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fieldofdaisiies · 1 year

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since you said you’re taking requests i was wondering if you could write a Cassian x reader angst. maybe one where nesta comes in between but ofc fluff ending with cassian and the reader. thank you bby 🤍🤍

Of course💛 sorry that it took so long. Thank you so much for requesting!!

Cassian x Reader | Good Things Take Time

type: fluff and a bit of angst warnings: self-doubt and a whole lot of fluff word count: 1.7k

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It had all been so good, life had been so good until Amarantha had come. But even during the time she had ruled you had been there for Cassian every single day of your life. You had been close friends, had known everything about each other, shared everything with each other, trained together and spent most of your time together.

Cassian had rescued you from the war camps. He had met you, had rescued you before your wings could have been clipped and brought you with him to Velaris. Rhysand, the High Lord, had allowed it. From then on Cassian was your protector, your friend, the most important person in your life. Later when the wing-clipping had fully stopped you moved back up to Windhaven to make sure the females there were also allowed to train—you became their protector. Cassian had obviously supported you all the way, always making sure you were fine and safe. And you were.

You still came down to Velaris every week, to train and spend time with the boys—with Cassian.

You had loved those moments with him. You had loved those moments where it had just been the two of you, no one else, no pressure from the outside world, no Amarantha.

“Cass, you’re coming?” Azriel shouted to the both of you, already half disappearing into the living room. “Nah, Y/N and I will stay out a bit longer and watch the stars.”

There were more feelings involved from your side and obviously you had always had an ounce of hope that there could be more. Cassian had never made a move, so you had decided to give it time.

Good things take time or something like that, you thought.

And in all honesty, being friends with him had already been more than you could have asked for. You had loved this tall and kind Illyrian warrior your whole life and he had loved you from the moment you had met—as friends. With Cassian it was something special, you laughed about the same things, but in the next moment could talk about the most sincere and serious things together. You could be fully honest with each other, you could be emotional, you could talk about your mental health, your worries and insecurities with him. That was what you probably valued about him the most. He listened to you whenever you needed him, gave you his honest opinion and what he thought you should do.

But things had changed. Things had drastically changed after the Under the Mountain. Obviously you were happy that Amarantha was gone…but not about the fact that now Elain, Feyre and especially Nesta Archeron lived here — here in the Night Court, in your home.

It felt like they had invaded your space. You obviously were thankful for what Feyre had done — what kind of fae would you be not to appreciate it.

But still there was this jealousy that made you so very angry about yourself. You were mad at yourself for thinking so badly about them. You weren’t a bad person, but this spark of envy inside of you every time you saw Nesta Archeron train with Cassian was poignant. How he helped her with her stances, how to hold her sword, how he looked at her. She was so tall, so slim,…so beautiful. Did he find her more beautiful than you? Obviously he would find her more beautiful than you…she was gorgeous…

Your chest ached once again when your reached the training pitch and Cassian and Azriel were already there, training the priestesses. Azriel gave some dagger handling lessons to Deidre and Gwyn, while Emerie and Nesta practiced some sword fighting techniques with —who would have guessed— Cassian.

When Cassian heard someone appear he turned his head to the side and looked over his shoulder. He grinned and your heart broke. Was he grinning because of something Nesta had said? Or because he was so happy she was here?

“Sweetheart, you are late,” the general shouted and tilted his sword into your direction. “Get moving, pick up your sword and join us!”

Sweetheart. You cringed at the name. He always used to call you that, it was a joke between the two of you, mockingly and teasingly talking to each other. Azriel had often said you acted like an old couple, so you made fun of it and Azriel. Only that it had stopped being funny for you at some point.

“No, I am perfectly on time, Cassian. You just have stared earlier,” you snapped and instantly regretted the tone with which you had said it. You swallowed thickly and gave your head a tiny shake. You wanted to apologise, but Cassian immediately dropped his sword and ran over to you, leaving Nesta and Emerie behind.

This made you happy for a split second. Cassian stopped mere inches from you, his tall figure towering over you while he placed his hands on your shoulders. “What's going on? Devlon bothering you again? Tell me what they did! Did they hurt you? Touch you?” Cass commanded, nothing but the promise of violence, if they had done anything to you, in his voice. You shook your head. They had done nothing wrong.

“Nothing, don’t worry. I am just in a bad mood, Cassian. That’s it.” “Are you su— Hold up! Since when do you call me Cassian?”

Laying your brows in furrows, you shrugged your shoulders. Since you were mad probably?

“I always call you Cassian, Cassian.” The Illyrian general pouted and it must have been the most adorable thing you had ever seen. A chuckle escaped you when you quickly swatted his shoulder.

He spoke up before you had the chance to, “No, you always call me Cass, or Illyrian baby or general in a mocking tone.” “Well, so you prefer Illyrian baby over Cassian?” You braced you hands on your hips, smiling and locking your gaze with his. Y/E/C clashed with deep brown, your skin feeling once again tingly and warm. Cassian grinned from one ear to the other and he bit down on his lower lip. “No, maybe I prefer Cassian then.” You both had to chuckle at that.

“Come, join us for training. It will make you feel better,” Cassian suggested.

"Not sure." “But I am!” Cassian clapped his hands before placing them on your shoulders and practically shoving you over to where Nesta and Emerie were already waiting, amused smiles plastering their faces.

You gave them a tiny wave for a greeting, not wanting to make conversation.

“Let us show them how well you can fight me. They need to see how good fighters females can be. Let’s go, sweetheart, pick up your sword and hand me my ass!”

A delighted grin filled your face and without further ado you picked up your sword. “Nothing I would rather do, you Illyrian baby.”

A whole-hearted laugh rumbled over the whole training pitch when Cassian strutted towards the other end, swiftly turning so he faced you and lifted his sword.

“Ready?” he asked and raised his brow.

“Ready when you are.” And with that you lunged forward, swords clashing with their first contact. You were so going to beat his ass, dipping under his arms, sliding around his body, swords clinging and clashing until you brought the Illyrian general to his knees…or rather his back, wings spread widely on the ground. Losing balance you fell down on him as well, knees braced on either side of his broad torso when you landed. Your face was mere inches from his.

The general blew out a deep breath, brought one hand up to wipe it over his sweaty forehead and then grinned. It was probably the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

“I hope you know that I let you win!” And with that being said you were under him, his tall figure hovering over you. His hair fell over his shoulders, he grinned, the sun illuminating his frame.

“Ass!” you groaned, pinched his biceps and curled your legs around him in the same moment. You rolled the two of you over again, obviously careful of his wings. Acting quickly you grabbed the wrists of both his hands and pinned him to the ground. An astonished look spread over his face, lips parting slightly.

You stared into each other’s eyes, breathing the same air.

“Nah, you did not. I totally beat your ass, Illyrian ba—“

Cassian’s lips met yours first before he pressed his nose and then his whole face against yours, devouring your sweaty lips. You were too startled to kiss him back and so he pulled back and pecked the corner of your mouth.

“Breathtaking and cruel. I am sorry, I could no longer hold back. You do unspeakable things to me, Y/N. Fucking hell, I love you!”

You felt your mouth drop open before a happy and loud giggle left you. “Cass?”

“What? I have been fucking mad for you since the moment I met you.” You let go of his hands and sat back a little bit. “You were just a bit too blind,” Cassian whispered, leaning closer again, his lips ever so slightly brushing yours when his hand landed on your hip.

“I was too blind?” you exclaimed and kissed the general’s lips. “I was the one who has been in love with you all those years and you didn’t notice.”

Cassian pecked your lips again.

“I—“ “You were both oblivious idiots!” Someone —Azriel— said and walked past you.

Right, you had totally forgotten about the others. Both yours and Cassian’s gaze shot into the direction of Azriel. He was following Emerie and Nesta as well as the other priestesses inside, turning around one more time and winking at you before closing the door behind him.

“Probably we were. I thought you…you wouldn't want me,” you huffed, hands stroking up Cassian's strong chest. Cassian gave his head a shake. “How could I not want you? You are all and everything I want, Y/N!”

“Yes?” You pecked the corner of his mouth. Cassian’s hand travelled lower and he gave your rear a tiny pinch. “Yes, you blind fool!” You stuck out your tongue. “Illyrian baby.”

tags: @we-were-beautiful @cityofidek @mulansaucey @nightcourtwritings @azrielsbitxh @perriii @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22 @azrielsbitxh

#cassian #cassian x reader #cassian acotar #acotar x reader

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elliemarchetti · 8 months

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The Snake and the Wolf

Chapter 3 - Hounds

The plot took over this story, as did the POV changes. I hope @erisweek2023 readers are ready for a complete detachement from the canonical events of the book, because the moment of Nesta's escape has arrived.

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 4

Words: 1.281

Nesta didn’t know how she got to the stony coast of the Night Court. One moment she was walking down the steps of the House of Wind and the next she was running away from Velaris, crushed by guilt and fear of what Rhysand might do to her. She gave away his secret, she gave back to Feyre what had been taken from her, and now she no longer had a home. Her mind raced to Gwyn and Emerie, to what might happen to them, since Cassian and Azriel knew they were her closest friends. She had to find a way to make them escape, to warn them to get to safety, because Nesta knew that the High Lord would try to enter their minds to see if they had any idea of her whereabouts. She hadn’t told Feyre that her first pregnancy would also be her last just because she had a good heart, but deep down they all knew she deserved to go to her death with her pride intact, like she already did to free them all. Furthermore, there was probably a solution to the problem. Considering how they took the fact that Feyre possessed a drop of everyone’s powers, Nesta doubted that the High Lords would’ve ever agreed to bring her back to life again, but maybe another Death-God resided somewhere, trapped in a mountain or a tree, and Rhysand could’ve sold his black soul to save his Mate. Nesta wondered if she would’ve done it in his place, given the chance, but didn’t like the answer she found within her, so she resumed her walk, going further and further south, with the sand under her bare feet and the now cold water lapping at her ankles with the rhythmic motion of the waves. She’d never been to the seaside before. If the situation had been different, she would’ve tried swimming, and then she would’ve found a house and wrote to Elain how beautiful it was, and how she had nothing to fear, unlike when she was thrown into the Cauldron, but the situation was no different and there were no villages in sight, so Nesta’s only hope was to reach a Court willing to help her before Rhysand tracked her down. In the library, she had read countless books that explained how to defend herself from the powers of a daemati, but since she hadn’t met any other beside her sister’s husband, she didn’t know if she was using those techniques well or if even a child could’ve destroyed her mind with just a snap of the fingers. Another incentive to keep up the pace, until her knees gave in and her vision went blurry from exhaustion. Before the Valkyries, before she rediscovered the joy of having purpose and friends, she would’ve gladly accepted the oblivion, better than the one provided by alcohol, but now she realized she had reasons to live, places to explore and lessons to learn. Allowing herself the luxury of dreaming, Nesta would’ve liked to visit the Autumn Court first, that enchanted and colourful place described in the novels she had shared with the House. She was sorry she had to leave it behind, even if it was depressing to say that her first, true friend in the Night Court hadn’t been a person but the darkness inside a building. Maybe, in honour of that bond, she would’ve indulged its desire to delve deeper into her powers, now that she didn't have to endure the pressures of the Inner Circle, or maybe she would’ve not, her life as Fae full of possibilities, if only she managed to survive and crawl out of the niche in the rocks where she had taken refuge for the night.

She though she would’ve woke up because of the humidity, or the pangs of hunger and thirst, but she discovered to her amazement that it was something wet touching her hand that shook her from her torpor. Even opening her eyes, caked by the salty air, cost her immense effort, but the cries of the creature managed to completely steal her from her dreamless sleep. The dog, clearly a hound of some sort, had a long and slender body, his ribs almost protruding from how thin it was, but it was its muzzle that struck her, so elongated and elegant, and at the same time almost grotesque, with those big eyes and short ears hanging down at the sides of its small head. It was the strangest beast she’d ever seen, yet something in her desired to reach out to pet it, to seek some comfort in its short gray fur. It must’ve been an excellent hunter, judging by its long sharp teeth, but it was also very playful, seeing how happily it wiggled its tail while she scratched its belly. Nesta had always wanted a pet, not necessarily a dog, perhaps a cat or a bunny would’ve sufficed, but her mother always forbade it, and her father never bothered to get her one, despite the huge numbers of requests. It wasn’t noble enough to take care of something else beside themselves, and when they fell from grace, it was too much, yet Nesta knew she had it in her to be a trainer, perhaps a little soft-hearted if all puppies had the same expression as the creature she was snuggling at the moment, but always attentive to her pet’s needs.

“Where is your owner? Are you lost?” she asked as if it could answer, her voice hoarse after more than a whole day of not using it. It had been a meaningless question, to which she certainly hadn’t expected to receive a reply, but the dog stood up on his long legs and ran out of the niche, into the sunlight flooding the dark beach. Nesta followed with great difficulty, but the beast didn’t move any more, as if it was waiting for her to catch up. They went on like this for hours, the dog advancing and Nesta dragging herself through the sand to reach him, until the sun almost completed its descent arc and another dog barked in the distance. Nesta knew they couldn’t have moved too far, not with her in those conditions, but all those animals could mean only that she’d reached a town, and the larger the settlement, the more the possibilities of someone offering asylum to a dying young female, at least for a few hours. Her bones ached even more at the thought of a soft bed, and her stomach growled as she pictured every kind of food known to both men and Fae, but although she was almost certain the sun had burned the exposed skin on her arms, the worst torture had been the dryness in her mouth, which made it difficult to even swallow the little saliva she had left. At some point, when imagination and reality began to merge, she heard someone call her name, and a male figure appeared at the horizon, the burning red of the sun the same shade as his hair. The glorious hallucination approached her at a brisk pace, one dog at its heels and the other trotting alongside, satisfied with its distressed discovery. A pair of muscular arms, thinner than Cassian’s but no less strong, caught her before she could fall to the ground again, and Nesta could’ve sworn the smell of burnt wood, fresh apples and sweet cinnamon engulfed her as it used to do when her maids cooked her favourite treats.

“I found you,” murmured a familiar voice, full of concern and apprehension, its owner’s face buried in her matted hair. “I’m here, and we’re going home.”

#erisweek2023 #eris vanserra #nesta archeron #i'm going to name his dogs #at least a couple of them #so if you want to suggest some names you're more than welcome #neris #although this is a little nesta centric #think of this as something similar to a interlude in an album #you may think it doesn't fit the theme #but the theme is all over it #furthermore i wanted an excuse to write about eris in the sunset #i may expand the concept in another story #after this fast paced thing i need something full of long descriptions #i want to be the tolkien of acotar fanfiction #so basically be back to write things aimed only at my personal taste #not that this is popular #sorry for the rant #but it's kind of late here and i had a really full day

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sirendeepity · 2 years

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[ Nessian Week, day 7: Free Day ]

A/N: Did this one-shot sit half done in my drafts for, like, months? Yes. Did I also wait another month specifically for this day to come before publishing it? Also yes. Is there also a second version where everything takes a Feyre-like dramatic twist, but this time the C-section happens because Gwyn and Emerie don't take no shit from anybody? Who knows 👀

Some domestic fluff and a bit of random angst thrown in there, because where would be the fun otherwise? Hope you enjoy <3

@nessianweekk

W/C: 2.9k

T/W: --

Nesta had made a lot of plans throughout her life.

When she was little, she had planned—well, her mother had done all the planning, but that’s just a tiny detail—to marry a wealthy man and elevate her family’s social position, confident that that would, finally, make her mother proud. Little did Nesta know that just a few years later she would find herself without both money and mother. That led to her second plan: Tomas Mandray. The bastard. She was fully aware of what was going on inside his household—what was probably going to happen to her, too—but if marrying the boy meant one mouth less for her sister to feed, then so be it. Trading one misery for another wouldn’t have changed much for Nesta, anyway.

Her third and biggest plan almost worked—and thank the Mother it actually didn’t. Still, Nesta wouldn’t change anything about it. The war against Hybern forced her to open her eyes and come to terms with her feeling for a certain cocky male. Nesta couldn’t ignore them anymore, not when the risk of losing him at any moment had dug its claws so deep into her heart she was afraid she’ll never be free from the bone-shattering grip. Decades had passed since then, yet Nesta still woke up in the middle of the night, cold sweat drenching her nightclothes and the cruel hands of terror pinning her body to the mattress. Her eyes were open but the memory hadn’t stopped—the voices overlapping in her head. One was made of warmth and comfort, hot breath against her neck and a heavy arm pulling her closer and closer; the other was pain and sputtered blood, pleading her to go, run, save herself. She couldn’t, so she stayed. It had offered her a promise, one that Nesta found herself almost relieved to hear, knowing it would be fulfilled soon. She closed her eyes, now as she did back then, waiting for the fatal blow. It never came.

To her mate’s more than probable disappointment, being stuck in Illyria was not one of those plans. Not by a long shot. She’d grown to enjoy the place—the mountains and its inhabitants—but the breathtaking landscape was not the reason why she’d come here in the first place. She just needed to have a nice chat with a group of elderly Illyrian females and then they could fly back to Velaris. That was until Cassian vanished somewhere with Balthazar, never to be seen again.

“It won’t take much, he said,” mimicked Nesta, throwing yet another pillow on the sofa. “Just wait for me at the house if you finish first, he said. Forty godsdamned minutes ago.”

She punched and squished her tiny nestle of pillows and blankets until she felt comfortable enough against it, then reached for the book she left on the coffee table. A book that had vanished just like her mate, apparently.

Because you did leave it there, right? She questioned herself, digging through her memory and finding nothing of use. She wasn’t surprised, her brain has stopped working properly 7 months ago, give or take. Nesta leaned forward as much as she could without tripping over to see if it may have fallen on the floor, then swept her eyes around the room, hoping for a little yellow square to catch her eyes. And it did catch her eyes, on the kitchen table. Nesta cursed inwardly, rolling her eyes as she readjusted herself and looked down at her own sprawled body. The next time someone told her what a wonderful, beautiful thing being pregnant was, she’d choose violence.

“There goes my comfy spot,” Nesta muttered under her breath as she gripped any available surface to push herself and her 41 weeks rounder-than-ever belly up the sofa, trying her very best not to pull any muscles in the process.

She was halfway back to the living room when the front door opened, showing a 6’4 feet tall male standing in her doorway, wet as a puppy, drip-dropping on the floor.

“Hi, Nes,” he said, and she felt the sudden urge to punch him. Or kiss him. Or maybe both. “It’s storming outside, so we’ll have to wait until it’s over before I can fly us back to Velaris,” Cassian went on, kicking his muddy boots aside and taking off as many clothes as he could before stepping into the house itself. He let his gaze run over her, from the hand pinned on her back to give her belly additional support, to the black, oversized shirt she had on—clearly not one of hers because Gods forbid she could find at least one that fit her new demanding body—, to the yellow tome tucked under an arm. He even had the audacity to smirk at her I’ll cut your balls off and use them as earrings look—one of the newest addition to her collection—before saying, “Nice outfit.”

Nesta only inclined her head, contemplating how much time it would take her to wabble her way to him. Too much, she realized. It would be faster if she threw the book from where she was standing. Cassian sighed, clearing the space between them with a few strides. “How is the love of my life?”

“Yet to be decided,” Nesta replied, tilting her head up so she wouldn’t answer his chest.

“I was talking to the baby.”

Cassian sank to his knees in front of her, flashing her a lazy grin as he gently stroked her thighs before raising the hem of the shirt. Her pale skin, still a little shiny from the lavender oil she applied earlier, courtesy of Emerie’s exceptional taste, was a stark contrast to the deeply tanned pair of huge hands now covering the curve of her belly almost entirely. This time Nesta did smack him on the head with the book, earning herself a rumbled laugh and a pinched ass.

“You don’t really hate me right now, do you?” He asked between a kiss and the next, his damp hair leaving a wet trail on her stretched skin.

She didn’t answer, her heart too weak to form a coherent sentence, and when he stopped his greetings to the baby and looked up at her, she looked away a beat too late, feeling his lips curve into a smile.

“Come on, Nes. I’m sorry I haven’t predicted the rain. I told you summer storms in Illyria come when you’re least expecting them.”

