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nestasgalpal · 11 months

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Can't think straight when we are together Pt. 3 [Nessian]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

Nesta’s Gal Pal masterlist | AO3

Tagging:@zoyaslai@champanheandluxxury@pataytayo@nessiantrashh@dustjacketmusings@saltydreamcollector@generalnesta@simpingfornestaarcheron@arinbelle@a-court-of-valkyries@azrielsgirl@swoopingoccamy@vasudharaghavan@vidalinav@sv0430@nessianforlife@claralady@sayosdreams@malluzia@dealfea@kylosmomm @unlikelypersonalknight1

Have a good life.

Four words confirmed what Nesta had already anticipated: She wasn't worth the effort. His friends disliked her, and Cassian wasn't interested enough in her to be the odd one out.

He had been so insistent for months, then moved on as soon as she called out his friends.

"Why the fuck does he want a girlfriend if he already has in his life all the people he is willing to care about?" She later complained on the phone to her friends. They didn't have an answer for her, only more stupid questions, like, "Didn't you want to end things first back in october?", or "Does that mean you wanted him to keep trying?"

He had left the room after Nesta made clear her disinterest in what he had to offer. He had left without complaining, just like he promised he would, and it was precisely that what kept Nesta awake the whole night, looking at the ceiling as if the answers she now needed were hidden in the plaster.

"Is it me?" She wondered. "Maybe it's me who doesn't have anything to offer and that's why I'm not good enough for him to take the risk?"

Nesta tried fixing the hole in her heart by telling herself she was better off without a guy like him in her life, but soon discovered that it was no use because Cassian not wanting her wasn't the issue —It was way bigger than that, bigger than a hot guy breaking up with her. Gosh, they weren't even together.

Cassian's presence in the landscape of her trauma was almost anecdotal, yet the way his actions had opened Pandora's Box made the incident remain in the back of her mind like a splinter on her finger.

Hurting with a realization that wouldn't go away even in her sleep, Nesta spent the next month sitting at the library, surrounded by a wall of notes and books that luckily required all her time. Finals were the only thing on her mind from the second she woke up to the delightful moment she got into bed, always later than she should. Her sisters were in the same situation, so there was always coffee ready in the morning. Elain studied at home and out loud, often taking walks around the house as she went over her notes for the walls to hear. Feyre had been staying at her boyfriend's lately and only came back when she needed fresh clothes. Clothes that, Nesta realized, once were gone, never came back to her wardrobe.

Out of the three, Nesta was the only one who would be graduating this semester, though. She could feel the pressure. Up until last month, she had been thriving from it. Knowing her mother was counting on her to become a surgeon had always made her proud, the blind trust in her abilities making her grow confident. Knowing her father had already put enough money aside to open a clinic in the city for her had always acted as fuel for that overachieving fire burning inside her.

School was what Nesta Archeron had always been the best at, and the only thing on her mind throughout the years as others dedicated their free time to attend open mic nights at a bar and go on hikes. Or whatever people her age did.

Never before had the pressure to be the best been a burden. Now, not only could she feel it wearing her down, but it was making her insecure.

That morning Nesta looked in the mirror after her hair was braided and asked herself the dreadful question that had started her spiraling: If these exams proved her wits weren't deserving of praise, would there still be anything in her to love? What else did she have?

As she put the pink pencil case in her bag, Nesta's tired brain poked fun at her. It caged the question inside and refused to let go of it. Mechanically, Nesta followed her morning routine, muscle memory doing most of the work for her, as her mind wasn't willing to cooperate. No, this morning it had developed a will of its own and refused to do anything but torment her, force her to entertain the thought that, once she failed —and she would— and everyone realized she wasn't the genius they had painted her to be, then her friends wouldn't be interested in spending time with her anymore. Her thoughts on the books they read would lack their usual edge, and she would be no fun to hang out with. Her parents wouldn't explicitly mention how disappointed they were, but they would for sure start disregarding her, like they did with Feyre and Elain already.

And there would be no one left to love her because she wouldn't be worth it. Not loving, not defending, not even liking.

The shrill sound of a new message was Nesta's way out of her own head. She had been looking into her coffee like a crazy person. She was lucky the house was empty already, safe for Elain on the second floor reading her neat notes.

Babe, we're outside.

Nesta left the coffee on the counter, grabbed her bag and went out in a rush. Since when did she have trouble making it on time to places?

