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ncssian · 3 years

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A Favor: Part Seventeen

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: 70% of this fic is written on my phone lying on my side in bed while using swipe typing bc im too lazy to type out words and it shows

TW: discussion of SA

***

Nesta has an easier time adjusting to a third person in the cabin than she thought she would. Maybe it’s because Azriel indeed minds his business, and half the time Nesta isn’t aware he’s there at all.

Cassian seems to be more irritated by it than anyone else—not his brother, of course, but the fact that he and Nesta no longer exist in their own little bubble. Which is how he ends up at Nesta’s apartment with an overnight bag, sprawled out stomach-down on her mattress while she gets ready for bed.

“TV show or movie?” he asks, clicking through her laptop. Shows are Nesta’s thing and movies are Cassian’s; she feels generous enough tonight to say, “Movie.”

“Thank god,” he mutters, typing something on the laptop. “There’s a Turkish horror flick that I was saving for you.”

“Where do you even find these films?” Grabbing her hairbrush, she flops onto the bed beside him and starts brushing out her brassy locks. Before he can answer, Nesta’s phone buzzes from the stool she uses as a bedside table. Feyre’s name flashes on the screen.

Nesta frowns, but picks up without a second thought. “What is it?”

“Nothing serious,” her sister replies. “Just checking in.”

Before Cassian, Nesta didn’t very much understand the purpose of “checking in” without reason. Now she empathizes with Feyre a little. “I’m fine,” she says.

Deciding she can do better than that, she adds, “Cassian and I are about to start a movie.”

“Is it his choice? I’m so sorry for you.”

Nesta peeks over to where Cassian is still intently searching for his obscure movie and smiles a little. “I like Turkish horror,” she replies.

Cassian overhears and grins approvingly.

“Well, I’m looking at wedding dresses with Rhys so he can prepare for when he inevitably proposes,” Feyre says. “In case you wanted to know.”

Nesta did not particularly want to know, but she doesn’t say this. “Sounds fun. Is that it?”

“For what?”

“This conversation.”

Feyre sighs over the line. “Yes, I’ll let you go now. Thanks for picking up.”

The bar is in hell, Nesta thinks. Mostly because she put it there, but she still feels embarrassed to be congratulated over such small things. “Thanks for keeping it short.”

She’s about to hang up when she hears a male voice speak up in the background, and Feyre interrupts, “Wait—before you go, can you tell Cassian to call Rhys back? He wants Cass’s help picking a new team leader for the Italy project.”

Nesta has no idea what that is, but she says, “Sure, fine.” They say their goodbyes and hang up.

“What’d she want?” Cassian says without looking over at her.

“She said Rhys wants you to call him about the Italy project.”

Cassian turns toward her, half sitting up. “Really? What for?”

“Something about picking a team leader.” She returns to brushing her hair. “Why? What’s the Italy project?”

“Something I thought we put aside for good,” he grumbles. “It’s a year-long overseas project in Milan. Rhys thinks it’s gonna bring in a shit ton of money.”

“Sounds big. What do you have to do with it, though?” She’s never heard of Cassian being involved in Night Court’s international operations, even though he takes on more work than the usual employee.

Cassian shrugs, going back to movie searching. “He wanted me to be the one leading the team, and I guess he still feels petty about me turning him down. Honestly, choosing team leaders outside of my department isn’t even part of my jurisdiction.”

Nesta hesitates. “He offered you the job? When?” She didn’t know this.

“On New Year’s.”

“And you turned it down?”

“Yeah.” Cassian clicks on a link that looks like it’ll plant fifteen different viruses in Nesta’s laptop. “Found the movie,” he says.

“Why would you do that?” Nesta demands.

“The movie?”

“The job offer! Why would you turn down such a big opportunity without even telling me?”

Cassian laughs in confusion. “Are you angry right now?”

She’s astonished at his nonchalance. “Cassian,” she says. “It’s Italy.”

Italy with the art and history and seaside beauty—it’s on their top five places to see before they die.

“It’s Milan,” he says like there’s a difference, “and it’s an entire year away from you.” He shakes his head, sitting up to face her. “Are you out of your mind?”

She goes still. “Don’t tell me you said no because of me.”

“Of course I said no because of you.”

“It’s your dream job!” she bursts. “Traveling, exploring, being on your own—”

“Those are our dreams. I made those plans with you. The hell am I supposed to do all the way in Italy without you?”

“You sound codependent,” she retorts.

He narrows his brows. “Like you wouldn’t do the same thing in my position?”

He’s right, of course. Nesta would do the exact same thing for him. But Nesta and Cassian are not the same, and they both know it. “You can’t make that comparison,” she sighs.

“Why not?” he demands.

“Because—” She struggles to put it into words. “I would give up a long distance job for you because it would be worth it. You’re worth it. It doesn’t work the other way around.”

“Again: why the fuck not?”

So he’s really going to make her spell it out. “Because you’re a good boyfriend. You’re affectionate and caring, you always go the extra mile for those you love, and you come with all these free perks. It’s a great deal. And I’m not anything terrible, but I’m the bare minimum compared to you. Why would you give up Italy for the bare minimum?”

Cassian looks at her in disbelief. “I don’t even know how you can say so many wrong things in a row.”

“He’s blinded by love,” Nesta mutters to herself.

“First of all,” he holds up a finger, “I don’t know where you learned to compare yourself to me, but I don’t like it. You make it sound like I need to be paid back for every half-decent thing I do, and that is not the case at all.”

“Of course you think that,” she says. “You wouldn’t be a good person if you didn’t.”

“Then let me be a blunt person.” He puts a hand on her knee and looks her in the eye. “You will never be like me. Very few people are; you can’t take it personally.”

“Oh my god.” Her eyes might roll out of her head.

“But you’re not the bare minimum. Not even close.” He states it like an undeniable fact.

“How so?” she challenges.

“Like how Elain told me about this boy who broke her heart in her high school, and how the next day he walked into class in a leg cast. And how she just knew you had something to do with it, and you two had a huge fight about it that lasted a week.”

Nesta does not enjoy that memory being brought up. Elain called her a psychopath for the incident, and to save her feelings, Nesta (rather unconvincingly) said it had been an accident.

“I didn’t push anybody into a creek,” she maintains the lie. “Sometimes people just fall down there.”

“To be fair, you’re a lot more stable now than you were then. Now when people hurt those you care about, you find sneakier ways to hurt them back. Don’t you?”

“I do not,” Nesta defends.

“Really? Because Eris texted me earlier saying you’ve been ignoring him since New Year’s, and he’s starting to get worried that you have something heinous planned for him. I asked him why he would ever think such a thing of you.” Cassian leans forward and rests his chin on her shoulder. “Why would he think such a thing of you, Nesta?”

Cassian looks pretty well off from here, doesn’t he? She remembers Eris’s smug face. Did you know Rhysand’s parents found him sleeping in the streets?

“Because he said a bad thing,” Nesta says, looking down at her fingernails. “And I have an unfortunate reputation at school for getting back at people who say bad things.” Like the time Brian O’Connell made jokes about a rape trial the class was studying, and then couldn’t find an internship at a single firm the following summer.

“And what did he say? Because I can’t imagine he would directly insult you. He actually likes you, ass that he is.” His face is warm so close to her neck.

She looks away. “I won’t repeat it.”

That seems to be all Cassian needs to get an idea of what Eris said. “And how long are you planning on holding it against him?”

“Forever.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Nesta meets the eyes that haven’t left her face this entire time and snorts. “What’s your point?” Seriously, she’s starting to redden at how close he is.

He buries his face in her neck, his stubble rasping against the sensitive skin there. “The point is that you also do a lot for the people you love. Just in a different way.” He pulls away to look her in the eye. “Don’t do anything to Eris, though,” he says. “Not that I care for him or his shit opinions, but whatever you have planned isn’t worth it.”

Nesta wants to scoff in disbelief at the sincerity on Cassian’s face. He’s always choosing kindness, even at the worst moments. “So that’s your argument?” she says. “You won’t go to Italy because your girlfriend has a bad temper and a taste for revenge?”

“That’s my final argument, Your Honor.” He takes her hand. “Forget Milan, will you? One day I’ll take you to Portofino.”

The longer Nesta knows Cassian, the more she finds it useless to hide from him. Which is why she lets him watch the thoughts flit across her face as she considers his words, deciding whether she believes him. Deciding whether he’s right to give her so much devotion.

“Fine,” she finally says. “You’re right.”

A slow smile spreads across his face as he realizes he won. Wrapping his arms around Nesta’s waist and legs, he hauls her into his lap and shifts around until they’re both comfortable. The movie is forgotten for now.

“Out of curiosity…” He noses at the nape of her neck. “What did Eris say about me to make you so angry?”

When Nesta doesn’t answer, he says, “I’ve already heard everything that could possibly be said. The shit that used to get me when I was eighteen doesn’t have the same hold on me a decade later.”

She lets herself relax into his hold. “It was about the time you spent as an orphan.” Technically, he’s still an orphan, but it was different back then. “I didn’t like the tone of his voice.”

Cassian’s answering hum is a low rumble against her shirt. “Did you know my biological father was from Italy?”

Nesta perks up at that. “No.” She assumed he was entirely Algerian, even though he and Azriel probably look ethnically ambiguous to most. “Isn’t that all the more reason to see Italy someday?”

“Not at all,” he says. “If I could pretend that half of me didn’t exist, I would.”

She can’t think of a response that doesn’t involve a question, so she doesn’t reply. She waits for Cassian to speak on his own terms.

“I went to Italy once,” he admits. “For less than a day while my brothers were partying in Monte Carlo. I was young and stupid, and thought I would never be complete if I didn’t know who my father was.”

“Who was he?” She doesn’t know why she’s whispering.

“No one worth remembering,” Cassian says, his arms unconsciously tightening around her. “I put some dots together and realized how he and my mother must have met, how he must’ve—forced himself on her, and I decided that I didn’t care about bloodlines at all. I never returned to Italy after that.”

Nesta’s hands want to reach out and touch him, soothe him. But her muscles are suddenly very cold, and she can only stiffen. “And what about now? Do you… not want to go back?”

“It’s just a place to me,” he says. “Nothing special, nothing terrible. But I like the way it sounds when you talk about it.” His eyes sparkle. “I’d like to pretend it’s my first time going with you.”

“Alright, then.” She nods. “One day, we’ll go together. It’ll be our first time.”

***

Cassian refuses to let Nesta leave bed the next morning, dragging his heavy mouth across her body whenever she tries to get up. She’s about to surrender to him altogether when her phone starts vibrating loudly, insistently.

Breaking away from Cassian’s attempt at cuddling, she answers without checking the caller ID. “Yes?” she croaks sleepily.

“Where the hell have you been?” Emerie demands.

Nesta shoves Cassian away despite his protests, untangling her legs from the sheets. “At home,” she says, getting out of bed and heading for the bathroom. “Am I supposed to be somewhere else?”

“We haven’t seen you in two weeks,” Emerie says. “Gwyn thought your boyfriend’s weird family killed you.”

“That’s not what happened,” Nesta assures, pulling her shorts down and sitting on the toilet. “I just needed some alone time.” People are all around her these days, it seems. Her body still can’t quite adjust to it.

“Well, have you had enough—are you peeing?”

“Yeah.” She wipes and flushes the toilet.

“Well, clear your day and kick your sorry boyfriend out of your place. I can’t remember the last time I went out.”

“Why does everybody always want to go out?” Nesta says as she washes her hands. “What’s wrong with staying in, being safe, never leaving the house?” She dries her hands on a towel and returns to the bedroom, where Cassian is now sitting up and checking his emails.

“You’re preaching to the choir, but this actually wasn’t my idea,” Emerie says.

Nesta and Cassian alert at the sound of a knock from the front door. Nesta never has uninvited guests.

“Hold on a second, Em,” she says, jogging up the short set of steps to the door. She opens it to the sight of an exasperated-looking Gwyn.

“Jeez, next time send a text that you’re alive, will you?” Gwyn says, shoving past Nesta to enter the apartment. “Do you know how worried I’ve been—” She halts midsentence, one foot hovering above a step as she realizes that Nesta isn’t alone. As she sees Cassian in her bed, bare-chested and highly amused.

“Hey.” He raises a hand in greeting.

Gwyn pales.

“Hello?” Emerie calls over the line.

“You girls both share the same brain,” Nesta sighs. “Let me call you back, Emerie.”

Gwyn whirls around just as Nesta hangs up. “That won’t be necessary,” she says quickly, looking embarrassed. “I’ll be outside. I’m sorry.”

She hurries out of the apartment even faster than she came in, ducking her head to hide her face.

Nesta tosses her arms up in the air. “Great,” she says to Cassian. “Your abs scared her away.”

“But I didn’t do anything—”

She shuts the door behind her as she follows Gwyn outside, barefoot and all. She barely notices the freezing cold air or the awful press of damp grass beneath her feet as she catches up to Gwyn and grabs her elbow. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Gwyn jerks suddenly, yanking out of Nesta’s hold. Her breathing seems a little shallow, and she looks even more embarrassed for it. “It’s nothing. I just didn’t know you had someone over.”

“Cassian? He’s cool, you don’t need to be weird about him,” she tries to reassure Gwyn. “Though I did use to tell him that not everybody wants to see him shirtless all the time.”

“It’s not that,” Gwyn says, waving her off.

Nesta gestures to the apartment. “Do you want to come back inside, then? I’m sure he has clothes on by now.”

Gwyn clears her throat uncomfortably and looks down. “I’d rather not. I’m—I don’t like being around men.”

Nesta pauses, not sure if she heard right. “Like, in a ‘check the backseat of your car before getting in’ way, or…?”

“No, like I can’t be alone in a room with a man without feeling sick. It activates my fight or flight, it’s weird.” She’s carefully stiff, like she’s ready to be met with humiliation.

Nesta remembers that Gwyn has never told her about her therapy sessions before, but she knows they’re more intensive than her own weekly conversations with Lana.

“Not that I think your boyfriend is a bad person,” Gwyn adds when Nesta doesn’t respond. “He looks really nice. He sounds nice, too.”

But Nesta doesn’t care about any of that. Unsure of what to do next, she reaches out and awkwardly pats Gwyn on the arm. “Good thing you’ve never been to the cabin, then. Cassian’s brother is staying…” She trails off when she realizes none of this is relevant. “Why are you here so early?” she asks instead.

Gwyn eases up a little at the change in subject. “I missed you. We’ve barely talked since Christmas.”

Nesta didn’t realize people would take such notice to her absence. “Yeah.” She flushes. “I do that sometimes. I’ll send a message next time I go into hibernation, though.”

“You’re freezing,” Gwyn suddenly scolds, noticing how Nesta’s goosebumped arms are wrapped tightly around herself. She unzips her red hoodie and shrugs it off. “Go back inside and get dressed.” She flings the hoodie around Nesta’s shoulders before Nesta can protest. “Meet me at my car. We’re hanging out.”

Nesta knows that a last minute change of events is not the end of the world, even if it sometimes feels like it. For Gwyn and Emerie, she can bear the discomfort of unexpected plans, same as she does for Cassian. But she at least has to know: “How long will we be out?”

“You can come home after lunch.” At Nesta’s face, Gwyn adds, “Lunch will be at two and shouldn’t take more than an hour.”

Looking her friend up and down, someone who has such an easy time understanding her, Nesta nods in satisfaction. She turns around to go back inside.

***

They end up at the library where Gwyn works, in the stacks of the long-abandoned encyclopedia section.

Emerie takes a loud sip from the huge McDonald’s soda she snuck in. “So all this show was because Gwyn didn’t want to work her shift alone?”

“I just have some last minute cleanup to do,” she hisses for the third time, shoving an old book back where it belongs. “Go to the porn section if you’re so bored here.”

“Oh, I definitely will,” Emerie says. “But I’m glad that we’re congregating now, even if it’s in the most depressing part of the library. I have a present for you girls.” She hands Nesta her drink so she can dig around in her purse.

Nesta personally has no complaints. The library is quiet, it smells of paper and old ink, and it holds all her favorite books. It’s almost better than staying in.

Emerie successfully pulls out a handful of folded and wrinkled papers from her bag, smoothing them out as best she can. “One for each of us,” she says, passing the papers around.

Nesta takes her paper and stares at the header. Gwyn is the first to speak. “Pole dancing classes?”

“Why?” Nesta says.

“Well, I originally offered them to Justinian and Isaac but they said no—”

“It’s really not for me,” Gwyn interrupts, trying to pass the registration form back to Emerie. “Sorry.”

Nesta doesn’t give her form back.

“Look,” Emerie says. “I get the hesitation. We’re a handful of boring bitches who hate having fun. But don’t you think that has to change at some point?”

“I’ve known you guys a month,” Gwyn retorts. “We’ve only been boring bitches for a month. This is too much.” She turns to Nesta for help.

Nesta is still staring at the paper. Dancing—on a pole, yes, but it’s still dancing. “I’ll do it,” she says.

Gwyn looks betrayed and Emerie looks elated. “Really?” She hops up and down. “That’s two against one, Gwyn. You have to do it, too.”

Gwyn’s cheeks are turning red in frustration. “You can’t just force this on me—”

“Gwyneth,” a sharp voice interrupts their conversation. Nesta spins around to find a young woman with dark skin and bleached white curls heading in their direction, a stack of books in her arms.

She halts before Nesta and glares. “No food or drink in the library.” She looks pointedly at the 32-ounce in her hand.

“It’s not mine.” Nesta shoves the drink back to Emerie.

But the librarian has turned to Gwyn, who hides the dance class form behind her back. “And what are you doing here?” she demands.

“Just putting up a few books, Merrill,” Gwyn answers quickly.

“While socializing?” the woman named Merrill sneers.

“We were just asking for help finding the romance section. Is that a problem?” Emerie crosses her arms and steps forward, letting a little of her beautiful deadliness slip into her stance. It’s the deadliness of someone at the top of her law class, someone who will graduate in a few months with all the power she could want in the palm of her hand. Nesta gets a rush from playing the lawyer game, too, but she’s never had the kind of ambition that Emerie has. Emerie is a shark sitting around in a small pond.

Merrill is not impressed. She snatches the styrofoam cup dangling from Emerie’s hand and tosses it in the nearby trash can. She turns back to Gwyn. “Hand your badge over and clock out.”

“But I’m not done yet—”

“Now.”

“Okay,” she squeaks. She pulls her ID badge off her neck and hands it to Merrill.

Nesta gapes in disbelief. Before she can speak up, Merrill says, “No loitering in the library. If you don’t have anything you need to check out, leave.” With one final judgmental look, she turns down an aisle of dusty books and disappears.

Gwyn makes a face at her back.

“That woman is not old enough to be acting that misanthropic,” Emerie says after Merrill is gone.

“Whatever,” Gwyn mutters. The registration form is still in her hand. She crumples it into a ball and throws it into the trash. “Let’s get out of here.”

Nesta stares at the trash as Gwyn turns to leave. “Coward,” she says.

Gwyn’s head snaps toward Nesta, her auburn hair swinging. “Excuse me?”

She shrugs. “You heard me.” Emerie’s eyes bounce back and forth between the girls.

“I did,” Gwyn says. “I was just making sure this wasn’t coming from the woman who would sooner bite someone’s head off than do something she doesn’t want to.”

