#Nessian longing

[thewayshedreamed]

The Hereafter

Nessian one-shot [post-acowar, pre-acofas]

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A/N: Some post-war, pre-acosf Nessian angst/ longing— because that's what called to me, okay? We got hints of the strained relations during that Nessian era, but we didn't get the full visibility. This was an attempt at a glimpse into one of those interactions— where the pull is there, but the barriers are, too. Nesta doesn't quite understand everything that comes with her new existence and is still trying to find her place in it all. Cassian attempts to stay out of her way and give her space, but their draw to the other has a mind all its own. Nesta is also very unfamiliar with Fae norms and customs, and that only adds to the unresolved tension between the two of them.

This is an angsty one-shot written for my wonderful and patient friend who made zero complaints about getting her Secret Santa gift in March 😅

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For a species considered to be superior in every way— proclaimed largely by their own, unsurprisingly— the Fae left a lot to be desired in their romance literature.

Different preternatural ability, same load of bullshit.

Nesta scoffed internally. It wasn’t as if she held any notion that these fictitious relationships were meant for her, or anyone else, really. And if she truly abandoned what remained of her prim, high-collar upbringing, she could admit to reading them for the more physical connections as of late. She held higher hopes for those experiences than the more wholesome ones. The thought was so bleak that it should have depressed her, but she would have needed to be anything other than numb for that to happen.

It was ironic, this new existence. All her senses firing beyond any reasonable ability, yet complete and total apathy for anything else. An almost painful sensitivity paired with the need for extremes to evoke any care at all.

The forced choice between emptiness and the pain that accompanied experiencing anything to its fullest.

The war had changed Nesta in many ways. Her general perspective and approach to life had been challenged by the low odds of her survival, and they were changed altogether when she’d managed it. Of course, she hadn’t been alone in achieving it, but that was another road entirely to travel.

A booming laugh sounded down the hall, and the abrupt lapse of silence made Nesta flinch. She was seated in a bay window off the side of her sister’s home, tucked among a few plush pillows and with a blanket draped over her lap. The quiet had made it the perfect spot to sit and read, and she scowled in the general direction of the offending noise.

It was his laugh, and she cringed at the realization that she knew it so well. Their interactions had been minimal before, but since the war, they had been nearly nonexistent. It seemed that neither of them had managed to figure out how to broach any casual interaction after Cassian’s words had settled into her bones during, what they’d assumed was, their final moments.

I regret nothing in my life but this.

Nesta snapped her book shut and leaned her head against the window. The way his words haunted her jabbed at a long-dormant buzz beneath her skin, down to her bone marrow. The subtle warmth came first, only enough to attempt to seduce her into leaning into it. But Nesta wasn’t one to give in so easily.

Discipline and strategic distraction had been her allies in tamping down what she’d stolen. Anytime her vigilance dropped, even for a moment, that warmth escalated to a sharp, bone-melting heat that left her feeling like her only option was to erupt. The alternative was implosion, she imagined.

Her will kept her safe. Everyone hinted at trying to understand the power and learning to wield it so that it didn’t control her or drive her to madness. Her response was always the same— cold indifference, perhaps a quick retort to mind their own business depending on the day. Either one was preferable to the truth.

The potential, both positive and negative, terrified her.

Laughter sounded again. Nesta wished it would have served as kindling to a lighter version of herself, one where her chest didn’t feel so heavy and her shoulders weren’t perched so high. All it did was point out how she didn’t fit, how everyone had seemed to heal in immeasurable ways in the months since the war. Ways that eluded her time and time again.

Amren had offered plenty of unsolicited advice. Feyre probably would have done the same if Nesta had given a shred of hope that her sister’s help would have been well-received.

While their High Lady— gods, would that title ever feel commonplace?— was keen to allow Nesta to set her own pace, Amren hadn’t been. Tough love didn’t begin to describe her approach in supporting Nesta, and frankly, some days it felt less like support and more like a begrudged job.

Apparently, merely existing wasn’t an acceptable way to pass the infinite time. Amren had challenged her to do something with it, and since the days after the war held fewer opportunities for an emissary, Nesta had been left to figure out what the hell she cared to do with her days.

Elain had her gardening, and while Nesta appreciated the dedication and focus her sister poured into it, it wasn’t something she was interested in practicing herself. Feyre had whatever High Ladies were tasked with doing, although she guessed Feyre was setting the standards as the first in Prythian’s history.

Nesta rested her book on the bench nearby and began folding the blanket she’d used. More commotion came from down the hall, and as the voices grew louder, she realized she’d spent more time than she intended lost in her thoughts.

That we did not have time. That I did not have time with you, Nesta.

Her eyes squeezed shut against the intrusion of the memory. It was always unwelcome and particularly ill-timed. And wasn’t that the fatal flaw in all of it— time?

She fluffed the throw pillows and tucked her novel beneath her arm. On silent feet, she padded to the stairs nearby and followed them down through one of the house’s several living areas, smoothing her skirts and making her way to the kitchen. A relieved breath whooshed out of her at hearing those same voices descending the stairs, and she thanked the Cauldron that she’d managed to avoid them.

A scoff escaped her. Since when had she started thanking that glorified pot for anything?

Cynicism greeted her like an old friend, albeit not a very good one. The reprieves were always too brief and lackluster in contrast, but Nesta's very essence clung to them all the same. All for naught, usually.

Sitting idle was guaranteed to allow for rumination over the previous months and the infinite ones she’d yet to live. Something had to compete with her thoughts, lest she lean too heavily into them and stoke that aversive thrumming in her veins.

She hadn’t put much thought into heading toward the kitchen, especially since her appetite was nonexistent most of the time, and she had yet to allow herself to indulge in much of the Fae cuisine.

The inspiration didn’t reveal itself until she crossed the threshold of the spacious area. The merry group indulging in each others’ obnoxious company would likely carry their festivities into dinner, and one thing was for absolute certain.

Nesta would not be subjecting herself to that.

The invitations always came, usually from Feyre. Sometimes, Rhysand offered, but he seemed as enthusiastic about Nesta’s company as she felt about his.

It was a double-edged sword. Accepting the invitation came with a myriad of inevitable, uncomfortable moments. Declining it was a sin all its own, as evidenced by Feyre’s disappointment and compounded by Rhysand’s disapproval of the decision. All it did was perpetuate Nesta as the cold, callused bitch— no matter what she chose.

Preparing her own dinner seemed like a creative solution that was tolerable enough, and it allowed her to eat alone to avoid the questioning gazes as she picked at her meal. She had little interest in the task and even less interest in the product, but she would have an out for any invitations. Cooking was a small price.

Choosing what to make wasn’t difficult since Nesta cared for so few things. The only dish she’d managed to tolerate in recent memory was a chicken and bean stew she’d been gifted from a Fae vendor along the Sidra. She had taken a short stroll through Velaris in the middle of the day, and sheer curiosity had made her browse the vendor’s cart. Before she’d blinked, they had recognized her as their High Lady’s sister, and they’d insisted on sending Nesta away with lunch— their treat. A gesture of thanks, they’d said.

The stew had been rich and flavorful, and despite herself, Nesta had enjoyed it. And since her appetite had been pitiful in recent weeks, she was grateful that it hadn’t sat too heavily in her empty stomach. The bar was low with regard to what she considered a win in her new life, and the lack of nausea had made the list until some other facet of existence brought it upon her anyway.

Nesta shook her head against the thought and retrieved the handwritten recipe she’d tucked into a rarely used drawer. The vendor had been enthusiastic in sharing it with her, insisting it was “too simple” not to try herself, but they had clearly overestimated Nesta’s domestic abilities.

Looking back, she’d questioned the vendor’s business sense in offering one of his dishes to her so openly, so they hadn’t been the only one leaning into their bias. He had explained it away somehow; something about doubting Nesta would have much time to return and the fact that she would have no reason to start her own food cart as competition with her other duties.

If only she could have explained how undefined her role felt each day, how meaningless her presence seemed to the longevity of the Night Court. Maybe she could have shared how she remained in a perpetual, personal battle between relief that they didn’t need her and the sheer emptiness left where purpose should have been. Before the thought could discourage her, her reasons for cooking in the first place propelled her into action.

Her nose wrinkled against the smell of the raw chicken. Her movements had never been as efficient as in preparing it for boiling, nevermind her clumsiness along the way. She heaved a breath once she lowered it into the rolling water and turned her attention to chopping the onions and carrots, as well as the fresh herbs from Elain’s garden. Admittedly, the fresh thyme and rosemary offered a pleasant scent to combat the earlier one, and after some time, Nesta found temporary comfort in the redundancy of preparation.

The aroma came together beautifully once the various herbs, spices, and vegetables simmered with the chicken. Nesta allowed herself a moment to be pleased with her work and returned the lid to the large pot to allow everything time to cook together.

Voices travelled into the space from the other room— loud, although not entirely hostile— and resonated in the hollow area within her chest. Determined not to allow them to sour her satisfaction, Nesta settled into the nearby breakfast nook with her novel. She opened to her most recent page and lost herself in the space between the words, happy to immerse herself in some other life.

—

Fire.

Nesta smelled fire.

Her eyes leaped from the page to scan the immediate area. No smoke, no visible flames. The scent remained; however, and Nesta wondered about temporary madness until its source strode into the kitchen.

Cassian appeared— sauntered, as he usually did— around the corner, and the scent intensified. It hijacked Nesta’s senses, eclipsed all the other aromas she’d enjoyed earlier, until he was the object of her resolute focus. Against her will, to top it off.

He opened several cupboards in search of, only the gods knew what, until his eyes lit up at finding a package of dried meats in the pantry. Tucking it into the crook of his elbow, he opened another cupboard and pulled crackers, what looked like some kind of preserved fruit, and some nuts. Nesta fixed her features into indifference as she watched him move about the space, but it hardly mattered. Cassian didn’t seem aware of her presence in the slightest, but after several seconds, his voice traveled through the kitchen and clued her in to her naivety.

“Smells good in here,” he stated, his attention focused on which platter may have met his needs.

Nesta saw it for the olive branch it was, the attempt at casual and friendly conversation. The last thing she needed was his damned charity.

She hummed some semblance of a reply and turned to the next page with a soft snap. Cassian placed his haul on the countertop nearby and wisely withheld any type of retort at her dismissal. Well, he mostly withheld a reply if one ignored the unimpressed huff of a laugh he offered.

Cassian was a social creature in ways Nesta could never be, so ignoring him seemed the best way to have him stalking off to resume his grand time with the others. For the second time in mere minutes, though, he surprised her.

Without a word, he walked over to the large pot and lifted the heavy lid to peer inside. Nesta’s eyes bugged at his audacity to disturb her meal, doubling in size when he took things a step further and gave the stew a slow stir.

The book lay forgotten on the tabletop, and Nesta’s legs carried her over in a handful of long, purposeful strides. Cassian seemed unruffled by her proximity entirely, but Nesta’s bones thrummed in a delicate rhythm she wondered if she could ever understand.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she snapped.

Cassian lowered the wooden spoon on the rest and looked sidelong at her. Half of his dark hair was pulled back into a haphazard bun, tendrils dancing around his face as if in step with the amusement in his gaze. Nesta’s breath caught, but she met his stare with equal intensity.

His mouth twitched at the corners, one side curling into a satisfied smirk. “I knew this smelled familiar. I’ve made it myself, more times than I can count.”

Nesta lifted the wooden spoon to stir the stew in some petty show of ownership. Doing so felt transparent, but Cassian needed reminding of boundaries, it seemed. He leaned his palms against the countertop and watched her without an ounce of offense in his posture.

They stood close enough to feel the other’s body heat, to hear the rhythm of the other’s breathing. Tension tickled every atom between them and permeated the space. The only saving graces were the erratic sounds of Nesta’s stirring and the occasional raised voice from the other room.

The silence within the kitchen wasn’t unwelcome or strained in its purest form, but the side effects of that silence became a beast all its own. Heightened pulse, the action-potential threaded through each cord of her muscles and the shallow breaths— they grew increasingly difficult to conceal with every passing second.

Cassian’s breath hitched, and since Nesta had already allowed herself the indulgence of his proximity, she lifted a small bit of stew to her mouth for taste testing. If her mouth was otherwise occupied, she didn’t have to be as concerned with it creating problems for her future self in a number of ways— ranging from scathing comment, all the way to something more physically indulgent.

The flavors flooded her tongue and filled her with an odd sense of pride at having produced something edible with no tools other than a slip of paper and social avoidance on her side. Before pure satisfaction could settle in, however, the glide over the back of her tongue fell flat, a little bland, and left her wanting. It was a test of her self-control that she lowered the spoon into the pot with a reasonable amount of force.

She cleared her throat. “So, you’ve made this before?”

The silence felt loaded with Cassian’s lack of response, but from the corner of her eye, she saw his head shake back and forth as if he’d been somewhere else entirely.

“Yeah,” he breathed, easing close enough that their shoulders overlapped. Nesta thought he would elaborate, saving her the awkwardness of fishing for information, but luck hadn’t been on her side in some time.

“How did I do?” she asked, more timid than she’d care to sound. Her goal had been teasing indifference.