Emerie waved at her from the passenger's seat, and Gwyn blew her a kiss from behind the wheel when Nesta got in the car. "Did you sleep through your alarm?" She asked, the engine coming to life.

"Yes, sorry. I didn't sleep that well." That was the closest thing to an explanation they would ever get from Nesta, so without further ado, the three made their way to the library in Gwyn's beat-up car with pop music at full volume as their soundtrack.

After one hour of silence between books, Nesta asked, to no one in particular, "Why are you my friends?"

Through the pile of paper, Gwyn and Em exchanged a wary look. "Because you are hot, and I was hoping it would be contagious." Emery tried to joke. But that was the wrong thing to say, and before she could apologize, Nesta was visibly on the verge of tears. What was wrong with her? She never cried. The lack of sleep was ruining her psyche as much as the overthinking.

Both girls got up and circled the table to get to her, Gwyn's arm immediately wrapped around her shoulders, Nesta's breath now erratic as she did her best to contain a sob. "Babe, what's going on?" She dried the first tear streaming down Nesta's face. "You are so beautiful, so funny, so smart, so ..."

"I am not smart, I am stupid."

This time, it was a puzzled look what they shared. Emery sat on the table and cupped Nesta's face with both hands. "You are smart." She argued. "And I don't just mean it in a cheering-you-up type of way. I mean literally. As in the actual school ranking. You are number one and have been so for the last two years." She gave her friend a tentative smile. "You are smart as shit, Nesta."

The physical contact was overstimulating her. It was suffocating. Nesta gave a few sudden shifts in her chair so that they gave her some space, needing air more than anything. She tried calming her breath, unsuccessfully. Nesta was starting to have a panic attack in the middle of the library. "I can't keep being smart." She cried. "I hate it. I can't do it. I can't do anything."

Gwyn and Emery gave her room to talk and made sure there were no people nearby that could eavesdrop their best friend's meltdown. The coast was clear. Nesta saw and appreciated it, although no one mentioned it. "I can't keep pretending I have anything to offer. I can't do it." She broke down.

"Do you mean the finals?" Emery asked, tentatively.

"I mean everything! I don't want to do anything anymore. If I keep doing well, then people will expect me to do more next time. And to do it better and for longer. I —there is just this pressure..." The sob finally came at the same time she tried to breathe, and it caught in her throat. "I feel like the longer it takes me to finally fail, the worse the fall will be. Does that make sense?"

She saw her friends nod, and then silence reigned again between the bookshelves. The three had often talked about the gifted kid curse years ago, when they met in their first semester of college and jokingly agreed that, statistically, not everyone carrying around the label could actually be so. It had been all in good fun, a way to lighten the demanding projections the three had made about their future. Only now it was about to be proven true, as out of the three, Nesta could now see herself falling behind the rhythm.

Gwyn knew not to touch her. She pulled her chair closer so Nesta could whisper and still be heard. Emerie reached around the table to her own backpack and picked up a water bottle she then offered to her best friend, who was silently allowing the tears to run down her face. Nesta took it with shaking hands but didn't drink from it.

"I want to put an end to it." At their worried looks, Nesta explained that she didn't crave her own downfall, which put the other two at ease. "But lately," she told them, "I've been wondering if I really want to keep climbing up. The top of the mountain is in sight, but once there, the only direction forward will be down." Emery was the first to protest her argument and tried quoting a Miley Cyrus song as proof of her statement. Unfortunately, Nesta didn't consider herself a journey-enjoyer. She had always been goal-driven and nothing else. "I want to stop now, when my options still offer a chance of improvement in the future. There is up, there is down, there is..."

A hand taking the water bottle from her as a safety precaution cut her speech short. Gwyn's voice was soft as velvet. "I get it, babe. I know it must be hard to have people counting on you to always do good and giving you no margin of error." Nesta focused on soothing herself as her friend spoke. "It is unfair of people to deprive you of a chance to fail, but if we are addressing this seriously, I have to be honest. And the truth is, Nesta, that you are the one demanding that excellence from yourself." Nesta gave her a frown that would have silenced anyone else. But not Gwyn, of course. "You want to be your own person, right? You want people to stop expecting things from you that only add pressure, because they have no right to determine your path or your pace. I get that."

She made a pause to look for the right words, not wanting to start a fight but deciding for the three of them, this was the moment of truth. Now or never, she had to say it, and Nesta let her know she was ready for the reality check.