“Girls,” Emerie snaps before Nesta can bite back. “It’s just a stupid dance class. I thought it would be fun to do together, but it doesn’t matter anymore.” Taking Gwyn by one arm and Nesta by the other, she starts steering them out of the stacks like a stern mother. “Now let’s go eat. I’m fucking hungry.”

Gwyn’s mood from the library doesn’t recover, even as they sit down for lunch at the local diner. Nesta thinks Gwyn might actually be sick when the male waiter winks at her while taking her order, and it’s not until long after he’s gone that color returns to her face. When their food arrives, Gwyn only picks at her plate.

“What’s wrong?” Nesta finally has to ask bluntly. “You look pukey.” Did the coward comment affect Gwyn more than she let on, or was it Merrill’s attitude that threw her off?

At Nesta’s words, Gwyn becomes even more pallid. “I just don’t feel great today,” she murmurs, looking around like she’s seeking a way out of the diner. “Sorry guys, I didn’t mean to be such a buzzkill. Maybe I should go home early.”

“Absolutely not,” Emerie says. “If you’re going home, we’re going home with you.”

Gwyn bites her lip, trying to decide if she wants that or not. But something about her antsy demeanor is too familiar to Nesta, because she says, “If you really want to be alone, do you mind driving me home first? Emerie’s car is a mess.”

“You just need to move around a few papers,” Emerie protests.

But Gwyn nods distractedly, already gathering her things. “Sure, no problem.” They pay the bill and go their separate ways.

During the ride home, the sky that’s been gray all day finally breaks open, unleashing a spattering of rain over the town. Nesta watches it sprinkle while Gwyn drives in silence.

“Why are you scared of Merrill?” she eventually asks. “She doesn’t look much older than you.”

Gwyn snorts, but there isn’t much heart to it. “Merrill is my superior, but I can handle her on most days.”

“Just not today?”

Gwyn eyes Nesta warily from the corner of her eye. “No, not today. Or this week.”

Nesta chooses not to push. The dull metal of the cars surrounding them glints under the rain, and they arrive at a red light.

After a minute, she takes a breath and blurts, “I’m not always like that around guys, you know.”

Nesta watches her closely, remembering how ghostly she seemed around Cassian, then the waiter. “Keep going.”

Gwyn stares straight at the traffic ahead, her fingers turning bone white on the steering wheel. “I’m just going through a hard period. Everything upsets me and I don’t know how to think straight. It’s like my brain accidentally traveled to the past and now it’s stuck there.” She sounds shaky, breathless, and it makes Nesta wonder what exactly her mind is experiencing.

Nesta knows what it’s like to be unable to move on. Her own brain has only recently started looking toward the future. “Where are you stuck, specifically?” she asks hesitantly. Maybe she can help Gwyn navigate her way out.

Gwyn’s chin quivers. “In a dark room.” Her lips form a tight line. “Being held down. I’m outnumbered.”

Nesta’s stomach turns. “How far back is it?”

“Two years,” Gwyn whispers. “Lately I can’t even look at anything without—remembering it. Thinking about it. Every time I feel like I’m moving past it, I end up being wrong.”

The light turns green, and Nesta puts a hand on Gwyn’s knee in an attempt to ground her. “Drive,” she commands softly.

Gwyn presses down on the accelerator, but Nesta can feel her leg trembling beneath her hand. She squeezes her knee hard. Even with the dark parts of her own past, Nesta has never felt what Gwyn is feeling right now. So she tries to stick to what she knows.

“It’s like you said,” she says carefully. “You’re going through a period where your brain isn’t being friendly to you. It’s horrible, but you can live with the knowledge that it’ll be over eventually.”

Gwyn shakes her head, holding back tears. “It doesn’t work like that. Once it goes away, it’ll just come back again. And it’ll be like that for the rest of my life.”

“You’re right.” Nesta doesn’t have a solution for that, and she hates it. “You’ll never forget. You can be at the peak of your life and still remember all of it. But,” she says slowly, “whether you reach a point where it barely fazes you, or if you keep crippling under the weight of it decades later, you’ll still be normal. You’ll be a perfectly normal human.”

Gwyn lets out a tearful laugh at that. “What does that even mean?”

Shit. “It means…” Nesta tries to explain herself better. “In case you’re worried that there’s something very wrong with you, I’m here telling you that there’s not. There will never be anything wrong with you.”

Gwyn eyes her skeptically as they turn onto a residential road. “Even if I never get past one nightmare I lived years ago? Even if that nightmare defines me until the day I die?”

“That won’t happen.” Nesta’s tone is simple, factual. “But yes, even then.”

“Really? You’re not gonna tell me to live for the better days or whatever?”

“Does that sound like something that would help you? Because I can say it if it does.”

Gwyn snorts. “No.” But her limbs are steady and her eyes are clear on the road. She clears her throat. “Thank you for listening. I think I might feel a little better now.”

“Was it because of what I said?” Nesta tries not to be too hopeful.

“I wouldn’t give you that much credit,” Gwyn says, crushing her hope. “But I’m glad I told you. It makes things…a lot easier for me.” She exhales deeply.

“You know my plate is mostly empty these days.” Nesta pats her knee. “That means I’ll always have room to help carry your shit.”

They pull up to Nesta’s apartment, and Gwyn parks at the curb. “Give me your dance class thing,” she says suddenly.

Frowning, Nesta pulls the wrinkled paper out of her purse and hands it to Gwyn.

Gwyn smooths it out on the steering wheel and grabs a pen from a cupholder, clicking it. “If you’re going to help carry my shit, I guess I have time for pole dancing now.”

“But that’s mine,” Nesta protests as Gwyn starts filling out the form.

“It can be both of ours,” she says, writing Nesta’s name under hers.

“Really?” Nesta grins with an excitement that she doesn’t easily feel. “You’re going to do it with us?”

“Why would I let you do it without me? So I can become the third wheel in our girl group?” She gives Nesta a look that says No way in hell.

Nesta rolls her eyes. “That would never happen to you.”

“Sure,” Gwyn drawls. She finishes the form and folds it in half before pocketing it. “I’ll give this to Emerie as a gift.” She leans over to peck Nesta on the cheek. “Now get home. Love you.”

Nesta turns red at the words and coughs. “Thanks for the ride,” she responds, getting out of the car.

“Say it back!” Gwyn calls after her. But Nesta shuts the door in her face and waves, pretending she can’t hear her. Gwyn mock-scowls at her through the window, but lets her off easy and drives away.

That’s enough feelings for today, Nesta decides. Even if her chest is swelling with emotion for her friend. It’s a sweet hurt that lingers long after she returns to her empty apartment.

***

a/n: i’m back in my no plot, just vibes era

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#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #ncssianwrites #a favor #nessian fic #nessian au

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nestasgalpal · 3 years

Text

Your precious High Lord [Nessian fic]

Masterlist | AO3

Sinopsis: So this is a fix-it fic where I give my version of the scene where Nesta calls Rhysand an asshole and Cassian defends him and tells Nesta that everyone hates her 🤡🤡 The idea is to just fix the scene, so everything else (aka Cassian telling her that and Nesta leaving the room etc) stil happens. I just want Nesta to verbalize why she doesn’t like Rhysand, since nobody seems to understand her reasons.

Tagging: @gwynriel @rhaenystargaryn @clolikescloquetas @amelievrstr @t8astr8ng @wanderlustlastsforever @saltydreamcollector @lordlorcan @esrahiba @queenestarcheron @ko0mbayamylord @poisonous-bloom @jemstan300

I might fix the Amren confrontation scene too, so let me know if you want to be removed or added to the tag list ^^

Azriel was having lunch with them, giving Cassian the details for the mission he was going into. Nesta maintained her silence as she slid into her chair, picked up her fork, and dug into the fillet of beef and roasted asparagus.

Cassian cleared his throat and said to Azriel, “How long will you be gone?”

“I’m not sure.” The shadowsinger’s eyes bore into her before he added, “Vassa was right to suspect something deadly amiss. Things are dangerous enough over there that it would be wiser for me to keep my base here at the House and winnow back and forth.”

Curiosity bit deep, but Nesta said nothing. Vassa—she hadn’t seen the enchanted human queen since the war had ended. Since the young woman had tried to speak to her about how wonderful Nesta’s father had been, how he had been a true father to her, helped her and won her this temporary freedom, and on and on until Nesta’s bones were screaming to get away, her blood boiling to think that her father had found his courage for someone other than her and her sisters. That he’d been the father she had needed—but for someone else. He had let their mother die in his refusal to send his merchant fleet hunting for a cure for her, had fallen into poverty and let them starve, but had decided to fight for this stranger? This nobody queen peddling a sad tale of betrayal and loss?

That thing deep in Nesta stirred, but she ignored it, pushed it down as best she could without the distraction of music or sex or wine. She took a sip of her water, letting it cool her throat, her belly, and supposed that would have to be enough.

“What’d Rhys say about it?” Cassian asked around a mouthful of food.

“Who do you think insisted I not risk a base over there?”

“Protective bastard.” A note of affection rang in Cassian’s words, though.

Silence fell again. Azriel nodded at her. “What happened to you?”

She knew what he meant: the black eye that was finally fading. Her hands and chin had healed, along with the bruising on her body, but the black eye had turned greenish. By tomorrow morning, it’d be gone entirely. “Nothing,” she said without looking at Cassian.

“She fell down the stairs,” Cassian said, not looking at her, either.

Azriel’s silence was pointed before he asked, “Did someone … push you?”

“Asshole,” Cassian growled.

Nesta lifted her eyes from her plate enough to note the amusement in Azriel’s gaze, even though no smile graced his sensuous mouth. Cassian went on, “I told her earlier today: if she’d bother to train, she’d at least have bragging rights for the bruises.”

Azriel took a calm sip of his water. “Why aren’t you training, Nesta?”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

Cassian muttered, “Don’t waste your breath, Az.”

She glared at him. “I’m not training in that miserable village.”

Cassian glared right back. “You’ve been given an order . You know the consequences. If you don’t get off that fucking rock by the end of this week, what happens next is out of my hands.”

“So you’ll tattle to your precious High Lord?” she crooned. “Big, tough warrior needs oh-so-powerful Rhysand to fight his battles?”

“Don’t you fucking talk about Rhys with that tone” Cassian snarled.

“Or what?” Nesta snapped. “Rhys is an asshole. He is an arrogant, preening asshole.”

Azriel sat back in his seat, eyes simmering with anger, but said nothing.

“That’s bullshit,” Cassian spat, the Siphons on the backs of his hands burning like ruby flames. “You know that is bullshit, Nesta."

“I hate him,” she seethed.

“Good. He hates you, too,” Cassian shot back. “Everyone fucking hates you. Is that what you want? Because congratulations, it’s happened.”

Azriel let out a long, long breath.

Cassian’s words pelted her, one after another. Hit her somewhere low and soft, and hit hard. Her fingers curled into claws, scraping along the table. Rage emerged, boiling in her veins. She tried to contain herself, but after months of drinking herself into oblivion, using alcohol to chain her feelings, her emotions, her nightmares, she was having trouble containing all the thoughts that were coming up her throat now that only water filled her cup. Nesta sensed her own anger rise to match Cassian’s.

“I’m done with you and your problems.” he finished.

The words rumbled between them. Nesta blinked. Azriel tensed, as if surprised.

Cassian aimed for the door, his pounding steps fading down the hall.

Nesta had never in her life tried to use her issues as an excuse. There was not one flaw in her character she didn’t know about. She was terrible to be around, and she was aware of it, but she had never expected people to try to understand where it all came from. On the contrary, she used it against every person that crossed her path, so they couldn’t get to see her aching heart. She wore her issues as an armour, so people never wanted to come closer and see why she was the way she was. Nesta had used her anger against almost every person she knew, but not once had she tried to use the cause of that rage, that infinite void in her chest, as an excuse.

But she was so sick of them, their patronizing, them projecting their own issues into her, that the seal that contained her darkest thoughts broke, and the words came out. Because if after everything she had given to them she still hadn’t made it up to Feyre, then there was absolutely nothing else for her to do. She had nothing left to give.

She wanted them to know what their victory cost her. If Cassian didn’t want to see on his own, she would make him.

“I gave my life for you. For all of you” Cassian halted in the archway of the door. Azriel’s eyes were fixed on her, even if her own stare had followed Cassian. “Even before the war, I tried to make it up to my sister for the four years she hunted for us.” Cassian’s body was almost lost in the shadows coming out of the hallway, but still close enough to the door that she could see his back, his wings, the tension in his muscles under his shirt.

“Your High Lord likes to pretend I’m nothing but a burden, but I’m only what you’ve made of me” When none of the illyrians interrupted her, Nesta felt seen for a moment.

Then, she realized the temperature in the room had dropped, her nails had left marks on the table, and Azriel’s shadows were ready to strike if needed.

Cassian was also still, ready to move.

They were not listening to her, they were waiting for her to attack. Like a wild animal. Like Rhysand in his studio, using his power on her to make her sit.

They expected nothing better from her than that. They expected her to unleash her wrath on them, and that’s what she was going to do. She didn’t care.

“To have any kind of contact with fae is a crime in the Mortal Lands. Did you know that?“

She wanted himto know she was talking about a time prior to their last day in the battlefield, because her sacrifice had not been only physical. No, she was talking about the things she did before, favours to help her sister’s cause. Their cause.

“I did everything you lot asked me to do. I sent the letters putting my neck on the line, and risking Elain’s future. I held the meeting at my house and let you come and go as you pleased.”

“Her future with Greysen would have made her miserable” Azriel’s icy tone surprised her. She merely blinked in his direction. His graceful face was covered in shadows of anger, too.

“That was the future she wanted. The one she chose”.

Azriel fought back “He came from a family of fae hunters”. Nesta wasn’t sure why he had gotten caught up on that detail, but she insisted. Now that she was a fae, she wanted to stay away from people like Greysen, but back then, his family and her money combined offered a safety she had desperately wanted.

“Which we both thought was a good thing. We thought Feyre had been killed by fae. We gave her a funeral” Cassian shuddered, his wings reacting to her words, tucking in a little more.

Nesta felt the cold of the room on her bones.

“I still let you into my house. Have you even considered how scared I was to let you in? Do you have any idea of the stories I grew up with about faeries and their tricks, their bloodthirst? I’ve met people who were taken by your kind… my kind, now, I guess. And I still helped you.” She didn’t tell them Rhysand was the one murdering her friend Clare and her family.

“Those stories are about faes like the ones in Hybern, of wild creatures near the Wall. Not Prythian’s folk” Cassian answered. His tone was dark and low, angry, insulted. But he was not screaming now.

“And how was I supposed to know?” She shouted. How was she supposed to know? His words almost made her doubt, thought. In the middle of her rage, his words almost made her doubt herself, like she might be overreacting, like she had gone crazy, maybe, paranoid. But she didn’t fall for it. She hadn’t been careful enough with them, their promises, their requests. “The only explanation I received when my sister came back after months with a new male in her arm -a male she had warned me about before her departure- was that the mortal realm was about to be destroyed by war, and she needed my help. So I helped her.”

It was not only anger or rage, but pure wrath what tinted her words. She could take the blame for all the things she did wrong -she would. She wanted to. But she was tired of them using her mistakes as an excuse to never acknowledge that fact that she��had tried. Nesta had given them everything they had asked from her.

Azriel’s shadows were dangerously still. Nesta wasn’t sure if she had ever seen them like that. Cassian hadn’t moved either.

They were listening now.

”I know Feyre risked her life for us. So for her, I risked mine too. And Elain’s. The difference is that I actually died and became this,” she pointed at her own body, everyday stronger, gaining back the absurd beauty that belonged only to creatures from that side of the Wall. She hated it ”while Feyre found happiness. My sister chose to come back to this awful land full of monsters, I was dragged out of my bed and taken.”

“Nesta-” The shadowsinger didn’t move, but his tone had a cautious note to it. She knew her eyes were now quicksilver, flames dancing in them. She had seen herself in the mirror when that happened. She would be cautious too.

Nesta didn’t let Azriel finish. She wanted Cassian to hear the rest. Cassian, who had promised her a future and then vanished. Cassian, who would still defend his High Lord even when he physically threatened her. Nesta wanted him to hear her words until the end.

She wanted him to be as hurt as she was.

Something tucked in her stomach, warning her that both of them would regret it later if she went on, but her blood was boiling, so she did it anyway.

“Your High Lord of friend or brother or whatever he is to you, promised we would be guarded.”

Nesta let the words resonate. She didn’t need to remind any of them what had happened next. They knew. They had suffered from Hybern too that night.

She wanted them to remember. It wasn’t fair that they got to live their happy ever after, but she had to be consumed by it and left alone because she didn’t warm up the room with a smile like Elain did. It wasn’t fair that after everything she went through so they could live this perfect life, they still got to lock her up in a tower and make her the villain.

Nesta didn’t need to look into Cassian’s eyes to know he was remembering the same moment she went over and over in her nightmares every night. The moment she was dragged into the Cauldron. His body in the ground, covered in blood. His shredded wings. Her screams echoing in the hall.

“So the next time I call him an asshole -and I promise it will happen again- don’t you dare using that tone with me.”

There was a long silence. Silver fire remained in her eyes, but Cassian didn’t turn to meet her gaze. He only said “I won’t”, and stalked out.

Alone with Azriel, Nesta bared her teeth at him.

Azriel watched her with that cool quiet, keeping utterly still. Like he saw everything in her head. Her bruised heart.

She couldn’t bear it. So she stood, only two bites taken from her food, and left the room as well.

She returned to the library. The lights blazed as brightly as they had during the day, and a few lingering priestesses wandered the levels. She found her cart, filled again with books needing to be shelved.

No one spoke to her, and she spoke to no one as she began to work, with only the roaring silence in her head for company.

#fixing acosf

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wingsofanillyrian · 3 years

Text

Lights Over Monaco: Chapter 3

Day late but here you go! Thank you to @acourtofcouture for beta-ing and putting up with me!

Chapter Masterlist

The six hour flight left Nesta well rested and refreshed as she checked into her hotel. She texted Jacob to check in and make sure none of his equipment had gotten lost on the flight. Having arrived a day earlier, he had been lurking around paddocks in hopes of capturing any drama on film.

He assured her everything had made it safely and informed her there were rumors flying about transmission troubles with the McLaren team. Nesta told him to keep an eye on it and unpacked her suitcase.

Nesta had just sat down when her phone rang. It was Tomas. Sighing, she decided she couldn’t avoid him forever.

“Tomas,” She answered coldly.

“About damn time you picked up the phone,” He replied, remorseless. He wasn’t earning himself any points. “What room are you in?”

She frowned. “How do you know if I’m even in Baku?”

“Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to find out flight numbers.” Interesting, he was keeping tabs on her.

“I don’t want to-”

“I said what room?”

Nesta sank back in the plush chair. Truthfully, she did want to see him, if only to determine what he had to say for himself. She couldn’t let go of the hope that somehow this was all a simple misunderstanding.

“Fourteen twelve,” She told him, instantly regretting it.

She heard him shuffling on the other end. “Five minutes.”

A knock on her door sounded a few minutes later, and she let Tomas in. “I saw the story.”

“Obviously,” Nesta scoffed, crossing her arms. Tomas reached for her but she stepped away. His eyes went bright with anger. She would not make this easy for him.

“I tried calling you.”

“I am aware.” Nesta picked at her nails to hide her trembling, trying to appear utterly nonplussed. “Did you sleep with her?”

“Yes.”

Nesta froze. Ever so slowly, her gaze slid to Tomas. Back straight, chin jutting out, staring down his nose at her. He still showed no sign of regret, nothing that would indicate he made a mistake.