He had told her that, many times, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be pissed about it anyway. The baby was a week late and they took a great risk by flying all the way there to meet the elders, and the last thing she wanted was to give birth in these conditions, without her family to hold her together while she regretted all her life choices. Nesta pushed the book against Cassian’s forehead, putting some space between her belly and his face, and spun on her heels, heading for the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Cassian called after her.

“To draw you a bath before you catch a cold.”

“I’ll catch it anyway if I have to wait for you to climb up the stairs,” he said, moving behind her.

Nesta turned with her finger already pointed toward its target when Cassian lifted her up.

“Gods, you stink.”

“You’re welcome.”

Fifteen minutes later, Nesta was leaning against the bathroom doorframe, admiring her oh-so-gorgeous mate stripping naked in front of her. She was so glad at least one of them got to keep the muscles, and that the one was him. She dipped her eyes as soon as Cassian turned his back to her. How long would it take her to get back up if she knelt and took a bite of that incredible ass—

“Do you plan on taking that shirt off or do I have to do it for you?”

“If I get into that bath none of us will get out anytime soon,” Nesta replied, not meeting his eyes once even as he faced her again. Did she make a mistake or were there two more muscles on his torso?

He took a few steps in her direction, forcing her to raise her gaze. “Good,” he said, pressing his lips against the pointy shell of her ear, “because we have a lot of time on our hands before the storm ends.”

Said hands were now resting on either side of her belly, roaming south toward the rim of the shirt. Nesta closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, reveling in the constant warmth of Cassian’s body against her own, the roughness of his palms.

Right there and then, she decided she would give up and give in, lifting her arms so Cassian could peel the shirt right off of her, and bared her neck to him.

Right there and then, their baby decided not to be as enthusiastic about what was going to happen as they were, and started kicking. Hard. Nesta hissed in pain, gripping Cassian’s shoulders for support. Cassian, coming back to his senses, stroked Nesta’s back and placed his other hand on the belly-turned-punching bag, taking care of both the mother and the daughter at once.

“I can’t believe she’s not even out and she already has a favorite,” said Nesta through clenched teeth. Cassian laughed lightly, leading Nesta toward the still fuming bathtub, filled with bubbles almost to the brim. It took them a few tries to climb in and find the right position, but not much after they were both comfortably laying back-to-chest, hands rubbing soft skin.

“She’s taking her sweet time,” Cassian said after a couple of minutes of silence, “yet we’re still stuck.”

“What do you mean?”

“We don’t have a name. What do we call her?”

Nesta, who was tracing soapy lines on the back of his hand and down his forearm, following scars and veins, stopped short in her tracks. “We’ll find something, eventually.”

He kissed her bare shoulder, muffling his chuckles against her skin, “I can’t wait for her to be here.”

With that, Nesta’s thoughts took off. “Yeah, me too.”

“Not so much enthusiasm, it’s only our firstborn child.” Cassian’s chest shook against her back as the tip of his nose stroked her fluttering pulse. His hand stilled, leaving her belly skin tingling, and Nesta shut her eyes closed, waiting. He knew something was wrong.

“What is it, Nes,” he said ever so gently, his mouth now brushing her ear.

“It’s nothing, really.” She knew she was being paranoid, and most—if not all—future mothers felt the same way she did, at some point or another, but that knowledge didn’t stop her troubles to pool at the base of her spine, crawling up her back.

“Whatever is going on in your head, I want to know. I don’t care if you think it’s stupid or pointless. I want to know, all of it.” His tone didn’t falter once, didn’t even turn angrier, demanding. “Please.”

Nesta exhaled slowly, tipping her head back to rest it on Cassian’s shoulder.

Cassian had never marched into her head and heart, taking control of her life. He’d waited patiently to be granted access, slipping past all her defenses almost unnoticed and taking root in the darkest part of her. Not pushing, not pulling: just waiting—for her to open up, for the light to find its way in, for the cracks to stitch back together, the scars to heal. The qualities she needed and loved most, all inside one huge bat. Patience, loyalty, unconditional love.

“What if I can’t do this?” Nesta stumbled on the words stuck in her throat, choking her. Tears swelled her eyes as she struggled to blurt out the rest, no matter how many times she tried to swallow down the lump. “What if I can’t be a good mother?”

She took it all back: the damn had broken, there was no stopping her now.

“It’s not like I ever had these great parental figures to look up to, and we all know I took after my mother more than I should have,” a laugh escaped her lips, tasting sour. For all her life, Nesta has feared the day she would truly become her mother’s daughter. It was her mother’s face she saw when she looked in the mirror; her mother’s voice she heard when she snapped and spit venom at anyone who got too close; her mother’s creature she became when her mind wandered a little too far back, whenever she read other people’s body language as easily as she would a book, and asked herself how easy would it be to take and take and take and leave only ashes in her way. Sometimes Nesta became her, so much so that she felt sick to her stomach. All these years, all this pain and anger and regret, and she still couldn’t let her go. “I don’t want to be like her, I don’t want our baby to—”

“Hey, stop. Stop.” Cassian’s hands tightened around her, anchoring her as she found her way through her too-loud thoughts, every word more grounding than the one before. “You’re not like your mother.”

A hand flew to her face, mixing salt and soap. “How would you know? You haven’t even met her.” Thankfully.

“You’re not your mother and you’ll never be because you care.” The words caught Nesta so off guard that, for a moment, everything went quiet. Nothing but the sound of water dripping and heart beating filled the room. “You care so much about this baby, Nesta. You’ve cared about her from the moment we’ve learned about her existence. When she wasn’t even a she yet.”

Two fingers pinched her chin, forcing her head to the side. Beautiful hazel eyes were waiting for her own, burning and melting all at once. She’s never been able to hide from his gaze, never been able to cover the ugliest truths from him. Nesta kinda hated how she loved it. It made everything much easier to overcome: knowing you won’t ever have to search for words you couldn’t find to explain what you couldn’t name. He’d always seen it—seen her.

Cassian’s voice soothed her nerves like a balm. “You already love her more than your mother ever did. I know that for a fact because I’ve been by your side every step of the way—and this isn’t just about the pregnancy.”

Nesta couldn’t help the little laugh that bubbled up, thinking back to how it started: the pain, the House, the Valkyries.

Look, how far you’ve come.

Nesta learned to live with this presence in her life. The timeless voice of the Mother making its way through her mind, the faint touch of her embrace, the feeble whisper of a presence following her every move.

She turned her head, catching the first rays of the sun shyly cutting through the curtain of clouds. Nesta couldn’t tell when it stopped raining. She was now able to go home, just as she’d wanted to. She should feel relieved, and yet she wasn’t—not completely, at least, because going home meant popping the bubble, and this bubble wasn’t that bad, after all. So Nesta kept quiet, reveling in Cassian’s hands roaming all over her body, Cassian’s lips tasting her skin, Cassian’s scent filling her lungs, Cassian’s love tending her frail and wounded heart. Anything, if done by Cassian, tended to have a whole different outcome. Content with just his reassuring presence, Nesta glanced out the window once again, mesmerized by how the light played with the mist rising from the forest blanketing a nearby mountain, curling around trees like it got stuck in their branches.

“Our kids will never know a day without their parents’ love growing up,” she said, breaking the silence.

Cassian agreed without missing a beat. “There will always be light. Only light.”

“Nora,” Nesta said, tasting the sound on her tongue.

“What?”

A small smile played on Nesta’s lips as she repeated, “Nora. Light. That should be the name for the baby.”

“Since when did you know Illyrian?” He sounded more surprised than upset, given his many attempts at teaching her the dialect.

“I do live with two outgrown bats, you know,” she shrugged it off, feigning indifference. Her heart, on the other hand, was in need of praise—it started in the bedroom, but it took control of every aspect of her life. Just a few words from Cassian, and she felt weak in the knees but beaming with pride at the same time.

The rumble of his deep laugh rolled straight to the tip of her toes. “So Emerie has nothing to do with it?”

“Who knows.”

She had struggled so much during their lessons that they became very few and far in between, with Cassian having to prioritize his actual duties as General Commander rather than a “personal hobby”, leading to the meetings stopping altogether. But it was his mother tongue and the Illyrians, no matter how Illyrian they might be, were still his people. For centuries he’d been the only one fighting for the cause, and for even more centuries he will keep fighting no matter the odds.

Cassian had been the only one left standing one too many times—his beliefs hard to kill, his hope harder still. Nesta thought he might like some company.

#dee writes #Nora #nessianweek2022 #nessian #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nesta archeron #cassian #nesta and cassian #nesta x cassian #cassian x nesta #pregnancy fic

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whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk · 2 years

Text

The Grand Tour - Chapter 12 (Also on AO3)

Night: The final chapter! Cassian is called back to Velaris, Mor is confronted, and Nesta and Cassian take their final trip. (Not exactly anti-IC, but kind of anti-Mor... Once again, I was sick of Rhys being a prick, so he's probably written out of character, but that's the joys of fanfic, I can quite literally just not have him be an arse.)

**************

It had been just a handful of weeks since Solstice.

Just a scattering of days. A collection of hours spent and moments passed, every second taking Nesta’s life in hand and changing it irrevocably. Shaping it, like clay on a wheel. Just a handful of weeks and yet it felt like so much longer, a gulf separating the here and now from the days before— before Cassian had walked her home by the river, taken her hand and asked her to come away with him. Before he had kissed her in a Summer sea. Before he told her he loved her, before she told him the same.

How had she ever woken, in those days before, when she wasn’t waking to his head on her pillow? How had she ever found rest, when it wasn’t by his side?

It was as though she had been waiting for him all along, waiting for his steps to fall in with hers.

Just as they were now. Perfectly in time, perfectly matched as they walked the paved streets of Velaris. His boots set a steady rhythm as the City of Starlight embraced them once again, and though Nesta hadn’t been looking forward to this particular homecoming, it didn’t seem so bad now she was here. How could it, with his hand firmly around hers?

“I thought Rhys might forget about us if we just stayed in Illyria,” Cassian admitted as they crossed the river, the water beneath the bridge swirling and rushing, swollen with snowmelt and broken ice. A wry smile crossed his face. “I thought the entire world would forget about us.”

It felt that way. In the mountains, in the house Cassian had built all that time ago, it felt as though they could just bar the door and let the world outside carry on without them. After returning from the Spring Court, they’d locked the door and not stepped foot over the threshold in the two days since, neither of them inclined to leave any time soon. And then Rhys had happened— mentally intruding as the morning light drifted lazily through the sash windows in the kitchen. The High Lord had called his general back, and what could Cassian do but answer his summons? What could Nesta do but follow?

There had been a dinner invitation too. Not just for Cassian, but for Nesta, her sister’s voice filtering into her mind as smoothly as the sun drifting through the windows. Please, Feyre had said. Elain misses you. She had paused, and then whispered, and so do I.

With that, Nesta knew that their days of traversing Prythian, going wherever the wind or their whim carried them, were numbered. Already she could sense the world closing back in around them, reality beckoning, like she was dreaming and consciousness was calling.

As they reached the other side of the bridge, Nesta hummed her agreement. The only consolation was that tonight she’d be back in Windhaven, and tomorrow she’d wake in Cassian’s arms.

“How did he take it?” she asked, as paved streets gave way to cobblestones dusted with snow. “You moving to Windhaven?”

Cassian lifted her knuckles to his lips, lightly kissed her skin. “Us moving to Windhaven,” he corrected, his lips curving delightfully, eyes sparking.

“How did Rhys take us moving to Windhaven, then?” Nesta pressed, ignoring how her skin and bones tingled as she said the word us. A contentment settled inside her as it passed her lips, took root within and blossomed. It was a feeling that would have been so immeasurably strange just a handful of weeks ago, but one that was becoming increasingly familiar now. One that reared with every look her gave her. Every touch and every kiss.

She asked because she hadn’t been present at whatever meeting they’d had earlier that afternoon. She had gone to her apartment instead, begun packing books and clothes into boxes whilst Cassian told his brothers about their plans to move. There had been news on the rebellion too, and Nesta had meant to ask— had opened her mouth to as soon as he’d opened her apartment door. But he bore cakes from the bakery down the street, and before she could get a word in edgeways, he was kissing her as though they’d been apart for days, not hours. Everything else had been forgotten, and they hadn’t spoken of the meeting at all until now. His lips had been far too busy at her neck, hers too content pressed against his skin to form words.

“Well,” Cassian nodded. “He took it well. He and Az both agree it’s a good idea.” His eyes slid to hers, his lips still tugged up in a small smile. His eyes were triumphant. “Rhys had planned on asking me to visit Windhaven twice a week anyway to ensure a stronger Night Court presence in the mountains. This is even better.” He shrugged. “With any luck, it will spook some of the… less dedicated rebels. The ones who don’t believe heart and soul in the rebel cause, who joined up just because their fathers and brothers did. With the Blood Rite coming up too…” He trailed off, took a breath. “We might just have this rebellion finished for good by spring, with the bloodshed kept to a minimum.”

Nesta nodded. Good— this was good. At Solstice, he had been so haunted by the rebellion that she had found him in the kitchen nursing whiskey. In Winter, he had been mourning lives he’d not yet taken, and she knew that even now, his dreams were as plagued as hers. Now there was a spark in his eyes, a gleam, a hope that hadn’t been there before.

“So Rhys thinks it’s a good idea then,” she said with a nod. Slowly, carefully, she added, “…Do you think that’s a sentiment everybody around the table tonight will share?”

Cassian gave her a lazy smile, squeezed her fingers. She let his touch reassure her as they made their way ever closer to the house, let the familiar feel of his skin against hers ground her as he said, “I don’t suppose you’re talking of a certain blonde with a gift for truth?”

“She won’t like it, Cassian.”

He shrugged, his wings rustling softly in the breeze. One stretched out, reached across the back of her shoulders and curled around her, herding her more closely to his side. She was about to huff that she wasn’t a sheep to be rounded up, but the soft, leathery, membrane blocked the wind from her face, and she was instantly grateful. She felt warmer, the cold held at bay by the wing he kept at her back. He smirked, as if he knew exactly what she’d been about to say, but he said nothing, only shrugged again as he met her gaze. His eyes were unflinching. Certain.

“If Mor decides to take the news of our moving badly, then that’s on her.”

The town house came into view, warm golden light shining from the windows, snow crowning the roof. It looked like something out of one of Feyre’s portraits, peaceful and pleasant, and yet Nesta’s steps slowed. Cassian’s strides shortened to match as she considered those windows, wondered what would happen when they crossed through that door. “And if she does?” she asked. “Take it badly, I mean?”

Another shrug. His extended wing curled more firmly around her shoulder, the membrane pressing against the fabric of her coat. She looked up at his face, his golden skin limned by the light of the setting sun. “You mean what if I have to choose between her and you?”

Warily, Nesta blinked. With another few steps, they reached the gate, and as Cassian pushed open the wrought iron and stepped onto the paved path, she couldn’t help but sigh. “It’s not like it’s a position you haven’t been in before,” she shrugged.

That day in the war camp flashed in her memory, burned there. When he had pulled his wrist from her grip. When Mor had sneered at the sight of it, as if it had offended her. She hadn’t liked it— hadn’t liked Nesta touching him, as if the blonde had any claim on him, as if he were hers and not Nesta’s. Now they were walking into Rhys and Feyre’s home, hand in hand, and so completely wrapped up in one another that it would be impossible for anybody to mistake them for anything but a mated pair, even if they had yet to formally accept the bond. Nesta could smell her perfume on his leathers, on his skin, and knew that she smelled of him, too. If Mor had been incensed at something as simple and innocent as Nesta bandaging Cassian’s wrist, then the news that they were leaving Velaris together might just prove incendiary.

“I told you in Autumn,” Cassian said softly, leading her up the garden path. “I was a fool that day. I’m done putting anyone else before you, and if Mor wants to take issue with it, then perhaps it’s time she heard a few truths of her own.”

Before Nesta could respond, Cassian was pulling her up the two steps leading to the door with the lead-lined window. He lifted the bronze knocker and dropped it, before turning his back to the door and facing Nesta fully. He brushed a stray strand of hair back behind her ear, cupped her cheek in his palm.

“Besides,” he said brightly. “Rhys should be thankful that I came back when he called. I still have one more surprise for you, and I won’t let anything stand in the way of that. Not tonight.”

“Oh?”

Footsteps sounded on the other side of the door, but Cassian didn’t turn. Not yet. He drew her close, kissed her softly, quickly, his wing wrapping around her once again, cloaking her as completely as any piece of fabric.

“You didn’t think our trip was done, did you?” he asked, drawing away. A silhouette appeared in the glass on the other side of the door, accompanied by the sound of a lock sliding, a handle turning. As Feyre pulled it open, smiling and radiant, Cassian wrapped an arm around Nesta’s waist, and in her ear muttered, “I promised you all seven courts, didn’t I? There’s still one left, sweetheart, and I intend to make it the best yet.”

***

The last time she crossed that threshold, she had been searching for him. Unable to find him on a cold solstice night, she had searched Feyre’s hall for him, cast around Rhysand’s sitting room. Nesta wasn’t searching anymore. Didn’t need to look very far to find ruby siphons or tousled dark hair. His fingers were woven tightly through hers, and he didn’t let go— not as Feyre led them into the living room, nor even as Rhys embraced his brother with an arm slung around his neck.

What a difference a day makes, her father used to say. His favourite adage, expressed whenever he’d pulled them back from the brink of whatever ruin he’d driven them to. In the days before they lost everything, when he’d take a risk and sink all of their money into an investment that just happened to pay off— what a difference a day makes. Nesta heard his voice now, as clearly as if he were standing in Feyre’s living room with them, and for the first time in her life, she agreed with him. What a difference indeed, except in her case it wasn’t so much as a day, but a Day Court ballroom. A Dawn Court clockmakers and a dagger with a ridiculous name. A Winter Court sky, a Summer Court sea, an Autumn Court forest, and a Spring Court willow tree.

All of the things that had made their mark. All of the things that had allowed her to let go of her fear and her grief— the things that had finally led her into Cassian’s waiting arms.

Those arms pulled out her chair at the dining table. The hands calloused and worn from centuries spent waging wars were occupied only with filling her wine. With taking the platter of roasted lamb from Azriel sitting across and putting three slices on her plate before turning to his own. The last time Nesta had been here, she’d skipped dinner. Turned up late and left early, but this time, this time, she had the General of the Night Court serving her, keeping track of her somehow, even as he asked questions about Feyre’s plans for the new house by the river, hummed with interest as she spoke of rooms facing west and gardens facing east. As if he were attuned to her, sensed her in his bones.

When Elain, sitting on Nesta’s other side, whispered that Feyre had told her earlier about the move to Windhaven, Cassian’s arm came to rest at the back of Nesta’s chair, even as his head was turned in the other direction, still speaking to Feyre about staircases and floor tiles. I hope you’ve made room for a training ring so I can get that mate of yours back into shape, he teased his High Lady, even as his fingers brushed Nesta’s shoulder.

Elain noted it, smiled softly at the gesture that was equal parts protective and supportive. When she whispered, in a voice so hushed that even Nesta could barely hear, that she hoped there was space in Windhaven for her to stay when she visited, Nesta’s fingers closed around the Summer Court bracelet in her pocket. Drew it out, wrapped in a small piece of tissue paper and handed it to her younger sister. The last one, the sister to the one around her one wrist, twin to the one around Feyre’s.

She had almost given it to Feyre in Summer. Almost asked her to pass it along to Elain, but she had wanted to give it to her sister herself. Elain laid down her knife and fork, abandoned her dinner and tied the bracelet around her wrist without hesitation.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed, stroking a finger over the seaglass beads. The milky blue sat prettily against the lavender sleeves of her dress, the polished surface smooth under her sister’s touch.

Across the table, Azriel raised a brow. “I’m offended,” he said dryly, lifting his wine to his lips. He nodded at the bracelet, his shadows darting out to consider the string around Elain’s wrist, little more than wisps of smoke that quickly drew away again. “You didn’t bring me back so much as a postcard.”

Nesta shrugged. “Next time, I’ll bring you back a whole suitcase of souvenirs, Shadowsinger.”