"But you can't ruin things for yourself on purpose just to prevent a hypothetical failure in the future. That is absurd. Because it may never come, and then you will be the only one to blame for never reaching your full potential." She rolled her eyes, then added, "And self-sabotaging so people become disappointed in you and leave instead of facing them, that is a cop out, and you know it."

Before Nesta could defend her approach, it was Emerie's time to get real with her. "Honestly, Nesta," Em waited for her to look in her direction to make sure she understood what she was about to say. "I am amazed you grew tired of people wanting you to do great before you had enough of yourself obstructing your own life."

That, Nesta didn't expect. "What do you mean?"

"It is unfair of your parents and teachers to demand so much of you, and I hate to see you break like this. But Gwyn is right, making yourself trip first is only hurting you."

Nesta saw herself in that bathroom trying to part ways with someone she liked just in case he never got to be what she wanted. Before she grew too attached and he broke her heart. Before the height made it impossible to survive the fall.

They were right, she had wanted to end things first. Cassian hadn't given up on her whe she made up her mind to leave the boat, scared of the hypothetical future. Nesta knew that night in October that Cassian didn't understand why she refused to make things public. When he tried reaching her again through Feyre and inviting her to his game, like Nesta had implied she wanted, she panicked and asked Em's closeted neighbor to go with her.

It didn't dissuade him, because why would it, and hours later, she was under him in her own bed.

Tired of going in circles and never fully escaping his charm, Nesta chose to yield her fears as a weapon, painting them as a reality he couldn't possibly change. She had tried her best to put him between a rock and a hard place —to corner Cassian by preying on his insecurities, so he would panic too and leave.

"Why don't you take a few days to yourself, love? To disconnect. Then come back and do your best. Whether it is enough or not, you won't know until it is done." Nesta tried to argue that she wouldn't know where to go, but her friend was quick to stop her. "Take all the time you need to find it, but please, don't quit on yourself just because people are idiots. Be brave and try, even if it is scary."

"Sometimes the only way out is through." The redhead reasoned. "If you can't get into the right mind space for these exams, it's fine. There will be new opportunities. Just don't ruin your chances on purpose. That feeling of control you crave can end up holding you back. I promise taking risks won't kill you."

It would have been great to have a counter to that remark, but the reality of her life was that she hadn't had a good night's sleep in the last month and had just started crying in a public library out of pure stress. She needed time off to reflect on everything —the past few weeks and her life before that. Everyone thought she was smart, but Nesta knew she had nothing on Gwyn and Em, who always knew what to do and say. Nesta accepted the hug they offered, a spark of hope in her chest, promising that if these two beautiful souls saw in her something worth loving, then it must exist. It must be there, inside her, hiding in a secret place she ought to find.

When Nesta arrived home, it was time for dinner, and she had it alone. The house was empty, and it stayed like that until hours later, when a car briefly stopped in their driveway and one of her sisters got inside. Nesta was in the backyard, laying on the grass like a dead body, confident no one would come out looking for her there. People in this family always had things to do on their own, so realizing Nesta was home by her keys in the hall would never push her parents or sisters to call for her in hopes of spending time together. That was not how the Archerons worked.

Apparently, today was about proving her wrong.

By the way her feet touched the grass, Nesta knew it was Feyre approaching. It was that and nothing else that gave away her presence in the backyard, as her sister didn't speak a word, she simply lay down next to Nesta in silence.

"What do you want?" Nesta asked abruptly.

Both sisters had their eyes fixed on the pitch-black sky. They hadn't shared a moment alone like this probably since they were kids, and it felt odd. Nesta worried they were about to role-play a sisterly bond they had long left behind.

"I need advice." Her sister said instead. "I think I am dropping out of college."

Nesta didn't expect that. "Why? I thought you wanted to be an artist."

"I don't need a degree for that. I already have galleries buying my paintings and clients commissioning them."

Still, to Nesta, not finishing her art degree was such a stupid idea. "Mom and dad will hate that. They will cut you off." Feyre laughed, and it broke the quiet of the backyard. "What?"

"Nothing. It's just funny that's the thing you are worried about." She answered. "Not that I need the formal education or that a degree could be a good thing to have in case I ever need other career paths." Nesta frowned as Feyre went on with her reasoning. "I've already discussed it with Rhys. He will probably be drafted for the NFL at the end of the month... And let's be honest, even if he wasn't, money will never be an issue with him. I can move my art studio to wherever he goes, see new places, new faces, and paint them." When she turned her face towards Nesta, she was smiling, her eyes shining even in the dark. "What do you think?"