“Why?” She rasped, fighting back tears. Tomas was not worth it.

He shrugged. “Because I wanted to. You and I are just fucking anyways. What does it matter?”

Nesta recoiled, blinking. “I can’t do this.” She had grossly miscalculated their entire relationship. Her palms began to sweat, her breathing increasing to a fever pitch. She pressed a hand to her chest, praying that the pressure would prevent her glass heart from shattering. Instead, it pushed the shards further into her lungs, making each breath ragged.

“Get out,” She whispered. Tomas scoffed, stepping forward.

“Nesta-”

“Out!” She repeated, more forcefully. She only needed to hold herself together for a few more seconds until he was out the door, then she could crumble.

Tomas’ face twisted. “Fine. I’ll see you at the paddock tomorrow anyway, I’m sure.”

Nesta let out a choked sob as soon as the door slammed shut. Her resolve broke, the dam inside of her punched through. Tears flowed freely down her face as she fell to her knees. She shouldn’t have loved him.

Before they had met, she knew he was nothing but a heartbreaker. He went through women the way a drunk went through a bottle of liquor. Tomas viewed women in the same way as well; objects to be used until they were no more than empty shells and then discarded.

Nesta let the grief crash against her for a handful of minutes before she realized how useless it was. Tomas would never love her. Honestly, she wasn’t sure if he was capable of feeling such an emotion at all. There was no use letting him affect her.

Gathering her strength, Nesta stood. She looked at the sorry image in the mirror, taking in the red eyes, the mascara tracking down her cheeks, the disheveled hair. She wouldn’t let a man crush her. She had made it this far by blinding herself to the sneers and derogatory comments thrown at her. Why couldn’t she do the same to get over Tomas?

But as she climbed into bed, she realized how flawed that mentality was.

**********

Sunday’s race kept Nesta busy. Lucien and Azriel collided in lap three, causing a safety car and ultimately leading to the pair of them being unable to finish the race. Nesta had seen it on a television hanging in the Mercedes garage, the entire team letting out a collective shout when Vanserra didn’t yield to Azriel in the 90 degree turn and the Red Bull tangled with the Mercedes. Both cars were a mess of broken carbon fiber and snapped suspension bits.

Nesta managed to corner Azriel and get a few heated words out of him, a rare bit of annoyance showing through his usual calm. “Vanserra should have cut into the corner more sharply. He was way off the racing line.”

“Some people would say that you should have backed off and yielded the position to him,” Nesta added, hoping to get him worked up further. “What are your thoughts on that?”

Azriel glared at the camera, addressing anyone who dared think the incident had been his fault. “If you’re not allowed to defend, what’s racing about, then?”

Azriel turned on his heel and belined back to the garage. Jacob lowered the camera and turned to Nesta to ask, “You don’t actually believe it was Azriel’s fault, do you?”

“Of course not.” Nesta’s attention returned to the monitors and she grimaced. The racing incident had allowed Tomas to move up into first. Cassian was only a second behind, but struggling to overtake. At least she no longer had to be invested in Tomas holding his position. She couldn’t care less if he won or not.

In the end, it was Tomas taking home top points for Red Bull, Cassian bringing home 18 for Mercedes and Varian with a handful for McLaren spraying the champagne on the podium. Red Bull’s one stop strategy meant that when Cassian dipped into the pits on lap 38 for a fresh set of soft compound tires and one of the wheel nuts got stuck, Tomas was the clear winner. Cassian had no way to make up the 10 second deficit. The 25 points Tomas’ first place finish awarded him allowed him to slip past Cassian and snag the championship lead.

And gods, was he smug about it.

Nesta told herself she didn’t care when Tomas sauntered into the press pen, his self-satisfied smile directed at her as he sat. Cassian and Varian filed in moments later, each silent as they took their seats. The room paused, Cassian’s hazel eyes flicking to where she sat front row. Everyone was waiting…. For her.

But her mind was blank. Not a single race related question surfaced. Nesta panicked, clenching a fist hard enough to feel her nails bite her palm. After a few beats of silence, the roar of the other reporters filled her head.

They had been waiting for her to ask something - anything - and she couldn’t come up with a single damned thing to say.

Jacob nudged her side. “You good?”

Nesta was too lost in the tangled web of thoughts to reply. This had all been a game to Tomas; his attitude now told her that. He had used her to gain favor with other teams and build a solid reputation with fans. After all, what better way to gain positive media attention than to have the sport’s most infamous writer in your bed?

She managed to keep her face carefully blank until the end of the conference. She didn’t say a word to Jacob as he packed up, shooting her confused glances all the while. The walls of the room pushed in on her, chest becoming tight. Standing on shaky legs, she fled down the hall, finding an abandoned alcove far from the cacophony of noise.

Chest heaving, Nesta tried to sort through her revelation. Tomas had used her. He had never intended to let this drag out. Those pictures had likely been a calculated move on his end, intended to spear her heart. Maybe breaking her had been his plan all along. He seemed to enjoy her emptiness, judging by the way he kept glancing at her during the conference.

Her phone vibrated. Against her better judgement, she checked it. It was only Jacob, asking where she was. She only texted back to say that she was fine before gathering herself. She couldn’t just crumble in a hallway where anyone could see her.

She had just began to head towards the exit when someone jogged behind her. “Hey!”

“Not now Cassian,” Nesta said, annoyance evident. How did he always manage to find her when she wanted to be left alone? It was like he had some kind of sixth sense, focused directly on her.

“Hold on,” He said, fingers brushing her arm. The touch froze her, muscles coiling. It had only been a brief moment, but the surprise of it was enough to disarm her. “You okay? You didn’t say a word at the conference.”

Her lips peeled back in a snarl. “Why do you care?”

He did not flinch. Most would have. “Because I’m a decent person, believe it or not.” She searched his face for any sign of insincerity. She couldn’t find any; his hazel eyes held only honeyed truths.

Nesta’s laugh was cruel, hot tears threatening to fall. “Right. Sure you are. Suddenly you feel like caring about how I feel instead of fucking with me. How about you leave me to my misery, Cassian? No need to rub it in.”

She didn’t wait for a response. Didn’t want to see the look on his face, whether it was anger or smug satisfaction, or something else entirely.

Nesta managed to make it out and call a taxi to take her back to the hotel. She was silent the entire ride, not bothering with half-hearted small talk. Collapsing on the bed, she didn’t bother changing. She queued up a cheesy comedy film, one that was full of stupid jokes that were funny when it first came out, but not relevant in the present day.

Halfway through, Nesta grew bored and checked her phone. There was a text from an unknown number.

You okay? You never answered me.

"What the fuck," Nesta mumbled, rereading the message. How had Cassian gotten her number?

Fine, was all she said back. She didn't know why she even bothered responding. Maybe it was because he had seemed genuinely concerned in that hallway and she felt slightly guilty for blowing him off.

I can buy you a drink if you come down to the hotel bar

Fuck off and leave me alone

Gladly.

Nesta let out a frustrated sigh and texted Jacob.

You gave him my number didn't you?

Jacob's response was only an emoji of a nervous smile.

"Little fucker," She mumbled, tossing her phone aside. She'd throttle him tomorrow on the plane. Right now, she was too hungry to send a snarky reply. If she slipped out the back, she could grab a burger without having to chance running into Cassian at the bar.

Grabbing a sweater - the desert got cold at night, she'd learned that the hard way - she made the trek down the fourteen flights of stairs, trying to piece together her life.

By the time she made it to a fast food shop, she was exhausted. She inhaled her meal in minutes, lounging in the dingy booth. She looked at her phone for what felt like the thousandth time, disappointed when there wasn’t so much as a text from Tomas.

She got up from the booth, tossed her trash in the bin and walked out. She took the long way back to the hotel, purposely winding through the streets. Why did she care if Tomas hadn’t texted her? It was her own fault that she had let herself fall for him in the first place. She knew it had been a horrible idea, and yet she had allowed herself to let him gain a place of importance in her life. They’d agreed on no feelings, and yet here she was.

By the time she made it back to her hotel room, Nesta was exhausted. It took her three tries to fit the electronic key in the reader, and she used her full weight to shoulder the obscenely heavy door open.

She didn’t bother with the lights, simply slipping out of her shoes and throwing her jacket in the general direction of the closet. She wanted to sleep; maybe that would reset her mind so she could feel less broken tomorrow.

“Hey-”

“Fuck!” Nesta jumped at the voice, fumbling for the lightswitch, heart in her throat. She squinted when warm light filled the room, shoulders relaxing when she saw who it was. Tomas, standing awkwardly by the desk, roses and a small box in his hands. Despite herself, hope bloomed.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, unmoving.

Setting down the bouquet, Tomas stepped forward to hand her the box. “I came to apologize. I know I missed your birthday and that I’m a shitty person. But if you open that, I think you’ll see…”

He trailed off, nodding to the present she now held. She opened the hinged black velvet, revealing a small diamond necklace. It was delicate, nothing flashy, but enough to make a statement. Nesta glanced up at him, heart warring with her head.

“Do you think showering me with pretty things will make me take you back, after what you said?”

“I think it’ll help, when paired with the fact that I-” He swallowed, trying and failing to hide his grimace. “I love you.”

Any and all sane thoughts left her head upon hearing those three precious words. Gods, she had dreamed of this moment for months. He’d only waited to tell her because it was clearly hard for him to say. But now that he’d admitted it, she could teach him how to love.

Nesta laughed, throwing her arms around his neck. “I love you too, Tomas. I always have.”

His hands rest on her back, not returning her fervor but she didn’t care. “Now will you take me back?”

The short answer was yes, absolutely. There was nothing she wanted more in the world than to wrap herself up in him and get lost. But her head knew that she needed to lay out a defense.

“Only if you promise we can make this real. If we can be together. Which means no more stunts for the cameras. I can’t keep writing about it like it’s nothing.”

Tomas tensed against her. “Fine. I can do that.”

The weight on Nesta’s chest eased. She let him lay her back on the bed, ripping at his clothes. She only let him pull away long enough for him to whisper, “I can’t stay the night.”

@aphoeni @planet-faerie @nina-zcnik @darlinminds @linsimin @that-little-red-head @teagoddess99 @enpointe10 @electronicstrawberrystrawberry @awesomelena555 @iptneus @weesablackbeak @wonderland–memories @nessian-trash-heap @magicalwaterfall @perfectlyimpxrfect @cassians-wings @valkyrie-archeron @acourtofcouture @nesemryn @chloepereyra @toastedroastedburnt @swankii-art-teacher @illyrianshadowhunter @bakingandbooks3 @maastrash @candid-confetti @flamingveritas @silentquartz @suckmykawaiidesu @18moneytoad @frosted-crackers @maybekindasortaace @lysandra-tiara9 @rowaelinismyotp @jlinez

#lom #my writing #nesta archeron #cassian #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses #a court of war and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acotar fanfiction #nessian #nessian fanfiction

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ladynestaarcheron · 3 years

Text

Fears All the Way Down - Chapter Five

ao3 - masterpost

hello, my dears. here's chapter five, without too much fanfare. enjoy<3

---

The morning of her first self-defense lesson with Cassian, Nesta awakes to a cool breeze blowing in the scent of roses from her open window.

"Good morning," Nesta says, smiling slightly. "I guess you liked my gift."

She had finished it yesterday, in the jewelry-making session. It had taken her the better part of the day. A sort of cover for the cracked, broken part of the walls the Illyrians had destroyed. Golden and gleaming and prettier than the beige paint around it, but complementing all the same.

And now the House, apparently, is showing her affection for it: a new rose bush outside of her room, fat flowers dangling down over the top of her window. A very pretty frame for her already spectacular view of the city.

The House gives her different clothes today, too. A fitted shirt, and a knee-length loose skirt, with leggings underneath. As close to pants as she'll wear. By Cassian's slight approving nod when she meets him after breakfast, he approves.

"We'll be starting on the roof," he says, in lieu of a greeting.

She nods once. She remembers hearing him, back in that awful first week here-goodness, but it's not yet been a full month since then, and it feels so long ago-hearing him up there, throwing knives around or whatever it was he did. She guesses she'll soon find out.

The crispness of the morning mountain air hits her in full force, but Cassian doesn't act like it fazes him at all. In fact, judging by the way his wings spread slightly wider, he likes it.

"All right," he says. "Let's begin."

The hour ticks by, slowing and speeding up depending on moments when Cassian touches her. There's none of his usual chatter or teasing; he's serious and unsmiling. The training ring is probably sacred to him.

Serious and unsmiling, but not discouraging. He's generous with his praise when she achieves his simple tasks-too generous, she thinks, but perhaps he has some ulterior motive.

Or perhaps, a small voice inside her head says, he's relieved you'll finally know how to defend yourself, and he means it.

It's not as daunting as it had seemed at first, this self defense. He's good for their agreement; this isn't training. He takes all her weaknesses and her proposed attacker's strengths into consideration and shows her how to maneuver past it all. How to cause an assailant-even one as big and strong as he is-to let her go when they grab her arms tightly in front, how to move her legs when she's caught in a chokehold, and how to break free when someone grabs her from behind.

"I guess no one will be able to pull onto your hair, though," he muses, more to himself than to her. "Keep your arms at your sides; you don't want them to get in the way of this one," he adds, mercifully changing the subject too quickly before he can notice her expression.

No one can pull on her hair now, that's the whole point. But they had, they had, rough enough that strands came out and she had no way to escape. What if she had known these tricks then? Would she have had a prayer? Would she still be human? Elain? And what of Father, would he still be alive? Or would it not have mattered; only delayed her certain torture and death, because she had been human, and they had been Fae, and in the end, that was all-

"Arms like this, Nesta," Cassian says, switching from mock-assailant to instructor as he gently tucks her arms against her sides, and drawing her out of her head to the sound of his voice and the feel of his hands on hers, his body behind her. His wings block out the wind, and she can feel the warmth radiating from him to her core. "Because you don't want them to get in the way of when you break out...and why else?"

"So I don't use them to hurt myself," she says, repeating his words from earlier.

"Right...good. Let's do this one again. One last time."

She takes a deep breath.

"Ready?"

"Yes." She doesn't hesitate. She doesn't need to. He doesn't let her feel trapped.

"All right, I'm grabbing you now-good!"

For she is ready for him, this time. He wraps his arms around her from behind, his arms trapping hers at her elbows, and she instantly draws them in like he instructed. Without waiting for his prompting, she gathers her strength and throws her head upwards and backwards, like he had shown her, and then leaps away as his arms fly open.

"Good, Nesta!" he says, eyes shining as she turns around. He isn't hurt; he keeps moving away for this one so she doesn't do any real damage. "You would've hit his neck there...normally, I'd say go for the chin, but neck's really good...at that speed, with that force, really good..." He grins broadly at her, his first smile of the morning, and after an hour of being in instructor-Cassian's presence, she blinks at the easy switch.

"You did really well," he says, after handing her a glass of water. "Did you...how was it for you?"

She shrugs slightly. "All right." It wasn't fun. But it was hardly suffering. And the movements, following Cassian's instructions...a good way to keep herself focused.

"Would you...do you want to continue?" His voice is casual, but from the careful way he does not meet her eyes, she can tell he is tense.

"Yes," she says, trying to keep her voice casual too.

He brightens, and something inside her dims automatically. His...elation, relief, whatever this spark is, at seeing her agree to do this...it feels, somehow, as though she is doing something wrong. She is cheating or lying. She does not deserve this, is not worthy of his joy. Of him.

"It's not healthy to do workouts every day," he says, "especially...when you're in recovery."

When you're weak, he means. When one is ill and emaciated-even if she is getting better, and trying, it's not going to be enough-never enough-

"So I think...Mondays and Tuesdays...and Thursdays and Fridays? If you'd like to do this long term, I mean."

Nesta blinks. "How long-term?"

He shrugs. "Till you want to stop, I guess."

She purses her lips slightly. "Don't you have...I mean, will you be able to do this four times a week, indefinitely? Don't you have..." An occupation, she wants to say. Running the strongest military on their island, maybe one of the strongest in the world. "You don't have the time," she decides on instead.

He does it again. His deep hazel eyes latch onto hers and don't let her go. She doesn't have a prayer of looking away until he lets her. There's not enough self-defense lessons in the world for her to be strong enough to fight this off.

"I always have time for you, Nesta."

She shivers, and it doesn't have anything to do with the crisp wind under the weak October sun.

He moves his head, and lets her go.

"So tomorrow, then," he says.

"Tomorrow," she echoes. She doesn't stay to watch him fly off.

---

Nesta had done incredibly well. Spectacularly. And she had looked even better.

He had stayed up half the night before, wondering if she was going to show up in pants. She hadn't, but the skirt she had worn had gone only to her knees. The shortest he'd seen her in by far. And her black top...like a second skin. A healthier skin, almost normal. Not translucent any longer. Covering a softer body. More curves, like she used to have. Bones not protruding so much. Golden hair shining in the dim light, coiled and braided like a princess', like a queen's. She even has it up when she goes to sleep, he'd learned during her first week here. Does she ever wear it down? Only to bathe, probably. And what does she look like then, with this slight new weight, this perfect skin, this beautiful hair reaching he doesn't even know how far down...He'd only allowed himself a few moments of ogling her before violently shoving out all thoughts anywhere near the realm of lust from his mind. The training ring was not for this.

Feyre and Elain are beside themselves with happiness, as he knew they would be, when he tells them how it went.

"She agreed to more lessons," Feyre says in wonderment.

"It can only be a good thing," Elain says, tugging on a stray lock of hair.

"Yes," Feyre agrees. "But...maybe, considering...you know. Your history." She shoots him an apologetic look. "Maybe it'd be best if..."

Cassian's heart rate picks up. "You think someone else should teach her?" No, his instincts tell him. She had asked him. She wants him to do it.

But he knows he'll give in. If her sisters think it would be better...because it's her that matters. Not what he wants. What matters is her getting better.

Oh, but he knows he can be the person to help her. Or one of the people, at least. If she just lets him.

Mercifully, Feyre says, "No, no, not that. Just...maybe you could do with a chaperone? Azriel or-well, no, not Rhys. But maybe it would be good for Az to drop by occasionally...what do you think?"

"That's not a bad idea," he admits. A buffer. He could do with one.

"So, what are you teaching her, exactly?" Elain asks.

"Just some self defense. Breaking away from an assailant, today." But maybe, in time, he can convince her to do more. More general exercise, maybe even some offensive techniques. "There was something at the House," he adds. "On the wall where the Illyrians attacked."

"What?"

"This gold...thing. Covering the damage the Illyrians did to it." He clenches his jaw at the memory.

"I thought the House was magic now," Elain says. "Couldn't it have fixed itself up."

"Nesta made it," he says. "She told it she was going to fix it, so..."

The wall had been as fine as any other in the House, in any one of Rhys' homes, before the attack. Painted well, a warm beige, and decorated with any number of ornate pictures and mirrors and shelves for vases and whatnot. But now, the wall was white and bare but for the swirling metal covering the cracks and craters.

Cassian understands. If Nesta had made something for him, he'd want it to be the only thing people saw when they looked at him.

"She made something?" Feyre asks, eyes widening slightly.

"She did say she had that jewelery thing...she said she liked it."

"I never thought of Nesta as an artist before," Feyre says, quieter. "She never had any patience for painting when I showed her."

"Well, I'm sure she doesn't think of herself as an artist...I got the impression she liked it as a way to calm herself down."

