#pre acosf

[misswonderflower]

I'm looking for a nessian fic(?) which includes a the character Nesta fucks before "the intervention". He is the owner of the tavern she frequents and basically calls out Cassian for his bullshit.

[c-e-d-dreamer]

But I'm Only Looking At You: Chapter Masterlist

Main Pairing: Nesta Archeron/Cassian

Summary:

Cassian has been in love with Nesta Archeron for years and hopes to one day ask for her hand. But when Cassian learns that Nesta is set to marry the Viscount Tomas Mandray, he's ready and willing to do anything to stop it, including doing something very very stupid.

Aka a Regency AU inspired by Taylor Swift's Speak Now

Read on AO3

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Epilogue

[threshholdofescape]

Me: minding my own business, getting ready for work

Brain: Feyre x bat boys foursome

Me: sighs, not right now ffs

Brain: Rhys sitting calmly in a chair with a drink in his hand while he slowly loses his mind with lust watching Az and Cass worship Feyre

Me: .... I'm listening

[gwandas]

Oh man.. i think a couple of days ago someone was angry by a post criticizing Cassian in terms of how he acted towards nesta. Said you can’t be pro nesta if you hate nessian. And I’m like huh? How so? It was ridiculous

Lmfao. It’s funny to me that the only thing stopping the “let people enjoy things” crowd from enjoying said things is… themselves. Literally no one gaf if you like Nessian.

I have to say though it’s pretty gross that someone is out there reducing Nesta to her relationship. I liked Nesta before Cassian even showed up in the story 😃

[tangerinecherrygal]

I’ve noticed that she isn’t the best at showing romantic tension, only sexual tension. This is why the canon couples can come across as overly horny.

I do understand that traumatic experiences can lead to personality changes and habits that you normally wouldn’t pick up, but it’s so blatantly obvious that miss author didn’t want to come up with another way for a relationship to form.

I’m not saying that they wouldn’t have sexual tension but to me there is a lack of sweetness and ‘courting’ in their relationship that nesta deserves especially. she needs tenderness and care like she gives elain. her and cassian are such a missed opportunity to me because you have two people who hide how inadequate they feel but they can see through the act of the other. if there was no possibility of sex, how would they interact? it would be so interesting to see

[lucienarcheron]

Quiet Thunder - I [Elucien]

Prompt: Lucien expresses his frustrations to Elain. | Part II

Genre: Angst  Rating: SFW Author’s note: This takes place post-ACOFAS.

It had started the night before. An unusual discomfort had taken place in his chest and he had rubbed at it all evening, waiting for it to pass, trying to ignore it as Jurian and Vassa discussed with him. He had tried to participate, discuss, and laugh along but the feeling kept intensifying as the night went on.

Something was wrong with Elain.

The thought kept repeating itself in his mind over and over again but he tried to push it away, tried not to think about it. Elain had been going through a variety of emotions the past few months and Lucien had silently endured them all.

Space was what she wanted and space is what he would give her. Even when it was impossible for him not to think of her constantly. It was an ache. An ache Lucien didn’t ask for and an ache he didn’t think he’d experience again.

But now, it was well into the morning and the feeling had only increased, the discomfort edging onto pain that had him bolting upright from his bed and winnowing into Velaris, haphazardly slipping a shirt on, his sleeping trousers nearly slipping off in his haste.

He quickly knocked on the door and when a minute passed, his knocking became more frantic.

A wide-eyed Feyre slowly opened the door and blinked at Lucien. “I know we’re friends Lucien, but you better have a good explanation for why you’re here looking like this.”

“Elain.” he choked. “Is she alright? How badly is she hurt?”

“Elain?” she blinked. “She’s fine she’s just — oh.”

“Oh, what?”

“She started her cycle this morning.” Feyre said with a small wince then waved a hand over him. “This makes sense now. Come in.”

Lucien followed her in, the tightness around his chest loosening slightly. Just her cycle. A cycle from the deepest pits of hell if he remembered correctly from his own mother’s experiences. From Jesminda’s. His chest tightened again at the thought of her name and he shook his head at the shame he felt. Ashamed that he was thinking of his previous lover while his mate lay upstairs in pain.

Not that she wanted anything to do with him.

Lucien followed Feyre into the huge kitchen of the estate and he nodded his head in greeting at the two half-wraiths who returned the gesture.