Elain let out a soft laugh, melodic and pretty, and twisted her hand, letting the beads catch the light. The one on Nesta’s own wrist winked too, and down the table, beside Cassian, their youngest sister paused. Feyre lifted her left arm and there, against the tattoos snaking over her skin, was the third bracelet Nesta had exchanged her golden coins for.

“Perhaps next time Cassian could buy Rhys and I some pretty matching jewellery too,” the spymaster retorted, azure siphons gleaming as Feyre dropped her arm. Beside her, seated at the head of the table, Rhys snorted.

“Earrings perhaps,” the High Lord suggested, leaning back in his carved wooden chair. He tugged on his earlobe, as if wondering what it would look like, feel like, to hang a gem there. “I would look ravishing with an earring, don’t you think, Feyre darling?”

“You’d look like a pirate,” Feyre countered flatly. She shook her head, her own earrings winking, sparkling in the light.

Cassian shook his head too, turned to give Nesta a rakish, devilish smirk. “How about it sweetheart?” he asked, his voice low, but far from quiet. “Would you still love me if I looked like a pirate?”

Her blood heated, her heart raced. He could sense it too, his smirk growing wider as the arm he had slung around the back of her chair fell to her shoulders instead. His fingers danced lightly over the skin above the cut of her dress, stroking over the curve of her shoulder. She could have sworn the table had fallen silent, all other conversation dying away as the Lord of Bloodshed teased the woman who had beheaded the King of Hybern.

“Pirates don’t have wings,” Nesta answered flatly. “They have ships.”

“Do you want me to buy you a ship then, princess?” Cassian damn near purred, as though he had forgotten they were seated at a table, surrounded by both his family and hers. “I’ll buy you an armada, if that’s what you want.”

“You can buy me an armada,” Rhys cut in. “That’s much better than matching jewellery.”

Azriel hummed his agreement as Cassian snorted. “Perhaps you should be the one giving me gifts brother,” he suggested with a shrug, not letting his arm drop from Nesta’s shoulders. “Consider it your housewarming present for Nes and I.”

Beside Rhys, a fork clattered noisily to a plate. Nesta raised her eyes, looking up to Mor for the first time that evening. Across from Feyre, Rhys’ cousin was silent, but her gaze flicked rapidly between the Illyrians. Beside her, Amren had stilled, her wine glass an inch from her lips. Rhys might have told Feyre, who might have told Elain, but there were still two souls around the table that night that had no idea Cassian was moving Illyria with Nesta in tow. The conversation died as Mor blinked, yet no words left her painted lips.

It took a minute, but eventually Rhys cleared his throat. Opened another bottle of wine and filled his glass almost to the brim. Casually - too casually to be anything but pretence - he swirled the liquid in his glass. “Speaking of, have you decided when you will leave?” he asked easily, almost idly.

Cassian shrugged, he and both his brothers carefully avoiding the eyes of the Night Court Second and Third. “Depends entirely on how long it takes Lady Death to pack,” he answered with a grin. “The books alone will take a month,” he continued, eyes gleaming as the fingers of the arm around her poked her in the shoulder.

“They will not,” Nesta insisted, and when he looked at her pointedly, she huffed, picking up her own wine and drinking deeply. Azriel muttered under his breath, something about them bickering like an old married couple already, and Cassian laughed again, laughed louder, and though the sound made her heart feel lighter than it had in months, she hissed, “If you carry on, I won’t be letting you or any of your boring military histories in the new library.”

“You’re forgetting I’m building the library sweetheart—“

“Are you all out of your mind?!”

Mor’s silence broke at last. Like a wave crashing onto shore, she had broken, and now came the flood— one she couldn’t control or stop or slow as her fingers gripped the edge of the table.

“You’re letting him leave?” she asked Rhys, her beautiful face twisted into a frown. “To go where?” Incredulously, her voice grew louder, higher in pitch. “He’s been with her for two minutes and now he’s leaving and you’re alright with it?” She glanced at Nesta before eyeing the Summer bracelets, lingering on the one tied around her High Lady’s wrist. She turned her attention to Cassian, glaring. “What court is she spiriting you away to? What did she say to convince you to leave here— leave us?”

“Mor—“ Rhys began, his tone one of warning. Nesta never thought to see the day when Rhys would be the voice of reason, when his wasn’t the voice she least wanted to hear. First time for everything, she supposed.

The arm around her shoulders slipped, and for a heartbeat Nesta was back in that camp, back to Cassain retracting his touch in the wake of Mor’s anger. But in the absence of his arm around her, he offered her his hand. Palm up, fingers curled, silently he asked for her. Nesta linked their fingers together, hers slipping between his so easily, like pieces of a puzzle. Cassian didn’t drag his eyes away, barely even blinked, as he rested their entwined hands on the surface of the table. A statement, a declaration. A challenge for any one of them around that table to gainsay it.

“She has a name,” he said darkly, his voice thick and heavy. His eyes flicked up from their connected hands to Mor, and though Nesta had never much cared for having her honour defended, never been a damsel in distress waiting for a knight in shining armour… She couldn’t deny the jolt that ran down her spine. His eyes darkened, daring Mor to speak her name— daring her to speak with revulsion the name he revered, the one that fell from his tongue first thing in the morning and last thing at night. Her name was the only thing in the world that made sense to him, and she knew— because his was the only thing that made sense to her.

Mor was silent. Crimson lips pursed as she looked at the hands on the table, the hands that cost her her buffer.

“But you love Velaris,” she said at last, lips turned downwards. “This is your home.”

“We’re going to Illyria, Mor. Not the other side of the world.” He shrugged, but didn’t let go of Nesta, didn’t for a second falter. “And those mountains are my home too.” His eyes dropped to their hands, his voice dropping even lower. His fingers squeezed hers and she understood the words he didn’t say— you’re my home, his touch whispered. More than Velaris, more than Illyria, you are my home.

Nesta squeezed back, her heart thumping in her chest. His gaze mets hers, a smile forming on his lips. His hazel eyes lightened, his siphons burning, and Mor didn’t matter— none of them mattered, because it was just as he’d said that night in Winter. Us against the world, Nes.

“I don’t like this,” Mor answered tartly, crossing her arms over her chest.

But Cassian wasn’t listening anymore, and though he turned from Nesta, he didn’t loosen his grip. “You don’t have to,” he countered. “This isn’t about you. Not about any of you, and certainly not about keeping the status quo because it’s comfortable for you.” Nesta sucked in a breath, but Cassian didn’t stop, didn’t even pause. “I’m sorry if you think it’s up for discussion. It’s not.”

He paused. Took a breath, deep and steadying. Nesta watched him take in everything from Mor’s stunned expression to Azriel’s slow surprised blink, watched as his eyes roamed that table until they landed back on her, until the bond between them went taut. He shrugged his shoulders and gave each of them at that table a dazzling smile, shutting down the conversation entirely as he lifted Nesta’s knuckles to his lips and said, “Besides, we’ve already picked out the paint for the living room.”

***

“You said we’re not finished,” Nesta said later, tucked into the same window seat they had lingered in on Solstice. Heads bowed together, his arm once again draped over her shoulders, Nesta thought of the words he’d uttered as Feyre had welcomed them in. “That we’re going somewhere in Night.” She dragged the tip of her finger around the rim of her wineglass, the glass humming gently under her touch. Tilting her head she asked, “Is it somewhere in Velaris?”

Cassian shook his head. “No.”

“Somewhere nearby?”

Another shake of the head.

“No.”

“Then where?”

“You’ll see,” he said with a shrug. Nesta looked around the room— at Mor sitting with Amren, quieter than usual since the dinner plates had been cleared. At Feyre, her legs slung over Rhys’ knees, her arm around his neck, her head thrown back in laughter. At Azriel, leaning against the wall beside Cassian, drink in hand, shadows at his feet. At Elain, sitting cross-legged by the fire that was low, banked to nothing but embers. Nesta suspected Cassian had asked Rhys to make sure it was banked well before their arrival tonight, and as she took in the room again, she realised that perhaps this wasn’t the worst place to be after all. Elain’s bracelet glimmered in the low light, the blue glass beads seeming to hold all the brightness of the Summer sun and Nesta was glad. For the first time, glad that they were here.

“When?” she pressed, knocking her knee against Cassian’s.

He threw back his head and sighed, but the huff of exasperation passing his lips wasn’t genuine, and when he looked at her, amusement glittered in his hazel eyes instead.

“Are you always this impatient?”

She hummed. “It’s my one fatal flaw,” she remarked, putting down her glass and linking her arm through his. The candlelight flickered, warm and embracing, and Cassian looked outside, at the darkness pressing against the glass.

“Alright then,” he shrugged, draining his glass and setting it down. “Now.”

He got to his feet, stretched his wings and held out his hand. Nesta blinked. Whatever answer she had expected, it hadn’t been that. She looked at the darkness outside and frowned.

“Now?” she echoed, blinking up at him, silhouetted by the light of the candles. He had never looked more fae— his wings made all the larger in the candlelight, the talons at the tips like onyx claws, gleaming. The siphons on his hands burned, the ruby light pulsing and glowing, and when she remained seated, he raised an eyebrow. Wiggled his fingers and smirked.

“What? Not afraid of the dark are we, sweetheart?”

“No,” Nesta answered flatly, sniffing as his grin widened. His hand hung there, in the air between them. A promise, a chance offered. His fingers wiggled once again, crooked and beckoned, and when he raised an eyebrow, all stone-cold challenge and taunting smiles, Nesta pushed herself to her feet.

Took his hand and let him lead her into the darkness outside.

***

“Do you trust me?”

A question asked in the darkness, standing halfway up an Illyrian mountain. The snowcapped peaks of the Steppes shone silver in the moonlight, so many of those summits so far below them it was dizzying. The top of this particular mountain still towered above them, shrouded in clouds and out of sight.

Nesta wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the question. He’d flown them from Velaris with no explanation or indication of where they were going, landing in the dark, entirely alone in a mountain range where there was nobody else to catch her if she fell and nobody else to hear her scream. Would she have let him fly her all the way here if the answer to his question wasn’t a resounding yes?

I thought you said we weren’t going to Illyria, she’d said into his ear when she first caught sight of the mountain range that, from maps and stories he had told her, she knew could only be the Illyrian Steppes. Her arms had wrapped tight around his neck and over the howling wind, she heard him laugh. I changed my mind, he answered.

He raised an eyebrow now, still waiting for her answer.

A few months ago, she couldn’t have said for certain what that answer might be. Then the war happened, and everything else, and now here they were, up a mountain, cloaked in darkness beneath an Illyrian sky. Of course she trusted him— with her life, with her entire heart. Trust had never been easy for Nesta Archeron, but it came easier now, so much easier than it ever had before. The only thing she was truly certain of was the knowledge that if she were to fall, he’d be waiting to catch her. Finally, Nesta nodded her answer, and under the bright light of the moon, she saw him smile.

He took both of her hands in his and said, “Close your eyes.”

Nesta did as he asked, letting her eyelids slide closed. The last thing she saw, his tousled hair gilded silver in the moonlight. His eyes, sparkling as brightly as the stars above. Keeping hold of both her hands, he tugged her forwards. Blindly, Nesta took small steps, but Cassian didn’t let her stumble over rocks or uneven ground— he navigated her around obstacles, told her exactly where to put her feet. It was cold, but Nesta didn’t feel it, barely even noticed it as his hands led her forwards, as his voice guided her through the darkness.

After an age, Cassian stopped. He dropped her hands, came to stand behind her. His chest pressed against her back as he leaned down, his cheek brushing hers as he murmured, at last, “You can open them now.”

When she opened her eyes, Nesta understood why some members of the Night Court chose to live only by the light of the stars.

She had to catch her breath, looking with wide eyes at the vista before her. They stood at the shore of a lake, hidden high up in the mountain pass, its surface as still as a mirror. It stretched so far that Nesta could barely see its end, couldn’t see the other side. The stars overhead were reflected, glimmering, below, and it seemed as though they were caught between earth and sky, glittering in the blackness. There was no way of telling which was water and which was starlight, no way of knowing where the surface of the lake ended and the night sky began. The glow of the moon cast silvery shadows over the lakeside ground, and even though Nesta had seen so many wonders over the past few weeks, this one…

This one was her favourite.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, more than a little breathless. She felt Cassian huff a gentle laugh against her neck, felt his arm wind around her middle.

“I told you,” he said, and she could hear his smirk, his soft hum. “I do have an eye for beauty, after all.”

She would have rolled her eyes had they not been fixed on the skies above. Had the twinkle of one star in particular not fascinated her.

“That’s Enalius,” he whispered, pointing at the star that shone brighter than the rest. “The constellation named after the warrior. Aside from the three that crown Ramiel, that is our most revered star.” He moved his finger along, just an inch to the right. “That one is named after one of his brothers in arms, and that one,” another inch, another star, “That one is for his mate.” His lips moved closer to her ear, his arm tighter about her waist. “They say she was a witch.”

Nesta tilted her head back, let it rest against his shoulder. She kept her eyes on that final star, the warrior god’s witch. She had heard whispers of Enalius during the war— always connected to Cassian’s name, always in whispers that were hushed and hallowed. She’d heard no whisper of a witch— except for the whispers about her.

“I like the sound of her,” she said softly. He hummed.

“So do I.”

Her gaze lingered on that star for a while longer, until Cassian spoke again.

“They say she was his strength,” he added quietly. “That he would have been nothing without her.”

“She was the source of his power?” Nesta guessed, turning to find his eyes, to look into his face. With a gentle curve of his lips, he shook his head. Leaned down and pressed those lips to her temple.

“No,” he shook his head. “No, his power was his own, but it was meaningless without her. Without something to fight for.”

Her fingers traced his cheek, brushed against his jaw. Her eyes found the stars again, the warrior god and the witch. Then back down, to the lake of stars below, and it was madness, utter, utter madness, but she heard herself saying—

Against all good judgement, against all of her senses—

“Can we swim in it?”

Cassian angled his head, blinked at the water and back at her face. His eyes widened. “It’s fucking freezing, Nes.”

She shrugged, slipping easily out of his embrace. He let her. Let her take a step towards the waterline, watched with eyes that burned in the darkness. “You’ll find some way to warm me up, I’m sure,” she said, facing the water. Over her shoulder, she cast a glance at him, raising one eyebrow. “Unless there are some terrible and terrifying monsters lurking under that surface? Waiting for some unsuspecting mortal to become dinner?”

“No,” Cassian said slowly, a spark igniting in his eyes. “There are no monsters.” He shrugged himself, then. Took a step forwards to close the distance between them. “But it’s glacial in there.”

“You sound as if you speak from experience.”

He snorted, folding his arms over his broad chest. “I do. Az and Rhys and I went swimming in that lake once and almost got frostbite.”

“Scared of the cold, general?” Nesta asked with a soft tsk. His eyes darkened, his lips kicking up into a smooth, seductive smile. If there was one thing Nesta had learned in the days since first taking Cassian to bed, it was that he loved it when she called him general. It was a taunt. A tease and a test— one he never failed to let slide. His smirk turned wicked, so devilish that she was powerless against it.

She didn’t know why, but she wanted to get into that lake. All thoughts of the Cauldron had been banished, the girl terrified of water left behind in Summer, swept away by the salt and the heat. Cassian had walked her through the waves, and now she wanted to swim in the stars. Be engulfed by the night sky.

Slowly, Cassian reached for the buttons on his leathers. Nesta smirked triumphantly as she removed her own clothes and within moments, she was wearing nothing but her slip. Goosebumps erupted across her skin as the cold night air licked against her flesh, but Cassian’s siphoned hands were running along her bare arms, the stones glowing, giving off some small degree of heat.

He picked her up as if she were nothing, wrapping her legs around his waist as he strode fearlessly into the water. The ripples they created shattered the surface of that mirror, the stars no longer perfectly reflected, but shivering. Quaking. Nesta gasped as the cold needled her legs, and Cassian hissed, told her she was insane, utterly insane for suggesting the swim in the first place. But it was bright and it was beautiful and clear, and she didn’t think of the Cauldron once. Not a single flicker of it crossed her mind, and instead of feeling the icy waters of that godforsaken pot, she felt only Cassian’s hand on her thigh, his fingers gripping her waist, keeping her afloat. She wasn’t plunged all over again into the terror of Hybern— she remained here, under a starry sky, feeling nothing but the beating of her own heart, the echoing beat of his.

The water reached their shoulders, and her shivers subsided. The temperature was frigid, but her skin was numb, and after all, she was fae. The cold hadn’t killed her during all of those long winters in that cabin in the woods. It wouldn’t kill her now.

She thought of it as they slipped easily through the waters of that lake, as though floating through molten darkness flecked with starlight. She thought of that cabin, how her world had been so restricted by its four walls— and yet, too, how she wouldn’t be here at all if not for that cabin. If not for the wolf Feyre shot that day and Tamlin breaking down their door.

She thought of winters spent freezing, her sisters and her father all huddled around the same paltry fire, one that never seemed hot enough or large enough to warm them all through. In the Winter Court, she’d told Cassian that she never wanted to be so cold again, that she could never be comfortable in such climes. She was wrong. The water was like ice, the air around them freezing, and she had been wrong. She didn’t much mind being cold now, not when she knew Cassian would always be there to warm her again.

“Tell me,” he said softly, moving gently through the water, one arm wrapped around her back as the other steered them. “Whatever it is that you’re thinking about.”

“I was thinking of that cabin.” Nesta looked up at the sky, at the moon that had never been this bright below the wall, the stars that had never been so vibrant. Not even in the other courts had they shone this brightly— not even in Winter, where the sky had been lit up in green and purple. “Of how we used to be so cold in the winter. Sometimes, I would go to bed at night and my bones would ache from shivering,”

He nodded. “I know,” he breathed. He lifted his hand out of the water, brushed her cheek with icy fingers. His palm rested there, cupped against her jaw, dampening her skin. “One winter, I shook so hard I pulled a muscle. Training was agony for a week, and every night I had to endure it all over again. The snow, the howling wind.” He shook his head, let his hand fall away and dip beneath the surface of the water once again. Nesta studied the lines of his face, the skin glistening under the water. Her fierce and fearsome warrior, the only one in the world who knew what it was like for her and her sisters beneath the wall. The only one of Rhys’ Inner Circle that understood what it was to starve and freeze.

“I vowed never to be cold again,” she said lightly, a soft smile on her lips. “And yet here we are.”

“Here we are,” he echoed, the smile on his face mirroring hers.

“I don’t mind being cold if it’s with you,” she said with a shrug. Cassian’s face softened, the arm around her middle bringing her closer to his chest. He leaned closer, his lips finding hers in a kiss that was soft and sweet, as clear and piercing as the sky above.

“Me neither,” he said when he pulled away.

Nesta tilted her head back to admire the sky, watching as the constellations rippled around them. He pointed out every star, all of their names and their stories. Not just Enalius and his witch, but a pantheon of them, a panoply. Proud and beautiful, each of those stars had a name. Had a history of their own, and Cassian knew them all. Nesta wanted to know too, and so as they floated in that water made of starlight, he told her. The names flowed smoothly from his tongue, the tales retold with vitality. Nesta listened as he rattled off the legends of each and every star, and when he was finished, she kissed him again.

“That cabin was never my home,” she said finally. “Not really. I don’t think I ever really knew the meaning of the word.”

“Oh?” Cassian asked, nudging her jaw with the tip of his nose. Nesta shook her head.

“I think I do now though.” She shrugged. “I know what home is. What it feels like.” A pause, one where the silence was complete, where there wasn’t a sound, wasn’t a thing in the entire world but the two of them, drifting aimlessly in a lake filled with stars. “It’s you, Cass. You’re home.”

The moonlight glinted off tears shining in Cassian’s eyes, and Nesta thought she might have been crying too. The hand around her back dropped as both of Cassian’s hands came up to cup her face, as he pressed his forehead against hers.

“You’re my home too, Nes,” he whispered.

“Forever,” Nesta pressed, winding her arms about his neck, her legs tight around his waist. Cassian hummed. Nodded.

“Forever.”

#nessian #nessian fic #im sorry this chapter took so long!!!#it was very much put on a back burner whilst i finished my thesis so i want to thank all of you for your patience #and also every person that as ever liked or commented or interacted in any way with any of the chapters of this fic #i love you all so much #youre the best

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alltheworldsinmyhead · 3 years

Text

ON FEYSAND’S PLOTLINE IN ACOSF

!!!!MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE WHOLE ACOSF!!!!