"Do you think? What does she need calming down from? Is she-is she angry, do you think?"

Feyre and Elain continue to discuss Nesta and guess at her thoughts and motives while Cassian sits and desperately wishes he could only ask her.

---

Thalia asks to see her as soon as she's available, so Nesta tells Gwyn she'll see her after lunch and heads down to her office.

"Good morning," Thalia says, smiling up at her from her couch.

Nesta sits opposite her. "Hello."

"You're looking refreshed."

"I started...some self-defense. Just a little. With, um, Cassian." Does she know Cassian, Nesta wonders. Probably. He's the kind of person everyone knows.

"Really?" Thalia says, sounding impressed. "How wonderful!"

Nesta shrugs a little.

"Well, I think that comes at a perfect time, actually."

Nesta's eyes shoot up. "Why?" she asks, wary.

"I think I've settled on an idea to help you tackle your goals. I wanted to know what you think."

"All right," Nesta says, after a beat. "What is it?"

Thalia tilts her head back slightly, chin set. Oh, this should be good. "What do you think about keeping a log and schedule of trying new things?"

She sucks in her bottom lip before saying, "Trying new things? How does that help me with my goals?" It seems like Thalia is trying to push her own agenda over actually helping Nesta achieve hers.

"It'll get you in the habit of doing things you aren't used to," Thalia says, patient. "It'll keep you focused on something. It might bring new joys or interests into your life, perhaps personally, or perhaps by bonding with others. And it'll greatly increase your confidence and self-esteem."

Nesta blinks. "That's not one of my goals."

"I know, dear. It's one of mine."

Nesta looks down. "It's..." She forces herself to say the words she would normally just drown in inside her own mind. "Just hard to remember sometimes."

"What's hard to remember?" Gentle, not prodding.

She swallows hard. It sounds so stupid inside her head. How will it sound out loud? "That I'm actually supposed to...get better. Sometimes it feels like that's the wrong thing to do." She bites her tongue-she hadn't meant for that part to come out.

But Thalia never acts like what she's saying is pathetic, even if it is.

"How does it feel wrong?"

Nesta sighs. Not out of irritation over the question, just because she isn't quite sure how to answer. "It's...I don't know. Sometimes one just knows a thing is wrong."

"Hm," Thalia says. Considering, thoughtful. "Well, at any rate, your self-defense lesson today can count as your new thing for the day."

"Well-wait, for the day? You want me to do one new thing per day?"

Thalia's lip quirk. "How often did you think I was asking you?"

"I don't know. A week, maybe."

"I don't think so. Once a day, please. Don't forget to track them all. Write them down. Run along, now, Nesta, and if you could take these books with you? Thank you."

Gwyn finds her putting Thalia's books back on the fifth level. "So, how did it go with Thalia? And with your training session with Lord Cassian?"

Lord Cassian. She'll never get used to that. "News travels fast, I see," she says primly.

"You know it does. How did it go?"

"It went...all right."

"Which one?" Gwyn takes a book from Nesta's hands and puts it on a shelf over her head.

"Both of them. Actually, I think the lesson with Cassian went better," she says in surprise, after reflecting. "And it wasn't training. It was just some self-defense."

"Same difference. What happened with Thalia?"

"She's making me try one new thing a day."

"One per day? Every day?" Gwyn shudders. "I can't believe you go along with everything she says. All her meetings and exercises and now this self-defense...You must be four times as brave as I am, at least."

Nesta winces.

"What are you going to do?" Gwyn continues, either not noticing Nesta's discomfort or respectfully ignoring it. "For your new things, I mean."

"I don't know," Nesta says, weighing two books, as if debating between her options for tomorrow and all the tomorrows after. "I guess...try every fruit I haven't?" Gwyn laughs. "I don't know what she expects me to do."

"I'm sure you'll think of things. You're...you'll do better than the rest of us. You do better than the rest of us. It's so obvious, how much you want to live." She says it confidently, assuredly, her teal eyes set.

Nesta bites her lip. "I did really want to live," she says quietly. That night in Hybern. She had fought with everything she had. The whole way to the Cauldron, and even after, inside it. She hadn't stopped. "I...can't..."

"I know," Gwyn says, voice soft as Nesta's. "You can't remember why. It's all right. You will. I can tell."

Nesta blinks rapidly. She's not about to cry. She's not. She just...she doesn't know what she is.

"I can't believe it's not even noon," she mumbles.

Gwyn chuckles. "Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but your day's hardly going to be a quiet one. Calliope wants you all afternoon."

She likes Calliope, generally, so that's not so awful. "For what?"

Gwyn shrugs. "Sorting through her papers, probably. Maybe she wants you as an assistant."

If Nesta gets assigned to a High Priestess, than she doesn't have to do these menial tasks anymore. Of course, there's no promise that the priestess she'll be assisting won't have her own miserable things for her to do...Merrill, Gwyn's priestess, is a royal pain, Nesta knows...

"So I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then," Gwyn says. "Wearing your dress backwards or eating starfruit."

"Ha," Nesta says flatly.

Gwyn laughs once more before going, unbound copper hair flowing behind her.

She's wrong, Nesta knows, about her being braver than anyone else. About her being brave at all. All she's doing now is what other people are telling her. Go see Calliope in her office, Nesta. Come sit with Thalia on the third level, Nesta. Tell Clotho if you liked Daphne's lecture, Nesta. Simple motions, simple movements. Nothing brave about it.

"Now again on the left, Nesta. Good. Good."

It's Thursday morning, and Cassian is the one ordering her about. Sometimes she thinks he sounds like any one of the priestess, with how he talks to her in these lessons, which makes her feel...she isn't sure. It's odd, certainly. Considering all the ways they used to talk to each other. Barbed insults, right in the House, to the other end of the spectrum. The words that cycle in her head some nights, the newest among them being I always have time for you, Nesta...and, of course, intermittent praises from when she does well.

"Excellent. Keep your torso just like that...now with your arms just as I-yes!"

There's really not any bravery required, Nesta decides. Not when the priestesses are all eager to do anything that encourages the girls to, well, do anything, and not when Cassian is...himself. Even now that Azriel, the member of her sister's circle Nesta is wont to consider her favorite if only because he never talks to her, has started showing up for a few minutes every session. Even he, with his face more closed off than Amren's (back when they were on speaking terms), and those dark shadows of his...even he does not discourage her.

Their hour ends, and he watches her drink two glasses of water-discreetly, drinking some himself, too-before turning to leave.

"Um," she says, voice slightly louder than it needs to be.

He pauses. Turns. Waits.

She can't look away again-his eyes-but she has to say something, doesn't she? What was it she was going to say?

"I seem to be doing well," she blurts out. Then flushes crimson.

He grins. "You're doing very well, Nesta."

She smooths her skirt, as if that'll somehow help her regain composure. "What I mean is," she says, voice hopefully not wobbly, "these...lessons...seem to be doing me good."

His grin gets smaller, but his eyes grow soft. "I...am very glad to hear that."

"I mean they help me feel...better. I feel better. Stronger. And I don't get so distracted all the time. And I...don't think about drinking so much." That's true, she realizes. In fact, she hasn't wanted a drink since...Monday? Sunday? She can't even be sure.

Cassian inhales sharply. "Good," he says, rather faint. "That's...that's so good, Nesta."

"So I was wondering if maybe you thought that...because I thought...well, I-I don't know, but maybe..." Stammering, tripping over her own words, it's just-

I have never in my life thought you were pathetic.

She nearly gasps, the words playing in her mind so clear in his eyes it's almost as though she can hear him saying them aloud.

"I thought maybe some other girls would like to join. If you don't mind. Having some more of us."

Cassian blinks. "I...I don't. I don't mind at all. I think that's a great idea, actually."

"Well, I also thought," Nesta starts, encouraged, "that since, you know, you've wanted that female Illyrian legion for so long-" he blinks again, evidently unaware that she knows that-"maybe you could also see if some Illyrian girls wanted to join. Just to see if they have a taste for...any of this."

Cassian's mouth falls open slightly and his hand goes to his forehead. "I...can't believe I never thought of this myself, actually," he admits. "Self-defense as a sort of gateway...that's actually really fucking brilliant, Nesta."

She huffs a sound of amusement at his swearing; it's been so long since she's heard any curse, as the priestesses are all so pious and proper. He starts at the sound.

"Well," she says, ducking her head to busy herself with her skirt so he doesn't see her color again. "I have to go bathe and..."

"Oh, yeah. All right. Well...so Monday? With some other girls?"

"If they want," Nesta says. "I don't know if anyone will want..."

"Well, you just let them know. Maybe ask Clotho..."

"I will. And...will you go to that camp? Windhaven?"

"Windhaven?" he asks.

"I met a shopkeeper..."

"Emerie?"

"Oh," she says. "You know her."

"She's the only female shopkeeper," he says. "We've met."

"I talked to her a little. I think she might be interested. I think she has some friends who might like it, too."

"Oh," he says, surprised. "I didn't know...I assumed-well, never mind. All right, Nesta. Goodbye, then. And great idea, really. And..." he trails off. She looks up to see him smiling. "You did really well. I mean it."

She nods, just once. But then she says, "Thank you."

She can't quite believe she said that. But judging by the way his grin widens enough to show all his teeth, it's something he's been waiting a while to hear.

#nessian #nesta archeron #nessian fic #once again i never have any idea what to tag this #anyway excited that this is getting more into it #the fic i mean #i'm really excited for the next chapter when we see the girls #can't wait for nesta to have friends omg

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bookstantrash · 3 years

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A/N: This is an idea that has been living inside my mind for a really long time and I finally gathered courage to write it. But I’m a bit of a perfectionist, so every time I read and edited it I always found more and more faults in what I had written, so I said “To hell with this, I’m gonna post it before I delete the whole thing”

This ended up being way longer than what I had imagined and I have no idea how I feel about it. So buckle up folks, because this is going to be a ride.

In which she makes a friend

After almost three months living in Illyria, Nesta could not recall a single conversation that had lasted for more than three minutes or that had been longer than two sentences. Not that she cared much in holding meaningless conversations about the weather and whatnot with the few Illyrians bold enough to talk to her. Because few were those that tried to talk to her, those that were not scared of her, whose voices did not whisper Other or Witch whenever she bothered to leave the house she now lived in.

So when Nesta sat on the lonely stone bench in front the house – the weather had given a break and gone from “insufferable bone cold” to “tolerable chilly” – to try and calm the raging fire in her veins, a sign that her power was trying to break free, a sign that she was close to breaking and destroying everything around her, she was very much surprised to find an Illyrian child walking towards her.

It was not unusual to have a few Illyrians knocking on the door sometimes, given that she now lived with him due to her sister’s order long ago in Velaris. But since her babysitter had gone to Cauldron knows where, to do Cauldron knows what a week ago, no one had come knocking on the door asking for that overgrown bat. Adding the fact that his house was a little secluded from the rest, Nesta could not imagine why that child was coming over.

“Good...good evening” the Illyrian greeted, stopping in front of her.

“He’s not here” Nesta said, eyeing the child in front of her. The boy – Nesta supposed it was a boy, not older than thirteen, with its short cut curly brown hair, bandaged hands, muddied clothes and scar free wings being the only clue she had – shifted nervously on his feet.

“I...I’m not looking for the General” the boy said “I heard there was a Witch living here. I take you are her”

For the second time of that day Nesta found herself surprised. The boy in front of her had called her a Witch in her face, something most did not.

“I wanted to ask for a spell” the boy’s voice had lost a bit of it’s previous nervousness, and he had squared his shoulders, wings slightly flaring “I don’t have much, but I’m ready to give anything in return”

‘You can’t possible have anything to give me’ Nesta thought, glancing at his ripped and dirty clothes.

“I’m no Witch” Nesta said, getting up and turning her back at the kid, making for the house’s door “Go back to your parents”

~•~

The next day, when Nesta was coming back from a walk in the woods – there was something about the ancient trees and the wilderness that helped her control her inner turmoil — she was baffled to see yesterday’s boy waiting for her.

“I’m sorry for yesterday” the boy blurted out before she could send him away “I didn’t want to offend you. I’m Kaelin”

Nesta’s only answer was a blink.

“I...I only said you were a Witch because that’s what the others said you were” Kaelin’s ears turned pink, no doubt embarrassed to admit listening to gossip.

“I don’t blame you” she said, and Kaelin’s eyes lit in surprise.

No. Nesta did not blame the boy for thinking her a Witch. Because long ago, before the war, before the empt void inside her was as big as the ocean, before she heard her father’s neck crack, she had declared to that annoying camp lord Devlon that she indeed was a Witch. But now, even though her powers were as loud as a beast’s roar in her ears, she did not want to touch them. Could not touch them.

And nothing, not even the hopeful look in Kaelin’s light brown eyes, would make her touch the wild beast that lived within her. She would not give the boy false hope. She would not fail another child. Not again. Not ever.

“If you have problems maybe you’d better tell your parents about it, instead of reaching for witchcraft”

After all, even thirteen year old Illyrians must have foolish mistakes that they would rather not tell their parents about.

“I don’t have parents. At least not anymore” Kaelin’s hard and sorrowful voice was enough to make Nesta resist prying further into his problem.

“I see” was the only thing she said, and she once again turned her back at him, entering that lonely and sad cabin, even though she was feeling rather inclined to talk, a feeling she had not felt for the longest time.

~•~

Kaelin appeared on Nesta’s door three days later, with a black eye, bruised cheek and a split lip that didn’t stop him from smiling and giving her something wrapped in brown paper.

“I thought about it and I realised that my apology was lacking” he started talking non stop, not giving Nesta a chance to say anything except gape at him and the gift on her hands “Father always said to treat everyone nicely, unless they were rude to you. He said it was what mother believed in”

Nesta could only nod and unwrap the paper to discover a pair of gloves.

“Did you steal them?” She asked, connecting the dots between the gloves she held — surely way out of the kid’s status of affordable — and his beaten face.

“No!” Kaelin replied, a bitterness in his voice “I know I’m just a lowly orphan but I’d never take something from another one in such an unhonoured way”

Nesta just grossed her arms, waiting for his explanation.

“One of the boys from the high families arrived at training with new boots” he gave a sly smile “I fought him for them”

“You did what?” Nesta’s voice rose and she was holding herself back from shaking the boy until he was back into his right mind.

“Fighting between Illyrians is not prohibited. But it’s best if you don’t get caught” Kaelin replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Nesta felt her temper rising.

“You. Come with me” she grabbed Kaelin’s arm and took him inside before he could protest.

She made him sit on sofa in the living room while she went searching for the medic supplies she was sure Cassian had. Once she found it, she went back to Kaelin and started treating his cuts, mumbling the entire time about how stupid and reckless boys were.

“This is nice” he said, wincing slight when Nesta touched his bruised cheek.

“What is nice?”

“Having someone take care of you” he answered “I... I didn’t know my mom. She died shortly after I was born. Father said she was quite fragile”

Nesta trying to not let show how his words affected her. She remembered another woman, dying in a lonely bed just a few years after her youngest child had been born.

“He died in the last war. Against Hybern” he practically spat the late king’s name, hate filling every syllable.

Nesta finished treating him and started organising the materials, to keep herself busy and have an excuse to buy time to know what to answer him. She had never been good at consoling others. And she didn’t know why, but she was afraid her bluntness would end up hurting Kaelin.

“He was a hero” he said firmly, his eyes shining with defiance “He may have been just a mere foot soldier but he was at the front line, keeping Hybern’s forces back”

“I’m sure he was” Nesta replied, trying not to think about who may have said otherwise to him, hurting a child who had nothing “But would he like to see his son picking meaningless fights?”

“It was to get you a gift” Kaelin looked down and poked at the sofa “I’m sure he’d have understood. Besides, I have to fight and stand out if I want to have a shot at the Rite”

“You mean the Blood Rite? I thought everyone participated” Nesta had gathered little information about the Illyrians for the time she had been living in Illyria. There were no libraries, no bookstores, and the books Cassian had about the Illyrian culture and history were scarce and outdated.

“The very one. You are not obligated to become a warrior, but that’s the path most of male Illyrians take. Not that we have many options to begin with” Kaelin’s voice had became serious “Most of the males from the richer families are bound to participate, but the rest.... we end up being mere foot soldiers. Expendable. So no point in making us take part in it.”

At his words, Nesta could not help but think about Cassian. He too was an orphan but had risen to be Rhysand’s Commander and had seven siphons. From what she had heard and seen at the war, that was rather unusual.

“It’s worse for females” Kaelin added quietly.

She knew that. Saw how females were treated on the rare times she got out of the cabin. A scarce number trained. And she did not know a lot about training, but was sure it was not near enough to make them part of the Illyrian army. Or even defend themselves were the worst to happen.

Nesta opened her mouth to say Cauldron knows what — she had to say something, she could not let the boy leave with such dark thoughts — when a loud noise interrupted her.

It was a sound Nesta knew quite well from her time as a human living in a shabby cottage.

A sound she had become reacquainted with after being Made. After that day at the battle field.

The sound of hungriness. The sound of someone who was starving, and had been so for quite a while.

And it was coming from Kaelin.

The Illyrian boy beside her blushed a deep scarlet, trying — and failing — to come up with an excuse. But Nesta knew better. She knew the signs of starvation. Saw them in herself. Had seen it in her younger sisters, when they were not older than Kaelin.

Thin wrists. Sunken eyes. Cheekbones way too sharp. Up close Nesta could properly examine Kaelin and notice that the boy was all bones and little muscle, his skinny built not a consequence of slow metabolism to gain weight, but rather the fact that he did not have enough sustenance to make it possible.

“I have way too much food stocked here. I was supposed to be living with an adult warrior that can eat for five people “ Nesta began, cutting Kaelin’s blabbering “It would be a crime to let it all get wasted”

Leaving him no window to reply, she took hold of his arm, hauling him towards the kitchen and making him to sit down while she gathered whatever food she came across. And she had enough fire in her eyes — she may or may not have lost a little bit of control of her powers due to her racing emotions — that Kaelin did not dare say a word, but just sit quietly and eat what was put in front of him.

~•~

Nesta’s routine had suffered a slight change after that evening. For the past month and a half, Kaelin had been having a meal with her after his training. Every day.

She had made sure to make it clear that she was expecting a visit from him after his activities were over.

He did not dare argue with her.

Today, however, was an unusual day.

Kaelin was late.

Almost two hours late.

Nesta had come to know Illyrian boy better, and one thing she learned about him was that he detested to be late. For him, his promises and commitment were everything, reminding her of another Illyrian she knew – which had not come back in two months. Not that she missed or was worried about him.

She tried and failed to convince herself that Kaelin may have been held back by training. But she did not know why she felt a strange feeling. Her powers were restless, more so than usual.

The air and the trees around her seemed different.

She felt it deeply in her bones.

As if the Cauldron itself — hidden far far away in a island that did not exist in any map ever written — dreaded whatever future thread the Mother was knitting.

As if something had been woken.

As if the winds of change had gone from a light breeze to a tornado, ready to wreak havoc in Illyria.

Nesta could not hold herself back any longer. She needed to know what was happening. To know if that strange song that spoke of a power strong and ancient was connected to Kaelin tardiness.

So into the woods she went.

She walked and walked, until the song in her ears got louder and a new sound appeared, a sound she would not be able to hear were it not for her fae ears.

The sound of someone whimpering.