“How —how is she?” he asked softly.

“It’s been a rough morning,” Feyre said quietly as she took a tray loaded with hot tea and a small portion of food from Nuala’s hands. “I was actually on my way up to see her now. She’s mortified that everyone knows she’s dealing with it. As you’ve probably picked up by now, Elain is a tad more modest than most.”

Lucien nodded, a thin smile on his face. “From the few times we’ve been in the same room standing miles apart. Yes, I’ve gathered.”

Feyre gave him a look then sighed. “I’ve tried, you know.”

Lucien shook his head. “Don’t worry. I don’t blame her. I don’t blame you either. It’s not your responsibility.” He paused, glancing at his hands clenching the edge of the counter and then up at Feyre. “Would — would it be alright if I saw her? Made sure she’s okay?”

“I don’t know if she’ll be up for that.” Feyre said, biting on her lip in thought. “I can ask and see.”

He nodded in response. “I’ll wait down here.” he replied then sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry for coming in like this. But I — I felt it. Her discomfort and pain. I thought she was hurt. As her mate, I’d — I’d like to help in any way I can.”

“A very specific kind of hurt.” Feyre said, scrunching her nose and then chuckling.

He gave her a small smile. “Indeed.” he replied then his smile fell from his face. “Um, let me know what she says.”

She only gave him a sympathetic smile in return, leaving with the tray in her hands. Lucien let out a breath and tried to remember why he was even here in the first place. Again, it wasn’t like she wanted anything to do with him. Months had passed and yet...at the first sign of dismay, here he was.

So much for dignity.

~

This must be what hell felt like.

Elain was in actual hell.

She let out another pitiful whimper, her fingers digging into her pillow trying to figure out what was worse: her uterus that was viciously shedding itself or her lower back that felt like a thousand knives were being stabbed in it.

She curled up herself in a fetal position, hoping to center all of it in one spot and Elain was pretty sure if it was possible to die from this, she would’ve been dead ages ago.

But then — then something felt different. Her head lifted slightly and she immediately knew what it was.

His scent.

Her mate.

Why was he here?

Why would he come?

Elain knew she hadn’t been the kindest to him. In fact, she was the rudest she had ever been to anyone when it came to him.

Lucien.

He wasn’t a bad person. He’d been nothing but kind to her and yet, she couldn’t make herself be more open to him. Previously, it was because she had still been in love with her ex-fiancé who had tossed her to the side in a moment when she needed him most.

But that wound was still there. Mending, but still there.

Now, however, she avoided Lucien because she wasn’t ready for any other alternative he may offer her.

It wasn’t fair. But Elain was in no way going to change the amount of the distance between them. In case — in case he demanded more than she could offer.

So why was he here?

A knock on her door interrupted her thinking and she weakly mumbled, “Come in.”

Elain registered Feyre’s footsteps as she closed the door and came closer to settle by her side at the edge of the bed, placing the tray on the nightstand next to it.

“How are you feeling?” Feyre asked and Elain let out a whine.

“Like I want to die.”

Feyre chuckled, rubbing Elain’s arm gently. “I bought you tea and some light food.”

Elain rubbed her cheek into the pillow, glancing at Feyre for a few seconds then averting her gaze. “I know he’s here.”

The room fell silent.

“Yes, he is.” Feyre finally spoke.

“Why?”

“Because he sensed that you’re hurting and wanted to check on you.”

“Why?”

“Are you really asking me that?”

“We’re strangers, he doesn’t have to pretend to care.”

“He’s not pretending to care. He does care. You’re his mate and you’re also my sister.”

“I doubt he’s here because he’s worried about his friend’s sister suffering through her cycle.” she said with a snort and then groaned softly as she stretched her body back flat on the bed, hoping to ease some of the tension in it.

Feyre sighed. “You know, he doesn’t want anything from you. He just wants to check on you.”

“I’d rather he didn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re strangers.”

“You’ve known each other for a year now and the only reason you’re not any less of strangers is your own fault.” Feyre said firmly and Elain shot her a look.

“What do you want, Feyre?”

“I want you to just stop worrying about him whisking you away and forcing you to be his bride for one minute and actually talk to him.” her sister said softly. “Like it or not, that link will always be there. You avoiding it won’t make it go away. So stop pretending it’s not there and address it so you both can move on.”