Let’s be honest for a while, okay?

ACOCF had potential to be SJM’s best book, if not for any other reason then because of the sheer idea of it. Coming-of-age, healing story of the most complex and polarizing character she has ever created set in the time of peace, away from the familiar setting (according to the later changed concept which still remains in the snippet at the end of ACOFAS), development of her arguably most feisty and angsty love story... It could be her absolute trumph. Even with the change to stick to Velaris instead of exploring the Illyrian culture of the Mountains and with the added conflict of the Mortal Queens and Koshei, it still could work quite well.

It didn’t. For many, many reasons, but the most important one, in my opinion, being the feysand pregnancy plot.

Nothing about this plotline made sense. Not a single thing. From start to finish, it was an absolute disaster from the character-writing POV, from the narration POV, from every single context of it. It broke the rules of real-life logic, it broke the rules of this fantasy world setting and it completely exposed that Rhysand, while not a bad guy, is a pretty terrible partner, even worse ruler and an absolutely terrible contender for the High King title.

Let’s break this whole mess down (and expect this post to be mammoth-sized. it’s not my fault, though, write to SJM if you have any complains):

1) Feyre, 21, decides to get pregnant, even though less than a year earlier, she expresses the delight with not being forced to bear children to her new mate and told him herself she wants to wait a while and enjoy her life with him. Feyre decides she wants a baby though and Rhysand goes along with it, even though he is aware how young Feyre is and how hard her life has been up until this point. He wants a baby too much to have an honest discussion with Feyre about it, to stop and wonder what is the reason for her sudden change of heart, to reassure her that they have a lot of time ahead of them and don’t need to rush. No. She mades a sudden decision to have a baby after A YEAR OF MARRIAGE and not much more of being turned fae, JUST AFTER having her whole world put upside down, having received a completely new title and responsibilities, surviving the wat and being mated. Great.

2) Feyre decides to get pregnant and Rhys goes along with it less than a year after the end of the bloody war. It is politically a delicate time, everyone is still not sure how the balance will shift, some countries don;t want to sign the peace treaty, etc. There are a lot of enemies and a lot of turmoil remaining. But sure. Let’s have a baby. Perfect time to add yet another target, another weakness that can be use by the Mortal Queens, Beron or whatever else with malicious intent towards the Night Court.

2) Feyre gets pregnant after approximately a year of trying. I know healthy people of reproductive age for whom it takes ages more than this. Fae’s pregnancies are rare af and precious and happen once in a blue moon, but ofc SJM broke the world’s rules for her darling Feyre. And again, for Kallas and Vivianne who are also expecting the baby, even though it has been a maximum of 3 years since they’ve mated. 3 years is also not a particularly long time to try to have a baby for those who have issues with their reproductive systems like Fae women. Thank you, next.

3) Rhys has unprotected sex with Feyre in her Illyrian form when she conceives, even though he knows full well having a winged baby would kill her. He does it anyway, for shits and giggles apparently. They probably have sex in the sky above Velaris, for all we know.

4) The baby has wings. Now, the whole explanation with Illyrian wings being bony (bc they resemble bat wings) and Seraphin ones being more flexible (bc they resemble bird ones) is so insanely stupid that it takes around 3 seconds to wikipedia this shit and find out it’s exactly the opposite. But okay, the baby has wings and Feyre will die while giving birth, along with the baby. Madja forbids Feyre from turning into an Illyrian to carry the pregnancy because it MIGHT hurt the baby. Now, remember, Feyre conceived while in Illyrian form and then turned into High Fae. The baby survived it just fine. The baby MIGHT be hurt by Feyre turning .... but it will FOR SURE die if she stays High Fae and Feyre will too. Idk about you, but I would take the risk of MIGHT instead of FOR SURE. Especially when she is already in labour and dying. Cauldron or Nesta or idk who alters Feyre’s pelvis after the baby is cut out of her for no apparent reason but to allow feysand to make exactly the same mistakes later on. How convinient. And Nesta also alters her own pelvis bc god forbid she won’t be able give Cassian babies like the little useful mate she is now. She should’ve probably done it with Elain too, just in case she decides to fuck Az in the future, because fuck consequences and fuck the stakes in the story that make the readers actually CARE about characters bc they know the author may actually kill them and not save their life every fucking time.

5) I don’t even want to comment on the fact Rhys hid the true danger of this pregnancy for Feyre and their family went along with it. It is absolutely disgusting. And Nesta telling her and that being condemned as the act of the ultimate cruelty which is a final straw to break her self-loathing back.... is abhorrent. It made my sick, actually, phisically sick. There is no justification for it. No at all. And the fact that they did not even consider abortion sends a message that I really don’t want to think too much about it. Feyre was 2 months along when they learned the baby is winged. 2 months. 8 weeks. It wasn’t a baby yet, let’s be honest. They could’ve at least discussed it. She - oh my god, I cannot believe SJM wrote it this way, I’m gonna be sick.

6) For the entirety of Feyre’s pregnancy, they have no plan to really help her. Labour plan? Haven’t heard if it. They have money and power and access to the healers of the whole land. And did not figure out how to stop her from bleeding out after a fucking C-section. THIS WORLD HAS MAGIC AND THEY COULDN’T STOP HER FROM BLEEDING OUT AFTER A FUCKING C-SECTION. Didn’t even ask Thesan, the High Lord of Healing, to be present. Cassian had guts hanging out of his stomach and survived. Az was fucking slashed apart in Hybern and survived. But yeah, Feyre was on a brink of death after a C-section. Great, Sarah. Keep it up. Let’s force the thought into young girls’ heads that labour is the most lethal thing ever, why not.

7) Also, for the entirety of Feyre’s pregnancy, Rhys keeps quiet about this idiotic bargain. He, as far as we know, doesn’t make any plans for the moment when him and Feyre and possibly their baby are dead. If they died and baby survived.. who would take care of it? Does Rhys have a conversation with his family about it? NAH. Doesn’t write any sort of plan how to keep the Court going, doesn’t inform even the closest of his co-workers how they should proceed to act after he’s gone and his and Feyre’s power go to god-knows-who. Their deaths would mean a sure chaos for the weakend and fragile Prythian and the Night Court especially and yet nor Rhys nor Feyre make any sort of preparations for it. Rhys doesn’t tell his brothers or Mor or HIS SECOND IN COMMAND they will all soon have to somehow manage without him. He was about to just leave them to their own devices and told them in the last. possible. moment.

And this man - this man is, according to Amren, the best candidate to handle the whole country? To unite it? This fool who makes idiotic bargains, who thinks first about his cock and his own selfish desires and considers his subjects and his responsibilities as a High Lord last and least important of all? Who has so much trust in his wife, in his High Lady, the mother of his son that he doesn’t tell her she will almost surely die on a birthing bed because it MAY UPSET HER?

This plotline was the straw that broke my back. ACOTAR, at it’s heart has always been a ya fantasy with added ‘spice’ and I was willing to bend my critical-thinking skills in many cases and forget and forgive many smaller idiotic issues in this series. But this? It is not idiotic. It is massive and stupid to the point when it becomes insulting to the reader. It was a plot straight out of a bad fanfic, not something that should be in a published book written by someone who writes for a living. You could even argue that Twilight has handled this toxic trope better. I have wasted my money on this book and thinking about it will always be painful for me. So yeah.

ACOSF could be great. Ended up quite pathetic.

#acosf #acosf spoilers #a court of silver flames #rhysand #feysand

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princessofmerchants · 2 years

Text

~25 ACOSF Days of Solstice~

They fell silent again as Gwyn shifted her feet, angling the blade. The wind waggled the ribbon again, as if taunting her. Cassian glanced over at Az, but his attention was fixed on the young priestess, admiration and quiet encouragement shining from his face. Gwyn whispered, “I am the rock against which the surf crashes.” Nesta straightened at the words, as if they were a prayer and a summons. Gwyn lifted the blade. “Nothing can break me.” Cassian’s throat tightened, and even from across the ring, he could see Nesta’s eyes gleaming with pride and pain. Emerie said, “Nothing can break us.” The world seemed to pause at the words. As if it had been following one path and now branched off in another direction. In a hundred years, a thousand, this moment would still be etched in his mind. That he would tell his children, his grandchildren, Right then and there. That was when it all changed. Azriel went wholly still, as if he, too, had felt the shift. As if he, too, were aware that far larger forces peered into that training ring as Gwyn moved. Smooth as the Sidra, swift as the wind off the Illyrian Mountains, her entire body working in singing harmony, Gwyn lunged toward the ribbon, twirled, and as she spun, her arm opened up, executing a perfect backhanded slice that cut the winter morning itself. Half the ribbon fluttered to the red stone. A flawless, precise slice. Not one frayed strand rippled in the wind as the severed ribbon hanging from the beam flapped. Nesta bent down, picked up the fallen half of the ribbon, and solemnly tied it around Gwyn’s brow. A makeshift version of what the priestesses wore atop their heads with their stones. But Cassian had never seen Gwyn display her Invoking Stone. Gwyn lifted trembling fingers to her brow, touching the ribbon with which Nesta had crowned her. Nesta’s voice was thick as she declared, “Valkyrie.”

—ACOSF Ch. 60

This scene opens Chapter 60, and I believe this is SJM's writing at its best.

Three strong women, reforming an ancient female warrior group, their strength born from struggle and pain but finding light and purpose together...this is the moment the narrative bends around them.

Gwyn's invocation, "I am the rock against which the surf crashes. Nothing can break me," and Emerie's reminder that they are an "us" now. Nesta's admiration for her strong friend. It is archetypical yet utterly personal.

But the moment is told through Cassian's eyes. SJM is at her core a romance writer. The partners she writes for her strong heroines have this lens through which they grow to see and know their mates (used here in all senses)—a lens shaped by love, strength, admiration, and at times wonder.

(NB: I'll admit, for me, this moment is also one of the strongest bits of textual evidence that SJM's romantic plans for Azriel will involve Gwyn. His admiration of her here, albeit observed by his brother, is right in type with the mold of SJM's romantic pairings.)

But this part of ACOSF is also why I see....literally SEE these three females in future books playing a role that is world altering. I mean, it's right there in the text: "The world seemed to pause at the words. As if it had been following one path and now branched off in another direction. . . . Right then and there. That was when it all changed."

And I get chills reading this because while ACOSF gives us their participation in the Blood Rite as one way they emerge as a unit, I feel in my bones their role, and the role of the Valkyries which they have brought back to life, will shape the outcomes of the world conflicts to come.

I can't wait to see it.

25 ACOSF Days of Solstice Masterlist

#a court of silver flames #acosf #nessian #gwynriel #nesta archeron #gwyneth berdara #gwyn berdara #emerie #cassian #azriel #sarah j maas #valkyrie trio #valkyries #acosf quote advent calendar #acosf reread #acotar #a court of thorns and roses

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ncssian · 3 years

Text

A Favor: Part Twenty-One

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: as someone who is physically incapable of reading fics and other long tumblr posts line by line and word for word, i think it’s so fucking cool that a bunch of you regularly, excitedly read what i post. i would not blame you at all for skim reading. thank you.

***

The majority of Cassian’s life was spent battling with the fact of his own existence. First he was fatherless, then motherless, then homeless. Being taken in by Rhys’s parents, who bought him nice clothes and nicer gifts, was like putting a bandaid over a stab wound. It couldn’t change the questions that made up Cassian at his core: was he equal to everyone else in this world, or had he been born inherently inferior? Did he deserve the same happinesses that his friends so carelessly reaped, or should he step back and know his place?

The older he grew, the more he grappled with those questions—until the night he learned who his father was, and the truth behind his existence. That he was likely a product of rape. Nearly driving himself drunk off a mountainside in Monte Carlo was enough to make him realize with a startling clarity: he couldn’t keep asking himself the same questions for the rest of his life. At some point, he was going to have to buck the fuck up and make his peace with the world, whether he believed he deserved to be in it or not. And though it might have taken him a while to reach that conclusion, Cassian can proudly say he did it. Not long into his post-college years, Cassian finally grew up.

By twenty-seven, he was secure enough in himself and his place in the world to not have to deal with those doubtful voices every waking minute. His life was figured out, and his ego was unshakeable. Until Nesta Archeron entered the story.

Now at twenty-eight, Cassian is again unsecured—this time in a less tragic but more confusing way. Because everything he thinks he knows about himself, about life, she insists on proving wrong.

Including the issue of celebrating his birthday.

“I feel like I should have asked this earlier,” Cassian mutters to Nesta as they stand in the cozy resort lobby, “but why is Az here?”

Nesta looks both humiliated and resigned when she mutters back, “He wouldn’t pay for the resort unless I let him come with us.”

“At that point you should’ve just let me pay, babe.” He watches Azriel’s back as he chats up the lady at the front desk while getting their room keys.

“On your own birthday? It would have ruined the point,” Nesta says.

Cassian doesn’t retort that having his brother present at their couple’s retreat also ruins the point. He’s sure she already knows.

Nesta’s reaction when Cassian told her that he didn’t celebrate his birthday was unforgettable.

“No one in our inner circle really cares about birthdays,” he had shrugged. “Feyre’s birthday is the exception because she’s sort of the outsider, and Rhys will find any excuse to worship at her feet. But the rest of us? I don’t know, it was never a big deal.”

As someone who’s never skipped a birthday once in her life, even when she was isolated and ignoring her family’s phone calls, Nesta took this as a personal offense. “I need to get you out of this cabin,” she stated.

Which brings them here, to Colorado’s finest ski resort situated high in the Rocky Mountains. The lobby is littered with overstuffed armchairs and a crackling fireplace, and huge windows look out over the blinding white mountains.

Az starts heading their way, key cards in hand, when Cassian suddenly turns to Nesta. “We need to find him a woman,” he whispers.

“What?”

“We can’t let him third wheel with us for the whole weekend. We’ll never get time alone.” Cassian is set on this new plan, already scanning the lobby for women around Azriel’s age.

“I agree, but—”

Azriel reaches the two of them, tossing a room card to Nesta. “You can stop talking about me now. I’ll be spending most of my time hitting the slopes.”

Cassian and Nesta mumble a halfhearted, “We weren’t talking about you.”

He narrows his eyes at them. “Uh-huh. Just remember whose credit card this is going on.” Picking up his ski gear and duffel bag, he turns for the elevator.

Nesta frowns up at Cassian once Az is gone, more adorably than she probably intends. “Do you think he’s upset?”

He scoffs. “We should be upset at him.” He doesn’t want to have to worry about his brother while he’s on vacation, and Az definitely wouldn’t want him to worry either, but it isn’t something that can be helped.

Despite his irritation, he might go skiing with Az later this afternoon. Just to keep him company.

***

Nesta will give it to Azriel—he’s a man of fine taste, and also generous with his spending. She originally wanted a normal room for her and Cassian, preferably the cheapest one, but Az went behind her back and upgraded them to a fully decked out penthouse suite.

“This is too much for just a weekend,” she tells him over the phone while Cassian is in the bathroom. “How am I supposed to pay you back for this?”

“Why would you pay me back?” he says dismissively. “I’m rich.”

When Nesta tries arguing with him, he only replies, “I don’t take money from poor people,” and hangs up on her.

Which leaves Nesta to enjoy the four-spray shower and heated bathroom tiles free of charge. By the time she comes out of the shower, Cassian has already left with Azriel to hit some slopes before dinner, though not before leaving her a note promising to teach her how to ski tomorrow.

Nesta doesn’t even get to unwrap her towel from her body before realizing her phone is ringing incessantly, all the way from the other side of the suite. Jogging over to the living area, Nesta answers Emerie’s call. “What’s up?”

“Where are you?” Emerie greets without introduction.

“At the ski lodge?” Nesta answers, confused. “I already told you, for Cassian’s birthday.”

“I know that,” Emerie hisses. “I mean what room are you in? This place is huge.”

“Wait—you’re here?” Nesta looks quickly around herself, as if Emerie will pop up from behind the couch.

“Not just me. So is Gwyn.” Nesta hears rustling on the other side of the line, and then Emerie saying from a distance, “Answer for your crimes, Gwyneth. Say hi.”

A new, clearer voice comes over the phone. “Hiii, Nesta.” Gwyn sounds weak, like she is not having fun at all.

“What the hell do you two think you’re doing?” Nesta demands.

“Well, it’s a long story and I need to see you first. Also, I have to pee. Where is your room?”

Five minutes later, Gwyn and Emerie are sitting obediently before the roaring fireplace in Nesta and Cassian’s suite.

Now fully dressed, Nesta stabs a finger at Emerie. “Explain.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Emerie says indignantly. “Gwyn barged into my place at eight in the morning and dragged me all the way here—”

“It was an emergency!” Gwyn tosses her hands in the air. “It still is an emergency. That’s why we’re here.”

“I’m here because Gwyn is scared of traveling alone,” Emerie interjects. “And driving on highways.”

“Guys!” Nesta snaps.

Gwyn makes a whining sound of defeat and drops her head into her hands. After a long moment, she speaks. “He asked if we could go to dinner together. Like, right to my face. And I panicked and said yes, because I couldn’t think of a reason to say no, but obviously I can’t do that. So this morning I cashed in my sick days and told him I was going on vacation for a whole week.” Gwyn looks up at Nesta with pleading teal eyes. “Please can we stay here the whole week?”

Nesta stares at Gwyn, feeling like her brain was just sucked dry. “First of all, who’s ‘he’?”

“Max!” She stands in her outburst. “The love of my life. The man who works on the fourth floor of the library. Do you pay attention to the groupchat at all?”

Oh yeah, that guy. “You came all the way here,” Nesta drawls out slowly, “so you wouldn’t have to have dinner with your crush?”

“It wasn’t just any dinner.” Gwyn flops back onto the couch. “It was a date. I can’t go on a date with him. First dates lead to second dates, and second dates lead to—sex.” She whispers the last word.

“Really?” Emerie frowns, not missing a beat at the mention of Gwyn’s deepest fear. “What kind of dates have you been having?”

“I haven’t been having any dates,” Gwyn says. “Why, how long do you usually see someone before doing it?”

“First date, at most,” Emerie shrugs.

“No,” Nesta steps in, sending Emerie a bewildered look. “Gwyn, you’ve known this guy for a while now. If he’s half as decent as you think he is, he won’t expect sex by the second date. And even if he does—”

“What does it matter?” Gwyn wails. “It’ll come up eventually. And when it does, he’ll think I’m a freak.”

“He won’t get a chance to think anything before I kill him,” Emerie says, eyes darkening.

Nesta says nothing, knowing this is something she can’t advise Gwyn about. Whether or not Gwyn chooses to share her past and unresolved trauma with another man, and whether or not that man reacts in an unshitty way isn’t something Nesta can determine. So she just states for the record, “You’re not a freak.”

“But it’s what he’ll think.”

“Then you shouldn’t be with him in the first place,” Nesta says firmly. Even though she knows better than anyone that it isn’t always that simple.

Proving her point, Gwyn scoffs and looks away. “You don’t get it.”

“What I really don’t get,” Nesta says, “is why you took your lie so literally. Why did you come all the way out here instead of hiding out at home for the week?”

“Merrill sees and knows everything. I can’t lie to her.” Gwyn cringes. “If I stayed at home, she would sniff me out as soon as she got me on the phone, and then I’d really be screwed.”

Nesta cocks her head at Gwyn, squinting her eyes in something akin to fascination.

“I had the same reaction,” Emerie pipes up. She shakes her head at Gwyn. “I’ve never met a more melodramatic idiot, truly.”

Gwyn curls into herself on the couch, looking ashamed.

Nesta sighs sharply, then whips out a hand. “Give me your wallets. I’ll go downstairs right now and see if I can book a room last minute.”

Emerie sits up at that. “Uh… I’m not sure I can afford a place like this.”

“Neither can I,” Nesta says. “That’s why Azriel paid for all of us.”

Gwyn’s eyes go comically round. “Azriel’s here?”

“Unfortunately.” She snaps her fingers at both girls. “Credit or debit, now.”

“So… I’m assuming we can’t just share this huge suite with you guys, huh?” Gwyn says hesitantly.