Quickening her steps, Nesta followed the cries of pain until the wall of trees around her gave way to a small clearing.

And there, lying curled up in a ball, was Kaelin.

“KAELIN!”

Nesta ran towards him, falling on her knees beside his body.

“What happened? Did somebody hurt you?” she smelled blood, and feared the Illyrian whose boots he had “won” had gone after him for payback.

Her mind was racing, her thoughts overlapping themselves. She recalled another winged body, laying on the ground. She recalled another child, crying in pain due to its empty stomach, who had not seen food for weeks.

She would not fail anyone ever again. That had been her promise to herself.

“Kaelin...” Nesta slowly touched his arm, trying to soothe him “Talk to me. Tell me where it hurts”

Kaelin whimpered, slowly uncurling his body and tucking his wings. He clutched his abdomen, and Nesta dared to try and touch her power.

She would touch that dangerous beast if that meant she could help the young boy in front of her.

And so she tentatively reached inside herself for that source, trying to recall if any training she’d had with Amren may assist her in the current situation.

She scanned Kaelin’s body, and that’s when she noticed the small drops of blood beneath him. But her powers had not detected any wounds. No, he was not hurt.

However, she finally found the origin of the bleeding. And Nesta momentarily lost her breath.

Because she knew the reason why Kaelin was in pain.

“You are not a boy” she breathed.

Kaelin was a girl.

A girl who had had her first period.

A girl who was passing as a boy. Training like one.

And when Kaelin finally meet Nesta’s eyes, brown eyes shining with tears, she cursed the Mother for whatever future thread she had knitted.

•

Tags: @sayosdreams @thewayshedreamed @sjm-things @perseusannabeth

#sarah j maas #sjmaas #sjm books #sjm fanfic #nesta archeron

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vidalinav · 3 years

Text

All My Girls Like to Fight

Inspired by the song “All my girls like to fight” by Hope Tala

Summary: Devlon trains Nesta. Devlon’s POV

Disclaimer: I personally am on the fence about Nesta training because she’s more magically powerful (probably) than anyone else. However, I will not lie and say it does not intrigue me, because I tend to like anything involving Nesta Archeron. And, I think it would be cool to have her fight (and inevitable) and the sexual tension with Cassian would be through the roof if they ever trained together, which is just chef’s kiss* I just don’t like that Nesta learning to fight feels like she’s giving up more of her values, which doesn’t sit well with me, since she’s had to change so much already and not by choice. But the thought of Devlon being the one to train her satisfied all of the check boxes in my head because I could then work out subtly his own views about female’s fighting. That was very interesting and the fic practically wrote itself.

Anyways.... here it is!

General Masterlist, AO3, Fanfic

Devlon awoke to the sound of cutting air. It whirred and disappeared. Whooshed and was no more. He clamped his pillow to his ears, half-awake and in the middle of dreaming—some nonsensical dream that he knew he would not remember in the morning.

But the sound erupted again, this time a heavy clash, and his eyes burst open once more stinging.

He was going to murder the person who was at the training quarters this hour—never mind that it was his fault he lived so near. Every warrior, novice or no, knew that hours were reserved for early mornings until the sun completely set. Most males would be at home or a tavern somewhere. Those unlucky enough to be on watch, would be roaming above the forests scouting all that scuttled in the darkness.

But no one should be in the training fields.

Devlon slipped on his boots, not bothering to change, as he ripped the door open and met the ink and wind. He didn’t bother grabbing a weapon, sure as daylight that he’d scare the living wits out of the Illyrian with his presence alone. Probably a new trainee. Young, not knowing the rules. He was going to learn the rules today and he was going to learn them well…

But he did not find a young male, a boy. Not a trainee or a full-blown warrior.

On the dirt, where the mud still lingered from yesterday’s rain, was a girl…. A female. Her brassy hair shining in moonlight. Devlon stepped away at the sight of her.

This… female.

This witch.

Only a true witch could conjure that bright of a moon or so Devlon thought as she held up the steel. It was much too big for her, probably too heavy by the way her arms shook lifting the sword. But she swung at the leather target in front of her, wobbling on her feet.

The witch barely made a dent in the arm, and as she swung again, Devlon had to clamp his mouth shut from yelling that she was holding the sword wrong in her palms. If she kept that up, she’d surely break her wrist, if not multiple body parts from where it would either slip from her grasps and land on her toes, or from where it would fly from her hands and hit someone else.

He was the only other being on this training field, so Devlon took several steps back.

The mistake he noticed was something he didn’t bother correcting the few girls he’d trained that morning. Their first lesson in swords and shields. And, if he did not do it then, Devlon would not deign to do so now.

That girl was the problem of the general. Though, Devlon wanted to scoff at the audacity of the commander criticizing his training of the females, when his own could not hold a sword.

In fact, Devlon wanted to go get the commander himself, present her before him as another way he was inadequate—stick it to him and that high lord of theirs. This is who you entrust to win wars.

Instead, Devlon watched as she tried again, switching the blade to her other hand and waving her wrist as if it ached. He swallowed his tongue.

Oh no, he would not get involved in high court affairs.

The vexatious female had not stopped her pestering sword fight until early morning, and Devlon had punished the trainees for it. By the time the day had ended, the males were grumbling, wound tight and weary, and he could have sworn a few boys had thrown up behind the saunas.

Devlon had enjoyed their displeasure for he too was displeased. Annoyed. Irritated. Ready to pummel the commander in his next fight for bringing that blasted female to his camp.

Long past the evening was over, he was ready to forget it all, to sleep in his warm hut of a house, simple in its function. Ready for the night to overtake him and for the headache he’d had all day to stop pounding in his skull.

Devlon closed his eyes willing sleep to take him…

The sound of clashing metal started again.

His body moved without a second thought.

He stormed out of his house, his eyes adjusting to the array of purples and blues alight from trembling stars. Devlon could see her head peak out from the ring, where the practice dummies had been scattered in each corner. Like the night before, he wanted to yell, scream, rage, drag her back to that commander who thought too much of himself.

But like the night before, the image of her, her vile grandeur, made his temper cease.

As he neared, Devlon noted that she wasn’t even on the mats at all. She was sitting on the ground, tapping the sword against a rock. Clack, Clack, Clack. Over and over. Screeching metal that had him gritting his teeth.

Her legs were spread wide in what he thought was far from ladylike, her white nightgown peeking through the fur.

What odd training leathers she had.

He watched as the young witch tipped her head back, her nose held high but not in that pompous way he’d seen before. Devlon followed her gaze all the way to the stars. The midnight beast blinking back its thousand eyes.

There was a story in a Illyria about the night. When he was younger he was half-afraid it would swallow him whole. All of his friends, his family, tumbling to the back of its throat. It was the only thing he’d ever truly been afraid of. Not the wars, the creatures of the forest, the cruelty of the fae, but of this inconsequential thing that stared down as if it were waiting for them. Waiting for them both here in these training fields.

Devlon shook away the ominous thought, turning back to the female who sighed audibly. She hiked up her skirt as she kicked up her boots, and he shifted his head quickly, shying away from the indecent exposure.

She picked up her sword, swinging it round and round, turning to one of the practice dummies. It was large and heavy, three times her size, with various pegs sticking out its trunk. She merely gave it a glare and hiked up the weapon.

What the witch did not know was that it was designed to move. If it was hit, one the arms would swing forward. Hit again, and another on the opposite side would move. It was to teach one to defend rather than to swing blindly.

Swing blindly, she did.

Her wrist was still angled at odd ends, but she managed to cut the leather on the figure’s side. Not a killing blow but perhaps enough to wound an enemy if they had not already maimed her from her lack of skill.

Except the sword got lodged in the wood at the same time one of the pegs moved towards her. The little witch couldn’t maintain her footing, and so the peg smacked her side.

She yelped and Devlon clasped his hand to his nose, shaking his head. Thinking of all the ways, she would hurt herself tonight.

He’d never get sleep...

So, Devlon cut his losses and went back to his hut, willing himself to forget all he’d seen.

There were bags under her eyes. The heavy grey, dark and shadowed. It reminded him that she was still just a human girl underneath it all. Devlon half-wondered what she might have been doing if she’d not been thrown into this strange new world where war was what they ate, what they breathed, what they awoke at dawn to pursue.

It was true that he liked to call the witch spoiled behind the commander’s back—in his head; when he grumbled under his breath. That spoiled princess kept in the general’s cabin, unseen, unheard of, but trapezing through the camp as if she belonged here—as if she was one of them. That beautiful, solemn witch who lived in the woods, who ate the dreams of the elders and the smiles of the young.

But she was not a witch. Not Illyrian, certainly. Perhaps, not fae. No longer human. Could not be called lesser fae though, because there was nothing lesser about the female who had ripped Hybern’s head from his body.

She did not show the same strength she had in those few days of the war. Devlon had seen her walking with those buckets and bandages, watching his comrades fall one by one as if she commanded their deaths, plucked their souls from their bodies. How terrifying it must have been for her? This young girl, who had not lived even half of their youngest citizen.

He trained warriors for a near millennium who came back with lost limbs, lost friends, lost sanities, but what did she lose? What did she even have to lose? This little witch who had experienced nothing.

“Your wrist—” He spoke at last, his words rough to his own ears. She stared up at him, eyes widening then down at the sword in her hand. “You’ll break it if you keep bending it like that.”

He watched as she stubbornly gripped the handle tighter, turning her back to him and swinging at the practice dummy again. It swung from the momentum and the girl—female—witch—stepped back unable to keep her footing.

Dead, he thought. If she were in a battle she’d be dead.

“And your stance needs work,” He added sardonically. She huffed in reply. But Devlon was not finished. She had kept him up with her pestering noise for six days. He was tired.

“Why do you want to train?” he demanded because he truly needed to know. Why the late nights and the early mornings? Why punch when she didn’t know how? Why use a sword she could barely hold upright? He was tired of not knowing why she walked through the training fields as if it were a war zone and she was wading through the bodies.

Why fight at all?

She could be sheltered, taken care of, happily ensconced in an estate somewhere, with the general himself even if that last day in the war was any indication.

But the witch did not answer his question. Instead, she adjusted her grip, widening her stance, and holding the sword as if she was holding some sporting bat he’d seen the children play with.

“Incorrect,” he voiced allowed, circling her form.

She huffed but moved her left foot forward and her right slightly back, though he gave her no directions to do so.

“Incorrect!”

“Then why don’t you tell me what is correct?” She answered, harshly.

“Why don’t you ask?” He provoked.

But she lunged at him with the sword.

He quickly stepped out of her way and gave her a look, “Too easy.”

She tried again, and he stepped to the side. She hit the rope and it cut in half.

“You are not doing anything but tiring yourself.”

“Shut up!” She yelled, fury spitting out of her words.

Fine.

He remained silent as she ambled towards him, huffing along the way. Devlon crossed his arms, raising a brow and when she swung again, he grabbed the sword from her hands.

It was easy… because she was holding it wrong.

Devlon waited. The little witch glared, raising her head to meet him in the eyes.

Her face was red. Her hair, wild. Her eyes, gleaming. And, for a moment she reminded him of the night sky. The imminent danger of someone inconsequential…

Devlon held out the sword to her, the handle ready for her palm. She glanced at it, then back at him.

The female pursed her lips, looking as though she did not want to accept his gift, but Nesta grabbed the weapon firmly.

Why do you want to fight? He’d asked her.

“No one else can fight for me.”

~ “Join the ranks tomorrow,” Devlon commanded, crossing his arms, “At a decent hour, this time.”

“You can’t be serious,” Nesta exclaimed, dropping the sword on the ground. Devlon sniffed at that. That would be their next lesson it seemed, how to treat weapons with the respect they were due.

For now, he settled on tapping a foot. His patience dimming with the lack of sleep. A headache was already beginning to form as the little witch crossed her arms, lifting her shoulders in a way that had him thinking she must have had wings in another lifetime—in another form.

In any case, she could not be more irritated than him and Devlon rose to the challenge, “In a real battle, you will not be fighting training dummies.”

Nesta scoffed, her eyes widening as she began to make big, dramatic gestures with her hands, “They’ve trained all their lives. They’ll pummel me.”

“Perhaps, but that is the risk you take in any fight,” He breathed; the words coated in sincerity. “The males won’t take it easy on you, surely. Might even try harder to win. After all, no one wants to be beaten by a mere wisp of a female, but no enemy in war will spare you or wait for you to be ready. Either they best you and you end up with a few bruises or you learn to hit first.”

She took a deep breath, her nostril flaring in that way he knew meant she wanted to yell and so Devlon went on.

“You have kept me up for three weeks. I have taught you basic forms, stances, how to punch, how to kick, how to use your body against someone larger. I cannot teach you anymore. You must fight.”

“Is that all it takes? A few punches and a kick and someone’s ready to rage war.”

“No,” He called, scenting the fear. “But if you don’t fight, you don’t learn. There are some things only experience can teach you.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but Devlon raised a hand.

“I won’t force you to go.” She clamped her mouth shut, her shoulders relaxing. “But know that if you don’t go, I’m not training you any longer. Our lessons stop here.”

Devlon watched as she gulped down her arguments, the silence tangible in the height of the witching hour.

Nesta looked past him, up to the stars.

If she saw her answers hidden in the cosmos, he wanted her to say it aloud, get this night over with and settled. But she closed her eyes, clenching her fists.

When she opened them again, he saw the grey flash in the darkness.

A newborn star, he thought.

Bright and burning.

“Fine,” She huffed, picking up the sword.

When Nesta walked into the training quarters the morning after next, Devlon was almost surprised.

This time instead of nightgowns and fur coats or sweats she’d hastily thrown on, she wore training leathers. But even if she walked with arrogance of a queen, he could still see the apprehension in her gait. Perhaps, it had something to do with the commander and the shadowsinger who looked on, eyebrows crinkling.

He supposed he picked a wrong day for her to join legion training, because well… both of them were here. Usually, Devlon had advanced warning of these visits but it seemed that the commander hadn’t bothered telling him that the shadowsinger would be making his rounds, spying on their progress.

At their gazes, at all of their gazes including the males who started to whisper under their breaths, the witch lifted her chin. Tall and impressively indifferent.

Learn to examine them, he’d told her. The foot they favor. The side they use the most. The weapons they’re most skilled at. That is what you learn by being in the ring, by facing them head on.

Learn to use what you know—what you are.

Nesta had no problem at finding weaknesses, he found, as she surveyed them all, but they had no problem leering, sneering, and jeering at her. The males closest to the general began to step aside, and the ones far enough away moved closer to see his reaction.

But Nesta didn’t bother looking at Cassian, instead she stepped towards him. Her arms crossing in that petulant way of hers.

“I’m here,” She huffed.

“I can see that,” he said, giving her a dry look.

His lack of directions seemed to annoy her, because she looked away, not succeeding to hide the roll of her eyes. Devlon could feel the headache already forming.

“We’ll start with drills,” He began, “Laps around the field, running through stances, and then hand-to-hand combat.”

The witch nodded her head, moving to join the males who straightened as she walked towards them.

She looked… small in comparison.

But small in the way that he imagined a venomous snake hid on the forest floor or a bushel of nightshade might disguise itself in grand bouquets. She was dangerous, he knew. They all knew, though they didn’t know exactly what chaos hid beneath her skin or how it might destroy them all had she been displeased with them.

The general sidled up to him, the shadowsinger ever close and present, and Devlon inwardly sighed. Both of them watching Nesta begin to run laps.

“When did she start this?” He asked, his tone outrageous and cynical.

“I don’t know what else to tell you, besides the fact that she lives in your house. If you don’t know when she started this, I’ll have to point out your lack of perception.”

“When did she start this?” The commander snarled. Devlon did not care for the tone.

“You. Tell. Me.” He offered slowly, tilting his head, waiting for the male to answer. “If you don’t know where she’s been, then how would I know? She was left to you wasn’t she?”

“Nesta can go wherever wants.”

“Then it seems we’re at a standstill, because you allowed her to roam freely but apparently were not clever enough to spy. Or is that why the shadowsinger is here?”

The hotheaded commander sneered as Azriel, the surprising voice of reason, laid a hand on his shoulder. “Just ask her, Cass?”

Cassian shrugged him off. “Why is she here, then?”

He thought that was obvious. “Because she made the choice to train.”

“She doesn’t know how to fight.”

Devlon grinned.

“Then maybe you should have trained her.”

The general’s face turned a special shade of red as his wings spread wide, but Devlon merely turned away. Watching as the little witch ran circles around the ring.

“I have to fight him?” She asked, pointing her index lightly to the male who grunted as he lifted a set of heavy weights.

“You don’t have to fight him,” Cassian interjected. “There’s no logical reason for this.”

Devlon tapped his foot. Even the shadowsinger looked as if he’d rather be somewhere else. “Experience is the best teacher.”

Nesta made a face, unconvinced.

“It will teach you your weaknesses.”

Her voice rose incredulously. “What weaknesses?” She asked.

Devlon raised a hand to his nose, the endless questions wearing down his patience. But he began with the truth anyways. “You favor your right side, but you’re left-handed, so you get off balance easily. You get tired too fast and end up winded before you hit anything vital. You clearly favor a sword, but all of the ones we have are too heavy for you to lift…”

The witch crossed her arms, a frown appearing on her face.

“But those things can be trained out of you… What cannot is the way you think too much before you swing. You second guess yourself before you punch. You’re too trapped in that head of yours and either you understand that you have to hit, or you understand that someone will beat you before you get the chance because you’re too busy thinking about the success of each outcome.”

Devlon watched as Nesta straightened her stance.

“I cannot teach you how to fight for yourself.”

He looked her dead in the eyes, knew and understood what she’d said that day, knew she remembered by the clench of her jaw. But, Nesta lifted a casual shoulder, noting Cassian and Azriel who watched the discourse with rapt attention.

“You’ve been watching me.”

“We should all know our enemies.” He pointed to the male, Aedon, a novice set to complete the Rite this year, who was used to being bullheaded and arrogant. “That male, right now, is your enemy.”

The little witch nodded in concession, and the commander scoffed, looking all too defeated for someone who’d barely argued for his cause. Perhaps, he knew he didn’t have one or at least one that Nesta would listen to.

She sidled up to the platform as the male, noticing her stare made his way. A swaggering prick who Devlon knew wanted to intimidate her. They would all do that at one point or another, he warranted, he grasped as the rest of the males seemed to forget they were supposed to be training themselves. They crowded around the mats; the boundaries separated by ropes.

Cassian and Azriel too, made their way to watch the fight unfold.

It seemed that many of the trainees were making bets, though they hushed quietly as he neared.

Nesta ignored the rest, only looking to the male who wrapped his hands in white gauze.

“You’re a small thing,” he noted, unhelpfully.

The little witch lifted a brow. “I’d say you’re a large thing, but I think it’s only your head.”

Aedon huffed a laugh, and though his eyes lit up with amusement, something else settled in. Something darker and foreboding.

It was a look Devlon had seen before. A look he’d seen on many of his warriors.

“I’ll make sure not to hit your face,” the male mocked.

Nesta looked at him confused, but Aedon took that as an opportunity to lung, kicking his foot out until Nesta was lying on the ground. He heard the crack as her shoulders slammed into the platform and he hoped, in some deep part of him, past the part that said he didn’t care at all, that it was the wood that splintered and not her spine.

She gasped loudly as she placed a hand on her chest, but no one came to help her move. It would’ve been shameful to do so. This female who wanted to fight with the warriors.