Cassian’s hand shadowed hers on the spoon in permission, and Nesta nodded. The roughness of his skin ghosted over the back of her palm during the transfer, and usually, she would force herself to bristle. Too much time had passed with his body so close, and her commitment to the charade felt minimal at best.

“It smells great; looks right. Why?”

“Something isn’t right about it.”

He hummed in consideration. Nesta back arched imperceptibly before she righted herself. With her guard down, it was as though her body aimed to betray her in favor of pressing her shoulder blade against Cassian’s broad chest.

Cassian muttered a low curse and dropped the spoon against the side of the pot with a dull thud. Nesta’s gaze whipped over her shoulder, mouth poised around a reprimand or some scathing, rhetorical question, but the look on his face stopped the words short.

His wings flexed over his shoulders, and the effect the movement had on how light scattered through the membrane would have been dazzling if not for the way Cassian’s pupils seemed bottomless. They pulsed around the edges, seeming impossibly darker and devouring any hint of his eyes’ usual color. Nesta couldn’t look away, but in some distant corner of her mind, she wondered if she should have been more anxious overall.

Cassian’s hand gripped the edge of the counter, but he didn’t move away. That alone surprised her, and something like anticipation skittered up her spine and through her body like confetti.

That familiar, unwelcome warmth pulsed beneath the surface of her skin. Nesta had learned the signs so many times over, had developed numerous ways to cope and keep herself contained. None of them occurred to her, and for all she cared, they could incinerate her mercilessly.

His chin dipped, his eyes squeezing shut in an expression that looked similar to pain. Unbeknownst to Nesta, her head had leaned toward his shoulder by mere inches, but the way his body heat blazed the back of her neck felt like full, uninhibited contact. Cassian blinked, long and lazy, and the hazel of his eyes reappeared in a way that made Nesta wonder if she’d imagined the whole thing.

Cassian laid his free hand over the curve of her waist with a gentleness that seemed of someone else entirely, but the calluses that snagged the fine fabric of her gown identified him. It made no sense that she’d know that sensation anywhere, but somehow, it had been one permanently embedded in her memory from that final battle.

“Maybe it needs a little time for everything to come together,” he murmured, his thumb making a too-soft sweep over her waist.

That word again— time. Nesta had grown so exhausted with it, but she managed to keep that secret hidden.

She gave a curt nod and turned her attention back to the subpar meal, but Cassian’s hand held fast to its position. He occupied nearly all of her senses, and an impossible tightness gripped her ribs from the inside.

As if the shift in the air had thrown him off-kilter in a similar manner, a too-familiar drawl weaved its way into his next words. Their familiar ground, built on loaded silences and provocations, felt less like a foundation and more a slippery slope as of late.

“I wouldn’t be hard on yourself, Sweetheart.” His sweet, teasing tone choked her, like trying to breathe through syrup. “None of us got it on the first try.”

Her temper flared with an eerie sort of quickness, one that left her without balance and too vulnerable to what she spent most minutes of her days choking into submission. Her bones burned white hot, and she narrowly evaded her power’s proverbial claws. It would have been cause for celebration if the cost wasn’t her viper’s tongue and the annihilation of any peace they’d found.

“You try it, then,” she snapped, turning quickly enough for his hand to fall from her waist. “You could use your mouth for something useful rather than drone on as you do.” Without the pressure of his hand against her, perhaps her mental faculties would come back.

Cassian blinked a couple of times, and his gaze leaped from hers to the spoon in her hand. The other was poised beneath to catch any spill, and she held it toward him like something precious— anything to absorb some of the intensity flowing through her bloodstream, to keep her hands and focus at a safe distance.

“What?” he croaked. His eyes repeated their dance between her own and the spoon she held between them.

“Try it,” she ordered again, but her voice had lost some of its sharpness. “Tell me how to fix it, since you’ve got it all figured out.”

Cassian blinked again, and it could have been her imagination, but his chest seemed to heave with the effort of breathing. A chill was all that remained when he took two slow, small steps away from her. The change in him was as obvious as it was swift, but Nesta couldn’t fathom what had flipped the switch with such effectiveness.

“I— I can’t,” he scoffed. “The others are waiting for me.”

Nesta narrowly resisted a roll of her eyes at his sense of servitude. She watched as he snapped into action, locating a tray and piling his haul on top without taking even a moment to lay them out properly. He drew his bottom lip between his teeth, his brow furrowed, and his attention seemed to bounce all about the space while managing to miss Nesta’s general vicinity entirely. His movements were efficient in locating the last couple of items he needed from the cabinets and cooler nearby, and in seconds, he had the haul balanced in his arms once more.

Shaking her head against such a brutal shift in their conversation, Nesta turned toward her dinner and tapped the spoon lightly on the edge of the pot to return the contents. She tossed it into the trivet nearby with little grace and even less concern, and the loud clang seemed to echo in the too-silent room.

Cassian’s shoulders bunched under the weight of everything he carried; either that, or the abrupt change in their conversation felt uncharacteristically heavy to him, too. The thought that it might feel such a way gave Nesta some ill-placed sense of comfort, but considering she knew very little of it, she allowed the small bandage it applied to what felt like an ancient wound.

She made the way over to her book without any acknowledgement of Cassian’s existence. She had entertained it enough already, and if she settled back into where she’d left off in the story, she could finish two or more chapters by the time everything was finished. A much more productive use of her time, she thought.

Cassian paused at the threshold, and she hated that she even noticed. Her body— every sense it possessed— seemed bent on sabotage. Rather than look at him, she trailed her finger down the edge of the pages and turned to the next with delicate precision, but the words all ran together in a chaos she was trying so vehemently to keep private.

“Nesta,” he said, his voice low, “it’s sage.”

Her head snapped up before she thought better of it. “What?”

“What you’re missing, why your meal isn’t working. It needs sage.”

Nesta fixed him with an unimpressed glare. “Oh?” Her attention dropped to the page in front of her, the portrait of inconvenience. “I hate to offend your superior senses, but I added it already.”

She hadn’t. In fact, she cursed internally for the mistake. It was written plain as day in the recipe she followed, but she’d been so preoccupied with the other prep that it slipped her mind. Giving him the satisfaction, especially without his willingness to try the damned soup in the first place, didn’t appeal to Nesta.

Cassian cleared his throat. “I don’t think—”

“I’ll give it time,” she hissed, her eyes betraying her again by flying to his face. “All the time it needs.”

His dark eyebrows drew together in challenge, and Nesta could nearly see how his brain weighed the different strategies on how to proceed. His mouth opened, shut, and opened again. To her surprise, his lips ticked up at the corner, and she hated the hold that small movement had on her breathing.

“You can give it all you want,” he drawled, “but it won’t help.”

Her nostrils flared in irritation, and it was enough to tempt her to finally allow that boiling feeling to take over completely. To incinerate the moment, the two of them, and anything else in its wake, if only because she could. But mostly, it would have saved her the production of these conversations and the ever-present tug she felt toward Cassian, no matter how infuriating.

Nesta took a deep breath, warring with what to say, but he saved her the trouble.

“I helped Elain bring everything inside,” he murmured. The low volume did very little to disguise the satisfaction in his voice. “The bundle of sage in the cooler is untouched from this morning.”

Her heart leaped to her throat. Whether the rasp of his voice or the way he called her on the blatant lie was to blame, she wasn’t sure. She forced her gaze back to her open book and feigned the most casual tone she could conjure under the circumstances.

“The others are waiting.”

The very excuse he’d made for his intended departure was a safe dismissal. Cassian was many things, but clueless was not one of them. Nesta was confident he would see it for the clear signal it was that their conversation was officially over.

“Right,” he began, adjusting his haul in his arms. “I’ll see you around.”

Nesta catalogued each of his steps, annoyed that she knew the cadence so well. Her shoulders relaxed, and she blew out a long, heavy breath. She stared into the negative space of the room, a room that felt too large upon Cassian’s absence, yet too small when they had shared it.

Her gaze bounced from the pot perched over the small flame, to the cooler, and back to the novel in front of her. She was on her third attempt at reading the same paragraph when resolve abandoned her completely. Snapping the book shut, she huffed an undignified breath and stalked over to the cooler.

The sage wasn’t going to prep itself.

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Nessian + ACoTaR taglists [General tag list in reblog]:

@introvertsuntes68-blog

@pyxxie

@story-scribbler

@agentsofsheilds

@and-she-burns-with-it

@bondbabe2000

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[janearts]

Day Two - Hair for @cassianappreciationweek

[fruitgutz]

guess who just found out about wings and embers (ME!!!!!)

[zenkindoflove]

Fandom Shipping Terminology 101: ACOTAR edition

Hi! So I decided to put a little resource together for the ACOTAR fandom. Since many people join the SJM/ACOTAR fandom and have never been in fandom before, they encounter a lot of fandom terminology that they are not quite sure what it means or have seen others use it incorrectly so they get a false impression of the meaning of the word. So I put this together, including examples from the fandom, so that people can use it as a reference to learn more about what these terms mean and when they're appropriate to use. This list is focused on words related to shipping.

Tldr definitions (note: these are definitions that I wrote based on my own experiences/research on fanlore. These are always up for interpretation and meaning and nuance change over time and depend on fandom context)

Canon ship - a relationship where the characters have romantic interactions in canon

Fanon ship - a relationship where in canon the characters are platonic but the fandom has accepted as a ship with romantic undertones, canonical potential, or has become so popular within a fandom it's has surpassed the need/desire for canon

Crackship - a pairing of two characters where the idea of them together is strange or funny depending on the circumstances. Often in these ships, the characters have little or even no interactions in canon

Rare pair - agnostic to fanon or canon status. A rare pair simply means the fandom does not make a lot of fan content for it.

End-game - This is a canon ship that is together by the end of a series.

Slash ship - Fanon ships that feature queer relationships. M/M usually takes on the term slash and F/F has the term femslash.

OTP - Stands for One True Pair. This is a ship that a shipper considers to be the most important one that they love in a fandom.

NOTP - anti-OTP, or a ship that a shipper detests/is squicked out by

Multishipping - the act of shipping a character with multiple other characters.

For more context and thorough examples read more under the cut 

First, what the heck is a ship?

The origins of shipping and becoming obsessed with fictional relationships predate our modern understanding of fandom. Modern fandom roots can be traced as early as Star Trek: The Original Series. But the terminology of calling a couple you like a ship or the act of obsessing over fictional (and sometimes non fictional) couples "shipping" has its origins in the X-Files fandom. While ACOTAR is a romance, many fandoms do not have romance as a central element of its plot, and yet, shippers find a way. That's exactly what happened for the fans of Mulder/Scully. Those who wanted them to be in a romantic relationship were called "relationshippers" which then got shortened to "shippers". The verb "to ship" would appear later from this origin.

The way to think about "what is a ship" though is really based on do people think up romantic scenarios with these two characters? If yes, then you have a ship. And in ACOTAR, oh baby, are there MANY, MANY SHIPS.

Canon vs. Fanon ships

Where does a canon ship end and a fanon one begin? Now that, my friends, is not as clear cut as you might think.

I think this discussion is very important for the ACOTAR fandom because of the state of the ship war currently. Often, there is back and forth about which ship is canon or fanon (and *eye twitch* people throwing around crackship as a derogatory term to de-legitimize a ship which makes me wanna punch shit).

I'm gonna burst everyone's bubbles and say, I personally think Elriel, Elucien, and Gwynriel are all CANON ships.

Why? Well, that's the part that is up for interpretations my friends. What is deemed canonical romantic interactions? That is where a lot of lines can become blurry and if you have ever shipped a fanon ship before - you KNOW what I mean by that. Is it a charged glance? A caress of a hand that lingered too long? Is it a shared kiss? Or do the characters have to explicitly declare "I'm yours and you're mine"?

I've shipped a lot of kinds of ships. Canon. Fanon. Canon that had its end-game blown up. You name it, I've shipped it. And to me, a canon ship is anytime the writer of the canon is putting characters in a romantic situation, regardless if they end up together or not by the end of the series. If they wanted you to feel butterflies and think "could they?", and you felt butterflies, well my friends, you're responding to canon romance. And we've seen evidence of all three ships having those moments.

But, what does that mean for fanon ships? I have shipped a fanon couple where I got butterflies from their canonical scenes together. I've read into their moments and thought "wow, that was romantically charged". I think this is where the lines of canon and fanon are blurred. Because what this comes down to is, did the author intend this? Or am I seeing more into an interaction because I like it? Most fanon ships do hinge a lot of their interest in said ship because of what happens in canon. But, often times, the authors of said content are not necessarily wanting you to take away from their writing that these two characters are interested in each other romantically. You just can't help it. You see it. You see the potential, and you want it to go there so you see more of it the more you look.

Sometimes fanon ships are very clear that the canon is not even hinting at these two characters together romantically. And that is perfectly fine. To me, a fanon ship is a ship that has become so ingrained in the fandom community that the fandom thinks of these two together romantically. That it doesn't really matter anymore what the canon says or doesn't. The fandom has created this relationship and it lives and breathes within what the fandom builds for it. Azris is a perfect example of a fanon ship in ACOTAR. The canon interactions between Azriel and Eris are sparse and platonic in nature, yet the fandom itself has created a whole fanon around them with a large enough community that as soon as you enter the ACOTAR fandom, you immediately know this ship exists.