There might be actual flames in Nesta’s eyes. This is Cassian’s birthday, goddammit. Cassian, who hasn’t celebrated a birthday since he was eleven. “Please don’t push me.”

Gwyn and Emerie, very reluctantly, hand their cards over to Nesta. Emerie hands over two, just in case.

In the end, Nesta doesn’t use any of their money, but charges the new room to her own account. She’ll work it off by putting extra hours into Night Court, she tells herself.

When she returns to the penthouse suite, she spies tracks outlined in melted snow at the doorway. Shit. She barges inside to find Cassian and Azriel standing in the middle of the living area, with Emerie looking awkward on the couch.

“Uh, we just got back—” Cassian starts.

“I can explain,” Nesta interrupts.

A faucet turns off in the distance, and Gwyn peeks her head out of the bathroom door.

“Oh, shit,” Azriel says in delight. “Freckles is here too?”

Gwyn looks like she’s about to turn right back around to the bathroom. Nesta and Cassian both throw Az a baffled look, but Nesta says, “I can fix this. I’ve already fixed it.” She goes over to Emerie and hands her a key card. “You and Gwyn are going to stay on the first floor, and you won’t bother me or Cassian for the duration of our stay. It’ll be like you’re not even here.” She whips toward Gwyn, who still hovers near the bathroom doorway. “And at the end of this weekend, you’re going back to work like the adult you are and taking care of your shit.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Gwyn says quietly, lowering her head.

Cassian comes over to Nesta, whispering, “So, you didn’t invite them to keep Az company or anything, right?”

“I can hear you,” Azriel says.

“Of course not,” Nesta whispers back. “That’s a terrible idea.”

“Really? Because I thought it was kind of convenient—”

“I can still hear you,” Az repeats.

“So can I,” Emerie nods.

“Shut up,” Nesta hisses at the both of them. Grabbing Cassian’s still-gloved hand, she drags him upstairs and away to their bedroom. When the door shuts behind them, she turns to him and blurts, “I’m so sorry.”

Cassian only laughs, taking his ski jacket off and brushing away the wet snow from the back. “I’m not.” He tosses his jacket and gloves over a chair and approaches Nesta, tugging her closer by her oversized turtleneck. “And what did I tell you about wasting your apologies?”

Nesta doesn’t care. “I ruined your birthday.”

“My birthday’s not until tomorrow,” he says with a straight face. “But honestly, I like this a lot more than just you, me, and Az. At least he can’t third wheel anymore, right?”

She shakes her head insistently, frustration boiling in her blood. “Everything’s going wrong.”

“But you solved our problems.” He finds Nesta’s clenched fists and unfurls them with gentle hands. “You got the girls their own room, and now Az can be distracted with those two. We can still be alone. We win.”

Nesta purses her lips, unconvinced, when Cassian adds, “But seriously, though—what the fuck are they doing here?”

She exhales deeply, letting her head drop forward onto Cassian’s chest. “I don’t know,” she mutters. “Gwyn panicked about some personal stuff and thought it was a good idea to come to me. I don’t want to make her leave, though.” Gwyn is being stupid right now, without a doubt, but Nesta won’t abandon her. Neither will Emerie.

God, having friends sucks.

Cassian threads a hand through her loose hair and hums. “Gwyn was smart for coming to you.”

***

Dinner is held outside in the snow and cold, but everyone bundles up and sits down at a table that surrounds one of the multiple fire pits in the courtyard. Cassian convinced Nesta to let Gwyn and Emerie hang out with them for the weekend, because what else are those poor girls supposed to do, and now the women babble over each other as they decide what to drink.

Cassian sits back and takes it in, the sight feeling heartwarmingly familiar and strangely brand new at the same time. Nesta ends up being the one to order everybody’s drinks, and once the waiter scampers back inside, Gwyn releases a terse breath. “Sometimes I still get scared of that tone.”

“I’m always scared of it,” Az mutters, eyeing Nesta from the corner of his eye.

“What tone?” Cassian laughs. He knows Nesta is still a little wound up from her plans going off the rails, but she hasn’t done anything scary.

“I’m used to it,” Emerie says through a mouthful of fries, “but I think that waiter almost cried.”

“That’s how I sound all the time.” Nesta shrugs, sitting back.

“What tone?” Cassian repeats.

Nesta clicks her tongue impatiently. “You know how I talk. I’m straightforward.”

“And harsh,” Azriel adds. “Even aggressive.”

“Watch it.” Gwyn turns stern eyes onto him over the fire pit.

“I have no idea what you all are talking about,” Cassian says. He turns to Nesta. “You sound perfectly normal to me.”

She narrows her perfect brows at him, and Emerie laughs, “I don’t know if that’s romantic or ignorant.”

But now that they’re discussing it, Cassian does distinctly remember Nesta having a sharp edge to her words while they were getting to know each other. Did it disappear over time, or has he really stopped noticing it?

He doesn’t get to think about it before their drinks arrive, followed soon by a dinner of fancy sandwiches.

Cassian cuts his beef sandwich in half and gives the other half to Nesta, and she does the same with her turkey sandwich. They eat and drink around the crackling fire, laughing and talking about tomorrow’s plans (“It’s not your birthday, Azriel,” Nesta says. “Stop asking about gifts.”). Cassian and Emerie talk idly about video games over wine, and even though it isn’t really his thing, he can see her excitement over it and gladly indulges it.

Once everyone is finished eating and is slightly drunk, Gwyn pulls a small sleeve of crackers out of her puffy jacket, followed by a fun-sized Hershey’s bar and a handful of mini marshmallows.

“What are you doing?” Nesta says.

“Making dessert.” Gwyn builds a mini s’more and places it carefully on her fork so she can toast it over the fire pit. When it’s done, she leans forward even more to try to put it on Nesta’s plate. “For you. Thank you for letting me and Emerie stay.”

Nesta jumps, catching the s’more with her plate and batting Gwyn away from the fire pit at the same time. “You’ll set your hair on fire,” she hisses.

Gwyn’s hair remains safe, but now Cassian catches his brother watching Gwyn amusedly from the corner of his eye. “Can I have one?” Az says.

“I’m all out.” Gwyn says while building another s’more, refusing to meet his eyes.

Cassian and Nesta share a look, a hundred words thrown back and forth between them in that glance. She scoots her chair closer to him to slip her cold hands into his warm ones, but while the conversation carries on around the table, she leans in and whispers, “I’m not a busybody but…”

“I am,” he whispers back. “Az is being weird, weirder than usual.”

Nesta nods. “I’ve never seen him so—outgoing.”

Neither has Cassian, but before he can mention anything else, he looks up to find that Gwyn and Azriel’s seats at the table are empty. “How much did those two drink?” he breathes.

Nesta follows his gaze, seeing what he’s seeing: Azriel and Gwyn wandering clumsily around the snowy courtyard. Or rather, Az is trying to chase Gwyn down for a s’more, while she clutches her mini marshmallows to her chest and vehemently yells, “They’re mine!”

Meanwhile, Emerie is half asleep at the table.

Cassian watches as Gwyn nears the towering fir tree at the center of the courtyard and slips. Az shoots out a hand to catch her, but not before her ass hits the stone, hard. He pulls her back up, no longer fooling around, and Gwyn rubs her butt in pain.

Cassian suddenly feels Nesta squeezing the life out of his hands, and he looks over to find fury written across her face. For a heartbeat, he feels worried for Az.

“Go deal with him,” Nesta says lowly. “Before I do.”

Not needing any more words to understand, he stands out of his seat and heads out into the courtyard. He doesn’t know why Nesta thinks Gwyn needs protecting, but it makes him feel protective himself. Approaching the duo, he sees that Azriel finally acquired the leftover s’more ingredients from Gwyn.

“There’s only like half a cracker left,” Az mutters to himself, shaking the baggie.

“Is he bothering you?” Cassian asks Gwyn, who still looks grumpy over losing their skirmish.

Whipping her head to Cassian like he’s her savior, Gwyn nods furiously. “Please make him stop.”

Cassian turns to Azriel with rage in his eyes, a clear What the fuck do you think you’re doing?

But Az shakes his head in denial. “It’s not like that. Look, she’s smirking at me!” He points over Cassian’s shoulder.

When Cassian looks, Gwyn is already walking back to the fire pit, holding her bruised ass.

Az starts, “What a fake little—”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Cassian interrupts. “Yesterday you’re crying over Elain and today you’re flirting with Nesta’s friend?”

Azriel goes serious, his face turning colder than the night air. “How do you know about Elain?” he says gruffly.

“Everyone knows, Azriel.” Cassian stares down his brother, wondering if he’ll finally get him to get his head screwed on straight after these past weeks of secretive bullshit.

Azriel sets his jaw, but a muscle there ticks.

“Will you finally at least tell me what’s going on in your head?” Cassian pleads. “Because I can’t keep guessing.”

Azriel glances toward the dinner table, as if checking to see that no one is paying attention to them. Looking back, he inhales a breath. “You want to know why I left Velaris?”

Like Nesta, Azriel is not one to quickly make himself vulnerable. So there’s no blatant emotion in his voice when he says, “I started seeing her at the end of summer, not long after she broke up with her ex. And it was so…nice after every other relationship I’ve been in has gone wrong. We kept it quiet, and because of that, it was peaceful.” Azriel’s eyes meet Cassian’s twin ones, and he smirks without humor. “But you already know what that’s like, don’t you?”

He does. Cassian crosses his arms, waiting for Az to continue.

“Anyway, we had a good run. For a long time, it was mostly just sex, but I liked her. I liked her a lot.” Az kicks at the snow-dusted cobblestones. “Then Christmas came around, and Rhys found out.” His face darkens as he remembers, and Cassian stiffens, knowing what’s next isn’t good. Sometimes Rhys forgets the boundary between boss and brother.

“He didn’t say anything about it to Elain, of course,” Azriel says. “But he dragged my ass aside and gave me this huge lecture about us using each other as rebounds. Said ‘Feyre’s sister’ deserves better or some shit. I told him there was more to it than that, but he wouldn’t listen. Instead he brought Vanserra & Co. into it, like his business matters had anything to do with me and Elain.” Azriel’s eyes crinkle at the corners in a puzzled way. “So I got to thinking, ‘why would he bring the Vanserras up?’ He made it seem like such a big deal.” The toe of his boot digs a hole into the ground.

Sympathy churns alongside anger in Cassian’s chest for Azriel’s situation, anger at Rhysand for crossing that line between brothers. He’s only momentarily grateful that Rhys never tried doing something similar to him and Nesta.

“I thought she was over that other guy, Lucien,” Az continues. “But maybe she’s not, if Rhys is so concerned about what Lucien’s stepfather thinks. Anyway, that’s why I ran. Because I knew she liked me, but I also knew she didn’t love me. I didn’t want us to cause all that trouble with Rhys just to end up backed into a corner one day, having nowhere else to go because she loves someone else and I’m just a rebound. It would be awkward for everyone involved.” He scratches the back of his neck. “It’s mostly my fault, for always chasing after women I can’t have.” He finally looks up at Cassian. “When you talk to Elain, does it sound like she hates me?” The question is quiet, straightforward.

“No,” Cassian answers, voice rough. Even if Azriel wants to hide his feelings, Cassian won’t. “She doesn’t seem like she hates you. I don’t even think she’s mad at you.” Concerned, anxious, upset—that’s Elain as far as he knows.

“She should hate me,” Azriel says. “She should get pissed, burn my old clothes, and swear to never talk to me again. That’s the only way she can move on.” Maybe even move back to Lucien, is what goes unsaid.

Cassian isn’t so sure about that. Even as he feels for Az, he thinks both of his brothers should get slapped upside the head for how they’ve been acting lately. He won’t be the one to do it, but he might get Nesta to relay a message to Elain. It’ll be the same thing. “I’m sorry,” he tells Az instead. “I know I’ve been hard on you lately. When we get home, I’ll start doing better.” He claps Az on the shoulder and squeezes.

Azriel surprises him by scoffing, looking away in disbelief. “Wow, being compassionate is really a full time job for you, huh?” He claps Cassian’s shoulder back, pulling him into a sudden hug. “You’ve already done more than enough,” he says into Cassian’s ear. “Go to your girlfriend and take a rest.”

Taken aback, Cassian nods and pulls away. He’s about to turn around and leave when Az says, “By the way, I wasn’t flirting with Gwyn.”

Cassian raises a brow. “You were definitely doing something.”

Az rolls his eyes. “I’m not giving her anything she can’t handle. But in case you haven’t noticed, I have no interest in other women right now.” He makes a face. “Especially not her.”

Cassian chuckles. “I believe you. It’s Nesta you need to worry about.”

“Whatever. I’m not scared of her.”

That makes Cassian laugh even harder, but he turns around, ready to go back to said girlfriend. As he nears the fire pit, though, he finds that Gwyn is already there and cuddled up to Nesta. On Nesta’s other side, Emerie now sits in Cassian’s chair, asleep on her friend’s shoulder. He stops in his tracks.

Cassian wasn’t lying when he told Nesta that he was happy about their changed vacation plans—he believes the more the merrier, and he loves these people. Yet he can’t help but wish the two of them could be alone for just one day. Only one.

God, sometimes having friends sucks.

***

a/n: this is a two parter so next chapter we’ll finally be getting more nessian alone time

tagging: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @wannawriteyouabook @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes @readiajin @nessiantrashh @live-the-fangirl-life @ifinallygavein @xoblivisci @sjmships @jungtaekwoonie-is-life @lysandra-tiara @lanyjoy-13 @frosted-crackers @post-it-notes33 @loosingdreams @fromthelibraryofemilyj @18moneytoad @dontgetsalmonella @champanheandluxxury @togreblog @arinbelle @ladygabrielli1997 @meridainthedisneyland

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

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unhealthyfanobsession · 3 years

Note

Hiii!! I love your fics and I can’t believe Going for Gold only has one chapter left?!

Anyway I heard u were accepting some prompts so ~

Prompt: canon-verse Nessian fic where Nesta discusses the challenges of adapting to immortality and fae-hood

I’m so glad you love Going for Gold! It has 2 chapters left! And I love this suggestion! I took it in a bit of a different route but hopefully you like it!

Also for drabbles I’m literally writing them in one go on Tumblr so they will be *Tumblr Exclusives* feel free to send in any suggestion- I like canon, modern, and AU! If you can think it up I’ll probably try my hand at it!

Nesta was trying to smile for Cassian’s sake. She really was. She wasn’t being difficult or purposefully sour, but… she just didn’t have it in her today. Not today of all days.

“What’s wrong?” Cassian’s brow furrowed in concern, his hand reaching out to slip around her waist as he pulled himself up to where she was sitting in bed, tucking himself against her instead of pulling her into him as he so often did.

Nesta clamped down on the bond, snapping her walls up and trying to stave off the thick puffs of darkly coiled smoke that must have been assaulting his senses for her mate to react so quickly.

“It’s not the bond, Nes.” Cassian rested his chin on her head, somehow knowing that this was a full body hug kind of sadness. “I know when you’re upset. And right now you’re giving me that same tight little grimace you try to pass off as a smile when there are too many people around you or we’ve stayed at the river house too long.”

Nesta sighed, both loving and hating how well he knew her.

“It’s your birthday, isn’t it?” Nesta just continued staring down at the sheets, but she opened her end of the bond up again. Let him feel the dark chasm of her mind in that moment. Cassian pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I wasn’t going to bring it up. Feyre was trying to-”

“Plan a surprise party I know. I keep hoping that by tomorrow I’ll be able to stomach that.”

“I told her to cancel it.” Nesta snapped her eyes up. “Someday you’re going to stop being so shocked that I know you, my love. An event where large numbers of people jump out of nowhere holding balloons and yelling sounds like your personal Under The Mountain.”

Nesta gave him a tight, sad little smile. Broken, but real this time. “Thank you.” Her hands reached down into her lap to clasp one of his. Hold onto it. Try to suck out some of his strength and warmth for herself. And as always, Cassian gave it over gladly.

Nesta needed one of his arms to clutch, so Cassian wrapped his wing around her shoulders to bring them even closer together. The rough leathery texture had come to feel like silk against her skin in the months they had been mated. Comforting and sure and everything warm in life.

“What did you do last year?” His question was tentative. The way any conversation about her year of destruction was tentative.

“It was one of the only days I stayed sober. I sat in the bathtub all day in cold water just so I could think about something else. Remembering the cauldron was better than focusing on what it took from me.”

In months past Cassian might have gotten offended by that statement, by the implication that it was so awful to be one of them, but he understood her better now. Understood that Nesta had a right to grieve her mortal life, even as she loved her fae one. The way someone could still live and laugh and love after the death of a loved one. It stuck with you for a while. A phantom loss swirling about every happy occasion.

“Birthdays just don’t mean anything to me anymore. I don’t understand why you all celebrate them when you don’t age.”

Cassian nodded, “Fae age. Maybe not our bodies past their prime, but our minds and hearts and souls. You are so different in just a few years. Think about how you will be in a decade, let alone a century. Your body won’t change, but everything else will.”

Nesta paused for a contemplative moment. She forgot how old he was sometimes. How much he had lived through.

“I don’t really know how to phrase it. Most of the time I’m fine. I’m happy or even on days I’m not happy I know that I will be happy, that I can be happy. But something about my birthday just brings it all up. How different it is. How much I still don’t know. Even… how casually people thank the cauldron or celebrate holidays. I try… but sometimes it all feels like trying to shove my feet into outgrown boots.”

“That’s ok.” Cassian’s wing pulsed in a comforting squeeze. “You have so much time. Don’t try to rush it. Birthdays are a marker, a day, an event, but years… years are not all created equal, my love. I lived hundreds of very small years focused on nothing but fighting and being the best. Years that slipped by in the blink of an eye. But then there were years that felt like a decade or even a century all on their own.”

“Last year.” Nesta swallowed.

“Yeah.” Nesta and Cassian didn’t lie to each other. Not even to spare the other’s feelings. “And this year. This one year with you is worth the five hundred that came before it. It’s not about the time, it’s what you do with it. And even an immortal life is too short to waste time choking down these feelings. Feel them. Pick out the ones that help and get rid of the rest. Send them down the bond,” Cassian smirked against her hair. “And I’ll fight them off.”

Nesta laughed as his arm flexed around her, wings spreading out on instinct. She had no doubt her overprotective mate probably would try to challenge her own melancholia to a blood duel.

In so many ways he already had.

“I love you so much.” Nesta turned her body into his and Cassian curled around her like he could pull her into himself. Legs tangling, wings folding, arms wrapping.

“I love you.” He whispered into her hair. “I loved you as a human. I love you as a Fae. I loved you last year and I love you this year and I will love you in five hundred years.”

“Just five hundred?”

“Until the mountains crumble to dust and Velaris falls into the sea. And then I’ll love you in the next life. Even though you’ll probably try to knee me in the balls again.”

“Yeah,” Nesta laughed softly against his chest. “I probably will.”

#nessian #nessian fanfiction #nesta archeron #acosf #cassian #nesta and cassian #a court of thorns and roses #sarah j maas #a court of silver flames #a court of mist and fury #acotar

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echotzzz · 3 years

Text

Elain and The mother

This could be a crack theory but regardless i want to share about what i feel about this matter and i’m sorry if it sound really off or unjustifiable. Again this is just a theory and from my own interpretation.

I truly feel that somehow Elain have some sort of connection with the Mother, but not like how Nesta was. We know about the Cauldron where it determines fate from the eddies of its swirling fluid but what about the Mother? Does it truly exist and have her own power or just an idea to the faeries.

So my theory is that what if the Cauldron chose Elain as the representative of the mother. What if she was the one that whispered to Nesta and prevent all of her power taken by the Cauldron.

Her gaze shifted to the carved wooden rose she’d placed upon the mantel, half-hidden in the shadows beside a figurine of a supple-bodied female, her upraised arms clasping a full moon between them. Some sort of primal goddess—perhaps even the Mother herself. Nesta hadn’t let herself dwell on why she’d felt the need to set the rose there. Why she hadn’t just thrown it in a drawer.

I believe the rose will represent Elain’s journey in the next book. But is it coincidence that the rose eventhough hidden in shadows were place beside the mother figurine ? Nesta even feel the need to put the rose in that position.