Elain eyed Feyre silently, her lips a thin line. Her sister was right, of course. That didn’t mean she wanted to talk to him. Especially in this state.

“Not today.”

“Elain.”

“Not. Today.” she hissed.

Feyre only silently gazed at Elain then sighed and stood. “Fine. I’ll let him know.”

“It probably won’t be for a while.” Elain only managed and watched as Feyre’s mouth turned into a thin line then nod as she opened the door and —

He was standing there. Standing in her doorway.

~

Lucien had tried to stop himself, tried not to care enough to follow but when he saw a chance, he took it. He just wanted to make sure she was alright. Maybe for once, get a damn word in to this female he was shackled to.

He stood silently outside her door. Debating whether he should knock or wait for Feyre to come out but then he had heard every word in their conversation and the conversation had frozen him to the spot, jaw clenched.

Truly like a deer caught in the wild, she was staring at him as though caught in a dirty act. Still as beautiful as the first time he’d seen her.

Elain bolted up or tried to, and slowly sat up with a soft whimper.

“You don’t have to get up. For once, please don’t.” he said. Please let me say what I have to say so it doesn’t stay bottled in me forever, was what he really wanted to say instead.

Feyre’s gaze hardened at him and he silently stood in the doorway, watching the two sisters exchange glances.

“I thought you were going to wait downstairs.” Feyre finally asked, turning back to him.

“Nuala had hot pads to help Elain. I offered to bring them up.” he stated dryly.

“You didn’t have to do that.” Elain replied, her cheeks flushing that he was standing at her door. That he had actually come up. How would she avoid him now?

“No, I didn't have to.” he agreed, then held out the pad to Feyre. “ But I wanted to. I know you’re in pain and uncomfortable.”

He watched as Feyre silently took the pad from him and brought it back to Elain’s side where they exchanged a silent conversation that had him dropping his gaze to his feet, the back of his neck heating. When was he ever going to be in a place that didn’t make him feel like scum?

“I don’t think now is a really good time.” Feyre said, walking back towards him. “Elain is pretty tired, perhaps another day we can —”

“When?” he said through clenched teeth and he felt both females pause, his eyes still on his feet. “When, Elain? When will you spare me some of your time so we can finally talk about this?”

“Lucien —” Feyre began but he held up a hand gently, finally locking gazes with his mate.

“I just want to say my piece and maybe I’m a bastard to be saying it with her in this state, but at least I know she won’t walk away and I can finally say what I have to say.” he continued.

Elain’s eyes widened slightly and then she averted her gaze, like she always did around him.

“And what do you have to say?” she asked quietly.

“Do me the dignity and at least look at me when I’m speaking, please.” he said quietly but firmly.

He watched as Elain met his gaze and they shared a moment of silence. A moment where frustration, longing, sorrow, and hurt — so much hurt was exchanged in that gaze.

Feyre stood silently between them but Lucien’s gaze never wavered from Elain’s.

“Yes?” she asked him.

“A year. A year has passed and you’ve ignored me.” he began, a hand moving to grasp the doorframe. “I can’t blame you. You don’t know me. I don’t know you. But we’re mates. That bond, that tie is always going to be there hanging over our heads whether we want it to or not.” Lucien swallowed trying to choke down his frustration, his shame. “But you are very arrogant to assume that I asked for this. That I want to be your mate.”

He watched her eyes widen.

“You don’t want a mate? That’s fair. I didn’t want one either.” Lucien continued, choking back a snarl. “I already had the big love of my life. She was everything to me. I thought she was my mate, I was waiting for that mating bond to snap in place but that didn’t happen.” He squeezed his eyes shut, the wood of the doorframe groaning under his grip and his voice softened as he continued, “She was murdered because of me and I have had to live with that for years on end until the Cauldron decided to throw us together.”

He watched her delicate hand fly to cover her mouth, eyes widened, but in horror this time. He only gave her a tight smile.

“So forgive me for saying this again but, it is very bold of you to assume I am sitting here and asking about you because I am blindingly pining for your affection.” he said, his voice deadly calm. “I am not some rabid animal that is trying to hunt you. I am not some — some filth that is trying to force anything on you. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for you. But the cauldron put us together for some reason or another. It wasn’t what you wanted and it most certainly wasn’t what I wanted or expected. All I ask is that you give us a chance.”