Rare pairs and Crackships

These two terms are often used interchangeably as if they are synonyms. Now, a rare pair can be a crackship but not all rare ships are crackships and vice versa.

Generally, a rare pair is devoid of canon or fanon connotations. A rare pair is a ship that receives little attention from fans and has few associated fanworks. So, a rare pair could be a fanon couple that few people think about romantically. For example, Emerie and Gwyn have a lot of interactions in canon. I would not think shipping them together to be a crackship because I mean, they're friends, they like each other, they read smut together. There are a lot of scenarios one could imagine them falling in love. But they have a whopping 12 fanfics under their tag in AO3. Therefore, they are a rare pair but not necessarily a crackship.

A rare pair can also be a canon ship. For example, Thesan and his unnamed lover are canon. However, when you look up their relationship tag on AO3, there are 23 works and most do not appear to be focused on them.

I also have seen people use rare pair for very popular ships (like Azris) when they mean fanon. Again, rare pair is really an indication of "how much fan content can you find for this" not necessarily are they canon.

Crackships really were birthed from the intention of putting two characters together "4 da lulz" to bring back early 2000s internet lingo. Crack shipping is usually a pairing that the idea of them together is a little absurd but also fun. Beron/Tamlin is a quintessential crackship example, especially why it came to be (but we will avoid getting into all the origins of that). There is no real reason to think Beron or Tamlin would ever have a romantic interaction and thinking about it makes you laugh. Crackships can sometimes turn into fanon ships. This is another example where the lines do get blurry. But really, crackshipping is about intention and the use of absurdism within fan creation.

I also want to say, often what I see in the Elucien v. Elriel and Elriel v. Gwynriel ships wars is the use of crackship in a derogatory way, and thinking that if one of these ships does not become end-game, therefore, it proves the other was a crackship. Simply put - no. That's not how it works.

End-game

Related to the above point, I think often where the ACOTAR ship wars really derail themselves, is conflating fanon/canon/endgame with each other. I don't see people often using the term end-game, when really, it would help so much with the judgmental and strange ship policing that this fandom loves to do. Specifically, this fandom has a hard time talking about the value within shipping fanon, or shipping the blurriness between fanon and canon for any characters that do not have end-game potential. ACOTAR is not a complete series. Therefore, in a strict definition, no couples are end-game. However, given the genre, there are several couples who are clearly going to be end-game. And really, what I think the ship war community needs in their discourse, is to start using the term end-game when they want to discuss the outcome of Elucien, Elriel, or Gwynriel having a canonical Happily Ever After. The reason being is that you can use end-game, and not insult another ship. End-game is simply a fact. There is no hierarchy involved in what ship is best or not. Because ships can be beloved whether they're canon or fanon or canon who did not end up together. And they all can have very valid reasons why people ship them despite not achieving end-game.

I also urge the ACOTAR fandom to realize that end-game is not the end of YOUR experience of your ship. Your ship lives on despite what the canon may or may not give you. Even if you ship a canon ship that does not achieve end-game, you can create those fanon end-games for yourself. Many popular ships end up being popular because of the effect of that ship not achieving end-game. And while I am using the prime-ship war as examples within this post, I've seen other microshipwars popping up within the fandom as well. So, I'm not trying to pick on this specific set of conflicts, it's just the one I see most prominently.

OTP vs NOTP

I think the ACOTAR fandom could also really benefit from adopting this terminology.

The point of declaring OTPs and NOTPs is a way for you to signal to others in your fandom, "This is how much I care about this ship. Whether I love it it or hate it. Tread carefully". These terms are not meant to say one ship is better than the other from a moral standpoint. Instead, it's to indicate to others that you have a strong preference. You're going to love your OTPs regardless of what arguments others throw at you to convince you to not love them. You will probably be very annoyed by your NOTPs regardless of what others try to do to convince you that they're actually cute/sexy/hot/perfect for each other. And what the ACOTAR fandom could benefit from, from readopting OTP/NOTP language, is having a common understanding where different shipping communities boundaries are and how they can better utilize those boundaries to prevent constant fighting. Now, ship wars are inevitable because of how people see their OTPs and NOTPs, but general rule of thumb is - don't engage with your NOTP's content for your own mental sanity.

Multishipping

Multishipping can be used in many ways. Some people use it to say, hey I'm in this fandom, and I ship a lot of couples. But the origins of multishipping as a term, comes from ship war discourse in other fandoms. Multishippers generally are people who ship one character with multiple other characters. For example, if you ship Elain/Lucien, Elain/Azriel, Elain/Gwyn, Elain/Tamlin, etc etc etc, you are a multishipper. I generally would not consider someone a multishipper if all of their ships do not cross streams. It just sort of means that you ship a lot of couples. Which tends to be normal for romance series with a lot of couples. Maybe not a single of those couples is your true OTP, and that's what you mean by saying you're a multishipper. And that's okay. I think though that multishipping generally in other fan spaces is a marker of you telling others that you don't draw harsh lines with who you see characters with. I often see multishippers not declaring NOTPs. It's kind of a state of how you go about shipping often. I, for one, identify as an OTP shipper. I've never really multishipped. But I also have a very strict standard of what I call my "ships". Anyways, this is to say, this term has a lot of uses. And sometimes it can be confusing which of these uses a person means when they say it.

Slash shipping 

I've seen over the years that slash as a terminology has fallen out of favor. In the past, slash shipping was the pinnacle of shipping in fandoms. The term slash comes from the first modern fanon ship, Kirk/Spock, where the / between their names, which we now all know and use to indicate a romantic pairing (note: & is used to indicate a platonic interaction between characters), exists because the Kirk/Spock shipping community really were the originators of shipping communities creating fan content and sharing it in with each other in a massive way. In general slash (and femslash) is an important modifier of shipping because it explicitly tells you that this is a queer ship which often were not mainstream and considered canon until more recently. With the rise of canonical queer ships, I think the subversiveness of shipping queer couples has lost it's edge, therefore slash is not needed as much anymore to directly state the nature of your ship.

I wanted to keep this in the post though, because I think it's incredibly important history for ALL ACOTAR fans to understand. Shipping queer couples, and especially shipping FANON queer couples, has always been the backbone of fandom. Kirk/Spock walked so Destiel could fly. These are all queer ships that have strong fanon roots (and that fanon has had impacts on their canon) and have shaped fandom and your concept of shipping and romance tropes in inextricable ways. You don't have / without Kirk/Spock. You don't have Omegaverse, without gay shipping within the Supernatural fandom. And I wanted to make this point because this fandom has a strong het (heterosexual) ship bias. Which is okay. It's a romance series with a lot of heterosexual canon couples. But, I think because of that, many people are not entering this fandom with an understanding that people shipping queer fanon couples have been the ones who were the originators of many fandom terms that we have come to know and use today.

Conclusion:

I hope you all found this informative and that you can take away something from this post that can help you have better interactions and ability to communicate with others in this fandom. Again, I want to stress, that this is heavily influenced by my own 25 years of experience being in fandoms. And I haven't seen it all. Others will have different interpretations of these terms and experiences using these terms. So, feel free to add on anything that you think would be helpful to those in the ACOTAR community to better understand how to "ship and let ship". I do think that ship war are inevitable and not necessarily a bad thing. But using the right terms can help you engage in a more respectful way within ship war discourse.

[kataraavatara]

just remembered how to the inner circle nesta sleeping with random men was a sign that she needed to have her apartment building torn down but sleeping with cassian was a sign that she was recovering. mighty fucking convenient for them.

[gwandas]

Yet another Ember and Randall bonus chapter rant because I'm still mad that the first glimpse of post-ACOSF Nessian mates was... THAT

Nesta folding immediately after Bryce gave her a little sob story about humans is the most in character thing she could’ve done in that moment. No, it was not ooc for her to give up the Mask—just because Rhys kneeled to her at the end of ACOSF doesn’t mean that everything was good between them and she was going to become yet another IC goon. And when I see people saying she has to accept Rhys as her High Lord… Nesta’s value as a character isn’t contingent on bowing to Feysand. I don't care that she lives in his court. Who's fault is that in the first place? Oh, she was forcibly turned and now she has to live a life of servitude by default... no!

And as for Cassian, I don’t really care that we didn’t see their conversation. I believe Nesta when she said he was the most angry with her. Making things up like “oh well Nesta is probably exaggerating,” or “he was probably just worried about her safety,” why don’t you believe what she has to say about her own mate? Cassian being angry with Nesta is the status quo as far as I’m concerned.

The facts are that her mate learned about an act of pure compassion on her part, heard her defend herself and give her reasoning, and didn’t give her an ounce of credit. Like, he doesn’t have to agree with the decision, but to be the most angry? To have zero reaction to Rhys spitting in her face? God, and the worst part is this will most likely go nowhere. Just another crime Nesta will have to atone for, likely in the form of handing over Gwydion.

I can understand seeing both sides, because I DO. Rhys has a right to be angry, Cassian can agree with Rhys as his general, I understand all that. No one was right or wrong in this situation—Nesta did something good but risky, Rhys and Cassian have a duty to the realm. But to read about Nesta being screamed at to the point where she’s not sure if they would execute her and have zero empathy for her? But have a full defense at the ready for her loser failmate because people hating on HIM pisses you off more than that chapter did? Maybe... some of us are simply sick and tired of reading about her being screamed at. And if you're not tired of reading about her being screamed at... maybe y'all are just not real Nesta shooters

[evermorelore]

Quote from The Viscount Who Loved Me by Julia Quinn

oops a romantasy anthony & kate but also kinda my head canon for cassian & nesta.

[unhealthyfanobsession]

WIP Wednesday … Nessian week can’t come soon enough!

[ennawrite]

whatever you do, do NOT listen to so long, london by taylor swift from Nesta’s POV of leaving Cassian (and Velaris and the HoW) because she’s tired of him picking Rhys/the IC over her…

anyways, So Long, Velaris when???

[xxvalkyriesxx]

Flying Changes - Chapter Three

A Nessian Equestrian Fic

Masterlist // Previous Part // Next Part

Read on AO3 or below!

CW: withdrawal symptoms of alcohol, discussions of/with alcohol/recovering alcoholics.

This one is a long one, folks. Enjoy <3

A thump landed on the ground as Cassian walked away. He turned to see Nesta, face planted into the ground. He cursed as he ran to her. Quickly he texted the family’s medic before putting his phone away and gently picking Nesta up in his arms. Her lawyer, Eris, already had his phone out to dial.

“Don’t bother. Rhysand has a family doctor. We’ll get her to come see Nesta.”

Eris raised an eyebrow. “And shouldn’t my client go to a hospital?”

“Hospitals aren't going to do much for her right now. They would just ship her off to rehab eventually. And according to her sister, none of the rehabs have worked.” Cassian noted as he started to walk to the house, Eris and the officer were behind him. Out past the pastures, he saw a familiar looking old blue truck drive down the road.

“Plus the closest hospital isn’t for another 25 miles down south.” The officer stated. He spoke with a slight drawl that wasn’t uncommon in these parts.

“You’re from Windhaven?” Cassian asked.

The officer shook his head. “Ironcrest. Born and raised.”

Ironcrest was a small town north of Windhaven. Not a lot happened there, and not a lot of good came out of it either. The same truck he saw drove up the dirt driveway before stopping in the makeshift lot.

“Are we sure we can trust your nurse?” Eris called out as Cassian stepped onto the porch. 

A woman cleared her voice behind all of them. Cassian smiled softly at the familiar face. Her brown skin glowed in the hue of the sun. She tipped her hat to Eris and the officer.

“I’m sure you can trust a doctor.” She smiled at Eris before moving past him.

“Cassian, take her up the stairs to her room. I’ll be right behind.”

“Yes, Madja.” He replied before entering the house.

Nesta was warm and clammy as he shifted her in his arms.

“You’ll be okay, Sweetheart. You’re in good hands.”

**

Cassian laid Nesta gently on the bed. Her pulse was slow and she hadn’t come too yet. Madja came inside the room next, her bag with her. Quickly she went to work checking her vitals. The man stood off to the side, knowing better than to get in her way.

“This girl has been through it. This is Feyre’s sister that Rhysand mentioned to me?” She asked Cassian.

“That she is. She just got here last night. Apparently had alcohol in her system.”

She hummed reading the vitals. “It may be a little early for symptoms but that doesn't mean it can’t happen. She’ll probably be lucid for the next couple days. I’ll stay and watch over her.” 

The doctor turned to Cassian. “But why on earth did you make her do work right away? You knew she was going to go through withdrawal. Why not get her prepared for that?”

Cassian blinked, unsure what his answer would imply. “I thought getting her to work would help with the withdrawal. Feyre mentioned she had been to three different rehabs in the last two years. Everytime Nesta left she would drink again.” He sighed. “I didn’t know what I was going up against. I quit drinking mid deployment and the work kept me busy.”

“She’s no soldier, Cassian.”

Madja crossed her arms over her chest. “The labor probably caused the body to begin stressing earlier than expected. Eitherway, we’re here now. You’re lucky I have experience with this.”

She looked over to a photograph on the wall of Ramiel, the biggest mountain in the Night Court. Caleum Valyrian picked up photography after he stopped drinking when his wife Arwen, announced she was pregnant with a daughter; Rhys’ sister, Artemis. Caleum had taken the photo the night before her birth.