Is this the foreshadowing sjm used that the shadows would represent Elain’s love life and the mother as the arc for her power?

We don’t know what are the whole scope of power Elain possessed and how powerful she is but the thought that the Cauldron itself BLESSED HER with such gift must have some sort of meaning and reasoning and not just because it found Elain to be lovely. There must be something beyond that.

The voice

If i’m not mistaken, Nesta started to hear this voice after Elain volunteered to search for the dread trove and reacquainted with her power.

For Nesta

The voice was female, gentle. Wise and serene.

The gentle female voice in her head pleaded, Run, run, run.

A soft, familiar voice whispered the words. As they had been whispered to her long ago. As it had warned her in Oorid’s darkness. A lovely, kind female voice, sage and warm, which had been waiting for her all this time.

For Cassian

His stomach twisted. Instinct bellowed at him to wrap himself around her, to comfort and soothe, but another voice, an ancient and wise voice, whispered to keep going. One more mountain, that voice said. Just one more mountain. He trusted that voice. “We’ll camp here tonight.”

After read the description of the voice, i couldn’t help myself to relate it with Elain. Sjm also in this case, purposely gave us a really detailed ass description about the voice.

The voice was described as Female, familiar, gentle, soft, warm, serene (calm), lovely, kind, wise and ancient.

Let’s take a look the way Elain was describe throughout the books

Gentle and sweet

Nesta hadn’t wanted any dealings with the Fae, and Elain was so gentle, so sweet … how could I bring them into this?

Elain, who had been gentle and sweet.

But Elain, the flower-grower, the gentle heart …

Warm

Nesta met her sister’s warm brown eyes.

Serene ( calm)

Elain crossed her arms and said calmly, sadly, “Feyre warned me this might happen.”

“I still wanted to come,” Elain went on with that focused calm, the quiet steel building in her voice. “I wanted to see you, to explain.”

Soft & Lovely

Beautiful—she’d always been the most beautiful of us. Soft and lovely, like a summer dawn.

Kind

Something in my chest broke at Elain’s voice from the hall behind her. At the sweetness and youth and kindness, untouched by Prythian, unaware of what I’d done, become—

To look at the hardness of the world and choose, over and over, to love, to be kind.

Wise and sage

“It’s already ended badly. Now it’s just a matter of deciding how we meet the consequences.” “Wisely said,” Mor offered,

For a moment, I just stared at my sister, the wisdom she’d spoken. Not a whisper of those oracular abilities. Just clear eyes and an open expression.

Ancient

With Cassian the voice was described as ancient and wise. It remind me the time Feyre and Cassian met the bone carver in acowar and he talked about what happened in Hybern

“How lovely she is—new as a fawn and yet ancient as the sea. How she calls to you. A queen, as my sister once was. Terrible and proud; beautiful as a winter sunrise.”

At first i thought the bone carver talk about Nesta but the word lovely,fawn and sunrise(dawn) really associated with Elain

“I can see so very far now. All the way to the sea.”

Elain stood by the rail, the breeze caressing her hair. “She’s not getting any better. She’s not even trying.” She wrapped her arms around herself and stared toward the distant sea.

Could it made sense that Elain as a seer have knowledge that are as ancient as the sea.

The dread trove

“You were Made by the Cauldron. You may track other objects Made by it as well, as Briallyn can. And because you are Made by it, you are immune to the influence and power of the Trove. You might use them, yes, but they cannot be used upon you.” A glance to Elain. “Either of you.”

So, since Elain was also made by the Cauldron she will not be influenced by the power of the trove. But it strike me as odd as why does Elain froze as well when Nesta use the Harp to stop time.

Is it so to give opportunity for Elain to use her power to whisper as the voice to Nesta ?

Do you see how it might be? that soft female voice whispered, What you might do?

The voice talked about the vision of Feyre’s death and what Nesta could do to prevent it. Seer abilities??

Even the things that hurt and hunt you? Only curiosity laced the question. [...] That wise, soft voice whispered, So live, Nesta Archeron.

Pain slowly washed over Elain’s face. And understanding. “Is that what this is all about? Father?”

Other than Cassian, Elain is the only person that knew the thing that haunted and hurt Nesta was her father’s death.

The Cauldron

So, Nesta bargained to give back what was stolen in return to save Feyre’s, Nyx’s and Rhys’ lives. But somehow, someone had prevent the Cauldron to take all of the power

“But a little remains. I think something else—someone else—stopped the Cauldron from taking all of it. And I made some changes of my own.”

This person literally stopped the Cauldron. The Cauldron have every intention to take it all back but stopped because of this someone.

Remember when the Cauldron came for Nesta in Acowar but retrieved as it saw how important Nesta is to Elain and it also purr in her presence as if Elain has a certain influence towards the Cauldron.

What if Elain persuade the Cauldron to not take all of Nesta’s power. Maybe from her seer abilities, she saw that it is vital for Nesta to have some of her power for the upcoming war?

Invisible hand

And a soft, invisible hand brushed her cheek in answer.

The sun was a warm hand on her shoulder, like the one that had prevented the last of her power from vanishing, as if telling her that the apology, the begging for forgiveness … it was no longer needed.

Nesta described the hand as warm coming from the sun. Is it coincidence that Elain also often describe as sunlight🤔

Yes, they’d have to figure out what to do with the entire Dread Trove now that they possessed all three objects. How Nesta had summoned it despite the spells Helion had placed on the other two … He’d think of that another day. Along with the fact that she’d stopped Time with the Harp. And that she seemed to have some sort of connection—or understanding—with the Mother. The Mother.

Notice that Cassian mention all of this to be done in the future. Since Nessian will not be the MC in the next book, it is obvious the next book’s MC will be the one that handle it.

they’d have to figure out what to do with the entire Dread Trove now that they possessed all three objects

The 4th dread trove object is still a mystery and only the one that was Cauldron made can find it and who is the remaining Cauldron made? Elain. It’s obvious enough that the DT will still play a major role in the next book

How Nesta had summoned it despite the spells Helion had placed on the other two

“In the end, Helion created the wards and keyed them to Nesta’s blood.”

“Once we leave this room, no one shall be able to enter it. Even you, if you do not unlock my wards, cannot enter.”

We have no idea how Nesta could actually summoned the objects despite Helion’s spell. And only Rhys and Helion the one who know how to unlock the spell.

I don’t want to be too reaching but what if Elain was the one that unlock it. Nesta’s blood run through Elain’s vein and maybe her seer abilities that provide knowledge as ancient as the sea could be the reason she knew to unlock the spell. ( again this is just my interpretation)

In conclusion

Is it coincidence that Nesta connection with the mother will still be a topic in the next book and at the same time there are foreshadowing mention the wooden rose was put beside the mother figurine?

Is it coincidence that Sjm never mention about whether Elain do reacquainted back with her power? Amren whom really eager for Elain to start finding the trove could have train Elain herself especially when she frequently mentioned how Elain should not be underestimated.

Is it coincidence that Elain is mentioned to even beat Azriel in secrecy that Cassian sometimes suspected Elain early dismissal was not to tend some elderly fae garden but what if she’s on the roll to train for her power. When sjm mention ‘secret’ it was not only to reflect the forbidden love but also Elain true power.

Is it coincidence that we only knew the surface of the seer abilities and somehow sjm haven’t elaborate it much further. As an Elain stan, i admitted that i actually know little of her as sjm never provide Elain with her own pov. Its like if we enter Elain’s head, there will be a major spoiler considering she will be the next MC.

If this theory turn out to be true, do you think that the Cauldron use Elain as his messenger or a puppet by giving her vision and image? Remember when the IC were lost and suddenly Elain were given image about Vassa. When Elain could search for the Suriel with only one try.

Why was Elain captured by the Cauldron when it clearly mentioned that the Cauldron will never harm her. It was as if in order for something to happen, Elain must be captured. What was the outcome:

Trigger Feyre to fly where she only have been training for a short time.

A human girl name Briar were saved. Will she be important in the series as her character were given a name?

To alert that Tamlin was in fact on the good side

When Elain was captured, she was lured by the image of Greysen offering her safety and protection but who was the one that rescued her?Azriel. Like she was expecting Greysen to come but instead it was Azriel. Was the Cauldron use this to show Elain who will matter to her the most?

“Nothing is a fluke. The Cauldron’s power flows through Nesta, and could use her as a puppet without her knowledge. It wanted those weapons Made, and thus they were Made.

And do not forget that Nesta herself—and Elain, with whatever powers she has—is here. Feyre is here. All three sisters blessed by fate and gifted with powers to match your own.

#elriel #elain archeron #azriel #acotar theories #pro elain

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wildlyglittering · 3 years

Text

Good at Starting Fires

I really hated the overly sexualised way that Cassian looked at Nesta in ACOSAF and ACOSF when he commented on her drastic weight loss. Instead of being concerned that she was losing weight at a drastic pace he was more 'boobs man, great they're still there' and it wound me up no end.

I was sent a prompt by an anon that said 'angsty Nessian set in the Illyrian camp where Cassian sees Nesta in her underwear for the first time' and I found that I wanted to try and right that 'wrong' in relation to the above. Probably not quite what the requestor had in mind but hey ho.

Some mention of weight loss and concerns surrounding it.

***

The rain lashed onto Cassian’s exposed skin.

The deluge hadn’t turned into a full storm quite yet but still, this was the worst weather he had seen in a long while, the wind barrelling into him warranting his full concentration in order to continue to fly upright.

Cassian would have chanced some different manoeuvres to make flight easier but he wasn’t flying alone.

The female in his arms had said nothing to him since they left the ground, perhaps planning to ignore him for the remainder of their eternal lives. Cassian would usually provoke her into retaliating against some jibe but tonight, with thick darkness surrounding them and the harsh pelt of the cold rain against their skin, goading wasn’t suitable.

Instead, Cassian flew through the onslaught, clutching onto a shivering Nesta.

They’d exited the river house in silence. Cassian thought she would fight the decision, fight Feyre, fight him, but she hadn’t. Her lips pursed together with her spine rigid and shoulders defiant; a stubborn refusal to give any indication of defeat.

Nesta hadn’t looked at any of them, or spoken either, instead turning with clenched fists to walk out the door she’d walked in from.

“Bye then,” taunted Rhys from his place by the fireplace.

A sharp rebuke came from Feyre while Cassian rubbed his hands over his face before glaring at his High Lord. His next action was to move fast to follow Nesta.

Feyre had been on his heels but if Nesta wanted nothing to do with him she wanted less to do with her sister. Cassian reached her first and Nesta stared at him with cold eyes. “We go now,” she demanded through gritted teeth.

“Nesta!” Feyre called out from behind, half running towards them.

“Now,” she demanded again her voice thick and trembling.

For a moment it seemed like Feyre was going to shift into her wings and fly after them but maybe there was something in his expression, or Nesta’s, which stopped her.

Nesta had clung to his neck the way a child clung to their mother but he got the impression she really wanted to use her hands on his throat in a different way. The rain followed them from Velaris to the mountains; Nesta spending the entire flight with her face buried into his shoulder.

Cassian would pretend along with her that it was only raindrops falling onto her cheeks.

If the betrayal had cut her, she’d resolutely decided to not let the wound show. She’d been cornered like a wild creature by one sister and the other, the one Nesta adored with the fullness of her heart, hadn’t shown to say anything at all.

When they arrived at the cabin it was Cassian’s pity for her which made him absorb the spite spilling from her lips. The force of his landing caused mud to splash up their legs and Nesta pulled away from him the second her feet hit the dirt.

Despite the rain and with dripping hair and sodden clothes she was beautiful. The words from her mouth, decidedly not so.

“Pathetic,” she hissed at him over the roar of the thundering rain and he somehow understood her meaning underneath – how Cassian was a grovelling sycophant to his High Lord who would never place a wing out of line and never fight back.

Nesta spoke with fists clenched at her sides. Cassian wondered if there was a part of her that wanted to strike him and he wondered if there was a part of him that would let her. She turned away, her back as rigid as before, every bump of bone showing through the fabric.

Cassian frowned. The dress was drenched, clinging to her flesh in a way it hadn’t when dry, illuminating what the material would otherwise hide.

He shouldn’t have been able to see the sharpness of her spine.

“Do we have a place to go or are you reducing me to sleeping in the mud?”

Those words were small, sharp cuts which stung though Nesta had no knowledge of how Cassian’s nights as a youth were spent doing just that, with the smell of putrefying leaves on his skin and clumps of dirt under his nails.

“Well?” she snapped, turning her head to glare at him from the corner of her eye. This was a glance which said he was beneath her, that she didn’t need to turn to address him, that the sight of him offended her glorious eyes.

What Cassian saw painted a different picture; tinged pink eyes, and a red nose. The skin around her eyelids swollen.

He let the stings dissipate. Nesta had been thrown from one world into another and from that one into something new. He would hold his tongue.

“This way, sweetheart.” Well, to an extent.

They trudged across the mud, Cassian’s feet sinking into the earth as he overtook Nesta to show her the way and he didn’t bother glancing behind him to see if she followed. She had no choice, there was nowhere else for her to go.

Rain had seeped into Cassian’s clothes, his skin damp and his wet hair dripped water down the back of the neck. He was feeling wet and miserable and wondered how worse this was for Nesta in her heavy woollen dress.

His siphons emitted a soft red glow and that was all there was; them, the rain and the glow in the darkness. Not even the moon greeted them.

***

The cabin was a welcome sight.

Their belongings were there, mostly Cassian’s with some provisions Feyre had arranged for Nesta. The door creaked on the hinges as Cassian stepped into familiar, if slightly musty, surroundings.

A perfume of earth and open skies lay underneath the dust and he inhaled the scent through his nose and into his lungs. He hadn’t been here in so long with wars and commitments keeping him far away; but if Velaris was his home, this place was his sanctuary.

There was a shuffling behind him and for a moment, lost in euphoria, Cassian forgot he wasn’t alone.

Nesta stood in the entrance, surveying her new domain. Her wet hair had unravelled from her coronet braid and tendrils clung onto the side of her face. A fat raindrop travelled from her temple past her cheek and hung from her jaw before finally dripping onto her collar.

Cassian frowned again.

Nesta’s dress buttons had popped open in the flight and he saw her neck and collar bone, a strange sharpness protruding from the stark white of her skin. Shadows, he told himself, from the candle that had flamed into life. They cast shapes and make everything harsh.

Nesta’s fists were now balled into her gown as a puddle grew around her. If she noticed Cassian’s gaze she never let on and continued to sweep her eyes around the room with a bored detachment.

“This is it,” she said, “my prison for the indefinite future.” Her lips curled into a sneer. “If Feyre was going to keep me caged she should have at least made a gilded one.”

Yes, he wanted to say, because your residence was so lavish.

“Move,” but Nesta didn’t wait for Cassian to step aside before pushing past him, head high and eyes forward. She stopped in the living room, her head turning left to right as she took in more of her surroundings. Her face gave nothing away as she scrutinised the spacious open living space which branched into the enclosed kitchen.

Cassian shook his head and ground his teeth as he closed the door behind her, the wind bringing sheets of rain into the cabin. A trail of water led across the floor to where Nesta stood.

The middle of the cabin was lighter, framed by the multiple fae lights and candles, and Cassian saw so much more. Nesta’s skin was white all over but her pale hands had red, cracked knuckles and dark circles like old bruises hung underneath her eyes. A shudder rippled through her.

Rain smashed against the window panes and Cassian looked to the vast inglenook fireplace which took over one full side of the cabin.

The hearth was filled with grey ash and lumps of half burnt wood and the basket aside the fireplace held strips for kindling. There were no pieces sizable enough to get a full fire going and getting a fire burning was exactly what they needed.

“Upstairs and to the left,” he said and Nesta turned to him. “That’s where your room will be. Mine’s next to it, same side. Both will warm up quick when the fire’s lit as the floorboards heat too.” Cassian jerked his head to the stairs, “Go and get changed, I’ll grab wood for the fire.”

Her face, one of permanent indifference and as smooth as porcelain, changed. The expression lasted only seconds before Nesta schooled it into something passing for neutral.

“Fine, I shouldn’t have expected you to be prepared.”

She stormed past him, leaving enough space so not a single part of them touched, not her dress brushing against his leathers – nothing.

Cassian waited until she’d gone before releasing a sigh. He hadn’t imagined what he saw; her eyes wide in alarm, flickering to the fireplace and back, a jerk of her body like someone had slapped her with the palm of their hand.

He’d best watch for that again.

***

A sandstone path ran down the left side of the cabin which wound around a small vegetable patch, a smaller pool and down into the sloped garden. At the very bottom was an alcove of trees and the shed containing Cassian’s axe, a chopping block and, if he was lucky, some pre-cut pieces.

Through the haze of rain, the distant lights of a camp flickered beyond. Cassian was fortunate to have this place for himself, not that he didn’t reside in the centre of camp on occasion to make his presence known, but this was his slice of comfort in the otherwise endless trudge.

Now, this place was also hers, for however long deemed necessary.

The rain bounced off the paving slabs as he approached his destination. The shed was old but well-kept and thankfully, stocked with thick slabs of timber.

“Thank you, old friend,” he said with a hand to one of the trees. They were fast growing and long burning, a house warming gift from Rhys half a century prior.

Cassian gathered what he needed and turned back, the cabin an angular silhouette outlined upon the backdrop of the night sky, the mountains looming some distance away. The candles and fae lights had lit the building up from within and shone through the dark at every window.

He was halfway up the path when he noticed how bright they lit Nesta’s new room.

Cassian had never been concerned with decoration, shoving a blanket onto a bed and gossamer curtains onto the window had been enough, but now he realised how thin those curtains were, how visible the room was from the outside.

Nesta wouldn’t be able to see him, not with his leathers black against the night, but he saw everything as though she stood before him in the flesh.

She’d untied the laces that bound the stays of her dress and Cassian imagined the wet thud as it fell to the floor.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t wanted Nesta in front of him, unrobing for him, those long, graceful fingers sliding up her collarbone and dipping down towards the ribbons of her bodice. In his dreams he would help her, his thick fingers weaving into hers, pulling at the material until it gave way to pools of silk and satin on the ground.

Imagination gave him options.

Maybe she would have been naked, with expanses of creamy skin readily available for his viewing or maybe there would have been a delicate piece of chiffon covering her like there was now, something flimsy for him to move aside.

He would have started by kneeling. His fingertips would trace the skin of her ankles before moving upwards to her calves, her knees and to her thighs which he would have kissed until she was breathless. Finally, he would have travelled upwards with his mouth, towards the apex.

This was his fantasy. Smoothing his palms over her curves, travelling up the cord of her spine, his tongue sliding over her skin, teasing with his teeth and all the while her breath would turn into pants, his name a prayer in her mouth.

This was a dream. Nothing more.

He stood alone in the dark, pounding heartbeat thundering in his ears and pouring rain saturating his hair as he spied on a female he now never hoped to hold.

By the Mother though, her body was far from what his mind had conjured and his heartbeat turned into a pain sinking between his ribs.

He’d thought he’d seen glimpses but here was the truth.

Her collarbone jutted out severely while her breasts and curves of her buttocks shrunk as her starved body ate away at whatever flesh it found. Nesta’s ribs - Cauldron her ribs – Cassian was able to count every one, the indents of her bone visible as though her skin was the thinnest paper. When she turned, he saw the same with the column of her spine.

He swallowed the lump in his throat down, a sting in his eyes that was nothing to do with the chilled wind.

***

Inside the cabin, Cassian dried out the wood and lit the fire, the red and orange flames dancing in the hearth.

Nesta might not eat but he would try and convince her, starting with something simple and small which would fill her but not make her sick. Shoving a plate of meat in front of her face was a bad idea so he decided on a light broth consisting of flavoured water and leafy vegetables and herbs grown from his garden.

Cassian was surprised she came when he called her down but was pleased when she did. Nesta stepped along the floor with bare feet, a new gown just as thick as the last covering the bones of her body.

She stayed close to the wall when she passed through the living space, the fire cracking and snapping opposite and she eyed the flames as though they would reach across the room and snatch her.

Cassian wasn’t sure where this fear had come from, tried to dredge any memory of where they’d faced fire and came up wanting. He’d ask her – not now – but when they’d reached a point of peace.