Nesta's frown hadn't moved an inch. "Do you really want to know?" Feyre nodded. "I think it is risky. You never know what can happen. To your career, with Rhysand..."

"That's the most exciting part!" Feyre argued. "And I am so ready to see what life has in store for me. For better or worse."

If confidence had ever been an issue for her little sister, Nesta never found out. She had always been ready for adventure, looking for trouble if only that meant going against the current. Nesta didn't understand how she could be so careless. So carefree. But right now, Nesta was in no position to judge, as she usually would. She didn't have it in herself to give Feyre the advice she was asking for, as the only thing she could do at the moment, as they lay in the grass, was envy her determination.

"Then you already know what to do." Nesta concluded.

Feyre sighed. "I know you don't approve it, but..."

"I do." Nesta corrected. "I think it will be good for you. Liberating."

"That is all I want."

With a smile, Feyre looked up again, happy.

A light was lit inside the house, throwing shades over them. Someone had arrived, probably their parents. Neither said anything for a while, enough time for the new people in the house to go upstairs and change clothes, then go back down into the kitchen. Feyre rubbed her eyes, making time. She then stood up and informed Nesta of her plans: she would tell their parents now. If things went right, by the end of the month she would be leaving. If they didn't take it well, though, she would be gone tonight. "I already have a bag packed, and most of my things are already at Rhys'."

Nesta felt the right thing to do after such a confession would be to hug her little sister goodbye, but she couldn't stomach the physical contact. Especially in such an emotional moment. She hoped Feyre could read her eyes in the dim light, but it may have been too long since Feyre and her last confided in one another, and the ability could be lost. In any case, Feyre got up.

"Nesta." Her sister called one last time, halfway to the door. "You can leave too, you know? Their feelings are not more important than yours."

Her words hit Nesta right through the heart, and before she knew it, she had gotten on her feet as well, and her arms were around Feyre, nesting her tightly. "I will miss you." Her shoulder became wet where Feyre's face touched it, and so she squeezed herder to make sure her sister left there all the tears and only the joy from before was left in her body. "I hope you are happy, wherever you go."

"I will be." Feyre promised. "And I hope you find your place as well, wherever it is."

They parted ways, and Nesta waited outside for what felt like forever, listening to the screaming inside the house as if it wasn't her family coming apart. Once again, a light upstairs was turned on, then off. Footsteps coming down, a door being closed violently, and then a car engine drafting away were the last evidence that this place had ever been Feyre Archeron's home.

When Nesta went back to her room, the first thing she did was take a hot shower. Hot enough that her skin turned pink, and at some point the heat stopped being comforting. She washed her hair and her face, then took good care of her body before jumping in her pajamas. She went to get into bed, and that's when she finally spotted the white card over her pillow, a note stuck to it. It was from Feyre.

I was supposed to have a girls' trip with Mor, but it's now cancelled. It's a spa weekend, you should go and treat yourself ;)

Nesta gasped when she turned the card around and saw the spa's logo. It was a luxury experience, all inclusive, and paid for. In the card, by this weekend's date, was the time for a dinner reservation under the name Archeron.

She didn't have to look for excuses to justify her decision to go. Nesta wanted to. She had had enough; she had been through too much for too little in return. This weekend, she would do one thing for herself and actually try to enjoy her time.

The last thought in her mind as she fell asleep was a jittery rush —the thrill of finally having decided to love herself.

#nesta archeron #nesta #nessian #cassian #cassian acotar #nessian fanfic #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #cassian x nesta #nesta x cassian

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vidalinav · 1 year

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https://www.tumblr.com/vidalinav/712546999526998016/omega-verse-nessian-with-nesta-nesting-haha

I’m sorry you can’t just say this and leave it at that (jokes of course)

I would give you my firstborn child for this

I said a lot of things in this post so which one was I leaving you hanging on? I just chose one at random since I felt like writing, but not finishing something.

~ "Where are you going?" Azriel asked, raising a brow at the blankets in his arms.

There was six if his brother bothered to count and Cassian hoped he didn't, because he wouldn't know what to say to explain why he had so many. He couldn't help himself was the only thing that came to mind, but then again, when could he help himself?