Arwen mentioned at one point not long after Artemis’ birth that her husband had a second chance of being a father. Madja helped him through his sobriety journey as she had been looking after Caleum since he was young. It was a long process from what Cassian remembered, but not long after her birth he joined the Air Force and then not even five years later, Caleum and Arwen had died in a fatal car crash.

“Anyway, I’ll stay through the week. This isn’t my first rodeo. And Cassian.”

He looked up at her. “Yes, mam?”

“Get rid of the alcohol. All of it. I know you’ve hidden it. It never ends up staying hidden in the long run. And it’s no good stinking up a home.”

It had been almost four days since Nesta collapsed due to her withdrawal symptoms. Madja had been taking care of her. She had gotten Nesta to settle once she woke up. Cassian had hovered by the door every once in a while. He heard Nesta speak every so often, but her voice was low and soft. She never once screamed or yelled. At least not to his knowledge.

He sighed gently as he pulled his thick hair into a bun before opening up discord on his laptop. He settled into his chair as he hopped onto the group chat call, waiting for others to join.

It was Wednesday, therefore it was family night.

He unmuted the second he saw a familiar face with blue eyes. He smiled brightly.

“Hi Fey-Fey.” The nickname he coined to Feyre after he met her for the first time. She hated the name. So it stuck.

Feyre rolled her eyes. “Hey Cashew.” 

The two dissolved into little giggles like childhood best friends.

“Are you two already scheming?” Another video popped up of a blonde woman drinking red wine.

“Mor-Mor!” Feyre said excitedly.

Mor shook her head. “I would gag, but I don’t want to waste the wine.”

“Classic, Mor.” A voice shouted from Feyre’s video. Rhys pulled up on screen, wearing a Night Court sunball shirt.

A second passed by before another video joined. It was Azriel, his other brother. He seemed to be on his phone, most likely down at the barn with his horse, Singer.

“I swear Rhys you own everything Night Court coded in your home and that is the most offensive thing. You know we suck at sunball.” He exclaimed. 

“Did you catch the game the other night? Spring's beaten us again for a third time.” Mor chimed in.

“Hey, don’t hate the team. We’re going to get better…Eventually.” Rhysand said. The whole call burst out laughing. 

“I hope everyone is doing okay! But Cassian, I wanted to ask. How’s Nesta doing? Rhys mentioned Madja was there?” Feyre asked. Worry crossed her face.

Cassian shrugged. “She seems okay. Madja hasn’t left and it’s been several days. The withdrawal kicked in a bit sooner. But Madja says she's doing okay. She’ll start going to AA tomorrow so I think that will help even more.”

“Oh good.” Feyre smiled softly before one last video appeared in the call.

A girl with tan skin and coarse black hair that paired well with the dynasty of almost purple eyes appeared. The fifteen year old smiled as she quickly braided her hair sitting in her pajamas.

“Hi Everyone!” She said before narrowing her eyes. “What were you all just talking about?”

“Nothing that concerns fifteen year olds.” Rhys responded, a small smile on his face. “But tell us, Artemis, what’s it like being in the high school dorms now?” 

Artemis rolled her eyes. “It’s good. I’m still rooming with the same girls as last year.”

Artemis attended Dawn Light down in the southern part of Dawn Court. It was an all girl’s boarding school that she had been attending since elementary school. As their parents were dead, Rhysand became Artemis’ legal guardian. Unfortunately his career as a politician didn’t give him a lot of time to take care of his younger sister, so he sent her off to a boarding school.

“Freshman year is such a big highlight. Just wait until the dances and the boys!” Mor cheered, taking another sip.

“Ew. I don’t want to be around boys.” Artemis turned green at the thought.

“That’s what I like to hear.” Rhysand responded before Feyre smacked him on the shoulder. He turned to her and gently kissed her hand. The two looked at each other, a secret conversation happening.

“You’re not alone and this isn’t an OnlyFans chat, so please stop making sex eyes with Feyre.” Artemis complained. 

Cassian bulked out a giant laugh. The kid had always been sassy but she was at that age where the sass upped ten times more.

“First off, how do you know about OnlyFans? Secondly I am not making ‘sex eyes’ with Feyre.”

“I don’t know, Rhysie. That seemed very sex eyes heavy to me.” Cassian joked.

His brother glared at him and flipped him off. Everyone laughed.

“I’m fifteen and the internet exists. So I know things.”

Rhysand looked like he was halfway between jumping on his plane and bringing her home, or buying the school so he could manage the internet down there.

“Settle down, everyone.” Feyre calmly said. She had a genuine smile on her face.

“Rhysand and I have something to tell you all actually.” She looked up at him knowingly. He smiled and nodded, taking her hand in his.

“I’m pregnant.”

There was a brief moment of silence before the call erupted in cheers. Cassian smiled proudly at his best friends. It had come as a surprise to Cassian, given they weren’t engaged yet

Although that might change soon given that he does have the ring. Cassian thought to himself as he recalled Rhysand showed the ring to him and Azriel roughly a few weeks ago. 

“Congratulations! Which one of us is gonna be the godparents?” Cassian asked.

“None of you if I can help it.” Rhysand replied, wearing his classic smirk.

“I’m going to be an aunt? Oh my god?!” Artemis squealed. 

Mor set down her glass, clapping. “A baby always brings good luck!”

Azriel smiled softly. “Should Cass and I look into buying a pony for them yet?”

“If you two want to waste your money, be my guest. But perhaps our child will be sensible like their father and not be a big fan.”

“As if! If you’re a Valyrian you’re horse people. Unless of course your name is Rhysand.” Artemis joked.

Cassian laughed.“That’s a good one, Arty.”

Rhysand shook his head, rolling his eyes, but before he could counter anything, Feyre spoke up. “We’ll wait and see. They might be a horse person. Or maybe even a mule like their father.” Feyre smiled with a toothy grin at Rhysand.

Another roar of laughter escaped everyone, even Rhys. He kissed her head gently before she leaned against him.

“Well if we’re spreading good news, then I want to let everyone know that this is the first year I can try out for the eventing team at school.”

Feyre’s smile tightened just a little. “Oh that’s great, Artemis. How is your horse doing?” 

The girl shook her head. “Kitty is doing great. I think she’s excited to start eventing too..”

The girl learned how to ride before she could even walk properly, courtesy of her mother. Since a young age she wanted to compete in three-day-eventing. Cassian remembered Rhysand being very hesitant, but one of the best coaches was currently at Dawn Light. 

Three summers ago, Rhysand and Artemis went to the Velaris horse auction. It was one of their mother’s favorite events and always landed on her birthday. During the auction they sell all kinds of horses for different mediums, and when eventing came up, Artemis was on the edge of her seat. There was a palomino morgan horse that walked in, and that was that. 

“Well good luck with try-outs!” Cassian smiled brightly.

“You’re gonna be amazing, kid!” Azriel smiled knowing that she would.

“Thank you everyone. Anyway, it’s late and I have classes in the morning. Talk to you guys later. Oh and I want baby names, Feyre! Send them all my way!” Artemis beamed before hopping off the call.

One by the one they all did the same before Cassian sighed, turning off his laptop. He wanted to go to sleep, but it never came. So Cassian dressed and went downstairs to the corral that was located near the house. 

The moon was near the shape of a crescent as he walked underneath the stars as he approached the corral where a thoroughbred mare trotted around. He stood on the other side of the railing as he watched her tread in the circle. Taking his phone out he shot Feyre a text about what food Nesta liked. If she was going to be staying here for awhile, they probably should get her things that she likes.

“I don’t understand what you saw in her.” Azriel called out from behind him. Cassian tucked his phone back into his pocket feeling it vibrate with an answer.

“I thought you quit.” Cassian didn’t bother to turn around as the nostalgic smell of cigarettes contained the air. It slated him with the memories of nicotine usage from his old unit. It was as if that was from a different lifetime.

“I did, but here we are.” His brother said, taking a deep breath.

“Here we are..” Cassian mumbled back.

The brothers watched the mare begin to neigh and paw the ground.

“And you thought she could be a therapy horse?”

Cassian shrugged. “The owners said she could and they needed her off their hands. It was either that or the slaughter house.”

Azriel rolled his eyes. “Cassian, you cannot save every horse from a terrible fate. Sometimes it’s what needs to happen.”

“I know Az, but when I saw her, I just had that feeling you know?”

His brother gave him an ‘are you for real’ look in answer.

Taking another drag, Azriel blew the smoke then coughed.

“I know you see yourself in her. But maybe what’s broken is intended to be broken. That horse isn’t going to be a therapy horse. That horse needs therapy.”

The mare nodded her head as if agreeing with Azriel. She blew her nostrils before neighing again.

“Everyone has a story, even the broken ones.” Cassian said. “And sometimes they need their stories heard over the rest.” As the ranch manager walked off leaving behind the smoke and stress for another day, the chronic pains of his shoulder and knee began to flare up as he climbed the stairs to his bedroom.

**

Sunlight snuck through the crack from the curtain in Nesta’s room. She groaned at the warm intrusive light that shined in her eyes when she woke up. The last few days were intense. The worst of it was over as she mainly got sick and passed out constantly. Thankfully Madja made everything much more simple as she kept looking out for her the entire time.

“Good morning, Nesta.” The medic called out gently.

Nesta sighed before sitting up slowly. “Morning.”

Madja gave her a once over before she smiled. “You seem much better than how I met you a few days ago. Your withdrawal symptoms have decreased significantly. You’ll still have them for a remaining time, but I believe the worst is over. So now you’ll be able to go to AA tonight.”

The urge to drink still lingered deep down, but she couldn’t do that anymore. Not unless she wanted a worse punishment.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do all of that.” Nesta spoke softly.

“Well you might have died if I didn’t come here fast enough. Thankfully Cassian has me on speed dial. Especially after his last fall where he broke his wrist.”

Nesta cocked her head before pulling her knees to her chest. “How did he manage to do that?”

“By pulling some stupid trick with his horse. Bucked him right off and landed on a log.”

A small smile appeared from Nesta as she imagined it. “That does sound stupid.”

Madja rolled her eyes. “You’re telling me.” She placed a hand on the bed, careful to not touch the young woman.

“Would you like to talk about anything? I don’t share anything personal that my patients say.”

Nesta glanced at her chipped red toe polish before she rested her head on her knees. Gnawing emotions crawled deep within herself to break the surface, but she had been living with them for so long, it was natural to resent. Push it all down.

“No. I don’t.” Nesta waited for the backlash, but instead Madja simply nodded.

“That’s fine, my dear. I encourage you to speak when you’re ready. With someone you trust. But I’m not going to push it. You’ll know when you’re ready.”

The old woman smiled gently before she left Nesta’s room, leaving her alone. Madja was right, the cravings were still there, but it was less than before. Quietly, Nesta stood up from the bed and got changed into a t-shirt, jeans, and old barn boots before she went down the steps.

When she appeared in the kitchen, she found a plate of food and a note. There were no apples on the table, instead there was a bag of clementines from the brand cuties. A sweet sigh escaped her as she stared at her favorite fruit. But a note was left next to the plate. She picked it up.

Nes – She rolled her eyes before continuing.

Feyre mentioned you like cuties, so I grabbed some for you. Please be sure to eat some and the rest of your breakfast. Don’t need you to be passing out again.

Sincerely, Cassian

P.S: Today is the first day of AA. Az will be taking you to and from. He doesn’t bite, and if you think he isn’t paying attention he most definitely is.

Placing the note down, Nesta grabbed three cuties, stuffed two bacon strips into her mouth, and grabbed a biscuit to go before heading out the door.

The faint scent of ammonia and artificial lemon flowed through the hallways of the WCFW - Windhaven Center for Women. Azriel received notice that her AA meeting would be held in room 105B. Her boots echoed dully on the floor as she made her way to a room at the very end of the hall.

The door was opened but Nesta stopped in her tracks. She looked to her left and back down the hallway. If she wanted to, she could run. Make it on a bus hopefully and get out of this dreadful place before tomorrow. However Azriel’s glare burned in her memory.

“Your AA meetings will be here.” He pointed to the building. “I’ll be waiting for you in the truck. If you even think about trying to leave, just know that I was a bounty hunter for the Night Court for 10 years. Not once did I fail in catching someone. You will not be the first.”

So Feyre did mention to him about the time she dipped out of her first rehab and never showed up again. She sighed but before she could muster a step a voice cleared behind her.

“Last time I checked, AA was inside the room, not outside.”

Nesta turned to see a beautiful woman with brown skin with a messy side braid staring at her.

“You’d be right.” Nesta replied.

The woman gestured to Nesta to move forward. “Take the first step. You’re already here, you might as well stay and get to know everyone.”

The kindness wasn’t an order or a request, but almost a suggestion. If Nesta wanted to, she could leave. But she made it this far. She nodded before crossing the threshold.

The room was similar to any other room she had been in when it involved therapy sessions. The ones she attended while in rehab were all a joke. But this one for some reason, felt real. Maybe it was because of the sentencing and her crime, but Nesta couldn’t put a finger on the feeling. She swiftly sat down where no one else was sitting.

The woman from before entered and ended up sitting next to Nesta. She smiled at her.