Still, she walked toward him, her throat moving as she swallowed fast.

“I’ve made us dinner,” and he gestured to the two watery bowls in front of him. Opposite each other. Face to face. Her eyes narrowed but she sat, suspicion on her face.

“What is this slop?”

He took a deep breath. Imagined her words as darts and his skin as impenetrable armour.

“An Illyrian broth; vegetables, herbs, some spices and the thinnest slices of poultry you’ll ever find.”

“It looks revolting.”

A muscle twitched in Cassian’s jaw. The dish was plain, colourless and watery but was filled with flavour and had what Nesta needed nutritionally.

He would refrain from telling her this was the staple of Illyrian’s recovering from sickness or injury, that he’d spooned this liquid into the dribbling mouths of multitudes of his brethren over the years and how he wasn’t above doing the same to her.

“Try it,” was all he said. “You might like it.”

“Doubtful.”

But she picked up the spoon, a tremor in her hand. Fear, withdrawal, or exhaustion he didn’t know. Maybe all three. Maybe rage.

Nesta bent her head forward, bringing the spoon to her lips and as she did, her dress, far too large for her frame gaped at the collar once again showing Cassian the sharpness of the bone under her skin.

Something sat heavy in his stomach, something like guilt and shame. He’d once thought of her as sharp tongued and soft curves, his mouth watering at the promise of the swell of her breasts and the shape of her backside.

His thoughts had been occupied with images of grabbing her with his hands, fingers digging into the folds of her flesh while they pounded the force of their desires onto each other. Nesta was no less beautiful now but when he thought of her body, thought of what he knew, he considered differently as to what his body would do with hers.

His fingers would likely bruise her, leaving crescent moons into her skin and the bones of her spine would be obvious to his gaze. Now, he wanted to use his build to hover over her, to envelop her with his wings and cradle the back of her skull with the palm of one hand and cup her cheek with the other.

Cassian needed to make this situation right but he didn’t know where to start other than this meagre offering of broth.

Nesta ate two spoons, possibly three, but at least she ate, her eyes fluttering closed as she savoured her meal, the shadows of her eyelashes playing on her cheekbones. He smiled at her enjoyment, however brief, feeling his heart soar.

Nesta opened her eyes and looked straight at him. Cassian dropped his smile and her eyes narrowed.

I’m happy you like the broth, he wanted to say, however little you take. I’m happy you tried. I think you’re dying. I don’t want you to die. I want you to want to live.

A log fell in the hearth and banged against the grate, popping into the air and Nesta flinched, her eyes snapping towards the sound.

The flames seemed to hypnotise her as they whirled among the wood, consuming what they needed in order to grow. Wherever she was in that moment she wasn’t in the room with him.

The moment passed and Nesta snapped her head back to Cassian, slamming the spoon into the bowl.

“I’m not here for your entertainment.”

“I know that.”

“Then stop staring at me like I’m a festival showpiece.”

Cassian frowned, “I wasn’t staring.”

“Tell your gawping eyes that.”

The muscle in his jaw twitched again. He was exhausted, not only from the long day but from arguing with Rhys about the plan, and from convincing Feyre that he and Nesta would be fine. His blood, already on the rise, had gained extra heat when Amren made her parting comment to him and all this was before he began flying.

“I wasn’t staring,” he repeated, “believe me when I say there’s nothing worth looking at.”

His temper was still hot, irritation singing a song in his veins and this was default for him, the well-travelled road to flinging insults.

It was a road Nesta travelled herself.

“Well, believe me when I say that even if I’m nothing I’m still worth twice of you, bastard.”

“You’ve been exiled to the camps so that’s not what your sister thinks. Either of them.” He gestured around with his hand, “Do you see Elain begging to be let in the door?”

Nesta’s nostrils flared, her hands now clenched into two fists, those red cracked knuckles on display.

“Well, this shows what your ‘friends’ think of you, if I’m worth little to nothing in their eyes and they have you taking care of me?”

“You should be thankful, sweetheart. No one else volunteered to listen to your temper tantrums.”

“Let me ease your burden then.” She stood, jolting the table and the bowl moved, spilling liquid over the side. “I would hate to bore you with one of my childish tantrums.”

“By all means, take yourself off to bed. You’re obviously in need of a nap.”

Nesta bared her teeth at him and Cassian schooled his face into one of boredom. She turned, her gown brushing against the furniture and as she passed through the living room, she grabbed a thick blanket draped across one of the chairs.

There was a change to her face as she went, fleeting but not fleeting enough for his sharp eyes. Regret? Yes. What she regretted he didn’t know but the snarl had also turned into a smirk, a twist of her mouth which screamed, I am victorious.

What had she won? The prize was a night alone in an unlit room with a blanket and empty belly.

As she left, the bored expression slid from Cassian’s face to be replaced by a furrowed brow.

Nesta was playing a game, one which required her to start fights so she could flaunt from the room as though leaving were her choice. He’d seen her grip, the furrow of her own forehead and the stark whites of her eyes.

She didn’t like the fire and she didn’t want to eat - or she couldn’t eat.

All Nesta’s choices had been stripped away from her in one afternoon and her decision to exit swiftly and in outrage was all she had.

He let her. He goaded her, stoking the small flame she held burning until she felt something, even if that emotion was irritation and anger - anything as long as it wasn’t cloying fear. If Cassian told her to leave then she would have stayed in her misery to spite him.

Cassian lifted a clay pot lid, surreptitiously positioned beside him on a chair, to cover her bowl. He would leave the dish outside her door with a slab of buttered bread. Maybe she would eat if it wasn’t in front of his watchful eyes.

He would eat his own in his room, the space of the kitchen and the living area seeming too big now, too empty without Nesta’s presence.

As he passed by the hearth, he lowered the flames with his siphons, letting them burn down. As he did, he thought of another fireplace, in another home, in a time which seemed forever ago.

He would help her even if she hated him for it. Cassian would prefer her vitriol to the nothingness living inside her where even her scent had turned glacial; ice cold to the bone.

So yes, Cassian would let the embers burn low for now but he was a creature of air and flame. He was good at starting fires.

TAGGING:

@nehemikkele

You are the only person who has ever requested a tag from me so thank you so much! :)

#nessian #fanfiction #nesta archeron #cassian #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron x cassian #nesta #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosaf #acosf #i wrote something #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nessian fan fiction #nessianfic #nessian fan fic #fic request

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aelingalathyniusrailme · 3 years

Text

If you find me on the edge, we’ll jump together.

Pirate au pt 4

azriel was so insanely close to sucker punching berdara. but unfortunately the bargain forbid him from hurting her until after they found the huge hall

he was heading towards his own ship when gwyneth stopped him. “pick your best men I can fit 5 maximum of you on my ship”

“and why exactly are we taking your ship”

“and why are you determined to be difficult” he nearly laughed at that, him difficult when she had spent the last 10 minutes toying with him at every chance.

“I am determined to be fair, we’ll play for it”

that peaked her interest as her eyes went wide “sword fighting, combat, cards, good old fashioned fists?!?” what was with this girl and fighting.

“uh no I was going to suggest rock paper scissors.”

“who hurt you to make you so damn boring”

“who made you a masochist”

gwyneth didn’t falter for a second “wouldn’t you like to know” she said with a lazy grin

“so majesty are we going to play or not?”

“best of three”

she put her fist up in answer.

once again I’ll cut to the chase, after many rounds and accused cheatings azriel won

“Oh fuck off” she grumbled while he smirked triumphantly

“that’s not very nice gwyneth” obviously her response was to give him the finger

“bite me”

“don’t give me any ideas”

“do what you need to do we leave at dawn”

“you’re going to be a delight on my ship aren’t you”

“always am” with that they went back to their respective crews and ships to prepare.

now that she had left to her own ship azriel thought over what had just happened. he wasn’t so much of a fool that he couldn’t admit she was beautiful, with hair of flaming locks and a slightly insane look in her eye. there was something about her that despite being incredibly violent she radiated a certain amount of joy. every insult, every quip was said with a bright smile on her face. and she had pinned him with an alarming amount of ease but he wouldn’t let that happen a second time

and fucking hell he had made a bargain. well he knew for sure this journey was going to be something else alright

on the shadowsinger azriel made an announcement to his crew “everyone sit your asses down and listen up. 5 ladies from the silver majesty are coming aboard our ship to assist us in our search for the huge hall. I am under bargain that no harm will come to any of them, so by affiliation every person aboard the shadowsinger is under the same bargain. you have any questions, take it up with rhys and cassian. I have shit to do in preparation for this voyage and to make sure our other ‘business partners’ stay up and running in our absence. do not bother me”

about an hour later he was once again alone in his chambers with his first mate and quartermaster.

“so you really believe they can lead us to it” cassian asked

“I believe that she made a bargain and knows the severity of a bargain.”

“you bound yourself to the captain of our biggest rival, who you currently want to murder, captain I trust you with my life but I hope you know what you’ve gotten us into” rhys ever the strategist

I hope so to he thought instead he said “I have thought over every possible outcome and we will come out of this with the huge hall and their heads strung up like trophies nailed to the wall.”

————— gwyn’s pov at the same moment—————

alright crew fortunately the shadowsinger is on board, pun not intended, unfortunately I lost rock paper scissors and now I will be choosing 5 of us to join them in our hunt for the huge hall. so Em, archeron, VIv, and cressieda you guys are coming with me, bring only as many weapons as you can fit on your person. nuala cerridwen you guys are in charge. if everything is not in order by the time I get back I will start slitting throats. there are instructions in my chambers. so fuck, drink, steal, kill you guys know the drill.”

gwyn sat with nesta and emerie strategizing

“how do you see this playing out” nesta asked

“oh we are going to walk away from this bleeding money with the shadowsinger kneeling at our feet”

------------------------back to azriel’s pov------------------------

azriel watched as for the first time since he had become a pirate, there were women on his ship indefinitely. to gwyneth’s right stood a tall slender women, with her hair in a simple braid, she was assessing his ship with eyes that looked far too old for her age

to berdara’s left was a thin women with eyes that cut through him, they were sharp and very resentful. she was devastatingly beautiful with two katanas at her hips. behind them were two women with white hair but their differences lay in their skin tone. one had the fair skin of the winter court while the other had dark skin that contrasted her hair marking her as from the summer court.

azriel looked over to his own crew. cassian was starring at the female with the swords practically drooling over himself while rhys looked indifferent.

lucien was also starring at the women to gwyneth’s left but he looked at her like he recognized her rather then whatever the fuck cassian was doing

the women noticed cassian and immediately threw a dagger at his head. it didn’t miss by much.

“hey!” cassian shouted. “if you had chopped off my hair I swear to fucking god I will rip out your throat like its nothing”

the girl looked him up and down and ignored him. “really you could have killed me”

so obviously she threw another one. it fell right between his arm and ribs

“berdara can I have a word please?”

“of course”

“rhys please make sure they don’t kill each other”

“no promises” he replied not looking up

gwyn followed him into his room.

“so shadowsinger, what do you want to talk about?” she gave him a light punch on the shoulder. he glared at her

“what do I want to talk about? hmm how about that girl just threw a dagger at my quartermaster. twice!”

“ok 1 that girls name is nesta and 2 if she wanted him dead he would be. so I consider that a great success” gwyn smiled earnestly.

“are you forgetting the bargain we just made?”

“clearly threats were not taking off the table or have you forgotten ‘i will dump you in the river’ or ‘i’m going to shoot you in the head’ or ‘i will leave your guts across the 7 courts’ etc. hers was just a little more physical thats all.”

“well can you try to control your crew” cheap shot but worth it, until gwyn broke out into a fit of laughter.

“me? control nesta? I thought you said you’ve heard the stories, you must have heard about the time she climbed 6 mountains in 5 different courts to find a man who ripped her off by 2 coppers. coppers! and I was all ‘that’s my girl’ because if there was one thing I’ve learned in this business it would be that men will take every single opportunity to tear you down but they can’t do that if they don’t have limbs.”

“great so your entire crew is just as insane as you are”

“we maybe insane but at least we aren’t crying over every dagger that comes within an inch of our hearts.”

“yes I’m sorry we would rather not fucking die”

“oh poor you, you must be a truly terrible pirate if death doesn’t stop at your door every once in a while.”

“you know I am very much regretting working with you at this moment”

“wait you aren’t in love with me? shocker.” gwyn’s whole demeanor changed and she brightened as if some realization struck. “but that reminds me I was told I need your help to find the treasure and I certainly don’t need more man power so how will you be contributing?”

“I had thought about that and I was think about something you-”

“aww you think about me?” azriel rolled his eyes

“I was thinking about something you said and I would like you to elaborate on the blank map.”

“no please?”

“please” he forced out

“well my informant who found me the map has never been wrong before and my witch says it reeks of magic.”

“you think its spelled.”

“I do”

“and you think I am going to help you uncover the magic?”

“indubitably” azriel was kind of impressed by her certainty

“aren’t you?”

“yes” he grumbled

“thought so, I’m smart like that.”

“of course you are perfect in every way possible”

“look any other day I would love for you to shower me in accurate compliments but we are kind of on a time crunch”

“yes majesty”

“you know what its kind of growing on me, I too consider myself a queen”

az ignored that and went to his closet. he opened the doors and unlocked the safe taking out the only thing in there. it was a small vile that contained a vibrant blue liquid. he gently carried it over to gwyn

“this is the last liquid fashioned by the last pheonix to ever exist”

“oh my fucking god you have pheonix piss” gwyn was practically jumping with glee.

“I mean I wouldn’t exactly put it that way but yes, the liquid of the pheonix was said to act as a serum to reveal ones truth. it should be powerful enough to break through any ward or spell. and while mostly used on people it should work on objects too.”

“wait wait wait, that could get you millions and you’re going to use it on this??”

“who’s drooling now? yes it could but this hall could get me more and I’d prefer it not in the hands of certain people.”

“alright I mean not really how I operate but it’s yours so you can do whatever you want with it.” “glad you approve, map?” gwyn cautiously pulled out the blank map and set it down on the table.

he opened the vile and began to pour it over the map, praying that this would not be in vain. the vile had cost him greatly. he looked down and gwyn stole the words from his mouth “holy fucking shit.”

#gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #azriel #pirate au #acosf #my babies #I do be lacking the motivation to write so part 5 might be in a while

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elliemarchetti · 2 years

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Day 1 - Emerie’s POV

My first entry for @emerieweek2022. This is going to be a small series, but you can read the first chapter as a stand alone too.

The bell of the shop door ringed, almost making her sigh with relief at the sight of Nesta Archeron coming in, shaking off the snow stuck to the back of her cloak. Emerie heard Velaris was still held in the summer’s hands, dragged away with difficulty by a mild autumn, but Windhaven already fell completely into the winter’s embrace, with a thin white layer covering the roofs and the sides of the road.

“Nice to see you,” she said as a greeting, leaning over the bulky figure of her cousin, and words had never been truer. Not that she needed help when it came to her family, the worst was over and she was used to getting by on her own, but Bellius was drunk and she didn’t want to clean up the mess he could’ve left in the shop if the argument got more heated.

“Wait for your turn, witch,” muttered the asshole she unfortunately had as a relative, oblivious to what he just unleashed in the High Lady’s sister. How she would’ve liked to see her cousin in Lord Rhysand’s presence, shrank as a worm in fear... Obviously, it wouldn’t happen, but it was nice to allow herself to dream.

“I think we’re done,” Emerie said, crossing her arms as she saw her father do all too often. It meant the topic was closed, or there would be consequences, which usually came a little later in the day anyway.

“We’re done when I say so,” he mumbled, and for a moment Emerie hoped the rumours were true and Nesta could kill by only pointing an accusatory finger, even though her indifference and cruel jokes still had the desired effect.

“A friend of yours?” she asked, as Bellius’ winged figure disappeared into the sky. If only the lucky asshole had been born female like her, not only he wouldn’t have been able to have that attitude, but he would also have been nailed to the ground learning respect and good manners.

“My cousin,” Emerie replied, trying to stifle her disgust at least in part. “His father is my uncle on the paternal side, and since he’s young, arrogant and idiotic, he’s also allowed to be drunk at noon. It must be a family vice.”

To be true, it was a new level of baseness for him, but Nesta didn’t seem to care much, more interested in her well-being and what might happen if he came back. Not that it was possible, the lands he was stationed in were a couple hours of flight away, but it pleased her nonetheless.

“I get these little visits from my uncle’s family from time to time, although Bellius is new. I suppose they think he’s now old enough to threaten me,” she explained, but since she couldn’t find a reason why she was doing it, she hurried to change the subject before she could be asked uncomfortable questions. She was sorry to go back to talking business with the only semblance of a friend she ever had, and to pay back she decided to invite Nesta for lunch, even though she didn’t have much to offer. Emerie was used to keep the back room of the shop as immaculate as the front, as if minimalism and attention to details gave her some advantage over the part of the family that wanted to take over what was rightfully hers to marry and give birth like all other Illyrian women. The very though made her nauseous.

“Alone?” Nesta asked, eyeing the room, as Emerie walked to a counter to retrieve enough roast beef and browned carrots for two. It was a fair question, so she tried to suppress the annoyance when she answered affirmatively. Loneliness never bothered her, on the contrary, sometimes she found it cathartic, but there were few who understood it, just as there were few who entered her life and respected its sacred spaces.

“And what about you and the handsome general Cassian?” she asked, sitting down at the other end of the small table. She knew many females would kill to sneak into his bed, and although she wasn’t part of the group, she imagined where was a certain charm in his overwhelming masculinity; the mountain of muscles and the confidence, in addition to his legendary skills with the weapons, were something most females aspired to have in a husband.

“There’s nothing to say,” Nesta replied, but Emerie suspected, from the little pause she left before giving a rushed answer, it was only an half-truth. Out of benevolence, she let it go, and listened to the usually feisty girl as she complimented her simple cooking. If only she had more spices, she could’ve made those carrots a real treat, but availability was limited in Windhaven and she had to be content with herbs and what little she could find.

“My father traded them all over the world,” Nesta began, as if she read her mind. “I still remember his office’s smell, it was like a thousand personalities all crowded into the same room.”

“Did he ever took you on a trip with him?” she asked, hoping to be able to be cheered, and to shake off the tension left by her cousin’s visit, with tales of distant lands, but it wasn’t the case, since human ideas about women weren’t very different from those of the Illyrians,

“What if he asked?” she pressed, not to let the conversation die. “Would you have liked to see the world?”

Nesta thought for a while, but eventually admitted she would’ve been too curious to let her sisters explore the continent without her.

“Besides, I would’ve feared they might get in trouble, especially Elain, who is the most innocent of us,” she concluded, but it was evident she had the feeling she already said too much, so Emerie let her ask the question she feared the most. Nesta was cautious, but once she finished her meal, she wanted to know what was of her host’s family. Emerie knew the moment would inevitably come, she certainly couldn’t expect to be a simple listener, but being aware of something doesn’t make it any less complicated, especially when it’s cloaked in trauma and resentment. But what was better than the harsh truth? So she said it, and wished she could have Nesta’s company more often. A friend, she told herself, a confidant is all you need to resist in this place.

#emerieweek2022 #emerie of illyria #nesta archeron #acosf #a court of silver flames #acotar #a court of thorns and roses

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wisteriabookss · 3 years

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My ACOSF Review (2/5 Stars)

Please respect my opinions. Not everything I say will be praiseful or nice. While I liked a lot of this book, a lot of it frustrated and bothered me.

This review contains spoilers. Read at your own risk.

This review will be more of an overall impression, and I will get more in depth about certain characters in future posts.

I eventually got into the plot of the book, but I don’t think it was as great or creative as it could’ve been. I feel like SJM recycled ideas she’s already used to create the storyline. A quest to find a magic object that can stop a war and save the world? That sentence applies to both ACOWAR and ACOSF. It’s even more disappointing when you know there were other routes the plot could’ve taken but were eventually scratched. It was the perfect set up for an Illyrian mountain setting, it was written in canon, and, unsurprisingly, SJM retconned and changed it.