Certainly not when they'd first met the Archeron sisters in all their glory and Nesta had raised her haughty nose and he'd insulted her very existence. Certainly not when he'd spent three days servicing her heat after she'd opened the door, flushed and squirming, and she'd become so desperate for him that he nearly bit her right then. She'd kicked him square in the nuts the next morning and still Cassian held the blasphemous blankets in his arms.

Maybe it was when he caught her tear and he'd made a number of promises that he couldn't keep and not keeping them was as good as a knife wound he could never heal from. She could twist it, he decided. If she wanted to, she could take take the knife out and stab him again, and he'd come right back so she could do it again, because Cassian couldn't help himself.

But Cassian couldn't rightfully explain why he had one blanket of wool so as to keep Nesta warm when she was holed up in the house of all places and one of cashmere incase she wanted something soft. One in a greyish blue he'd only seen in her eyes. One in a bright red... just in case she thought of him. One in a knitted pattern that reminded him of her and another so plush he could see her hoarding it into her nest like a little dragon.

He didn't get to see much of her nest the last time. The only thing he'd paid attention to was her scent and her body, begging for his touch. Cassian wished he'd paid more attention to the blankets and the baskets and the color of her room, and the trinkets on her nightstand and the books along her wall. The things she wore when she was home and alone, though she didn't wear much after he'd arrived.

Cassian was trying his best to fill in the gaps, and he'd hoped any of these provided the comfort she desperately deserved. Especially now, when she'd lost the human comforts that once was her whole life.

So, Cassian lifted his wings to Azriel in answer and casually offered, "I'm going to stretch my wings."

But that wasn't a good enough explanation for the shadowsinger and not for his high lord either, who shuffled down his newspaper and gave him a look that meant he didn't need to read his mind to know he was lying.

Rhys hummed a non-committed sound, squinting at the sheer volume. "And the blankets?"

"If I get cold, I'll have something to keep me warm. You, of all people, told me to take extra care of them while they're still healing."

"Yes, but why six?"

Azriel jutted his chin to the basket encased in his hand. "And what's in there?"

Cassian rolled his eyes and even that movement made him think of the female locked away in a mountain top who needed to eat something before she withered away. "Why do you need to know?"

It was Rhys who answered, fluffing his newspaper as if a dismissal. "Because I don't want to hear a complaint from an Archeron sister about a harassment from a moony Illyrian... especially when she still won't let us help her."

Which is why, Cassian wanted to argue, this was exactly what he needed to do. He'd been up there every morning for two weeks and she'd thrown a book at him, roared at him, flipped him off, but it had taken effort.

She'd been quiet, always looking to check on Elain as if she wasn't also irrevocably changed. It had taken him too long to see that ire, hear that scoff, summon that storm in her eyes, and it had scared him almost as much as seeing her head dunked under that cauldron. Cassian wasn't sure when it started--when he began to bring gifts with him and tiny trinkets and books-- but he'd done it every day this week.

If she'd thrown it out the window when he left, he didn't know. Cassian didn't care, because at least it was a movement, a moment, a true emotion.

The basket had food. Sweets, in fact, because it was the only thing he knew she would eat. She'd refused the chicken, the roast, the curry, the stew, but after every day the one thing she'd touch was the dessert.

So today, he'd brought enough dessert to feed a small army and maybe he'd snuck in the zucchini bread and the carrot cake to provide some semblance of a vegetable intake and maybe he'd still packed bread albeit with honey butter, and maybe he'd still packed a meal she could share with Elain. Pasta with roasted butternut squash.

But she would eat, if it was the last thing he'd do.

Rhys snorted, " and if you're not careful, she might hang you from the House of Wind with those blankets and how will I explain that to the people of Velaris."

To be continued

#nesta archeron #cassian #nessian #omegaverse nessian

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unhealthyfanobsession · 2 years

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This one goes out to @vidalinav - a Queen whose work I am always literally salivating to read the second it is posted.

“Shouldn’t you being hanging upside down from a rafter somewhere?” Nesta scowled at his presence in her living room. There was probably something wrong with him that the expression cases his lips to tug up into a grin, but that was a door better left closed.

“Noon and midnight, Sweetheart.” Rhys’ promise after the human sisters denied his offer of sanctuary in Velaris - that a delegate would be waiting for them twice a day. Every 12 hours.