“Long time no see.” She joked.

Nesta nodded.

The woman held out a hand. She had a tattoo on her inner wrist with a script that read the mountains, the moon, and Mars.

“I’m Emerie.” 

“Nesta.” She shook her hand.

The room engulfed in silence as their counselor began to speak. She welcomed everyone new and old. She wore a kind smile before introducing herself as Alys.

“Let’s all go around the room. Introduce yourself, how long you've been at AA, and one fact and one lie.” She smiled brightly. “We can take turns guessing.” 

Alys went first. “My name is Alys. I’ve been attending AA for almost twenty-five years. I’ve been counseling for about ten. I was born and raised in Windhaven and I have three cats, a bird, and two dogs. What’s my lie?”

The circle of women looked at one another trying to decipher what was her lie. Emerie turned to Nesta. “Any ideas.”

Nesta crossed her arms, shaking her head. “I don’t know. Probably the Windhaven.”

“I was thinking the same.”

She looked at her. “Are you just saying that because I’m saying that?”

Emerie rolled her eyes. “No wiseass. Her accent. It’s not Windhaven. I would know. I was born and raised here my entire life.” She tilted her head to Nesta, questioning her. “What made you choose that?” 

Nesta shrugged. “Her accent.” She tried to hide her smile as Emerie rolled her eyes again.

The room calmed their voices as Alys asked. The majority of the room decided to go for Windhaven as the lie. Alys nodded. “Good ears everyone. I’m from Spring originally. My nephews and I moved all up here for a better life than the one that was dealt to me back down south.”

One by one, each woman stood up and presented themselves to the group. Nesta sighed inwardly as she listened. Each one came from a different background, a different story. They were all so interesting, more interesting than mine Nesta thought to herself.

Alys pointed to Nesta. “It’s your turn…” She waited for Nesta to answer.

Nesta stood up, her arms down by her sides, a fist clenching and unclenching, trying to rangle the nerves that flooded her mind.

Nesta cleared her throat. “I’m Nesta…” She went quiet. She wanted to sit down. She didn’t want to do this. It was stupid. This was so stupid��Then she felt something move next to her. Emerie stood up on Nesta’s left. She smiled softly at Nesta before turning her gaze to the rest.

“I’m Emerie.” 

A wave of deja vu flowed through Nesta as she was completely caught off guard by Emerie’s action.

Emerie continued. “I’ve been coming to AA for roughly three months consecutively for the first time in a while.” She gestured to Nesta.

Nesta opened her mouth, a swirl of words appeared out of thin air. “Today’s my first day at AA.”

Emerie beamed. “Congratulations.” 

“You too.” Nesta replied.

With a sudden wave of confidence, Nesta stepped forward. “I’ve never been to Windhaven before and I have four gold Olympic medals.”

Around the room people whistled and gasped. Nesta could see their gears turning. 

“I call BS on the medals.” Emerie chimed.

“Emerie!” Alys hissed. 

The woman smiled apologetically before returning her gaze onto Nesta.

In return Nesta pulled out her phone and quickly looked through old photos. Her screen was cracked and was meaning to get it replaced, however she hadn’t gotten around to it yet. Memories blurred together as she raced over her camera roll to find the photo she needed. After another second, she turned her phone around to show Emerie and the whole group.

The photo was of Nesta grinning big after coming home from the Antica Summer Olympic Games. She wore four gold medals, three from that summer and one from the previous summer Olympics at the Summer Court. Her arms were around Flame who seemed happy as he stood relaxed next to her. It was one of the few photos Feyre took of her when she came up to visit after she got back.

It shouldn’t have delighted Nesta as much as it did watching Emerie’s jaw drop looking at the photo.

“Holy fucking shit.”

The whole room gathered around the screen. Following with similar comments of Emerie’s.

“Well how the fuck am I going to top that now?” Emerie exclaimed. 

Nesta nudged her. “I’m sure you can think of something.”

Emerie smudged her lips as she thought for a second before speaking. “I haven’t lived in Windhaven my whole life, and I’ve always wanted to learn how to ride horses.”

Emerie and Nesta smiled at one another, knowing which one was the truth.

**

“So you’re really an Olympian?” Emerie asked as she and Nesta walked out of the building. 

Nesta shrugged. “It was a long time ago. I was twenty in that picture. I’ve aged nothing like fine wine in seven years since.”

She stopped as soon as the words slipped from her lips. Nesta winced as she mumbled what an idiot to herself.

“I’m not glass. I won’t break, trust me. Many have tried in the past, none have succeeded.” Emerie spoke up, looking back at Nesta.

“And you’re not either, you know.”

Nesta couldn’t stop the anger that drove out of her mouth. “How would you know? You don’t even know an eighth of my life; what my purpose here is.”

Emerie shrugged, resting her hands on her hips. “Because you’re here. No matter if it’s probation or not. You still could have ran, yet you came.. That counts.”

“How do you know I won’t run now?”

“I don’t, Nesta. All I can do is hope that I see you at the next meeting.”

“And that’s enough?”

When Emerie didn’t respond, Nesta’s guilt carved into her. She approached the woman as the sound of truck tires rolled to a stop nearby.

“Emerie, I’m…” Nesta sighed, the guilt anchoring her to the spot.

But Emerie waved her off. “Honestly I don’t have a good answer for you. At least not yet.” She pointed to Azriel’s truck. “Your ride is a Valyrian?”

Nesta raised an eyebrow. “You know Azriel?”

Emerie shook her hand in a so-so gesture. “Kinda. Everyone here knows pretty much everyone with it being a small town and all. I went to school with them for a brief time.” Her tone dipped, suddenly with sadness.

Before Nesta could ponder, Emerie continued. “I also live down the road from the House of Wind. I run the general store down the way. If you make a right out of the ranch and keep going down, you’ll find my place eventually.”

“What do you sell?” Nesta asked.

“All kinds of stuff. And before you ask, it’s a dry store. I’m not going to screw over my process by selling what I’ve been addicted to.”

The horn of Azriel’s truck blared as Nesta went to speak. She rolled her eyes before glaring at Azriel. He sat there unbothered, his hand hovering over the horn. Emerie chuckled. “They’ve never been the best at patience from what I remember.”

“You can say that again.” Nesta mumbled.

The Windhaven native placed a hand on Nesta’s shoulder. “I’ll see you around, Archeron!”

She spun in the other direction heading to the parking lot. For some reason as Nesta walked over to the truck and got inside, she felt different. 

The truck started to move, leaving the lot. She looked out the window in the sea of darkness as they made their way out to the road. The radio was playing so low that Nesta could barely make out what was being sung. Deep inside there was an urge to blast the music, to see what he listens to, see if she could change it at all. But Nesta looked away from the radio, not wanting to try it.

Her gaze traveled to Azriel as he drove.

“Are you not going to bomb me with questions?” Nesta asked, raising an eyebrow.

Azriel was silent for a moment, then he shrugged. “You stayed, you made a friend. Your business is your business.”

Nesta blinked, having to adjust that Azriel was choosing not to ask her everything and anything. 

At her previous experiences, her sisters, other patients, random therapists would try to dig deep into her to ask anything like it was a Q&A session. How was it? When are you going next? How can I help? It’s a long road ahead, but you’ll get there. Nesta shook her head, reliving for a moment what Elain had mentioned to her when she was in her last rehab. She would not think about her right now. Nesta took a breath, her gaze going back to the window.

Eventually that same feeling she felt earlier, when she was with Emerie, returned. She glanced down at her hands, unknowing what to do next. Because the feeling of lightness was so rare in her life now, she grasped it, never wanting to let go.

Tag List (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @chairofchaos @blueunoias @velarisdusk @c-e-d-dreamer @jsmelodies @inkedinshadows @wolfnesta @lilah-asteria @highqueenmorrigan

[starsreminisce]

Amren shook her head, hair swaying. “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. It wanted Rhysand to have them and thus the blacksmith brought them to you. To you, Rhysand, not to Nesta. 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. Feyre alone doubles your strength. Nesta makes you unstoppable. Especially if she were to march into battle wearing the Mask. No enemy could stand against her. She’d slay Beron’s soldiers, then raise them from the dead and turn them on him.” Cassian’s blood chilled. Yes, Nesta would be unstoppable. But at what cost to her soul?

So, departing from my usual content (not really though), I came across this passage in SF and immediately connected it to HOFAS, where Cassian was most furious at Nesta for handing over the mask.

HOFAS tells us that Nesta no longer has complete control over the mask. Once she could easily remove it in SF, now Azriel needs to list names in order for the mask to relinquish control. Some theories suggested Nesta's limited powers as the reason for the struggle, but it doesn't make sense when Helion reacted strongly against it, and Lucien went pale over Nesta's training, wondering if something shouldn't be awoken.

Helion shuddered, and Nesta threw the cloth over the Mask. As if the cloth somehow blinded it to their presence. “Perhaps an ancestor of mine once used it, and the warning of its cost is imprinted upon my blood.” Helion shook out a breath.

Nesta revealed that Cassian was the one who was more furious with her. This, to me, gives more insight as to why he opposed Nesta's actions. Rather than his loyalty to Rhys, it was due to having direct knowledge of the consequences of using the mask, especially when Nesta was shown needing assistance in removing it.

Bryce wore the mask, and she does not have the same power as Nesta, yet she seemed to remove it with ease when she wielded it during her battle against the Asteri. She too described the sensations that Cassian feared would have happened to Nesta.

Bryce slid the mask back on, and its ungodly, leeching presence ate into her soul. But the star inside her seemed to hold the mask at bay.

I wonder what happened in the months between the Valkyries' win and Bryce's arrival that made Rhys so angry about Nesta handing over the mask to someone who escaped with Truth-Teller. Where even Cassian didn't support Nesta's decision.

I still maintain that the mask will link Crescent City for ACOTAR-only readers, and I don't think Azriel and Gwyn will tell that story, especially when Azriel stopped Elain from searching the trove due to its darkness. Elain and Nesta have yet to resolve their fight from SF regarding the trove, and Nesta's powers flared at her sister's names, making me believe it was rehashed.

I believe that Azriel's presence in CC is meant to show that he supports Nesta's decision in whatever argument she had with Elain, considering he has been consistent in supporting her in SF, and Elain's name was the penultimate name he listed. We were also given bits and pieces of how Az was faring since the solstice. No, he does not have a mate or anyone in his life for that matter. Yes, he has been going to pleasure halls as Rhys suggested. Actually, he does seem to go back to revering The Cauldron considering how quick he was to correct Bryce.

There is still this thread that connects Lucien to the mask itself, as well as his unresolved plotlines regarding his real father, who bears the cost of wearing the mask imprinted on his blood.

The mask's history is more important than Truth-Teller, especially when Rigelus saw it and said Bryce has no idea what she's playing with.

"You have no idea what powers you toy with, girl," Rigelus said. "The mask will curse your very soul—"

So, Lucien is connected to the mask, and Elain is connected to the wearer. This seems like the type of scenario a reluctant fated mate couple would need to push aside their feelings towards each other in order to save her sister's soul.

If Nesta saved Feyre in SF as proof of her love, it makes more sense for Elain to save Nesta from whatever cost she accumulated from using the mask.

Nesta saving Feyre came from the perception she didn't love Feyre. Elain saving Nesta would stem from her non-action.

And Azriel? Well, he just found out that the Illyrians were Daglan-created creatures that broke away from their control, and they celebrate this every year with the Blood Rite. I think he'll be preoccupied with the impending identity crisis. What does it mean to be an Illyrian, especially considering that Gwyn, a non-Illyrian, holds a title earned through the Blood Rite? Emerie is Illyrian by birth, but what does that mean now that she also holds a title?

Elucien's book is next to explain this gap, especially given the history we learned about Fionn and Theia. Gwynriel's book is what follows when Nesta received Gwydion, possibly a couple of months after the fact.

[whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk]

Semper Eadem (iv, ao3)

Chapter four: In the aftermath of the jousting match, Elizabeth and her court go hunting, where Cassian has conspired to get Nesta alone.

(chapter one // chapter two // chapter three)

Nesta wasn’t thinking of the joust. 

As the morning after dawned bright and clear, full of promise and expectation, she swore to God and all the old saints above that her mind would not stray to yesterday. She willed resolution in her chest, begged for strength, and as the sky lightened beyond the lead-paned windows of the Queen’s chamber, she focused instead on dressing her mistress. She refused to remember the tiltyard beyond those stone walls— kept her thoughts far from that bastard-born son of a nobleman who had so decidedly won command of her heart, like it were just another treasure he had plundered. 

Obstinate, she clenched her jaw.

No.

By almighty God, she was not thinking about it.

Around her, the ladies of the royal household tittered and laughed, the soft sounds of shifting fabric filling the chamber as Nesta tied the ribbons on the Queen’s kirtle. A steady thrum of excitement hung heavy in the air, so thick it was palpable, and beyond the glass, not a single cloud marred the blue of the August sky.

There was to be a hunt, today.

A column of bright golden sunlight blazed through the chamber as the Queen angled a small Venetian mirror, its gilded frame heavy in one lithe hand as she tilted the glass to better glimpse her reflection. Her Tudor-red hair was afire in the morning light, her painted skin as pale as chalk, and glimmering she stood in the centre of her rooms, bedecked in so much wealth it was nigh on incalculable. Assessing, the sovereign let out a single contented hum.