Elain swallowed, her chest rising and falling at his harsh words, at the tone. “A chance at what?”

“To know if there’s anything between us worth fighting for.” he answered. “To know if you’re worth any more effort on my part.”

“Lucien.” Feyre warned but he only held up a hand again.

“I don’t mean it as an insult. I’m not looking for a mate. Not after —” he cut himself off with a swallow then continued, “What I am looking for is a partner. Someone who will be my friend. Someone who will share the terrible moments as well as the good ones. You once said to me that no one ever looked at you, never saw you. You wanted someone who will. Well, that’s what I want too. Someone who sees me, Lucien, and stays.”

A heavy silence fell in the room as Lucien took a deep breath and Elain nervously fiddled with her sleeping gown, at loss for words. Feyre silently watching them both.

Finally, Lucien spoke up again from his position at the door. The position he hadn’t moved from, wouldn’t move from. Not until she let him in.

“The cauldron seems to think you’re it, Elain.” he said, glancing at her once more. “But the cauldron isn’t always right. Maybe we’d be great mates. Maybe we wouldn’t. Maybe we could be friends. Maybe we won’t. But the least — the least you could grant me, us, is a chance to talk about it.”

He watched as her gaze flickered from his face and back to her hands and he didn’t miss the slight trembling of her lips.

“I didn’t ask for this either and I’m not looking for you to love me. I’d like to at least be your friend.” he added softly. “But if you really don’t want that — if you don’t want anything to do with me, then that’s fine, but we need to discuss that. You want me to see you? I do. I see you. More importantly, I feel you all the time. I feel everything that you’re going through and I understand. But please understand this,  I cannot and won’t stand having no closure on this any longer. I can’t.”

He heard his voice crack on the last word and lowered his hands that has been gripping the door back to his sides. Again, Lucien felt his whole face heat up as silence enveloped them.

Say something. He wanted to beg. Say anything.

As though she heard him, Elain finally spoke up. “Would you have cared to want to be my friend if I wasn’t your mate?” she asked and his head snapped up to meet her gaze drilling into him. “Would I have mattered to you then?”

“You are Feyre’s sister, someone who is a close friend of mine. I would’ve cared about you because you’re her sister and then as we got to know each other, I would’ve cared about you for you.” he replied. “You’re important as your own person, Elain but...you haven’t given me a chance to get to know you.”

“And now? The only reason you want to get to know me is because of this bond?”

“Would you even know I existed if it wasn’t for the bond? Are you giving me a chance to get to know you despite it?”

Elain fell silent at that and he watched her swallow before answering, “He still has a place in my heart.”

“She still has one in mine.” he only replied.

He watched her gaze drift down to her hands as she fiddled with her fingers again but Lucien had had enough. His eyes locked on Feyre, “Heated massages always work well. My mother used to use this special lotion that stays heated as it’s rubbed in. It helped to alleviate the discomfort. I told the twins about it and Cerridwen went to get some from a shop in the city that I looked in once. I thought it might help.” he said quietly then his gaze flickered to Elain. “Feel better. Find me when you do.”

Lucien whirled on his heels but saw and heard nothing around him as he blindly made his way to the front door of the estate and winnowed out, winnowing back to his own bedroom, hoping for once, maybe today, he wouldn’t choke on his own frustrations.

[thewayshedreamed]

The Hereafter

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

——————————————————————————

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 😅

——————————————————————————

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]:

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@wannawriteyouabook

[darling-archeron]

I realize that acotar is definitely a mainstream series at this point but its still so bizarre to me. People i went to high school with like the same posts as me on Instagram. I once had a discussion that ended with me realizing someone I knew could definitely have read my fic without knowing it was me. I was in Target today and saw the books in no less than four seperate places. Yes this is a wildly successful series with millions of copies sold and a successful fanbase on every platform. But to me it is me and a dozen mutuals reblogging the same fanarts and silly little memes.

[whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk]

Why, instead of working on literally any of my existing WIPs, am I suddenly desperate to write a one-shot where Elain finally snaps because she’s sick of being the “nice” one 🤷🏼‍♀️

[the-lonelybarricade]

Hiiii! I was wondering what is your opinion on how Rhys was written in ACOSF? I would love to hear your thoughts :)))

I pretend acosf Rhys does not exist 😌

[arson-09]

tonights acotar thoughts are with the Illyrian women and how rhysand has utterly failed them despite his supposed efforts

Hes ‘allowed’ them to become warriors if they wish. But thats not even the bare minimum. from my memory he acknowledges that he doesnt enforce the wing clipping laws (smooth move) so that’s basically useless and as to be expected of a man, he misses the point of feminism and equality laws. WHERE are the laws and protections for women in marriages?? if the illyrian are so ‘brutal’ and ‘backwards’ the assumption can be made that divorce isn’t a thing unless the man requests it. No women requested divorces and probably no such thing as no fault divorces. As well as forced marriages (which also brings up the consent age) Adding on, what about abortions and other pre natal and natal laws and protections? again, assuming women arent allowed to have abortions or simply any bodily autonomy, where are those decrees rhysand? Im not even getting into the potential of LGBTQ+ illyrians and their rights (Logically there are LGBTQ+ illyrians but ofc sjm wouldn’t mention them)

He makes such a fuss about it being a womans choice (a hypocrite as we see in acosf) yet unless a woman is able too or wants to fight he doesnt seem to care. Which is also a major flaw of sjms writing, women only gain their independence if they can kick ass and fuck as they want. Which is of course valid but thats a very shallow way to view feminism and equality. The whole point is that a woman can choose, wether its to be a warrior or a stay at home mother, but theres nothing done for those women who want that lifestyle.

This has influenced me in my fic writing a lot to where a this topic has become a major focal point in my fic somewhat by accident. I think that logically there would be a rebellion from mostly illyrian women against rhysand, hes promised them so much yet has delivered so little.

[ae-neon]

Went to go find my Nesta vs Mor is actually Nesta = Mor / venus and aphrodite theory ramble and saw this fantastic comment about how ACOSF could have just as easily been a Mor book and it really struck me that it probably was 😭

Like the whole premise of the theory was that sjm has limited creativity when it comes to character so often she has an outline or archetype and sometimes established characters will just switch and essentially steal the roles of others

Sjm had to really twist Nesta into someone not herself to get acosf to work but you know who was already basically living out of a bottle? and using meaningless sex as cope? and was a female warrior? and had fans wanting the Cas-Az threesome (pre-WAR)?

Ruined both characters to give us Taming of the Shrew 2: Electric Boogaloo because she couldn't write complex, modest woman and would probably rather saw off her fingers than write a lesbian romance

[highladyjane]

The assault at Sangravah happened in early ACOMAF (before Elain's existence even came into picture for Azriel - 3 days before he even got to meet Feyre)... So I don't get how G and Az are supposed to be mates when he's had all that time to feel something?

There's the parallel of Rhys' father feeling his mating bond snap into place the moment he met his mother being assaulted.

"One look at her, and he knew what she was..." (ACOMAF, ch. 16)

Or Rhys himself feeling the bond when Feyre was being tortured by Amarantha...

"And I knew as I picked up that knife to kill her... I knew right then what you were. I knew right then that you were my mate." (ACOMAF, ch. 54)

Or Cassian simply meeting Nesta. "Say what I've guessed from the moment we met" he breathed. What I knew from the first time I kissed you. What became unbreakable between us on Solstice night." (ACOSF, ch. 62)

Bonus from Nesta: “‘From the moment I met you, I wanted you more than reason. From the moment I saw you in my house, you were all I could think about. And it terrified me. No one had ever held such power over me."

Or even Lucien after Elain was Made and maybe even while being thrown into the Cauldron... I don't even need a quote for them, but even Lucien knew and has tried seeking Elain out after the incident.

It's stated in the books and shown again and again that it's the males who are deeply affected by the mating bond. That they can know from the moment they meet. They all in one way or another sought after the females. Even Nesta and Feyre felt something before they knew or opened themselves up to it. And since they all met - They. Couldn't. Stay. Away.

But there's like... no hint of it from Az after stumbling upon G? Like he just literally stumbles upon her - never actually even actively seeking her out through all those years? He hasn't even actively tried to stay away? He's just... *crickets*

It's been Gwyn making noises and attracting his attention through all their scenes together. It was Gwyn asking for dagger lessons. It was 'Gwyn' making Az the new ribbon (whatever that means). And it's Az's shadows reacting to Gwyn, not Az himself. But there's no real hint that Gwyn feels anything romantic for him. There's barely any interactions between them without linking it to her assault in Sangravah and her growth from it.