“Don’t call me that,” Nesta snapped. Cassian just grinned, letting his head tilt slightly to the side as his eyes dragged below her face. It wasn’t difficult to rile the eldest Archeron, but fuck was it satisfying.

“His Royal Majesty of Holier than Thou Island usually sends a random peon to enforce his promise to my sister.” Nesta’s eyes narrowed, calculating slits of molten silver suddenly focused more precisely on him. “No great faith is instilled by a General running petty errands.”

“You may be a chore, Nesta, but definitely not a petty one.” She raised an eyebrow, likely expecting him to have gone for the low hanging fruit. But Cassian only ever spoke his barest truths to her - it wasn’t his fault those were harsh at times and suggestive at others. Whatever else Nesta Archeron was, she was not petty. She was not small or shallow or easily forgotten. She was impossible to forget, in fact. As evidence by his fucking presence in this stupid fucking house in the mortal lands when he should have been doing exactly as Nesta suggested - leading his armies. “What’s wrong, sweetheart, bat got your tongue?”

She yawned. Back as straight as iron, eyes wide open and locked on his, this mortal woman yawned right in the face of Prythian’s most feared warrior.

“Don’t give me ideas,” he drawled, voice dripping suggestion at the sight of her wide open mouth.

“You are disgusting,” she spat.

“Is that why you won’t come with me?” He asked, cutting straight to the point. “You would choose human manners over survival?”

She glared at him, but answered with a gravely serious voice. “The time for that choice has not yet come.”

“It may be too late by the time you deem the choice necessary.” Cassian didn’t know why he was here. Why he was in these lands when he hadn’t been ordered to come. Why he lied to the guard Rhys assigned this check in. Why he was arguing with a mortal woman like it was the only thing in the universe he could think to do.

Nesta swallowed. A single bob of her delicate throat, a too fast for human eyes to catch it glint of hesitation sliding through her determined gaze.

“Elain will not risk her engagement,” Nesta breathed. “And I would never leave her here alone.”

And that was so much worse. The fear and loyalty that waivered through her voice were so much worse than the biting insults and burning glares.

Because Cassian knew exactly why he was here. Why he was arguing with a mortal woman like it was the only thing in the universe he could think to do.

Because it was.

Because his body would not allow him to be anywhere else while it knew she was here. In likely danger.

“She would come if you really pushed,” he said quietly. More quietly than usual for Cassian. The sweet sister would come, he knew.

Nesta shook her head again, “There would be no coming back from that. Not for Graysen’s family. Elain deserves her fairytale.”

“And that is what this Graysen is?” Cassian scoffed. “A prince who hates everything her sister is and would throw her over if she lost her money or had a conversation with a Fae?”

Nesta looked up at him, lips pressed into a flat line. “He is strong and handsome and kind to her. He will provide for her and he will not be foolish or cruel. He may even love her some day. I do not know what fantasies run wild amongst the immortal Fae, but on this side of the wall those qualities rank Graysen as a Prince.”

“They sound like the bare minimum to me.”

“How fortunate for you,” Nesta stared at him and Cassian swore something sparked inside of her gaze, “to have been raised in a world where that is the case.”

“I wasn’t,” Cassian clarified. “The world is run by pricks on both sides of the walls. Ah-“ Cassian cut her off with a raised finger before Nesta could unleash the insult about Rhys that he knew was boiling on her tongue. “It is not like that in Rhysand’s Court. In the City of Starlight where we offer you sanctuary. It is a better place than where both of us grew up.”

Nesta shrugged, “The stars are such a beautiful distraction from the night.” Cassian shuffled on his feet as she spoke. “But they cannot hide the blackness underneath.”

“You would sooner die here than live amongst the Fae?”

“I would sooner die with my sister than live anywhere else.”

“Just the one sister though, hm?” Cassian clenched his jaw together.

Nesta blinked twice, as if clearing dust from the window of her brain. “Feyre will be fine without us. As she always has been.”

“Will be and should be are not the same thing.”

Nesta hummed under her breath, “I wonder, General, why you choose to act the fool amongst the others?”

“I don’t-“

“You do,” Nesta nodded. “At dinner and as we prepared the letter. You work so hard to make them all comfortable, and yet here you are. Alone in my living room, desperate to change the mind of the first woman who ever told you no.”

“That is not why-”

“A pity, Nesta shrugged. “All that power and centuries of experience and you Fae males are still just as transparent and driven by petty insecurity as these weak human men.”