The Valkyrie plot was cool, if a bit forced and out of place. Nesta barely starts training, and all of a sudden she wants to recreate a powerful band of female warriors that we’ve never heard of in the context of this world? Honestly, it feels like SJM watched Thor: Ragnarok, and was like, “Yes, that’s what I’m gonna do.” I thought Helions winged horses would come into play with that, but I guess we’ll have to see.

I thought the Blood Rite plot was gone, but we got it in the end, even though it was rushed. The most beautiful parts of the book happened during the Rite, so I’m glad we got to see those.

The ending of Briallyn was so swift I literally had to go back a page to make sure I read it right. Literally one page, and she’s killed. I expected more. I can’t say I'm surprised by how rushed her death was when I knew the Feysand trouble was approaching, and the number of pages left was getting smaller. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that SJM would save Rhys, Feyre, and their baby. Out of the entire ensemble in Kingdom of Ash, she only had the heart to kill Gavriel, who wasn’t too much of a main character. There was no way in hell she would do that to Feysand.

I’m sorry, but I do not like the name Nyx. Imagine calling someone Nyx? Did she originally have it as Nick, but just needed to put an X? My eyes were rolling so hard when I read it. Just put an ‘O’ in front of it and end our misery, though I still would’ve rolled my eyes at that name too. The name just reminds me of all the blogger moms who put X’s in their child’s names for dramatic effect that ends up looking like they can’t spell.

I also didn’t appreciate the out of touch colloquialisms in this book either. Prythian doesn’t have a name for anxiety, depression, or PTSD, but they know what lactic acid means?

The amount of sex in this book was something we had been warned to expect, and I think due to the fastness of me reading this book (finished in two sittings), it made it feel like the sex was happening every other page, which it basically was. I’m not going to be mad though because a) it was well written, b) I didn’t feel like it harmed the plot too much, and c) this is the only Nessian smut we’re going to see in canon. But that threesome line with Az. . . y'all know which one I’m talking about. . . the one with the details about certain positions. . . chile um anyways let’s move on.

I called it months ago that Emerie would either be Mor or Azriel’s love interest, and looks like it’s going to be Mor. SJM’s writing is fairly predictable, especially when it comes to romantic ships, and she couldn’t have been more obvious about the two of them. I will write about Gwyn and Azriel in Azriel’s chapter review (cause that monstrosity needs a post of its own).

Now about Nesta’s healing arc. Some of it was satisfying and others were saddening. I’m happy that Nesta was able to find purpose in her life, and not believe herself to be worthless or pathetic, but strong and powerful. I’m happy she found Gwynn and Emerie; I love their friendship. I love how they stuck by each other no matter what, and saw the good and potential in one another.

However, even by the end of the book, Nesta still thinks herself as undeserving. Of Cassian, of love. She knows she has it, and she's so grateful for it, but she still believes she is undeserving of it, that Cassian is just so much better than her. A part of learning to love and live with yourself is knowing what you deserve, so why SJM took that from her character, I don’t know. I was continuously disappointed when said she was undeserving of anything, even after she had learned and grown from her mistakes.

Maybe SJM thinks the belief of being undeserving of one's partner is romantic. I’m telling you now, it’s not. All that does is give unnecessary power to a person you believe you are undeserving of, and this leads to unequal power dynamics in a relationship. Rhys was the exact same with Feyre, so I’m guessing it's a theme.

Speaking of romantic themes, the repetition of the “your mine-im yours” line in this book was nauseating. Your going to make Nesta say the exact same thing her sister said when they had sex? Is there nothing else SJM could’ve come up with? It’s just so weird. And I swear to god if I see Elain do the same thing I’m gonna vomit.

Nesta apologized to Cassian about what she said to him on Solstice in ACOFAS as if he never called her unlovable. As if he never said he didn’t understand why her sisters love her. He never apologized for that. There was so much apologizing from Nesta to Cassian about her calling him a brute, as if Cassian didn’t say he was “shackled” to her after she clearly explained how she feared she would lose her humanity if she accepted the word mate. Not if she accepted him, but the word.

For Cassian to routinely tell Nesta to, “shut her fucking mouth,” when she used some attitude against Rhys was comical. Rhys has been bad mouthing and disrespecting Nesta this whole time, and when she shows some warranted attitude in return (not even an insult), Cassian rips into her. It doesn’t matter what he did for you, babe. Not everyone has the same experience with Rhys, so Cassian getting angry when Nesta showing anger at the way she was being treated was wrong. Her experience with him does not become invalidated just because Cassian has a good relationship with him.

There wasn’t a character arc for Cassian, which was one of the most disappointing parts of the book. He thinks of himself as inferior and undeserving as well, and by the end of the book it’s not even clear if that stance has changed. We saw him grow into the courtier persona in the meeting with Eris when Tamlin shows up, but we never see it again. I know there were instances in which he stood up for Nesta, but he also very quicky after that became silent in other moments when they were insulting her. The next book isn’t in his pov, but I’m hoping we see him become more confident in himself and make a firmer stance to protect Nesta (although I doubt he’ll need to seeing as how Rhys kisses the ground she walks on now).

Now onto Nesta’s apologies to the IC. I think Nesta apologizing to Feyre was expected, and I’m glad the sisters had that moment. I am, however, upset that there was never a moment where all the sisters sat down, and hashed it out. Talked about what they’d been through, how it affected them, and how it affected their feelings toward each other. After everything that happened between Nesta and Elain, all that hurt, you’re telling me all it took was Nesta to make Elain laugh by saying “fuck you,” and we’re good? It’s lazy writing.

Elain telling Nesta that she only cared about how her trauma affected her did not sit right with me. Nesta sat by Elain’s side for weeks when she was in the thick of her struggles, and refused to leave her alone for fear that her struggles would eat her up alive. She constantly looked for anything that could help her sister, and never left her unprotected. Nesta and Elain didn’t communicate after the war, for reasons that we now know was because of Nesta’s guilt for Elain being kidnapped. It is not abnormal when a family member has been traumatized by things that have happened to another family member. That’s expected. Ask any family who has lost a child or had a relative go through something horrible.

Elain is acting as if Nesta has only ever been concerned with herself when she’s spent her entire life concerned with Elain. I made a post long ago about how the IC only wanted Nesta to heal for their sake rather than her sake, and there’s so much more evidence for that than for Elain. Elain’s healing process was able to be understood and encouraged by the IC, whereas they had no idea what to do with Nesta. So for Elain to come at Nesta for not caring about her trauma, a second after Nesta was trying to protect her from further trauma by telling her she didn't want her seering for the Trove, was unwarranted.

Speaking about Elain looking for the Trove, what happened there? Elain had this whole speech where she said she wanted to do something and no one could stop her and then we just. . . don’t hear anything about it again? SJM had a perfect opportunity to do something powerful with Elain there, and completely threw it away.

Nesta’s apology to Amren was extreme, dramatic, and honestly, unnecessary. Amren called Nesta a “pathetic waste of life,” constantly demeaned and degraded her anytime her name was mentioned, and said she did all this because Nesta used her as a shield against her problems and the IC. Seriously? Nesta using Amren as a shield does not warrant that kind of verbal abuse. It doesn't make her a pathetic waste of life. Amren’s been alive for how long? And reacts like that to an obvious side effect of extreme trauma? No ma'am. Nesta getting on her damn knees was too much, and obviously just another moment, like a lot of moments, that SJM felt the need to make dramatic. And then having the audacity to let Amren say to Nesta that, “the struggle with the darkness is worth it,” when she was one of those people who contributed to that darkness is disgusting.

I didn’t like Rhys at all in this book. Even after he saw inside Nesta’s mind about her experience in the cauldron, he was still wary and rude with her. Literally anytime Nesta showed that she was changing, Rhys didn’t change anything about his attitude or behavior towards her. A moment of regret, and then he’s back to being arrogant ass Rhys. Him not telling Feyre about the baby was also extremely stupid. It’s her body, her life, her baby’s life, his life, and she had a right to know what was happening. Not telling her because you didn’t want her to be “upset,” is a dumb excuse. I thought you always promised to let her make her own decisions, Rhys? What happened to that promise? The one that was a hell of a lot better than the stupid bargain ya’ll made? Though Nesta told her out of anger, good on her for telling her sister. Should’ve happened way sooner. His apology to Nesta was the only one that warranted the dramatics. That is what you get on your knees for.

That whole scene about him becoming High King had me throwing the book. Amren telling Rhys that the swords were some sort of mother-mary-cauldron-blessed-hallelujah sign that he was supposed to be High King had me fuming. It’s Nesta’s power. It’s Nesta’s sword. That should have never been a discussion. Not everything is for Rhys. These people are so blinded by their love for him they can’t even see how arrogant he is. To write Nesta giving back Ataraxia made me so angry after we just had a whole moment where we find out it means inner peace. I just hope that all of this is not foreshadowing Rhys becoming High King. I know you love him Sarah, but please don’t.

All in all, this book wasn’t too bad. There were some great moments and some bad moments. I think SJM’s biggest issue in her writing is that she doesn’t outline, or at least doesn't seem to outline, not thoroughly. I feel like she uses plot devices willy nilly whenever it’s the easiest solution. There was never a moment where I said, “that was clever!” A lot of it was cool, but not clever. Not creative. She also has a tendency to write very dramatically, in staccato type sentences where everything is made into a big moment, which bugs me a lot.

I love Nesta. She’s still my fav, and will probably always be my fav. This book doesn’t change that, and as you can tell in my review, most of the issues I had weren’t with her behavior, but with the behavior of other characters. I still love Cassian, even though he made me want to rip my hair out sometimes.

Will I read the next books? Probably. I can’t seem to stay away from these characters or these books, so kudos to SJM for writing them. I know a majority of people have given this book 4 or 5 stars, but I can’t bring myself to give it more than 2/5.

#nesta #cassian #nessian #acosf #a court of silver flames #sjm #nesta archeron #nesta x cassian #cassian x nesta #feysand #feyre #feyre archeron #rhysand #elain #elain archeron #amren #sarah j maas #nesta stan #nestastan

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lectophile · 4 years

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I Love Nesta Archeron

SPOILER ALERT for Sarah J. Mass's A Court of Thorns and Roses Trilogy.

With the newly-released title and release date of Sarah J. Mass's Nessian spin-off, A Court of Silver Flames, I have noticed that the YA fantasy community, or at least a good enough portion of it, has begun to become very vocal about its lack of fondness for Nesta and their displeasure at her being matched with Cassian, who they believe "deserves so much better". As the self-proclaimed number one fan of Nesta, I have an urge, that will not go unrequited, to dispel the idea that Nesta is a terrible person.

I have to admit, when I first read the series, I disliked Nesta, Elain, and their father an unfathomable amount. I relished in the idea that somewhere, later on in the series, they would each be served a mouthful of the crap they deserved. I would say, in terms of relativity, Nesta was highest on my dislike meter, Elain next, and then their father. Elain having bought Feyre the small tins of paint and Feyre's father telling her to never come back and live out her dreams were small redemptions in their favor. I admired Nesta's protectiveness over Elain, but disdained her for so easily having forgone attempting to protect Feyre, because, after all, she was the youngest.

After having read the series three times, and having deliciously bathed in gallons worth of putting-Nesta-and-occassionally-Elain-in-their-place, compliments of our wonderful, and even more scrumptious, winged friends: Rhys and Cass, I have come to the new conclusion about our dear Nesta. As the oldest, Nesta was able to receive the most education out of all three of the Archeron sisters. She learned valuable skills for women in society, making her a suitable match for eligible bachelors—but that was worthless when their family became poor. Nesta had no skills in surviving in a world where you had to fend for yourself. All she knew was which fork to use with salad and how to greet gentlemen. Feyre, on the other hand, had not even learned to read and write, making it easier for her to adapt to their new situation and assume the role of interim head of household while the rest of the remaining Archeron family pondered on a life Feyre had never had the chance to be a part of.

Nesta began resenting Feyre when Feyre successfully began taking care of their family. Nesta was being showed-up by a fourteen year old girl that couldn't even read, and all Nesta had succeeded at doing was mope around and wait to die. Nesta was ashamed of herself for this, blamed Feyre for her shame, and, in turn, wanted to make Feyre feel it as well—hence, abusing Feyre, I do not excuse it, but I don’t know when the book community decided to cancel characters for being terrible in the past and GROWING to become better people. Nesta also never looked after Feyre like you would hope an older sister would do for their younger sibling because Nesta didn't feel that Feyre needed taking care of. Feyre could hunt, make money, make food, and anything she set her mind to—she didn't need Nesta for anything. Nesta took this as a jab, feeling that if Feyre thought she was so good that she could do everything for herself, why should Nesta even lift a finger? Feyre was doing it all and seemingly handling it perfectly fine. Because of this, Nesta preferred Elain to Feyre; for one, Elain needed guidance and someone to follow, which appealed to Nesta's superiority complex; secondly, Nesta took care of Elain as she did because Elain gave her a purpose, to find someone for Elain to marry off to and care for her in the meanwhile.

Later on in the series, when Feyre shows up to their home as Fae and with part of the Inner Circle, Nesta feels a whirlwind of emotions, which makes her lock up even more than she always did. Nesta is scared of letting people see how weak and frail she is and how she has no real purpose in this world; and she is especially wary of letting Feyre see it because, even though she always resented Feyre, she liked that Feyre admired her for her steely exterior and unbendable will. For one, Nesta was shocked out of her mind because Feyre was Fae, something that all humans south of The Wall were taught to fear; Another thing Nesta felt with Feyre coming back into her and Elain's life was fear. Nesta feared that Feyre was going to disrupt everything Nesta had achieved while Feyre was gone: getting Elain engaged to Graysen. With Feyre gone and their father on his secret voyage, Nesta was finally the one in charge, the dependable one, the one protecting their family—even if that was only Elain—and Feyre was not only throwing off the balance, but threatening to destroy it altogether.

After having felt like we, the readers, had gone hand-in-hand with Feyre through everything, from the trials Under the Mountain to her neglect by Tamlin, we were angry and enraged that Nesta had the audacity to be so rude to Feyre, who had done absolutely nothing to Nesta all the months she was gone. For heaven's sake, Feyre hadn't even made contact with Nesta up until this moment. But, we have to understand, Nesta uses her anger to keep people out and prevent them from seeing how insurmountably weak and riddled with dark emotion she is. Feyre seems to have the world figured out: a mate, a close group of friends, wealth beyond imagination, and a beautiful home; and Nesta is upset that Feyre would want to take away the little her and Elain do have for, what she believes, is Fae business.

After having realized all of this, I loved Nesta with my whole heart—the most out of the whole Inner Circle, Az coming in close, close second. She reminded me of myself: flawed, jealous, wrathful, prideful, and resentful. Feyre seems to be some kind of unnatural super-being—ignoring the fact that she actually is for the sake of my argument—able to overcome everything in her way, making me want to be like her and making me resent the parts of myself that she overcame within herself. Nesta is Sarah J. Mass's way of letting us know, we can be powerful, strong, courageous women that surprise ourselves with our ability to do anything we set our minds to, as well as being flawed, broken, and distant. We do not have to be Elains: so kind that an other-worldly Cauldron gifts us power out of its sheer amazement at how lovely we are inside and out. We can be ferocious and take power for ourselves, just as Nesta had ripped power from the Cauldron with her teeth as repayment for making her and Elain undergo what they did. Nesta is devastatingly beautiful, graceful, collected, cool, intelligent, determined, curious, wrathful, prideful, resentful, and most of all, humiliated with herself for not being the strong person she wishes she could be. I love Nesta so, so much. I wish her all the luck and happiness in the world.

And, last but not least, something to remind everyone of. In A Court of Frost and Starlight, Nesta behaves outrageously—but this is her way of trying to cope, trying to get some sort of feeling back after having been turned Fae. Her transformation had occurred during the chaos of the battle to save humans from Hybern, and so there was no time for her to take for herself and understand what had been done to her. Once the adrenaline of battle and victory had faded, she was left with a hole within herself in a foreign body, leading an immortal life with an even more foreign power within her. Feyre also suffered from post-traumatic disorder, but in a different way—as all people go through trauma uniquely and individually. Nesta does not want to admit how broken, how weak, how confused she is, and all the Inner Circle wants to do is what they think will make her happy—but they don't get that she can't even feel. Personally, I find that everyone, except for Cass and Az, seems to have their own opinion of her behavior without really trying to understand why it's happening—especially Feyre. I think Feyre has always felt responsible for the well-being of her sisters, and so she does this the most. She has never truly understood Nesta, why she’s so closed off, why she’s so distant, and it hurts her as well, because Nesta is the only sort of mother figure—a strange one I know, but she was the oldest, wisest woman in her life for a long time—Feyre had, as their mother was basically absent and then died. Feyre is also young, so we have to understand that she does not truly understand how trauma can be different for each person, and so she tries to solve this by assuming that Nesta’s trauma may be similar in some way to that of what she went through in Under-the-Mountain. Feyre isn’t doing anything wrong, it’s just a younger sister trying to make her older sister as happy as she is—think Anna with Elsa. Also, Feyre is confused because she would have thought that the beauty and power of the Fae realm would have made Nesta feel better about being Changed, but, as I will dive more in depth below, the circumstances surrounding their views on being Fae are completely different, and frankly opposite for Feyre and Elain/Nesta. Feyre’s seeming misunderstanding and attempts at helping Nesta infuriate Nesta because she feels like some broken doll her sister wants to sew up new so that she can look pretty for the rest of them.

I also want to add that being Fae means completely different things for each of the Archeron sisters. Feyre loves being Fae, and I think it’s because she has associated it with the insurmountable happiness that has been brought into her life after she had Changed: she found Rhys, became strong enough to defend herself and anyone she cared about, was able to paint whenever, whatever, and however she wanted, found a family that truly supported her and loved her and required nothing of her, and was finally able to dream of a future that was only for her, not for her sisters or father. Elain hates being Fae, or at least hated it at first but seems to be adapting to it, because it took away the future she had always dreamed of. While Feyre never really had the chance to dream of anything for herself, Elain did—because, she’s sweet and I also love her, she really didn’t lift a finger until she shoved Az’s knife into the King of Hybern’s neck. Elain was raised in a society where domesticity are the best characteristics of a woman, and it is what she should strive for. She strived to be a loving wife, with a beautiful home to decorate, to have parties and socialize with everyone, and to be the sweet angel her husband came to after a long day’s work. She had that, and being Fae took that away because her fiancé hates the Fae. The man she thought would love her no matter what she was or looked like, hated her. I mean, if that happened to any of us, we’d all have been destroyed from within: she trusted this man with her heart, she trusted that he would always love and care for her—and for her to trust men was difficult because she had trusted her father to always look after her, but he failed her—and then he said he hated her for the abomination she was, for something she couldn’t control. Being Fae took away Elain’s dreams, and so it is not all the pretty, supernatural stuff that we, the readers, would love to be a part of—because, remember that the series was written in first-person from Feyre’s point of view, so obviously we’ll have some bias towards being Fae and her beliefs. Nesta hates being Fae. Nesta demands control over her life, she demands being the one in charge of it. If she’s gonna die, it’ll be because she said so; if she’s gonna eat, it’s because she said so. She will not let anyone or anything control who she is or how she lives her life, and then she was forced to be immortal. Imagine, feeling so lost, so insurmountably despairing, in an immortal body. While she was mortal she could at least wait for death to take her away from the tortures of being poor, cold, starving, and out of control, at least death was something she had decided on accepting, not forced upon her—but as a Fae, she would have to wait hundreds to even thousands of years for merciful death to take her away from all these feelings, emotions, and general environments that she has absolutely no control of and feels she could never truly be a part of. I have not ever been depressed or suffered from PTSD, but from what I have learned, I have heard that it feels like a never ending hole you fall into, where you are consumed by darkness and there is nothing else you can see, and anywhere you are within that hole, you are alone and no one can reach you. Imagine that, but feeling like you will feel that way for the rest of your immortal life.

Last, last thing: Nesta and Cassian are mates. If she had an instinct within her to call Cass from battle just in time to save him from the Cauldron; if her willingness to sacrifice her life so she could die with him because she could not live without him, didn't convince you of their status as mates, I *clap* do *clap* not *clap* know *clap* what *clap* will.

Anyways, thank you for reaching this point of my fanatic rant over Nesta.

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