Besides Az's shadows reacting to G, and that ribbon moment that everyone deems so pivotal when Az realises what it means for the Valkyries (that he's had a hand in training) and maybe even reflects upon Gwyn's character development and therefore what the ribbon means for Gwyn - which made me feel proud too, and that's how I interpreted it - but I can't see an undeniable sign of it being a mating bond anywhere.

I thought at first that mayhaps he was giving her space because of the assault, but then the BC came and he went "It was too late to bank without appearing like he was running," and then "He wouldn't go so far as to call Gwyn a friend,". (ACOSF, Azriel's Bonus Chapter)

Let's not even mention the part where Gwyn was actually in danger (no matter how capable she was at that point), while Cassian was going ballistic at Nesta being in danger, but Az is all like "Let's go save Eris". Eris who both he and Cassian hates. Eris who Az himself nearly killed during the HLs' pre-war meeting (before he exhibited actual mate behaviour and sought and risked his life to save Elain who's not even his mate). But no, he gave just as much or even less action and reaction about Gwyn as Tamlin gave when Feyre was UTM.

And I was like...

How are they mates? Where's the mate behaviour every male - mated or not - in Prythian has exhibited throughout the books? Why did I keep seeing things about them being mates and endgame?

The only hint between them that I could even begin to consider it from is the second to last sentence in Az's BC.

"But Azriel tucked away the thought, consciously erasing the slight smile it brought to his face. Buried the image down deep, where it glowed quietly."

But I basically have the same interpretation about that as this post from @merymoonbeam. (Although I'm still neutral about the lightsinger theory, it's the most interesting take.)

Because again.

Why hasn't Azriel felt/shown anything or actively sought her out or even actively stayed away if he's known Gwyn since Sangravah?

If they're mates, shouldn't he have felt and shown something - like that glow - and Gwyn be the one to snap him out of his 'love' for Mor before he even had the chance to meet Elain? If he's just lonely and jealous of his brothers having mates then... Why has he barely noticed or sought out Gwyn who's supposed to be his mate?

What, he had to wait until his shadows reacted to her to even think about her?

I'm not an expert at analysing things - I wouldn't even say I'm good at interpreting things especially when I've got my rose-tinted glasses on, so/but I'm always open to being wrong and changing my mind accordingly.

But/so convince me with actual canon and not just your biased opinions, delusions, self-insertions, or ships.

[gwandas]

Idc if Elain “abandoned” Nesta. Hell I’ll even say Nesta was being unreasonable when she kept talking about Elain “choosing” Feyre over her. I understand where she’s coming from—She doesn’t want to ruin other people’s happiness with her issues and leaves them alone in what she sees as their perfect world. She’s also hurt because she thought Elain accepted who she was unconditionally and feels abandoned.

But ultimately Elain is her own person and can do what she wants. And yes, yes, I agree no one is owed support when they are in a dark place and all that. Also, Nesta was pushing her away! She more or less followed the boundaries that were set pre-ACOSF and I don’t fault her for that. If Elain wasn't up to supporting Nesta after ACOWAR and left her alone forever I would never hold it against her.

However, that is not what happened. Elain got fed up with her sister’s boundaries and colluded with the others to break her boundaries down. She agreed with the IC that what Nesta needed to heal was the same place where she herself was a catatonic vegetable for half of ACOWAR and everyone agreed wasn’t helping her. What that means is that I don’t have to feel bad for Elain when Nesta said what she said after Elain told her “she didn’t have to be so miserable.” Nesta told her to fuck off and she didn’t listen! She kept pushing the issue when she was asked to stop.

And then she started whining about how Nesta wasn't getting better when it had been like two weeks in the House of Wind. If she can’t handle the consequences of her actions, I literally do not give a fuck about Nesta being cruel to her and her running away in tears. Elain is not a victim.

[heycasper22]

Pre ACOSF Headcanon

Gwyn has seen the shadowsinger soaring past her bedroom window many times, windows he doesn't know exist.

She wonders how many people get to see him this way full of an almost childlike joy as he solo flies above velaris. Not many she'd wager. She imagines that same wind whipping her own hair. She can almost feel it, like she almost does every time he passes, like a soft caress on the cheek.

[lucienarcheron]

So Nesta and The Prophecy. Anyone else 👀