What she saw pleased her.

And Nesta did not disagree— the dress alone could rival the work of the great Italian masters. 

The fabric was light in colour, a pale cream with embroidered roses and vines picked out in such detail it was almost enough to stun. A threaded thistle sat above the Queen’s ribs, and on her left sleeve a large needlework snake was coiled, studded with pearls and gems, and from its mouth dangled a small ruby charm— heart shaped, and surrounded by golden thread, silver cloth, and shining, opalescent pearls. 

The snake was Nesta’s favourite part of this particular dress. 

An emerald no bigger than a fingernail served as the serpent’s eye, and its tongue was rendered in a line of golden thread darting from between embroidered silver teeth to hold that small ruby heart. A symbol of wisdom and cunning, the snake was everything that Elizabeth represented, everything she valued, and the message wasn’t lost on Nesta as she circled the Queen and brushed a hand over the jewels that made up the serpent’s curled and curving tail.

Her sovereign was as slippery and as dangerous as an adder, one that had used the sharp edges of her diamonds to carve a space of her own in a world shaped for the pleasures of men. 

And that ought to have been distraction enough, but no matter how many times Nesta hauled herself back to the present…

Her dastardly eyes wandered to the window, and despite the promises she’d made to the Lord above, she damned her soul when she caught sight of the tiltyard beyond the glass, where a privateer had competed for her honourand— 

“Are you looking forward to the hunt, your majesty?”

Nesta tried to not startle as Blanche, the Keeper of Her Majesty’s Jewels, stepped forward and voiced her question, bearing in her hands an oak jewellery box with the lid lifted open. Inside, nestled in velvet, lay a staggering number of pearls and jewels and gems, shining in every colour.

Elizabeth was silent a moment, handing off her mirror to another of her ladies as her fingers trailed idle over the priceless objects before her, hovering above diamonds and sapphires and emeralds and rubies. Before she answered, she plucked up a ring set with a large ruby and extended it out, holding it towards Nesta in one smooth movement.

“Ah,” she said breezily, waving her hand, and as the sunlight refracted off the myriad jewels scattered across the fabric of her dress, shards of red and silver light danced across the floorboards, “you know that I do so love to hunt.”

The Queen extended a hand as she spoke, and Nesta slid the ring the sovereign had chosen onto her waiting finger. Another of her ladies draped a necklace of pearls around her neck, and if for one brief moment they reminded Nesta of the pearl that hung customarily from Cassian’s ear… 

She forced the thought away, and focused on straightening the Queen’s sleeve, her eyes returning to the snake.

But it’s spine was a line of more pearls— to symbolise wealth and purity, virginity, and it shouldn’t have reminded her of Cassian, of the one set in gold that shone amidst his dark curls. After all, Cassian could lay claim to neither wealth nor virginity, and yet the one he wore was a symbol nonetheless. Nesta brushed her hand over the Queen’s sleeve, and thought that perhaps his pearl was instead a symbol of something precious, something rare. Something plucked from the ocean and brought home to treasure.

Oh, the joust had softened her.

That was for certain.

Her conviction had already been wavering when she’d read Cassian’s letters, and seeing him race down the tiltyard yesterday had all but secured his forgiveness. The flames of her anger had burned away to nothing, and now when she thought of him—

She heard his laugh, saw his rakish smile, and felt her heart beat a little faster inside her chest. Like she were a witless maiden, borne of nothing but dreams and naïveté; like she hadn’t spent years at the royal court, growing as used to politicking as she was breathing. Cassian had made her yearn for real romance again, the way she had once as a girl, when her father had told her of Arthur and Guinevere, of Tristan and Isolde, and all those famous tales that made her heart swell.  Oh, after years of ruthless pragmatism and the endless facade of courtly love, she thought her desire for the real thing had been stifled, strangled, but it had resurfaced now, more fervent than ever before. And when he’d bowed before her in the tiltyard, his helm cast aside and his face aglow with triumph… 

Her hand fell away from the serpent on the Queen’s arm.

God— she needed to focus.

She pulled her awareness back in time to hear Blanche ask of Elizabeth,

“Will the Earl of Leicester be your hunting partner?”

Nesta paused.

It was a bold question— so bold that if anybody but the most favoured of her ladies had asked it, the Queen might have found reason to divorce a head from some shoulders. After all, they had all of them heard the rumours. Leicester and the Queen had been close friends since childhood— and there were whispers that perhaps it was once more than friendship, and might someday be something more again, if Leicester got his way. He had organised this entire pageant in the Queen’s honour, a gesture far grander than any he could reasonably have been expected to lay at his Queen’s feet. But as Nesta looked up, half expecting to find fury in the lines of the Queen’s face, instead she found her monarch’s mouth pulling into a coy smile, one that said Elizabeth would allow the question. 

“I think perhaps he shall,” she answered.

Nesta remained silent, only rounded the Queen to stand before her. She assessed the dress, the jewels, straightening the pearl necklace that twice circled her throat before hanging down to her navel. Elizabeth merely tilted her head in the wake of Nesta’s ministrations, causing the lace of her ruff to tremble. 

“And what of you, Mistress Archeron?” she asked. “Who shall be your partner?”

Nesta did not blink, did not pause, did not hesitate.

“Who should you like it to be, your majesty?” she asked, tilting her head in an echo of the monarch’s stance. Approval glimmered in Elizabeth’s eyes, a rare jewel of its own.

“Northumberland, perhaps?” the Queen ventured. “Master Vanserra seemed most determined to compete for your honour yesterday.”

Nesta’s mind flicked back once more to the joust - her soul be damned - and to the way Cassian had almost killed Eris in the tiltyard. As if the Queen could read her mind, Elizabeth snorted and said, smoothly,

“Or Master Cassian?” She tapped Nesta on the wrist with one long, thin finger. “My handsome Bat seems to have an eye on you, dove.”

Nesta forced herself to shrug. 

“Perhaps he does, majesty.”

She fought a smile, and Elizabeth hummed. Mirth danced at the corners of her lips, and even though she didn’t approve of her ladies marrying, something about the joust yesterday had humoured her. Perhaps it was the way Cassian had bowed to his Queen, or the way he had cast off his helm and looked up to the stands in such a perfect display of chivalry that Nesta half thought he might have plucked it from the pages of some Arthurian romance. Either way, something had snared the Queen’s attention, but Nesta was not fool enough to say anything more. She merely took a single step back and bowed her head as the Queen smoothed a hand down her skirts one final time.

“Well,” she said, her tone one of musing. “Perhaps we shall see.” 

A moment later the Queen clapped her hands, the sound sharp and cutting in the silence of her chambers. As the rest of her ladies waited for instruction, Elizabeth looked the window and allowed another serpentine smile to grace her lips. Her eyes were lit with purpose as she lifted her chin and said, with all the authority and determination only a monarch could muster,

“Let us hunt.”

***

It seemed, Nesta thought from atop her horse a half hour later, that all of England had descended upon Warwickshire to bask in the majesty of the Queen.

Riding two or three abreast in a great train behind Elizabeth, the hunting party stretched across the grounds all the way back towards the castle— all noblemen and horses, ladies and squires and hunting dogs. Trumpeters and drummers followed too, and a host of staff from the kitchens carried the baskets containing the food they would lay out at noon for dinner. Sheaths of arrows were slung across backs, crossbows stowed in saddlebags, and the drumming mirrored the footfalls of the horses as beyond the castle walls, Kenilworth’s expansive lawns began to slope before eventually giving way to lush woodland.

Grand— it was all so immeasurably grand.

Ahead, the Queen’s standard fluttered in the breeze, held aloft by a standard bearer, the embroidered lion shining golden beneath the morning sun. All the trappings of royalty gleamed— the richness of the Queen’s dress, the pearls that had been threaded through her hair; a glimmering vanguard as the trees of the forest grew closer. And at Elizabeth’s right, just as Blanche had suspected, rode the earl of Leicester. 

As casually and as easily as if it were the only place in the world that suited him, Robert Dudley filled the space at the sovereign’s side, and their heads were inclined towards one another as they spoke, their horses so close their flanks almost touched. The breeze carried behind them the sound of Elizabeth’s laughter, and as Leicester glanced sideways at his Queen, Nesta saw a flash of teeth, a wide smile beneath the brim of his hat, and she knew with unerring certainty that the earl was in love— so desperately and madly in love that it warranted all of this display, all of this pageantry. 

And the reminder that all of this grandeur was on the behalf of a man simply trying to turn a woman’s head… 

Well, it was foolish perhaps, and more than a touch sentimental, but… charming, too. 

And after all, hadn’t Cassian done something similar yesterday— something just as foolish? When he’d all but declared war on Eris, one of the richest dukes in England, because he had dared to ask her for her favour?

She shook her head, pushed the thought away, and kept her gaze straight ahead.

On the Queen’s left was Rhysand, riding silent and all but ignored. His heavy chain of office was draped over his shoulders, and the gold was bright against the deep black of his doublet. He wore a cap with a raven feather at the top too, and though from her position behind him she could not see his face, she could see his hands gripping the reins of his horse— could see, too, his velvet gloves, and the three rings he wore atop his gloves on each hand. His shoulders were stiff, and Nesta smirked.

If there was one thing Lord Rhysand did not appreciate, it was being overlooked, and with Leicester by her side, the Queen had no attention to spare for her dark-haired councillor. 

The sight should not have made Nesta as smug as it did.

On Nesta’s own left rode Madge, another of the Queen’s ladies. At their backs was the Duke of Northumberland and one of his many brothers, and Nesta did not think it a coincidence that he had managed to secure such a spot in the procession trailing behind the Queen. Indeed, as she had stood in the courtyard and mounted her horse, Eris had offered her his hand, and though Nesta had not accepted his assistance, he had bowed his head anyway, before taking her own hand and placing a fleeting kiss to the back of her fingers. 

She had never been so thankful to have been wearing riding gloves.

Beside her Madge was silent, as if she could tell that her riding partner was entirely preoccupied with her own thoughts. A frown almost creased Nesta’s brow, and she almost considered striking up conversation, but then her eyes fell to her gloved hands tight on her reins, and all she could think was—

I hope Cassian did not bear witness to that ridiculous kiss.

It was a thought as ridiculous in itself as the kiss Eris that had dropped on her hand, but one that persisted nonetheless. So consumed was she by it that the world and all its noise seemed to fade away, until—

“Mistress Radcliffe,” a smooth and all too familiar voice said easily from the empty space at Nesta’s right. Her heart kicked in answer as Madge turned her head, eyebrows rising as she beheld who addressed her. “My lord Azriel asks for you. He wishes to give you news of your brother in Ireland before the hunt begins.”

Cassian did not let his eyes stray to Nesta as he bowed his head; a vision of courtesy.

Madge smiled wide. It was no secret that she missed her brother, sent over to Ireland on the Queen’s orders. A lady from the north, she missed her family greatly, and it was no surprise to Nesta when she nodded her head and gave her thanks before turning around and leading her horse back along the procession that trailed them, to the space about four riders back, where the Queen’s spy had been riding beside the privateer and now sat alone.

Nesta looked behind as Cassian’s horse fell into step behind her. Quietly, she thought she heard Northumberland curse.

“Lady Nesta,” Cassian said in greeting, his voice light and airy as if this were the most ordinary of meetings.

But— merciful God, have pity on her soul.

Would she ever tire of the way her name sounded on his lips? Or the way he imbued it with something that felt like intimacy somehow? Lady Nesta, not Mistress Archeron. She thought back to his letters, how he’d penned her name with such an elaborate flourish. Even on a rocking ship, when ink and time were short for him, he’d written her name like it meant something. She glanced sidelong at him, trying to focus on the rhythm of the horse beneath her, the gentle trot of the hooves. But one look and she was at sea all over again, her sentimentality like a storm that threatened to send her under.

His doublet was the deep red of Burgundian wine, shot through with silver buttons in the centre of his broad chest, and for one foolish and ill-advised moment Nesta let her eyes wander, following that path of silver to where his doublet met his breeches.

God have pity, indeed.

Seated atop his horse, the privateer beside her cleared his throat and Nesta hauled her gaze back up— to a level far more befitting a lady of the Queen’s household. She took in, instead, the slashed sleeves of his doublet that split to reveal a crisp white shirt sitting beneath, and the dark cloak draped effortlessly over his shoulders. A delicate ruff rose from his collar and just barely grazed the edge of his jaw, and oh, lord— this man was beautiful. A velvet bonnet was balanced at a damn near rakish angle atop his curls, and as he brought his stallion into a trot beside her, the feather adorning it shivered in the breeze.

Beneath his unflinching gaze, and despite the heat, Nesta felt herself shiver too.

“Feeling cold, my lady?”

Damn him.

She cleared her throat, and refused to take note of the way several of those curls escaped his bonnet and lay tangled above his ruff, right against the bare skin of his neck.

“Master Cassian,” she said mildly, looking decidedly straight ahead to where the Queen and Leicester still spoke together in low murmurs. “Can I help you?”

He grinned. “Back to Master, are we?”

“Would you have me call you something else?”