“I am not weak,” Cassian growled.

“Of course not,” Nesta picked up the bottom of her skirt and made to sweep out of the room. Pausing only to throw over her shoulder, “You’re complacent.”

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

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duskandstarlight · 3 years

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pregnant nesta 🖤 for the prompt ask

Here you go, my love! I originally wrote this for @princessconsuela02, but I have rewritten the ending and turned it into something super soft.

Cassian cracked open an eye—his iris an alluring smoky temptation of brown and green.

But Nesta didn’t stop what she had been doing to rouse him from sleep in the first place—continued to run the pad of a fingertip across his left brow.

Out of the corner of her eye, Nesta watched woolly sleep bleed from Cassian’s expression. Heard the content rumble in his chest deepen.

“Good morning.” The words were rasped and sleep addled. They skittered over Nesta’s bare skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

The magic inside of Nesta leapt at the sound—as if a magnetic pull inside of her was tugging her towards the male in front of her. But Nesta resisted the temptation to tangle her legs with his. To wind her fingers through his hair and press her mouth to his.

Between them they’d hardly slept. Nesta had fallen asleep alone but had woken in the early hours of the morning to the scent of pine and musk laced with fresh air, and the gentle brush of Cassian’s mouth down her body. By the time she’d fully woken, her legs were already hooked over his shoulders and his lips had been exchanged for the coaxing stroke of his tongue.

After they were both sweaty and sated, Cassian had fallen into a deep and even sleep. Nesta had only gotten another hour before the blue light of dawn had crept through the curtains and dragged her into consciousness.

Training every morning did that to you—it reset your internal body clock. Had Nesta rising with the sun and adjourning the day as it dipped below the horizon.

And that simple way of life... being ruled by nature and the discipline of routine... Nesta liked it—loved it, even. Hadn’t thought she ever would but Cassian had surprised her, had startled her awake in a way that was wholly enlightening.

And the relief that came with knowing her mate was back safe with her after a long week apart had kept her from rolling out of bed.

Instead, she’d studied his face. The bare skin and the whorls or black ink. The scars peppering his body, her favourite of which cut through his eyebrow.

Usually Nesta didn’t give in to temptation, but her sleepy mate was one of her favourite things. And eventually, the sight alone had been enough of an incentive for Nesta to raise her hands and brush her fingers across his left brow and the white slash that cut horizontally through the dark hair.

That’s when Cassian had started to purr.

Fascinated, Nesta hadn’t stopped, and now he was awake and gloriously hers. Nesta ran the pad of her finger over the scar. Asked, “How did you get this?”

Her mate took a moment to answer, as if his brain was still wrestling itself free from the clutches of sleep.

Slowly, as if to buy himself time, he lowered and stretched the wing he’d curved around them during sleep. It draped over her hip and onto the mattress like an additional blanket.

Cassian eased open his other eye so he could level her with a stare. “The scar?”

Another stroke with her finger had Cassian shuddering. He leant into her touch.

“Yes,” she said simply. “The scar. How did you get it?”

Cassian shrugged with an air that was unbothered. “Don’t know.”

Nesta arched her own eyebrow at him. Stilled her movements. “You don’t know?”

“I’ve been in a lot of battles and brawls, sweetheart,” Cassian rasped in reply. “I can’t be expected to remember every scar.”

Nesta didn’t believe that. Knew that for a Fae to scar the injury must be severe. But she didn’t push him. Instead, she nodded sagely. Remarked wryly, “I suppose the memory loss is understandable given your age.”

Cassian barked a laugh. Grasped for her hand and pulled her knuckles to his mouth. He kissed each one, but his grin was wolfish. “Haughty witch,” he announced hoarsely. And then, because he couldn’t resist the temptation to gain the higher ground, “You like the eyebrow.”

She did like the eyebrow, but Nesta wouldn’t admit it. Not directly anyway. So, she snorted with mock indifference. “It makes you look rogue.”

Cassian’s grin grew so wide his canines flashed. “That means yes.”

Nesta lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “Of course you’d think that.”

It took a fraction of a second for Cassian to turn Nesta on her back. Despite the speed of it, the movement was measured and gentle, his arms bracing the turn.

Cassian brushed his mouth over her the hollow of Nesta’s clavicle—once, twice, three times. It was a sinful promise. His lips trailed a path halfway down her breastbone, before he looked up at her between dark, thick eyelashes. “Admit that you think I’m handsome, sweetheart.”