She did this to herself he imagined them thinking. Because it was that thought that immediately entered his mind. She chose this.

Get up, Devlon wanted to shout. Get. Up!

The shadowsinger held the commander back, though what he could have done Devlon didn’t know. Pummel the male who hit her when she willingly entered the match?

After learning everything he knew about this witch, he doubted she’d appreciate the gesture.

“You want to play with the big boys?” Aedon spit, “You get hit.”

He tutted lowly. “Do you need a minute, princess, or are you used to being on your back?”

Devlon didn’t dare show his own rage, but he grasped the rope, his fists clenching around the thick string until he felt he might rip it off himself. The feeling surprised even him.

But Nesta twisted herself upright, turning to the male with bright, furious eyes.

Nesta lunged and when he punched, she ducked, grabbing his arm. She used her weight until he was sprawled on the floor, but he reached out to grab her leg and she fell to her knees. She tried to kick him off, but he was larger, heavier, and it didn’t take much to pull her backwards until she was on the floor with him on top of her. He punched once, his fists landing on her cheekbone.

Aedon walked off, grabbing a towel he’d hung on the rope. Nesta cradled her cheek, kissing the mat with her body. While he waited, Aedon began tapping his foot. Tap. Tap. Tap. Over and over until Devlon, himself, could hear the noise ringing in his ears.

Nesta turned to face him and no one else.

She sauntered up to him slowly, serpentine and vile. Her eyes getting darker, her mouth set in a thin line. And Aedon laughed. Lowly at first, but the sound began to rise in pitch until it sounded maniacal and deranged.

This time, Aedon sprung forward, but Nesta was quick on her feet, and she moved just enough to grab his arm and twist it behind him. In this position, the male bowed before them and Nesta kicked out her foot.

He fell to the ground, twisting quickly to face her, but Nesta didn’t let him move. She ambled on top of him, her legs on either side of his torso and she hit. And hit. And hit. Until his face was bleeding, and her fists were drenched in the male’s blood.

Still she hit and the awaiting Illyrians did nothing but watch the young warrior play with the big boys.

Cassian shrugged off the shadowsinger, bending through the ropes around the ring. Devlon watched as he hoisted Nesta off the male by the waist. Her face was red and ferocious, and she began to fight the commander as well. But he didn’t let her go. Not until she had stopped fighting, stopped kicking, stopped punching, and she took deep, gasping breaths.

She stared at the male on the ground, wiping her forehead with her arm, the blood smearing on her face like war paint and she must have finally noticed all of the males looking at her. Some in doubt of what they just witnessed, others in outrage that she had the guts. Devlon didn’t know what his expression looked like, though he tried to school it into plain indifference.

The little warrior looked to the commander once more, who braced himself, his wings expanding wide. Ready to take her punches or fly her off, Devlon wasn’t sure, but he wanted to see. A mere curiosity at what the general would do.

But Nesta slipped past him, past them all with her shoulders pushed back and her head raised high. She looked to him then, her gaze harsh.

“Are we done?”

Devlon turned his gaze back to the warrior who’d bragged about his skill and was defeated so easily. “For now.”

She left without a second glance and Devlon could only nod to the male dripping blood on his mats, “wipe your face.”

Devlon found the young female in the infirmary. A tent the size of a small room that many warriors chose not to even step in, in fear that they would look weak to their comrades. The general and the shadowsinger were already there.

Azriel turned to the corner, blending with the shadows as Devlon so often noticed. Distantly, he could see him crushing some herbs, though the action did not make him look inconspicuous. Rather, it seemed he was trying to give the other two privacy at the same time he was eavesdropping. Cassian ran amuck, grabbing bandages and band aids and tea, though Nesta looked perfectly fine to him, besides a wound on her face.

Devlon wanted to sigh at the two of them. Pups still, even if they were over five hundred and had ended more lives than the years they’d lived.

Cassian laid an icepack under Nesta’s eye, where her cheek was red and blistering. She’d have a bruise in the morning probably...

Even some wounds couldn’t heal fast enough for the fae.

But, Nesta angled away from him as she hissed, grabbing the pack from his hands. The commander frowned but let her take control, though he remained hunched, his wings drooping to the floor.

His gaze laid solely on hers and Devlon felt... uncomfortable��conscious that the moment was between the two of them and perhaps not for two Illyrian busybodies who’d stumbled on this place for the same reason. To see exactly what would befall the two when disaster seemed to always follow.

“I wanted to teach you how to fight,” He admitted, unsure of his words.

Nesta didn’t bother looking at him.

“It wasn’t your decision.”

“And Devlon is...”

“He’s an asshole,” she said. Devlon gave her a bland look, though she made no move to take notice of him standing in the middle of the tent like an outright buffoon. “But he’s honest... and he doesn’t treat me any different from anyone else.”

Cassian shook his head, his expression pained. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that you couldn’t... tell me that you were...wanted to train. I--” His eyebrows cinched in that way Devlon remembered he’d do when he was young. All too afraid of being exactly what they called him.

“It wasn’t about you,” the little warrior answered harshly. The commander straightened at her stare, poignant but not malicious.

Honest.

Brutally so.

And perhaps that was what the general needed to hear, after all. What they all needed to hear for they all knew what the little witch meant. That the ability to choose was perhaps more powerful than the opportunity itself. That she had chosen, invariably, to wander in the middle of the night, to pick up a sword, to keep swinging and hitting and punching, to fight whether she knew how or not.

Nesta had chosen this. No one else could have convinced her.

Nesta turned to him then and lifted the icepack from her cheek.

“He said he wouldn’t hit my face,” She grumbled.

Devlon blinked, surprised at her words. “Did that appease you somehow?”

The female angled her head, thinking it over.

“No...” She declared somberly, “Bruises that you can’t see are still bruises.”

At the tone, Devlon began to shuffle uncomfortably once more, though he stayed as the witch grimaced. Cassian moved to switch her icepack to one wrapped in cloth, the liquid dripping on to the leather.

But Devlon couldn’t help stepping forward. Didn’t know why he did.

“You fought like an Illyrian today.”

Cassian and Azriel raised their heads. Devlon tried not to care too much, though he wanted to yell at them to run more drills as if they were still in his warband five hundred years before, fresh and almost too squeaky clean.

“Like a male,” he continued.

Nesta made a disgruntled face, displeased with his choice of words. “You just haven’t seen enough females fight.”

Devlon shrugged a shoulder. “I haven’t seen enough females want to fight. You are a rare exception.”

She lifted a brow and then grimaced at the gesture. She’d done that twice already, as if she kept forgetting that she was in pain. Devlon smiled in spite of himself.

But she pursed her lips anyway, looking to the tent that surrounded them, the purple fabric mimicking purple skies. He wondered if she could see straight through, feel the weight of the atmosphere like a bandage on a wound. Like that icepack on her face.

“Your world is too small if you believe that,” She spoke.

Devlon opened his mouth to refute, but Nesta held up her hand, silencing his argument.

“Are we training tomorrow?” She asked, though she must have known the answer.

“At the crack of dawn.”

Nesta began gesturing dramatically.

“That’s so early,” She whined. Devlon scoffed in outrage.

But at the look, Nesta merely smiled. Small and perhaps just a tilt of her lips, but unafraid. A wild look in her eyes as if she enjoyed the teasing... the prospect of training... of being someone they didn’t expect.

Inconsequential to the naïve. Imminently powerful to the rest.

Perhaps this time, Devlon wouldn’t mind training the girls... Might even look forward to it.

Tags: @ekaterinakostrova, @soitsgorgeous, @duskandstarlight, @pizzaneverdisappoints, @imwritingthesewords, @arin1030, @adelainejdevyn, @thebluemartini, @nahthanks, @laylaameer01

I wanted Nesta to make the choice to fight, and I definitely didn’t want it to be a decision on behalf of anyone else, because Nesta has had enough people take away her autonomy. But I also wanted the choice to fight to directly relate to her making a choice to fight for herself. And so at the end there, she may not be as skilled as everyone else realistically, she may not even know what fighting will cost her, but she’s angry and she’s tired and she’s going to fight and she’s going to fight to win.

Also, Devlon is a really cool character to me, but in this fic I wanted to make his lack of allowing women to fight be more complicated than just traditional sexism. So, I thought to make half of his treatment towards women because of his traditionalistic views that haven’t been challenged, and the other half, the contention, be because of having been told by Rhys, Azriel, and Cassian that he must train the females and the females must train or else. Rhys and Azriel and Cassian chose to do the blood right, these girls are being told they have to learn to fight. So I thought, here lies the great hypocrisy of being like we need to make this camp more equal, but the way we’re going to do that is by taking another decision away from the women. I just thought maybe Devlon would willingly help Nesta because she made the choice to want to train—might even admire and respect that about her and in turn this would be the spark to change. Nesta indirectly influencing the others.

One day I will stop writing essay length analyses of my own writing lol but today is not the day. I’m going to work on my Eris fic now and get that posted soon!

Comment, Reblog, Like or all three if you liked and want to see more fics posted! If you don’t like... don’t tell me lol

But also, Happy Reading and almost release day!!! It’s getting closer at least. Keep holding out! I know we’re all going a bit stir crazy...

#nessian #nesta archeron #devlon #cassian #acosf #nessian fanfiction #acotar #vidalinav #nesta x cassian #cassian x nesta #acowar #acomaf #acofas #acomaf fanfiction #feyre archeron #fanfiction #nesta #my writing

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ncssian · 3 years

Text

A Favor: Part Two

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: im so sorry i know i need to start editing these

***

Nesta stands in her guest room at Cassian’s cabin, hands on her hips as she eyes the garbage bags full of things she managed to salvage from her old apartment.

All of her rain-soaked clothes sit in two huge bags, waiting to go through the laundry, while her books are carefully spread out on the windowsill, floor, and anywhere they can catch enough sunlight to dry their pages. Nesta almost cried when she saw that Lorene had salvaged her few adult coloring books and the art supplies to go with them, still dry.

For a brief moment, she’s glad she didn’t buy any physical copies of her textbooks this year— the loss of that money would be too much to bear.

A brief knock sounds at her door, and Nesta spins to find Cassian standing there, laundry basket in hand. “I can take your clothes down for you if you want,” he offers, lifting his own basket with a hand.

Nesta’s lips tighten. He wants to do her laundry with his. Their laundry will get cleaned together. Her underwear will get tangled up with his.

Cassian’s brow furrows. “Nesta?”

This is her new reality now. She’ll have to accept it at one point or another.

“We can do separate loads if you want,” Cassian adds. “Feyre told me you— well, she said you might be more uncomfortable with some things than others. It’s totally fine if you don’t want your clothes mixing—”

“No.” Nesta finally snaps out of it. “I don’t care about the laundry. My clothes are right here.”

Because she has a sneaking suspicion she might be being unintentionally bitchy again, Nesta helps Cassian drag her bags of drenched clothes downstairs.

“I feel sort of bad for bullying you into this deal,” Cassian rambles as he dumps clothes into the washer. “Which is why I need you to know you can enforce whatever rules and boundaries you want while you’re here. If you’d prefer I never speak to you for the rest of your time here, I can manage that, too.”

Nesta looks at him with a hint of disbelief. Sometimes he says the oddest things. “I don’t want you to never speak to me again.”

There’s relief in his sagging shoulders. “That’s good,” he says as he pours out detergent. “I mean, I was a little worried you were against this so much because you hated me, but you don’t know me enough to hate me, do you?”

Hate. Nesta rolls the word over her tongue, tastes the hard corners of it, and decides it doesn’t fit for Cassian. Not even close. She wonders how to articulate this to Cassian.

She settles on: “You seem nice enough. Obviously, since you’re letting me live in your luxury mountain cabin for free. But I don’t want to set any boundaries while I’m here. You shouldn’t have to change your normal lifestyle just for a guest. Do whatever you want; it’s your place.”

Cassian presses a button and the rumble of the washing machine begins. “I want you to be comfortable,” he says, turning to face her completely. “Whatever you need, Nesta, seriously.”

For starters, it would make Nesta comfortable if he didn’t say her name like that. His earnestness makes her skin itch, but she’s not going to tell him that.

Instead, she bravely lifts her chin. “I’ve been pushed so far out of my comfort zone that I don’t think I know how to find my way back.” The honest truth. “At this point, you might as well keep me out here.”

Cassian’s eyes narrow. “If you don’t tell me what things bother you, I’ll have to find them out for myself, you know.” It sounds like a challenge.

“Go ahead,” Nesta deadpans. She doesn’t know what Feyre’s told him about her, but contrary to popular belief, Nesta isn’t a glass doll. Sensitive, high maintenance, yes, but fragile? Never.

She turns on her heel and leaves Cassian in the laundry room, determined not to let her circumstances get the better of her while she stays here.

***

Cassian takes everything back. He’s obsessed.

He can’t pinpoint the exact moment, how or when or why he decided he likes Nesta. Maybe it was an amalgamation of different things, but by the time she settles onto his living room couch with a box of takeout Thai food, it’s safe to say he’s fascinated.

She’s nothing like how Feyre talks about her. She’s barely anything like the woman he met at the dinner party two years ago. The problem is, Cassian hasn’t pinpointed what she’s like. There’s still too many walls in place, but here, as she slurps noodles unabashedly while watching TV with an intense fixation, she’s softer than he’s ever seen her. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t feel the need to defend herself to a sitcom; there’s no self-consciousness, only a deep focus on the Community episode they’re currently watching.

Cassian splits his focus between offering commentary in an attempt to make Nesta laugh and observing her reactions from the corner of his eyes. A few things he’s noticed so far: 1) Her cheeks bulge like a squirrel’s when they’re full of food; she seems to have no shame about this. 2) She isn’t inclined to respond to Cassian when he makes comments on the show, but the corners of her mouth tilting up imply that she likes it anyway. 3) She watches sitcoms like she’s studying for a final exam about them.

When the episode finally ends, she turns to him and glances at his hands. “Are you going to eat that?” she says.

Cassian glances down at his untouched container of food, a little surprised, but hands it over to her without a fight. He can’t pretend it doesn’t do something to him to see her eyes light up over something as simple as curry and rice.

Nesta’s poking her chopsticks around the box when she notices Cassian watching. “What?” she says, immediately on the defensive.

“You eat funny,” he admits. Her brows furrow so deeply he thinks they might create a permanent indentation. He’s quick to add, “It’s adorable. Seriously.” It isn’t something he would have said yesterday, but he’s taking Nesta’s words from the laundry room to heart. He won’t put a damper on his personality as long as she can handle it.

Her hand comes up to self-consciously touch her cheek, but she quickly drops it. “Play the next episode,” she says as she picks up her chopsticks again, and that’s the end of that.

***

Cassian wastes no time coming up with ways to push Nesta out of her comfort zone, just as he promised. The next morning, he greets her downstairs in nothing but a pair of sweatpants. Nesta takes a long, slow blink at his bare torso, muscled arms, and brown skin, and turns around to get started on making breakfast. It’s not good enough— he catches a glimpse of her reddened cheeks when she reaches for the milk container anyway.

It’s only until they’re both settled in the living room after dinner that he realizes he doesn’t have the upper hand he thought he did.

Nesta is stretched out on her stomach on the Persian rug in an oversized tee and nothing else. Her bare legs swing in the air behind her, and she’s listening to music and coloring.

Cassian’s unanswered emails sit abandoned on the phone in his lap. He truly can’t stop staring; there’s just too much to absorb.

For starters, she wears glasses. Big, round, gold-rimmed glasses that are almost slipping off her nose at the moment. That revelation alone is so affecting that he has to quickly move on to other, smaller details. Like the sound of her uncapping different markers and filling in smooth lines on the page before her. Cassian feels a desperate desire to see what she’s coloring. Her hair is up in a ponytail, and her legs…

Cassian can’t say that ever since he first took notice of the beauty mark at the corner of Nesta’s lush mouth that he hasn’t wondered where else on her body she might be hiding little moles and freckles. He just never expected to get an answer so soon. Because right there, where her shirt rumples up to reveal her bare thigh, is the smallest dark spot.

He wants to put his mouth on it.

His own thoughts take him by surprise, and he realizes he’s gripping his phone so hard the screen might crack.

He uncurls his fingers from the phone and squeezes his eyes shut against the wave of desire crashing into him. Desire and something else, something achingly fond and frustrated at the same time.

“Cassian?” The sound of his name has his eyes snapping open. Nesta’s watching him, brow furrowed. “Are you feeling okay?” she asks.

He feels stupid for trying to play this push-and-pull game with Nesta, because it’s barely even started and he’s already losing. “I’m gonna go put a shirt on,” he mutters, moving to get up.

Nesta’s lips turn down a little. “And ruin the view?” She says it completely seriously, not a hint of slyness to her words.

Cassian’s ass falls back into his seat in pure surprise. His eyes widen. “Was that a joke?” Did Nesta Archeron just make a joke?

Her frown turns deeper. “I don’t think so. Was it funny?”

“It was teasing.”

“Then it wasn’t a joke.” She shrugs and returns back to her coloring. “If you put a shirt on, I’m putting my pants on,” she says without looking up.

Cassian has absolutely no idea what he’s gotten himself into. But he doesn’t move from the couch for the rest of the evening.

***

By the end of the weekend, Nesta has gotten the hang of being around Cassian. There are several occasions in those first couple of days— slips of the tongue, really— where she pauses in trepidation, worried she’s said or done too much. She is always doing too much. But then Cassian grins, or laughs, or as of more often lately, teases her right back, and her muscles can relax again.

He has also relaxed around her. Nesta knows that quiet front he put up when they first met was partly for her benefit, because the more comfortable they become with each other, the more he reminds her of the Cassian Feyre’s always talking about. And yet, the person he is with her is nothing like the person she’s seen hanging around Feyre’s inner circle. This person doesn’t make her feel excluded or ignored. It’s the exact opposite— she hasn’t been on the receiving end of this much male attention since Tomas.

And as much as it surprises her to like it so much, she’s not in the mood for his particular brand of teasing at seven in the morning on a Monday.

She stumbles into the kitchen fully dressed and more than a bit disgruntled, needing the strongest cup of coffee available to get through her morning classes today. Cassian is already sitting at the island with his laptop, and raises his brows to see her up this early. He dares to smile at her before the sun is even fully up. “Glad to see you woke up ready to play, Nesta.”

Nesta almost throws her empty mug at his head. “Don’t talk to me,” she says, thumping her mug down beside the coffeemaker.

Taunting becomes questioning as he eyes her outfit. “You have somewhere to be at this hour?”

“I’m a law student,” she grumbles, punching buttons on the coffeemaker. “I have morning classes three days a week.” It’s unacceptable, but it isn’t the worst thing she’ll go through as she tries to get her J.D.

Cassian sits up straight at that. “Who’s taking you to class?” Her car is still in for repairs, and she has yet to rent one to make up for it.

“I’m Ubering,” she tosses over her shoulder.

“That’s ridiculous,” Cassian says. “I’ll drive you.”

Nesta spins around at that. “No way in hell.” She throws whatever bite she has into her refusal.

Cassian is unfazed. “It’s on my way to work.”

“You work from home.” He’s not even dressed.

“Then today is the day I’ll make a stop at corporate headquarters. My subordinates get to see my pretty face for once, you get to go to class, and we all win.” He grins, and in this moment Nesta truly hates his grin. It lights up his whole face in a way that should be illegal. He’s probably robbed banks with that grin.