“Oh sweetheart,” he said, dropping his voice so low it was almost sinful, “I’d have you call me several things.”

Nesta rolled her eyes and tried to force down the blood that rose to her cheeks.

“You are incorrigible.”

“Indeed,” he said brightly, tipping his head back and inhaling deeply, drawing the summer air deep into his lungs. He tightened his grip on the reins, his gloved hands pulling as the riders ahead of them began to slow— as the line of trees at the forest edge grew nearer still.

And Nesta thought she must have lost her mind, because when she looked at those gloves, for a moment she found herself mourning the fact that she could not see the bare skin of his hands as his fist tightened.

“Tell me— did my lord Azriel really wish to speak with Madge?”

Sidelong, Cassian smirked. 

“In truth, no,” he said with an easy shrug. “But it is no lie that he received reports from Ireland this morning. It is entirely possible there was something about Mistress Radcliffe’s brother in there.” He shot her a grin, before adding brightly, “I merely thought to join your hunting party, if you’ll have me.”

“I fear I am not much of a hunter,” Nesta answered with a shrug of her own, a slow lift of one shoulder. “My sister was always far better at it than I.”

He shot her a dazzling smile, one edged with mischief. “And yet I am certain we can find some creature for you to bring down.” He glanced behind him, to Eris and his brother. “A fox, perhaps.”

“Perhaps the fox was brought low enough already after yesterday’s joust.”

“The fox remains presumptuous,” Cassian shrugged. His gaze dropped, eyes turning flat as they alighted briefly on her hand, and Nesta’s heart sank a little as she realised that yes, Cassian had indeed witnessed that ridiculous little kiss. “He still thinks to take what is mine.”

“Yours?” Nesta asked incredulously, glancing once over her shoulder, ensuring Eris was still too lost in his own conversation to overhear. Looking ahead, she saw with thanks that the Queen was still too preoccupied to take note, too. “After such a long time away?”

Cassian lifted one hand from the reins and waved it. Like Rhysand, he too had rings decorating his fingers above the velvet, and they gleamed now, the gold bright.

“I thought we’d been over this, sweetheart?”

She blinked, imperious. “You’ve been over this, sir. As far as I recall, I said little on the matter.”

He snorted. “You said much,” he countered simply. “You’ve had me grovelling for days.”

“Grovelling?” she raised an eyebrow, but couldn’t mask the smile that began to spread across her face. “I haven’t seen you on your knees once.”

His eyes darkened. “And is that what it will take, my lady?” He tilted his head, the pearl in his ear brushing the lace of the ruff that peeked from the neck of his doublet. “For my forgiveness, you would have me on my knees?”

She was silent for a moment, and a wicked smirk curved his lips.

“Trust me, love, I am more than willing.”

Her breath caught, her blood raced. His meaning was obvious, and with the way that smirk turned almost devilish, she knew that the blush that rose to her cheeks had amused him— pleased him. Her treacherous heart beat a little faster - a lot faster - and she was about to reproach him for daring to speak so boldly in the presence of a lady of the royal household, but—

The horns sounded, and the dogs began to bark, and the party at last reached the tree line. With a wave of the Queen’s hand, lifted into the air, every one of them fell silent. 

Cassian pressed a gloved finger to his lips and winked, and Nesta was so momentarily undone by the gesture that she almost set her horse into a straight gallop. She pulled hard on the reins, knuckles straining above the leather, and when she turned, she saw laughter dancing in those damned eyes. 

She tore her gaze away, focusing forwards— on Rhysand and the Queen and Leicester. 

Slowly they made their way beneath the cover of the trees, delving farther and father into the woodland. The sound grew muffled, the heavy canopy above cloaking the rest of the world from view, and all around them was birdsong and the snap of breaking branches as the great trail of courtiers and servants began to split into smaller groups.

It would have been impossible for the entire party to have remained unnoticed by their quarry, and so— in groups no larger than a dozen, the entire court slipped away, and as Nesta looked over her shoulder when the initial flurry of activity died down, she found nobody behind them now, only the greenery of the forest and the birds in the trees above.

The Queen’s personal hunting party had narrowed, leaving only Elizabeth and Leicester, flanked by Rhysand and two more ladies-in-waiting. Madge and Azriel had joined them too, along with one more member of the Queen’s council. Nesta and Cassian brought the total to ten. 

Leicester retrieved a crossbow from his saddlebag, and handed it across the distance to his Queen. Elizabeth grinned.

A hush had fallen, and ahead Rhysand looked over his shoulder and scanned the members of the small group. Catching Cassian’s eye, he seemed to give an exasperated sigh before rolling his eyes and giving the privateer one brief, sharp, nod. Nesta did not much understand the silent and secret language Cassian seemed to share with his brother in arms, but it did not take a master codebreaker to decipher that particular message.

Alright, that nod seemed to say. I’ll do as you ask.

In answer, Cassian grinned.

And as Azriel manoeuvred his horse around them, leaving Nesta and Cassian at the back of the assembly, Rhysand pointed between the dense copse of trees ahead, where the light above was dim and the forest pressed in on all sides. 

“There!” he said loudly, his voice startling the birds nesting in the nearest tree. “Over there, your majesty!”

Elizabeth whipped her head to the side, sharp eyes assessing the direction Rhysand’s finger still pointed. Before Nesta could blink, the Queen’s smile had widened, the hunt upon her, and she kicked in her heels and sent her horse barrelling through the trees— at a speed so reckless her other councillor cursed soundly before setting his horse to follow.

Rhysand’s black stallion charged ahead, but before Nesta could urge her own mare forwards, another hand gripped her reins.

Cassian held tight, and as the rest of the hunting party darted quickly between the trees, Cassian inclined his head to the side, nodding in the other direction. His smile grew as the sound of the racing horses faded, and when he let go of the reins at last, he did not retract his hand. Instead, he extended it further, turned his palm to the sky. A silent offer, unspoken question. 

Come with me, that hand said.

And Nesta knew it was a bad idea to follow him through the wood.

Knew it was reckless, to go off with him alone.

Her reputation could end up in tatters. She could lose her position in the Queen’s household. 

And yet…

His smile was somehow sweet and devilish at the same time, simultaneously the most beautiful thing she had ever seen and the harbinger of her own ruin. 

She should have said no.

But God save her…

She didn’t. 

Instead, she placed her hand in his, feeling her heart kick as his fingers folded over her own. He drew her closer, until he could lift her hand to his mouth, and without looking away, he kissed the glove above her knuckles. She fought a shiver, and though earlier when Eris had kissed her hand she had thanked the Lord for riding gloves, now she cursed them— abhorred them. 

She felt the warmth of his hand sinking through her gloves, and oh, she only wished she could feel his touch against her bare skin, feel the smoothness of his kiss as the trees hid them from view.

At last he blinked, breaking his gaze and flicking his eyes down to the fingers he still had pressed against his lips.

A moment, an age, or a heartbeat later, he let her hand drop. And before Nesta had time to collect herself, Cassian dug in his heels and sent his horse through the trees, looking back over his shoulder, as if unwilling to draw his eyes away.

And when they were alone, with only the two of them riding almost silently, slowly, through the density of the trees, she dared to look at him again as he adjusted the crossbow that now sat across his lap, though neither of them seemed really intent on hunting anything at all. 

For a long time, there was silence— as if they were both of them afraid of being overheard. The air between them shifted, growing softer, as if the quiet gave rise to vulnerability. Suddenly, there were a thousand things Nesta wanted to say, a thousand words drifting to her lips, but in truth, she had no real idea of where or how to begin. Instead she watched the forest ahead of her, studied the way the leaves above swallowed the light, and let the silence stretch. And stretch, and stretch, and stretch, until—

At last, the privateer broke it. 

“You said you wanted me on my knees,” he began softly. “But what else do I need do to prove myself to you?”

He looked at her imploringly, the rogue cast aside, and Nesta’s heart suddenly began to strain, each beat laboured. Nothing— she knew she ought to tell him nothing, because no matter how much she wanted it, how much desire she carried, how could this ever end well between them?

Cassian studied her face.

“Do I need to sail to a distant land and claim it in your honour? Name a settlement after you? Bring you back a ream of treasure?”

She was silent, and his eyes were lined with a wealth of desperation that gave the lie to his bravado.

“Or shall I cast off my cloak before you and lay it over puddles, so your silk slippers may never touch the ground? Or—“

Nesta shook her head, and when she opened her mouth, his voice died to make way for hers. But her words grew tangled in her throat, and she hesitated— even though she never hesitated. She closed her mouth and sighed once more, and atop his horse Cassian smiled a little sadly, with so much longing her own heart ached, and when she looked at him…

Oh, he was the road her heart begged her to travel, even though it was one she knew in all good sense she wouldn’t be able to see through to its end. What was the point in letting herself fall, only to be hurt again when he left? Or when her father succeeded in tying her to some wealthy duke— if not Northumberland, then some other who came along? What was the point in any of it?

Love, a small and starving part of her whispered. The love the poets write about, the kind the troubadours sing about. The kind that makes you feel the way you do now, ready to cast off the world and find home in the arms of this one man.

As if he could see her battling with herself, Cassian drew his horse closer to hers— so close she could almost feel his warmth.

“You should know,” he said quietly, and whether the whisper in his voice was because of the need to stay hidden or the vulnerability of his words, she wasn’t sure, “that your letters were a greater treasure to me than anything I could take or steal from any ship on the high seas. Greater to me than any ransom any king could demand.”

A heartbeat passed, one where her heart seemed to thud so loudly in her chest that she feared the flock of deer they were pretending to hunt might hear it and flee.

Charming— did he always have to be so damned charming?

And God— would it be so bad, to tell him that he already had her forgiveness? Would it be so terrible, to tell him that despite it all she was his, if not in body but in mind and soul at least?

She was speechless for a moment, and he managed a weak sort of grin at her evident surprise.

And then—

The trees thinned, and a clearing lay spread before them, golden sunlight pooling in the centre like a small slice of Arcadia. Cassian sniffed a little, like the long grass and the wildflowers had irritated his nose, but still— there was beauty in that clearing, unspoiled and harmonious. 

And— a doe.

A doe stood frozen in the middle, her ears pinned back as she caught sight of the approaching horses. The sunlight dappled across her white-spotted back, and as she slowly lifted one slim leg, ready to bolt, Nesta’s eyes drifted to the crossbow in Cassian’s lap. 

She prayed he wouldn’t shoot.

But Cassian’s hand didn’t so much as twitch towards the weapon, as if he couldn’t find it in himself to hunt the creature either.

Yet on the other side of the clearing— there was the flash of auburn, the glint of an arrow.

Nesta’s heart lurched, and whether by design or divine intervention, beneath the hooves of Cassian’s horse a branch cleaved with a crack.

Readily, the deer bolted.

A curse sounded from the trees, where only a moment ago an arrow had been knocked and drawn, ready to be loosed. 

“Privateer.” A snarling voice drifted from the tree line, sharp and cutting, and Nesta recognised it immediately— saw the auburn hair like burnished bronze as Eris came into view. “You just cost me my prize.”

The duke pointed to where the deer had escaped between the trees, and though the rest of his companions remained in the shadow of the forest, she thought she could make out a handful of their faces, two of them bearing that same auburn hair. His brothers. Eris’ sneer grew wider, more vicious, and as he turned his head to fix Nesta with a stare across the distance, she wondered if his prize hadn’t only been the doe, but her, too. 

He brought his horse forwards into the clearing, further into the light, giving her an unrivalled view of the shining bruise that marred his temple. 

He hadn’t taken his loss at the joust yesterday well, it seemed, and though he cast his eyes over Nesta once more, it was to Cassian that he returned his gaze, letting out a single, dissatisfied huff. The bruise stretched up to his hairline, a livid purple stark against his pale skin, and in everything else but that, he appeared every inch the nobleman. A ring sat on every finger, and his doublet was unbroken black. Like Rhysand, he too wore a livery collar draped across his chest and shoulders, but where the Queen’s councillor had a Tudor rose dangling from his chain of office, Eris had instead the badge of a dog, its head back, lifted as if howling at the sky. 

He had a dagger out, too, presumably for slaying the deer, but the glint of the blade in the sunlight still promised bloodshed, and the way his hand flexed around the hilt said that it didn’t matter the doe had fled.

That dagger was to taste blood today, one way or another. 

“Piss off, Northumberland,” Cassian said easily— but his own hand had strayed from his bow to the sword hanging at his hip, his wrist resting purposefully on the pommel. 

Eris’ eyes flashed, quietly furious as his lip curled. “I will not stand to be insulted by one of such low standing.”

Cassian barked a laugh, but it was low and rough and dangerous. “You won’t stand for anything, sir, if I knock you from your horse as easily as I did yesterday.” He paused, and then added, “Shall I give you another bruise to decorate the other side of that pretty face?”

The duke sneered, but before he could let loose the insults that Nesta could see were rising to his tongue, there was a cacophony in the distance, and a hundred horns suddenly flaring loud enough to be heard all the way back at the castle. 

It was a summoning— a call to arms, to usher Elizabeth’s court back to her as the sun reached its highest point in the sky and dinner was served in the great tents at the edge of the forest. 

For the moment, at least, the hunt was at an end.

