting her get close to their enemies who'd quite literally kill her on sight? You act like she's some super soldier when she's been shooting a stag a month and winning those trials by pure luck.