Nesta doesn’t have the brain capacity to argue with him. She doesn’t even feel like criticizing the fact that at twenty-seven, Cassian runs the entire security division of Night Court Inc. thanks to the help of the CEO, also known as his adoptive brother.

She’s never met anyone who makes nepotism look so good.

Grabbing her steaming coffee mug and taking a deep sip, unflinching at the feeling of her tastebuds being burned away, she meets Cassian’s expectant gaze. “Get dressed.”

***

When Cassian texts to ask her when she’s getting out of class, she doesn’t expect him to actually show up outside the law building with drinks and a paper bag of food. She has to stop and glance around for a moment, as if he could possibly be here for somebody else.

Approaching him cautiously, Nesta takes the cup holder from his hand and inspects the contents. A green tea and a rainbow-colored slushie. She looks back up at Cassian, and he smiles. “Shall we?”

They end up settling under the shade of an oak tree on the lawn outside where her Principles of International Law class is held. “So how was your day?” Cassian asks as he bites into a burrito.

Nesta can’t remember the last time someone asked her that and sounded genuine about it, and she almost doesn't know how to answer. “It's noon,” she says.

“Fine. How was your last four hours?”

“Nothing more interesting than yours.” She eyes his outfit at that. She’s never seen Cassian in this manner. Work Cassian wears expensive buttondowns tucked into slacks. Work Cassian must use some kind of fancy product on his hair to make it so flowy, because for the first time ever, he looks exactly like the amount of money he makes. “You look so...adult. I’d almost buy it if you didn't have the taste palate of a five year old.” Nesta sips from her tea.

He actually rolls his eyes at her. “You wish you had what it takes to handle an every-flavor-slushie.” Because that's what he’s drinking, a heart attack in a 32 ounce cup.

“That's bait, and I’m not falling for it,” Nesta says through a mouthful of burrito.

“You don't need to.” He offers the drink out to her. “Try it.”

Nesta stares at the cup, chewing slowly. Usually the thought of sharing a straw with someone would disgust her, but—

She just wants to know how it tastes. Swallowing quickly, she grabs the drink. “Whatever,” she mutters, and wraps her lips around the red straw.

Cassian watches intently as she takes a deep pull. Ten different flavors hit her tongue at once, and she thinks her brain spasms. She's too tough to make a face, and swallows the slushie like it's nothing.

“You like?” Cassian looks hopeful.

Nesta slams the cup down. “It’s disgusting. My point was proven.”

He laughs. “Weak.”

More easy moments pass like this before he says, “I wish you came around Feyre’s more often. I could have gotten to know you earlier.”

Nesta stills, food halfway to her mouth. “What do you mean?”

Cassian shrugs. “It just seems odd that we’ve talked more in the last three days than in the last three years I’ve known of you. Why don’t you hang out with Feyre like Elain does?”

She stiffens, and considers whether the conversation is even worth continuing. “Feyre’s always with you guys,” she chooses her words carefully. “There’s rarely time left for me.”

She waits for Cassian to tell her that sharing exists, and that she’s allowed to be at Feyre’s place with Feyre’s friends at the same time, but he just watches her patiently. Waiting for her to go on.

“Besides, I used to come over all the time before my sister moved to Velaris. You were there, too.”

“I was?” That gets his attention; he drops his food and turns to face her fully. “What are you talking about?”

Nesta nods, but an odd, old feeling is bubbling up in her chest. It tastes hard and a little sad. “I doubt you noticed, but I was there. In the background while you guys got drunk or laughed together.”

He huffs an odd sort of laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. I would have noticed you from a hundred foot radius from Feyre’s apartment. We’ve only seen each other twice before this weekend.”

Nesta is caught between disbelief and disappointment, but she hides it well with a scoff. “We’ve only spoken to each other twice, idiot. I’ve seen you plenty of times.”

Cassian looks like she just came up to him with scientific evidence that the sky is green and grass is blue, and he can’t wrap his mind around it. “That just doesn’t make sense,” he says.

Nesta raises a brow. “Are you implying I’m lying?”

He shakes his head quickly. “No, but— it’s like you’re saying I failed to notice a fucking lion in the room every time I didn’t see you. It’s just not something someone fails to notice. It’s impossible not to notice!” He throws his hands up.

You’re impossible not to notice. Nesta has no idea what to make of that, or whether she should be insulted or not. He didn’t say it with the same backhanded tone as so many of the people she knew in high school, but it didn’t sound like high praise, either. On the other hand, the words are so ironic they’re almost funny.

She settles for a shrug and begins sweeping up her napkins and trash. “Well, it isn’t impossible for a lot of people.” The look she throws him says clear enough, Including you.

He works his jaw, seeming upset, but helps Nesta up from the ground anyway. Walks her all the way back to his truck in near-silence and drives them home.

A/N: you’d think the ‘ready to play’ line was a cute reference but i actually just suck at writing banter so i needed to borrow from sarah.

tagging: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @sensitiveillyrian @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy

if you want to be added or removed please send an ask or dm!

#nessian #nessian fic #ncssianwrites #nesta archeron #cassian #a favor

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chosenfamily-valkyriequeens · 4 years

Text

Personal opinion: Nesta Archeron deserves better

Nesta is definitely closed off and hurt by what had happened to her, and for completely understandable reasons. It angers me that Rhys is so heartless and an a**hole when it comes to Nesta—like Feyre did go through trauma too, some from their childhood (everyone’s trauma is different yes) but y’all didn’t just expect her to be okay the next day, why would Nesta be any different!

Mor as well is bugging me and she is just acting like a straight up b*tch for no reason besides being jealous and petty over Cassian and Nesta’s budding relationship and Feyre’s hurt feelings. Mor more than anyone should understand what Nesta is going through considering the sexual assault. I hope the two of them realize how wrong they’ve been to treat her so cruelly. Personally I’d like it to be a dramatic Nesta is about to die and they’ve found out the truth about her past and that she’s always loved her sisters and they are like “I’m so sorry please forgive me for being an a**hat” but who knows;)

Nesta’s character is so complex, intelligent and dark, she’s my favorite character out of every book I’ve ever read—and I’ve read A LOT of books. She’s so relatable to anyone who’s felt like the mistreated, worthless, unloved, unwanted, charity case of the family or friend group, when no one valued your side of the story to favor a biased version. And everyone goes through this feeling at least once in their life. This attitude towards Nesta becomes a single story mindset that is so toxic, and the “inner circle”—minus Cassian every now and then( haven’t forgotten about the “your sister care for you and I don’t understand why but they do” part)—is falling into it.

They are so protective of Feyre that they aren’t realizing they are ignoring someone who clearly needs help but doesn’t know how to or doesn’t want to ask for help yet. You can’t pressure someone into asking for help, the have to want to be helped before anything can happen.

I’m not sure how I really feel about her being BANISHED to the mountains with Cassian, I really love them together and want them to be endgame. But how they went about deciding her life without her opinion upsets me. Yes she isn’t in the best to be making life decisions alone, but it’s still HER LIFE she should have a say in what’s happening.

When Feyre was brought to the Night Court it took her months to open up to them, longer for her to even fucking smile! She’d been kidnapped and killed and then she was stuck in a toxic relationship and she needed to figure out how to love herself and be okay with her new body first before she started any type of relationship with Rhys and the inner circle. She didn’t just click her fingers and wish away the pain, it took her a long time to cope with what happened.

Nesta should be given the same courtesy. She at a young age was told she was only good for marrying for status and wealth and having children by her mother who never showed her much attention, her father was always gone and lost all their money putting them all in jeopardy. She wanted to believe her father was the knight in shining armor that would fight for them and save them—but he didn’t. She was almost raped and was sexually assaulted by someone she thought cared about her. Was then later dragged out of her bed and was DROWNED&KILLED turing into a thing she had feared her while life. But not before having to watch as her sister was killed right before her eyes and turned as well. You don’t just get over that with a snap of your fingers.

It kills me that people are so upset about Nesta not stepping up and helping as the oldest. SHE WAS A CHILD, yes so was Feyre but don’t forget that Nesta too was a little girl, heartbroken that her family life was destroyed, her mother dead and her father not the hero she thought he would be. Everyone deals with pain different. She was raised to believe her only purpose was to marry and have children, not go out and kill animals in the woods.

Feyre being the youngest daughter was probably not subjected to the lessons Nesta was to become a perfect wife, giving her more time to be kid and play and be a little bit more outgoing—most likely what lead her to be the provider.

(the reading lessons I feel was unfortunate, she forgot overtime for not practicing—not saying that was her fault ether, but I 100% believe that if Nesta had known she couldn’t read she would have taught her. Just think about it, Nesta loves to read, it’s empowering and she would definitely teach her had Feyre asked for it, because no one knew she couldn’t read, they even mention that in the books, Nesta said she would’ve taught her had she known she didn’t know how.)

Nesta wasn’t raised to be like that, so don’t expect her to just wake up and forget the years of programming her mother had drilled into her head. Let’s also not forget Elian is older than Feyre too, they really just brush over her and ignore that she too didn’t help provide for the family ether, yet the inner circle welcomed her with open arms because she’s quite and shy and won’t fight back or lash out for her feelings being hurt.

Nesta also was probably embarrassed that she didn’t know how to help, and didn’t know how to ask. People tend to skip over parts that they don’t like to focus on the parts they only want to see. Nesta went out and cut the wood when Feyre asked, Nesta went into the woods to go get Feyre back, she offered up her story to the high lords for the war, she wanted to learn how to fight so she would be helpful, how to use her powers, but do we hear anyone talking about that in the inner circle? No. And that pisses me off.

When the two Ravens came after them in the library she didn’t want to leave Feyre alone to fight them. She stayed and only went when Feyre told her to go find help. She wanted them to have an advantage in the war so she stayed and fought, made herself a distraction so they could get to the cauldron and keep the king distracted. Cassian was about to die and instead of running like he told her to she picked up his sword and tried to fight and when it failed she covered his body with her own, they wouldn’t die alone, they’d go together.

Her charter traits amaze me because if she were a male character I’m almost 99% certain none of us would be having this conversation about how “he” is a bitch that doesn’t deserve to be happy. If she was a male it would be socially acceptable that he is this way because he had a “troubled past” and he’s “dealing with it” he can drink and fuck whoever because he’s “healing” and that’s what guys do. No one would question it. The allure of the bad boy is so captivating that we ignore that they’ve made mistakes. But the minute you make them a female the are automatically a bitch and deserve to be hated because that’s not how a female should act.

Double standards exist in the books we read as well as the world we live in. It’s easy to forget that because we want to believe that the fantasy we have created is perfect when in reality it’s flawed. Flawed characters make for the best stories because they are the most relatable and REAL.

Nesta is probably the most real and relatable character to ever be created. She’s made mistakes, she’s made up of flaws, she been hurt but continues to go through life with her head held high. She doesn’t give two shits about what people think of her. She runs her life how she wants it. She doesn’t stand for people treating her like crap. She’s quick to say something back to defend herself or deflect it to something else. She’s intelligent and smart. She knew how many ships were needed to save the humans she cares about others.

But she is also flawed. It’s hard for her to feel emotions, to be open and understand other peoples emotions. She’s quick tempered and hot headed, but she’s also caring and passionate about the people she cares about. She would lay down her life if it meant she would save the people she cares about.

At the end of the war she’s hit with the reality that her father actually cared about them and she watched him be KILLED right in front of her, if that doesn’t speak volumes about scaring emotional trauma I don’t know what does.

She also has to come to terms with the fact that shes killed people. Jus because they were bad doesn’t mean that killing them was easy and didn’t effect her. The power burst saved them all but it also ended thousands of lives, regardless of what they did she has to live with the fact that she has ended another persons life. Even the King of Hybern’s death might not be easy for her to deal with. She ripped his head from his body, that would give any sane person nightmares.

She has had less that three months to cope with her new body and magic and is thrown into a war and watches the people around her are dying. That’s probably why she helps out in the medic tent and tends to the wounded, she can’t really fight so she finds something to do to help.

Side note: when she was helping in the medic tents during the war do you all remember the scene when she noticed Cassian’s hand was hurt? She literally took care of him. She might not show emotion often but when she does it speaks volumes. And then Cassian had to go and rip his hand away from her when Mor walked in. That probably made her feel like he was embarrassed to be seen with her. That’s she’s not worth being around if people don’t like her and will judge him if he’s seen with her.

For her PTSD It mentions how every time she lights a fire all she can hear is bones popping and necks snapping—I wouldn’t want to light a fire ether if that’s all I thought about and heard. The bath tub has me reeling. She’s forced herself to get over her fear because she thinks she deserves the pain is causes her. She stopped eating and taking care of herself because she thought she deserved to punish herself.

And the biggest problem I had with the inner circle—Cassain included this time, was solstice. Not one present for her besides Elain(and whatever the hell cassian threw in the damn river!!), and they practically forced her to go and they didn’t even get her anything! What the heck!!! I mean sure she didn’t get them anything, but she’s never celebrated this before how would she know? And it’s not like she had the money ether. Yes it was Feyre’s birthday but she also probably didn’t know what to get her with the bad place they were in at the moment. And there was not one painting of her in the entire house. I would feel uncomfortable and unwanted too if I was her. They don’t like how she chose to deal with her pain and they try to fix her pain, instead of listening to her pain and what SHE needs verses what THEY think she needs.

They only do what they want because they want to sweep it under the rug and move on. Because they don’t want poor fragile Feyre to feel sad. Fuck them honestly. If Nesta’s not ready to deal she’s not ready to deal giver her her damn space and time.

She needs to hit rock bottom before she’s ready to climb back to the surface. And all the the inner circle has had hundreds of years to cope with their pain and know what works for them. Nesta is a 22 year old women. She’s not developed the right ways to cope with death and tragedy yet, she needs to figure out what works best for her and that’s okay, she should be able to learn what works for her, not be forced to try what works for others.

Nesta is Depressed, she’s shown clear signs of PTSD, as well and Anxiety. You don’t just get over those because people are done with your mopping, they take time and sometimes they never go away you just learn how to cope with them when they flare up. You can’t just stuff it into a jar and hope it never comes out. It doesn’t work that way. And the 500+ year old Fae should understand that!!!!

Her drinking and having sex is her way of trying to feel something as well as not feeling anything. Again if she was a male character no one would be having a problem with this. Cassian and the other go out and drink for no reason and no one gets on them about it. Rhys said the day Feyre was going to marry Tamlin he was going to be piss drunk to not feel anything. And can you imagine what he would’ve been like had Feyre actually married Tamlin? He’d be wreak, and probably end up destroying himself because of his broken-heartedness.

Another thing about her going to the camps is, she has extreme PTSD from the war and from her sexual assault with Tomas. And now she being sent into what will probably be another war. A camp where all males do is fight all day—not good for someone who has PTSD about fighting. A place where women are treated like breeders and objects—not good for some who has sexual assault trauma. And they just expect her to be fine?! Noooooo!!!

She is going to struggle and not in the good way that gets her to feel again. She’s going to be pushed beyond her limits in a bad way and this could ultimately be what destroys her. My only hope is that the other females recognize what’s she’s going through and find a positive way to support her. I want her to have her own group of strong empowering and compassionate females and males in her new friend group.

The inner definitely doesn’t deserve to have Nesta in their “happy little circle” as Nesta puts it. She is someone I’d want to be friends with because she’d go to the ends of the earth to help her friends and the inner circle doesn’t understand that she DOES have a heart, she is just scared of it getting hurt and broken because she let herself love someone and be loved by someone, to only end up getting hurt the same way she did by Tomas. Trust is hard to build when it’s been broken time and time again.

Things I want from ACOSF is for Nesta to get better all on her own. To ignore the inner circle—minus Cassian sometimes, I do love their banter and I want to see some fluff and sexual tension/frustration and smut from them, as well as a good heart to heart with some tears on both sides about their pasts. Her to United the camp lords. Befriend Devlon—have a father daughter relationship with the dude, change the way females are treated in the camps. Come into her powers. Have Cassian stand up to his family and defend Nesta(she’s probs had no one EVER stand up for her before). For her to ABSOLUTELY NOT apologize to the inner circle, they should apologize to her only for treating her like crap and holding her last mistakes over her head like a sword waiting to cop her head off if she makes one wrong move . For Nesta to befriend Bryaxis—OMG how awesome that would be!!! Hahahaha. Maybe The Court of Nightmares cameo. Find out who Cassian saw in the prison, as well as WHAT THE BLOODY HELL CASSIAN THREW INTO THE SIDRA ON SOLOIST!!!! And hopefully the Ilyrians will become independent from the Night Court with the help of Nesta as their newQueen—Sarah has called her a queen without a throne, if this doesn’t happen then I quit. And maybe Cassain ruling with her. Oh and of course NESSIAN MATES AS ENDGAME!!!!!!!!

I hope Nesta gets her deserved happy ending, regardless of whether or not the inner circle is involved in her healing and empowerment. She is a Queen, and nothing will stop her from owning her life and getting her happiness like she deserves!<3

Sorry for the rant:)

#nesta #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #sarajmaas #cassian #nessian #queennesta

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imprecisemagic · 6 years

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ACOTAR character profiles: Morrigan

Family name: Not given

Other names: Mor, The Morrigan.

Eyes: Brown

Hair: Golden, wavy, long

Race: High Fae (Night Court)

Age: A year younger than Cassian.

Blood relatives:

- Father, Keir, Steward of the Hewn City

- Mother, also living in the Hewn City

- Brothers, names not given

- Cousin to Rhysand.

Relationships:

- Mor is a member of the inner circle alongside Rhys, Amren, Cassian, Azriel and later Feyre.

- Mor and Rhys grew up together, once sledging down the spiral walkway in the Velaris library and at other times staying in the cabin.

- Mor finally confesses to Feyre that she loves Azriel as family but can’t be in a romantic relationship with him because she prefers females (ACOWAR p.588 – 593). To escape her engagement to Eris, Mor chose to sleep with Cassian out of the two Illyrian warriors because she knew it would mean too much to Azriel. Azriel then rescued her when the Autumn Court left her for dead. Soon after this Mor walked away rather than let Azriel tell her he loved her. She does not want to try and have that sort of relationship with Azriel now as she does not think she could love him like she could love a woman and to try, and fail, at the relationship would break him (ACOWAR p. 588 – 593).

- Miryam, the human Made immortal who fought in the War, is an old friend of Mor’s. Mor defends her when it is suggested she cheated on Jurian, saying she knows Miryam left him before starting her relationship with Drakon.

- Friend of Prince Drakon, who gave her the Seraphim blades.

- Morrigan knew Jurian when he was part of the fae-mortal alliance in the original War, but believed Amarantha broke him to her will (ACOWAR p. 495 and 503).

- Nephelle and her wife inspired Mor to take her first female lover.

- The human queens from the war five hundred years ago, were friends of Mor.

- Andromanche, a human queen and ancestor of Demetra, was Mor’s first female lover. After the War they became trapped on opposite sides of the wall. Three years later Mor was finally successful in crossing over, only to find Andromanche married to another human, with a baby. Mor left without making herself known to her former lover. She tells Feyre she has not felt love like she did for Andromanche in the five hundred years since (ACOWAR p. 588 – 593).

- Previously engaged against her will to Eris, heir of the Autumn Court. To escape this Mor slept with Cassian, leading to her abuse at the hands of her family and the Autumn Court (see above). In ACOWAR Eris claims he freed Mor from the engagement because he knew she did not want it (p. 276), saying that one day, now they are allies, he may explain.