Eris twisted his head, looking behind him to the direction the horns had sounded. His brothers did not wait for him to make up his mind before they disappeared, following the call for food that was, apparently, of far greater worth to them than any loyalty they had for their brother. 

Cassian bowed mockingly in the saddle, but his hand did not stray from easy reach of his blade, and when Eris turned back to them, his lips were a thin line.

“These woods are treacherous,” he said flatly. “It commands great skill as a rider to avoid the pitfalls that litter these grounds. You might have won the match yesterday, sir,” - the duke’s lips pulled back over his teeth - “but how about another match? Here and now?”

Nesta watched as Cassian grinned, almost feral.

“First to the Queen wins,” he said as he moved his horse forwards, drawing level with Eris’.

The duke’s face darkened, and the nod he gave was sharp before flicking his eyes to Nesta once more. As if this were another attempt at winning her, at securing her favour for a second time. Cassian’s smile fell away, leaving behind the same murderous expression that had fuelled him at the joust yesterday.

“For the lady’s honour, then,” Eris declared, every word imbued with venom.

And when Cassian nodded, looking behind him over his shoulder to give Nesta one final wink, Eris clenched his jaw before slamming his heels into his horse’s flank, sending the beast galloping through the trees.

Cassian swore, a curse so filthy she was sure he could only have picked it up at sea, and surged forwards, letting the forest swallow him. 

But as Nesta followed, dipping beneath the cover of the trees, she saw that only the thinnest shafts of sunlight pierced the canopy of leaves above, leaving the forest floor just as treacherous as Eris had described. The ground was slick with mud, and even though the August heat ought to have dried it out, the summer sun had never made it to the ground here. Petrichor was thick in the air, and the long limbs of the trees snatched at the skirts of Nesta’s dress as she rode by them, wild and overgrown. Treacherous— this part of the forest was most definitely treacherous.

Indeed, Cassian could not ride as fast as he had yesterday, and neither could Eris, and it allowed Nesta to keep both the duke and the privateer in her sights as she followed behind, watching them weave through the trees in search of stable ground. 

As her horse almost stumbled over the gnarled roots of a tree half concealed by fallen leaves, she wondered if stable ground even existed this far into the woodland, and as the wind brushed against her cheeks and another branch snagged on her cloak, she almost called out to stop the madness that had Cassian spurring his horse onwards, regardless of the danger.

The ground began to slope— sharp and steep, and it was madness, utter madness to continue— 

Eris noted the slope, and Nesta watched as the duke swiftly studied the way the ground all but dropped away to reveal a small dell below, home to wide a stream that ran slow and idle through the undergrowth. Its banks were coated with mud, turning it slick and dangerous. 

Wisely, he veered to the side, directing his horse around— to where the ground sloped more evenly. A longer path, but a safer one, and he looked back only once before disappearing into the trees, avoiding danger altogether. 

But Cassian—

Irreverent, he glanced once over his shoulder. Manic, he grinned as he barrelled ahead, shooting Nesta a wink as he urged his horse faster still in Eris’ absence. The creature’s hooves slid in the mud, and Nesta called out his name, but Cassian had turned his face away, and if he heard her, he gave no indication.

Idiot.

She had no choice but to follow, and when he reached the banks of the stream, he did not stop. Instead he pressed in his heels, riding even faster, compelling the stallion to jump— 

And Nesta watched as the horse made the jump, but its hooves slipped on the bank on the other side, its landing far from smooth.

And just as Eris had been thrown from his horse yesterday, now Cassian was thrown from his— but it was a fall that was far more treacherous, far more dangerous, and Nesta swore her heart stopped dead as she watched him land roughly, heard the muffled groan as the ground came up to meet him. Forgetting all notions of her own safety, she urged her horse faster, willing it to cross the stream his stallion had just jumped. 

“You fool,” she hissed, feeling her horse whicker beneath her as she pushed the mare onwards. Cassian was lying on his back, a hand cast over his ribs as he looked up at the sky. “You could have broken your damned neck.”

Cassian twisted his head to look up at her as she pulled her horse to a halt.

“Got your attention though,” he muttered. “So I’d say it was worth it.”

“This was a bid for my attention?” Nesta echoed, dismounting roughly as he continued to lie there in the earth churned by his horse’s hooves. The mud was seeping through his breeches already, and the white sleeves of his fine cambric shirt were, she feared, irreparably stained. 

“Well,” Cassian said lightly, as though he hadn’t just been thrown from a stallion. “You started it, sweetheart.”

“Started what?”

He looked up at her again, turning his head in the dirt. “You gave Eris your favour.”

Nesta blinked. “You had your horse make a jump like that, risking your own bloody neck, because I gave the duke of Northumberland my ribbon? Have you lost your mind?”

“No,” he countered evenly. “My heart, perhaps. But my mind is still wonderfully intact.”

“Up,” Nesta said sharply. “Let me look at you.”

He grinned, as though vindicated, but as he made to raise himself, he hissed sharply, sucking in a breath as he pressed a hand to his ribs. His brow furrowed with pain, eyes darkening, and Nesta sighed heavily as she pulled off her gloves, held out her hand, and helped him to his feet.

“Take off your doublet,” she said flatly, looking at the expanse of muddied velvet. 

Cassian’s brow quirked. “Well, that’s not how I imagined you asking me to undress but—“

“How else can I check to see if you’ve shattered your ribcage?” she interrupted, but Cassian only grinned again and began loosening his ties. Soon enough his doublet was parted entirely, and as he slipped it from his shoulders, he winced. He let it fall to the floor, and Nesta was about to chide him for dirtying it so, but then she caught sight of his sculpted chest showing through the thin fabric of his cambric shirt. She swallowed, letting her gaze wander across his collarbone, at the tanned skin there that had been masked by his doublet’s high neck.

“And this?” Cassian said lowly, nodding to his undershirt. “Does this need to go too?”

“I… suppose it does,” Nesta said with a sniff, trying to affect nonchalance when all she could focus on was the curve of his shoulder, the muscles lining every inch of him. “How else can I check that no ribs are broken?”

“How else indeed,” Cassian hummed, and wasted no time in pulling the shirt over his head.

And good Lord have mercy, Nesta knew that Cassian was sculpted like Italian marble but nothing could have prepared her for the bare skin of his chest, hardened with muscle. Those months on a ship definitely suited him, and as she looked, she forced herself to focus on his ribs, on the task at hand. 

Innocent, she thought as she tentatively traced a finger across his ribcage, where a thin scar marred his skin. It’s all entirely proper, completely innocent. Just a lady checking a friend for injury.

He was warm beneath her, so warm, his skin softer than it had any right to be. He’d spent eight months in the sun and salt air, and he’d come back looking finer than ever. Hers— this man could be hers, and as her fingers splayed across his chest, Cassian reached up with one hand and caged her touch right above his heart. 

She felt it beat— sure and steadfast. 

“Will I live?” he asked softly. “Or am I doomed?”

Nesta swallowed, unable to tear her eyes away from his hazel ones, boring down into her with an intensity that had her feeling slightly stunned. Her lips parted, she tried to speak, but all she could feel was his heart beating beneath her fingers, his smooth skin and the warm heat of him that had her feeling breathless. 

“You’ll live,” she said at last.

He nodded, his hair falling idly over his forehead. In the sunlight, the pearl that dangled from his ear winked, the gold setting glimmering. 

Nesta blinked, and somehow found the strength to drag her eyes away, dropping her gaze to the floor. Where his shirt lay in a crumpled pile next to his doublet, there was a hint of pale-blue, a small flash of colour against the white. She frowned, tilting her head, unable to understand even as she knew what it was, what it must be.

“Is that— my ribbon?”

Cassian pulled back, a somewhat sheepish smile on his face as he cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair.

“Perhaps.”

“How did you even get it?” she asked, bending to retrieve it from the pile of his clothes. 

He shrugged. “I wasn’t about to let Eris have it.”

Silence settled between them for a moment, broken only by the noise of the forest and the sounds of the horns, distant. 

“Why didn’t you tell me about him?” he asked quietly. “About the betrothal.”

Nesta shrugged. “Because I’m trying to get out of it,” she said easily. “It was foolish of you to think I’d still be here, unwed, when you got back. You know my father—“

“Fuck your father,” he muttered. And then he softened, his eyes turning wide with something akin to pleading. “I’m here now, sweetheart. And I’m not going away again.”

“But you will,” she countered, turning her face away. He always would— he could not be tied to the court as she was, had too restless a spirit to spend his life idling away on an estate somewhere. “And I’ll be left behind, waiting for you, again.”

“You could come with me,” he offered instead, even though the both of them knew it was madness.

Elain had moved to Spain with Lucien— but that was because his place was in the Spanish court, somewhere settled. It was bad luck to have a woman aboard a ship, everyone knew that. No, Cassian could not take her with him, but she adored him a little for even offering in the first place.

“Or you could promise not to stay away so long,” she said instead, her voice quiet. “Come home, Cassian, as often as you are able. Don’t sail so far away from me.”

“Never again,” he said, holding a hand over his heart. “How could I ever stray so far, when I love you too much to stand the distance?”

Her breath caught.

I love you.

Oh, the words were said so often at court. She’d had countless dukes and earls call her their dearest love during dances and revels, and she couldn’t even begin to fathom how many had written her poems or bowed deep and told her she held their hearts in her hands. It was part of the game they played at Elizabeth’s court— part of the realpolitik that made up their world. 

But it was different when he said it.

So different Nesta might have sworn the earth beneath her shifted, that standing beneath that canopy of trees, all the riches in the world lost their value.

She blinked, and he waited— waited for her to say something, to acknowledge his declaration.

And in the end, Nesta found the strength to dip her head, to smile a little demurely before stepping forward and pressing the softest, the chastest, of kisses to his cheek. Then, she turned back to her horse and mounted, leaving him standing there, looking up at her, one hand pressed to the cheek she had just kissed.

“I suppose, then,” she said, “that you can be forgiven for ignoring my letters.”

And as she began to ride off into the forest, she looked back once— and waited for him to follow.

Taglist: @c-e-d-dreamer @andrigyn @beansidhebumbling @burningsnowleopard @asnowfern @xstarlightsupremex

[strawberrystepmom]

“Nesta had loved Cassian since she'd first laid eyes on him. Had loved him even when she did not want to, even when she had been swallowed by despair and fear and hatred. Had loved him and destroyed herself because she didn't believe she deserved him, because he was all that was good, and brave, and kind, and she loved him, she loved him, she loved him”

like this passage has done more for me than prozac ever will

[acourtofladydeath]

WIP Game

Thank you for the tags @yanny-77 and @witch-and-her-witcher!!

Rules: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

I have SO MANY WIPs in varying stages ranging from "ferally writing every chance i get, including in my sleep and during class" to "drowning and forgotten at the bottom of the pool while I work on everything else." Some are mostly drafted, others are outlines, and some are just ideas I've dropped into docs but all are near and dear to my little fanfic heart.

Welcome to the Family (Elain X all the Vanserras)

Sariel Sic Fic (Azris)

*ASOLB Ch3: Dare to Dream (Azris)

*RttHC Ch2: Winners & Losers (Azris X Nessian)

*TTBW Ch5: You Were Only Waiting (Nessriel)

Ch7: Reunited (Patrochilles)

UTM contact -> mating (Azris)

What Eris got Az for solstice (Azris)

Casris Hounds

Who Have We Become? (IC has to face some shit)

The Process of Progress (Azriel focused)

Carhysta Smut

A Court of Hurting and Healing (Bat Boys focused)

And So, We Danced (Nesta & Eris brotp w/ Nessian & Azris)

How Dare You (AU Azris)

Lovers Live and Die, Fortissimo (AU - Azris, Nessian, Elucien, Helion X LOA)

Lauda/Hunt F1 AU (Azriel/Cassian)

UTM Lucien/Eris fic

Patrochilles Azris

Eris shows up drunk & injured, see screenshots (Azris)

Feysand vs. Nessriel

FFF smut part 2 (Eltamcien)

ASOLB mating frenzy (Azris)

Jurian and Rhys heart-to-heart

Bat Boy reunion after UTM

*RttHC, TTBW, and ASOLB each have a doc per chapter, so they have multiple WIP docs, but I only listed the chapters I'm currently writing/working on.

Several are whump, several are feel good fun, some are more serious commentaries, and a few are straight smut. There are also MORE THAN THIS. But those ideas were either not as fleshed out or ones I wanted to keep to myself.

ANYWAY THIS IS HOW MY BRAIN WORKS. Welcome to my personal hell. ? Heaven? Unclear...

For legal reasons and my own gods damned sanity I make literally zero guarantees that you get all of these by the way. but THEY EXIST. There's also the two original fiction ideas that I have and have documents for but I'm keeping those close to the chest.

There's literally no way to tag as many people as I have fics so I'm just picking a few. I apologize if you've already been tagged and NO PRESSURE! @thelov3lybookworm, @readychilledwine, @born-to-riot, @danikamariewrites, @thelovelymadone, @theatrequeen, @nocasdatsgay

[theladyofbloodshed]

i have one chapter left of lucnes fic then i'd wager 5/6 of nezriel fic then i am free

[alicentsaegon]

Sarah J Maas can hype up Rhysand all she wants I'm still wet for Tamlin idc