- Viviane, wife of Kallias High Lord of Winter, is a friend of Morrigan. It seems they didn’t fight together in the War as Viv tells Morrigan she always knew they would fight together someday (ACOWAR p. 446) and they do fight together in the final battle against Hyburn (ACOWAR p. 622).

- Mor sleeps with Helion during the Dawn Court council. Rhys tells Feyre that Helion has been trying to get Mor, Azriel and Cassian into his bed at once for centuries (ACOWAR p. 451).

Titles/positions: Court overseer for both the Court of Nightmares and the Court of Dreams, ruling Belarus and the Hewn City. Third in the Inner Circle.

Magic: the Gift of Truth – Mor’s ancestors left the Veritas to their bloodline.

Key backstory:

- ACOMAF p. 237 – 239: Mor tells Feyre about her escape from the Court of Nightmares and how the Illyrians helped her.

- Rhys has given Mor permission to kill her family in the Court of Nightmares if she pleases.

Other information:

- Carries Seraphim blades to war (ACOWAR p. 349) and wears Illyrian leathers.

Quotes:

“Welcome to the family, Feyre.”

On giving Feyre a bottle of wine after a Nesta death-threat: “It’s fine if you drink directly from it.”

On glamouring Elain as a human: “ “You’re still lovely,” Mor said a bit gently. Elain offered a half smile. “I suppose that war makes wanting things like that unimportant.” Mor was quiet for a heartbeat. “Perhaps. But you should not let war steal in from you regardless.” “

☆ ★ ☆

The character Morrigan & all those mentioned above belong to Sarah J Maas.

☆ ★ ☆

I picked Mor next despite promising Feyre because she’s up this month on #WeAreACOTAR...

ACOTAR fanstuff masterlist [this link won’t work on mobile but you can check out the tag ”acotar character profiles” to find the others!]

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #a court of wings and ruin #a court of mist and fury #acotar character profiles #my fandom stuff #morrigan #the inner circle #the night court

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getalittlecountry · 7 years

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Coke Can (nessian version)

It was going to snow. There was no doubt about it, it was too cold to do anything but snow. I blew out a breath as the gas pumped into my jeep. I tried to keep my hands in my pockets so they don't fall off as I let it go itself. I feel my phone vibrate, but I don't pull it out. I still haven't gotten to where I'm going. Then again I wasn't even sure where I was going. The dark clouds seemed to be following me though. Ever since I left I couldn't shake them. But I couldn't stay there, I needed space. There were too many ghosts; too much pain. My phone buzzed once, telling me I had a message. I knew who it was, one of my brothers checking up on me. They were probably worried sick. I never left for this long without a note or a reason. I'm sure they knew why, they had to know why I needed time. I fought back the tears as I stood there letting the cold bite my face. Life was unfair, I have always known that. I watched my mom die before she was even forty years old. I never even met my father. Life would never be easy, but I never thought it would be this hard. The pump clicked off, snapping me back into reality. I closed the cap and then head inside to pay for my gas. It feels good to get inside and out of the cold. But when I step behind the guy paying my heart stops. There's a Coke bottle in his hand, one of the glass ones. He stuck a straw in the hole, shattering my attempt at shutting down that part of my brain. My mind starts to race, the memories I tried so hard to forget come back all at once. She was beautiful, I knew it before she even turned around. Her blonde curls were swinging in the wind as she threw her head back laughing. The lights of the fair illuminated her green jacket. She looked like she loved life and from what I could tell everyone in her life loved her just as much. Rhysand pushed me towards her, my feet were frozen as she smiled at me. Her bright steel blue eyes drew me in. They were beautiful and yet she had an air of mystery around her. She giggled again as the brown haired girl beside her whispered something in her ear. I offered her my hand, "Cassian Moten. Ferris wheel solo rider looking for a partner.” She laughed again, then shook her head, "oh no. I don't do the Ferris wheel Mr. Moten.” I raised an eyebrow, feeling more confident as her friends watched, "and why not? I thought a pretty girl like you wouldn't be afraid of anything.” "I'm not afraid," she defended herself, my hand falling back down beside me, "I just don't like it, that's all.” I nodded, biting my lip as I stood there, "okay well let me get you a drink. A funnel cake? Let me win you a stuffed animal with my ability to knock down glass milk bottles.” She shook her head slowly, still giving me that half smirk half smile that was driving me insane. I had never been so taken by a girl let alone a stranger before. I was the guy who played the field, but I knew the moment she laughed she was it for me. Sometimes you just know these things. It was the spark that changed your life. "Come on Nesta," the girl beside her nudged her shoulder, "he clearly wants to get to know you. Stop being a big scaredy cat.” She glared at her friend and then sighed as she looked back in my direction, “fine. Let’s get something to drink.” We walked to a stand together and I ordered two cokes. She giggled, shaking her head as I handed her the soda, "so does Nesta have a last name?” "Acheron. Why do you want to know me so badly?" She put a straw in the hole and took a sip. Her friends were watching, Rhysand was chatting with one off to the side. I smiled at our situation. I shrugged, "you seem like a mystery. I like a good mystery.” We sat down on a bench and she sighed, "I'm not a mystery you want to figure out, Cassian.” "I don't think that's true," I finished my drink and then smiled, "I bet I can get this can into that trash can. If I don't I'll leave you alone.” She raised an eyebrow, "and if you do?” "You go on the Ferris wheel with me.” I didn't wait for her answer. I put my hands up and looked at the can waiting for the crowd to thin out. Once the coast was clear I flicked my wrist and let the can fly through the air. It hit the rim of the trash can and then slid around like it was going to fall in. But before it did it hit the wall and fell onto the ground. "Damn," Nesta clicked her tongue as I blushed at my failure, "I changed my mind. I'll go on with you.” She threw her empty can into the trash can without trying and laughed when it landed in without a challenge. I shook my head, grabbing her hand before she could change her mind. I felt her grip tighten as we got closer to the ride and I smiled as she leaned into me. Once we were sitting at the top, the lights were beautiful. Everyone was small and the town looked even more beautiful in the fall weather. My heart was beating faster than it ever had before as Nesta slid in close to my side. She let out a slow breath, her grip on the bar loosened as she relaxed, "you don't want to get to know me," she whispered as the stars sparkled above us. "Sir? Are you going to pay?" I shook my head, the attendant at the gas station called my attention as the memory faded away. I stepped up to the counter, "sorry," I whispered as I paid for my gas and then took my receipt. I was still reeling from the memory that I walked away from the door and through an aisle. My hands were shaking. I should be mad at her. I should be mad at the memory, but I wasn't. I kept walking, unsure of where I was going in this small store. My heart hurt as I tried to collect my thoughts and my emotions. This trip was supposed to bring me peace, help me heal. But in this gas station only a few hours from home it was doing the total opposite. I sighed, turning the corner of the last aisle. I thought I'd go to the bathroom and pull myself together, but I stopped short once more. There beside the beer cooler was a set of those big camping lanterns. This time I smiled as the memory came flashing back. The cabin had been huge, it was their vacation house and it was bigger than the home I grew up in. She promised it didn't matter, she wanted me to meet her parents. They were so excited to have me come along they went all out. The first night they cooked a big fancy dinner. Nesta barely ate a thing, but it was delicious. Better than anything I had ever tried to cook for the boys and me. Her mom seemed distant, she would glare at me and I could tell she was judging me. She didn't think I was good enough to be with her daughter. That didn't stop me, I picked up Nesta's hand while we ate and held it tightly in mine. The entire time we ate mother and daughter would glare at each other. I knew they both had a secret they weren't sharing. Something that they knew and didn't want anyone else to know. I could only hope it didn't have to do with me. Her dad was the opposite. He was so warm and welcoming I felt like I had known him forever once dinner was done. We talked about everything, he didn't look at me like I was a scholarship kid. He asked my opinion and listened to what I was studying. I could see where Nesta got her personality from as I sat there with him. Once dinner was over the storm started. It was late and her parents turned in for bed early. Her parents had set up the guest room for me. Nesta yawned and seemed tired, so I told her to go on up I'd follow. She shook her head and sat down beside me. She settled into my arms as we watched the dying fire. "So do you think they like me?" I whispered as she leaned her head back against my shoulder. I wanted them to like me, after all their daughter was very important to me. "Yeah they like you. I just wish they realized I'm not five and you don't need to stay in the guest room," she huffed as she sat up straighter, "we're adults.” I tickled her sides and she giggled, "you're barely an adult, Nesta. And I will sleep wherever you or they want me to. Although your mom didn't seem to like me much.” She sighed, choosing her words carefully, "she's protective.” Nesta hesitated when she explained her moms behavior. I didn't think too hard about it, I just held her closer and kissed her neck. It didn't matter, her mother could flat out tell me she didn't like me and I wouldn't care. Because I was here for her daughter and no one else. That's the thing about Nesta, she never looked at me like I was trash. She never cared about my small house or my sister tagging along on our movie dates. She loved the way we included her in our little family with ease. She seemed to understand that we needed her as much as she wanted to need us. "So did you ever think a ride on the Ferris wheel would turn into this?" I whispered as the thunder boomed outside and Nesta shivered in my arms. She laughed, "no. But I sure am glad I got on it with you.” She turned to face me, kissing my lips softly. I loved kissing her. I loved everything about her. We hadn't known each other long but hell I knew it was fate. There was nothing that could drag me away from her. Nothing. Halfway through our evening of joking and laughing Nesta yawned again. I told her to go on up I would make sure the fire died completely. She didn't fight me this time, she stood up and stretched. Her shirt pulled up as she stood on her toes and smiled at my eyes wandering to her stomach. She giggled making me smile, "I love your laugh.” Her blue eyes lit up as she stood there staring at me. She looked like she wanted to tell me something, but instead she just smiled, "your laugh is better. You and your deep voice. That's the only reason I'm still around.” Nesta leaned down and kissed my cheek and thanked me for being so kind to her parents, before heading off to bed. I watched the empty fireplace for a little while longer, wondering how a guy like me had found someone like her. I settled into my bed a few hours later. I was about to turn my lamp off when the power cut out. I sighed, sitting up and letting my eyes adjust to the darkness. I didn't want to sleep alone anyways and I remembered Nesta telling me about her nightmares. I got up and found the camping lamp her dad told me was in the closet. Apparently they lost power a lot when the storms rolled through here. I wandered down the hallway slowly, hoping her parents room was in the opposite direction. There were more rooms than people on this floor and I hesitate between the last two doors at the end of the hallway. I couldn't remember which one was hers. The door opened before I could figure out which room belonged to Nesta. Her face was lit up by the lamp and she laughed softly as she pulled me into her room. "I was hoping you'd come," she whispered setting the lamp down on her nightstand and kissing me. I wrapped my arms around her small body and held her close. She relaxed in my embrace, her skin cold against mine. Thinking back now her hands were always cold. She pulled at my shirt, her eyes hungry. Ever since we met we could barely get enough of each other. I kissed her that first night after the Ferris wheel and that was it. There was no going back. She never hesitated to tell me to slow down, so this was new. Before she told me she wasn't ready. Now she seemed more experienced than I was. I pulled at her lip gently, "are you sure Nesta?” She nodded as she ran her cold hands up my stomach, "I want it to be you Cassian.” I didn't need anything more to convince me. I laid her down on the mattress and pulled her shirt up over her head. I laid a trail of kisses down her stomach as her fingers ran through my hair. I couldn't get enough of her. I would never get tired of feeling her body against mine. I pressed a kiss to her temple as she curled up in my arms. I knew it was wrong to be so happy after finally sleeping with her in her parents house. But I was more than happy as she sighed contently in my arms. She drew a heart on my chest and then she looked up at me. "You don't want to fall in love with me," she whispered, her voice breaking as her blue eyes held mine. I pushed open the door and walked out of the gas station, my heart still shattered in pieces. She had been right both times, but that didn't stop me. I got to know her and I fell in love with the blonde haired girl with the beautiful smile. I sighed as I climbed into the jeep and slammed my door shut. My breathing was heavy as I tried to stop the panic attack that was coming on. I closed my eyes, squeezing my hands on the wheel as I saw her face. Her laughter played on loop in my head and it hurt to breathe whenever that happened. That stupid Coke bottle. That stupid memory. I had been doing so well. My breath still came out in puffs, I didn’t bother turning on the heat. It wouldn’t help with the pain inside my chest. I hit the radio dial hoping it would help ease the pain. But it only made it worse as I pulled back onto the dirt road. The song that started to play was the old country song she loved to sing along to. She used to sit right there in the passenger seat and sing loudly off key with Faith Hill. I looked over at the empty seat, that ache in my chest getting tighter. I didn't get far from the gas station, not even a mile away when I had to pull over. The tears made it too hard to see, the knot in my chest even tighter than before. Another tear fell as I leaned my head against the wheel. "Come on, it'll be fun!" She laughed as she tugged my arm and pulled me into the field. Her hair was covered by her red hat, her cheeks pink from the cold. I smiled as she led me out where the other couples were. I wasn't big on school spirit, but for some reason Nesta wanted to go to this football game. She was mesmerized by the homecoming court, her eyes glue to the girls wearing prom dresses in the freezing cold. She leaned in close when they waved and walked the track with their dates. I wrapped my arms around her tightly, my jacket swallowing her tiny frame. I loved her wearing my jacket, that's the only reason I agreed to come to this game. She knew it too, that's why she always wore it when I was around. I was a sucker for that smile and her wearing my clothes. I shook my head, I didn't want to dance in front of people. That didn't stop her from dragging me into the middle of the football field with everyone else. Nesta didn't care, she was already dancing on her own. I smiled as her favorite song played and everyone grabbed a person to dance with. She pressed her fingers against my lips, "is that a smile Mr. Moten? Are you actually having fun?” I laughed and pulled her in close as the snow started to fall, "not at all. But you, you look like you’re having the time of your life.” She shivered as a flake landed on her nose and leaned in to kiss me. She wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled me in close. She held me tightly, as if she could keep this moment and hold onto it forever. Her eyes were closed when she pulled away. She leaned her forehead against mine and sighed. Looking back now I realize we were so young. I thought we could take on the world together. We were high on big dreams and caffeine. We were the lucky ones, we had found each other before our lives truly started. I knew there wasn't anyone else for me. Not since I stepped into that fair and heard her laugh. I would've given her my life and spent all the years I had spread out in front of me with her. I opened my eyes and looked at the girl I never knew actually existed. I smiled at her, not realizing how little time we had left. I would've appreciated every second, I would've memorized her face. I would've held her tighter, tried to freeze the moment and never let it go. But I was young. I didn't think I'd have to let go so fast. "I love you," I whispered as the song ended and we stood there for a moment more. There were tears in her eyes as she pushed my chest hard letting her hands fall away from me, "I told you not to fall in love with me.” She was actually angry, she wasn't kidding. She walked off the field as the game got ready to go into the second half. I followed behind her, grabbing her hand before she could get far. "What the hell Nesta? You aren't serious?" My voice was hard as she shook her head. She blew out a breath as the snow fell, her lips were almost blue, "you can't love me. I'm a grenade.” She looked pale, I assumed it was the cold. Her cheeks weren't red from the wind anymore and before I could ask her what that meant she closed her eyes. I was still holding her wrist as it happened. Time seemed to slow down as she fell, my arms wrapping around her before she landed on the ground. "Someone call nine one one," I yelled as I forgot all about the game happening around us. I wasn't sure how I made it back home in one piece. One minute I was sitting on the side of the highway and the next my jeep pulled back into the town I never thought I wanted to see again. The song opened the damn and all my tears were pouring out now as I pulled into a parking spot outside the black iron gates. I hadn't stepped inside since it all happened. Saying goodbye once had been hard, I wasn’t sure I could do it again. The sky was gray as I stood there at her grave. It was white marble, her mom had taken care of every detail. Nesta Acheron; daughter, friend. Two words summed up the life of the girl I barely got to know. She was more than that, she was the one I thought I'd never lose. The dash between her birth and her death was too short. There was so much more she was supposed to do. There was so much love we were supposed to share. My heart was still beating inside my chest, but the truth was it was buried there with her. I would never love anyone the way I loved her. I placed the flowers on top of her grave. The stone was cold against my fingers. I sighed, not even trying to stop the tears as they gathered in my eyes. Then I leaned down and placed the Coke bottle in front of the marker, in the corner where it couldn't hurt the precious stone that cost more than my car. "I miss you every damn day, Nesta Acheron. But I'd do it all over again, just to hold you one more time.” She warned me, time and time again she told me not to fall for her. Her kisses weren't a promise she could keep, she knew it the night we met. She was already dying the day we met, the day I felt alive for the first time in my life. It was cancer, stage five. It had gotten to her bones. There was nothing she could do, she had accepted that long before she ever met me. The chemo had stopped working so she stopped letting it destroy her body. She didn't look sick, but then again I didn't know what sick looked like. She embraced life and never once felt sorry for herself. She thought she was scared, but she was the bravest person I knew. Nesta held on when the ambulance showed up. I held her hand as they drove to the hospital. She would squeeze my fingers every once and a while to let me know she was still there. Her blue eyes weren't as bright, I could see the life fading from her. She was fighting so hard to stay with me. Her hand tightened in mine as I sat there watching them attach lines and try to save her. She pulled the breathing mask off and smiled at me. It wasn’t her usual smile, there was less spark behind it. Tears were in her eyes, but she was more than calm as she looked at me. "I didn't want to let myself fall in love with you," she whispered as I leaned in closer to hear her soft voice, "I didn't want to hurt you. I don't want to leave you.” A tear slipped down my cheek as I kissed her cold skin. My heart was breaking into a million pieces as I realized the truth, "I know, it's okay. I love you Nesta.” She smiled slightly, before wincing at the pain she was in, "promise me you won't hold onto me. Let me go and find someone else to share your smile with. Let another girl fall in love with your attitude and your laugh.” I nodded, "I promise I'll try," I whispered as the paramedics pushed the oxygen mask back on her face. She pulled it off once more, "I love you too Cassian Moten. Thank you for giving me the best gift I never thought I would get to have.” They forced the mask back over her mouth. That moment I knew I was lucky to have found her at all. I smiled, I put on a brave face for her. I didn’t want her to know I was about ready to fall apart. I wasn’t ready to lose her, but I knew that I didn’t have a say in how this ended. I brought our hands up to my chin and kissed her fingers as the machines beeped and all hell broke loose. "I will always love you," I whispered as the wind picked up. I closed my eyes and for a moment I thought I could hear her laughter. Before I turned to leave the snow started to fall. I shivered as I looked back at the Coke bottle one last time. I would never forget that day, when I felt my life begin. I knew I couldn't out run her ghost. She would always be with me, I'd carry her in my heart and never let her go. She taught me to love and what it's like to be loved. She gave me the greatest gift in the world. I only realized it after it was too late. I never got to truly thank her for finding her way into my life. Life is unfair, there's no denying that. But knowing what I know now, I'd still buy her that Coke. I would still find a way to make her laugh. Even if I knew the way it would all end, I'd do it all over again. If that was the only way I ever got to know her, I'd hold her in my arms and never ever let her go. Nesta Acheron was my first love and even though I promised her I would love again, I lied. I would never love another person the way I loved her. She took my heart with her in the short time we had together. And even though I knew I'd never get it back, I wouldn't change a thing.

#nesta x cassian #nesta acheron #nesta #nessian #cassian #nessian fanfiction #acomaf fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #acomaf #acotar #acowar #acowar fanfiction #au fanfiction

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