Fingers coiled through the silky strands of his hair, holding him in place. “No.”

A soft snort against her skin. Still staring up at her, Cassian pressed a lingering kiss to her swollen stomach. “You do realise that there’s no going back now? The evidence is here for everyone to see.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Cassian, we’ve been mated for two hundred years.”

“And haven’t they been the best years of your life?”

They had and he knew that, so Nesta didn’t bother to hum her agreement. “Your youngling has been kicking in your absence.

Cassian’s head shot up. “She has?”

A large, calloused hand scraped pleasantly over the swell of her belly. “Hello, my mischievous little stella,” he murmured, slipping into Illyrian.

And when the babe moved, Cassian grinned up at Nesta with such unchained happiness, she could only smile back in return.

Tags (let me know if you want to be added/removed): @arinbelle @superspiritfestival @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @mylittlebigplanet @biggestwingspan-az @bellsqueen @ekaterinakostrova @bookstantrash @prophecyerised @rainbowcheetah512 @awesomelena555 @wannawriteyouabook @lovelynesta @melphss @laylaameer01 @a-trifling-matter @grouchycritic7794 @thalia-2-rose @champanheandluxxury @swankii-art-teacher @princessconsuela02 @lavendergoomsltd @julemmaes @princessofmerchants-reads @jeakat @sjm-things @imwritingthesewords @nestable @inejbrekkxr @silvernesta @inyourmindeye @amelie77 @helen-the-weirdo @pizzaneverdisappoints @wishfulimaginings @trash-for-nessian @my-fan-side @sophilightwood @valkyriesupremacy @vidalinav @onceupona-chaos @inardour @thesunremembersyourface @teagoddess99 @ellies-iced-coffee @nehemikkele @misswonderflower @nessiantrashh

#acosf #acotar #nessian #cassian #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #nessianfic #acomaf #duskandstarlightwrites #nessian baby #post acosf #pregnant nessian

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arinbelle · 3 years

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For the fanfic writers ask game, 5 and 9!

Hello! Thank you so much for asking!!!

5.What fanfic of yours should everyone have read?

9.What are your favorite fanfics?

~*~

5. So I'm not used to tooting my own horn too much but I'll say that even though Lost was a big hit with everyone, I think I spent so, so, SO much time in writing "Learning Curve," and I think if you really want to get me as a writer that's one to read.

9. So I'm not sure if this is asking me as a reader or writer so I'll answer both. As a writer, my favorite fic I ever wrote might be A Court of Witches and Warriors because I never thought I'd stick to something for that long. And even though I know I haven't updated in forever, it's still my first big thing I ever did and I'm proud of her!

As for other fav fics, where to begin?!?

- Embers and Light is a given. I don't think at any point that any Nessian fan hasn't read it yet but if you haven't read it yet, GO! SHOO! Written by the lovely @duskandstarlight

-In Which She Makes a Friend by @bookstantrash is just 👌😚 (this is my made-up chef's kiss emoji btw). It's so cute, and funny, adorable and angsty. The perfect blend of everything. And it’s all the forced mom, dad, child random family put together trope plus girl training as a boy in the army trope so like...ALL THE TROPES. WE LOVE THE TROPE!

-@vidalinav has...things? It's not easy to explain bc she releases a million snippets that I devour and I basically consider them mini chapters at this point and all of then are their own perfect story. Most notably, Nesta’s Love is Quiet which is done and is actually 5 full chapters.

-Anything by @moodymelanist but my fav will forever be Mr. and Mrs. Archeron because I love Nessian and I love Mr. and Mrs. Smith and the combination AU is just *swoons and dies*

-Bittersweet by @inkedstarlight ...so I actually binge read this fic and then couldn’t find the name and panicked and bothered a bunch of people and refound it because it is SO DAMN GOOD. So beautiful.

- A Favor by @ncssian is *screams very high pitched scream* I mean I can’t really explain it but like it’s perfect. It truly is perfect. It’s just AKJSDFKSJASJ I can’t explain further. Sorry. You’ll have to go see for yourself.

-Fine Print by @noodlecatposts. It’s smutty. It’s soft. It’s angsty. It’s a guilty pleasure. Did I mention it’s steamy? Because it is.

-Okay so @caotica-e-quieta writes on AO3 as “closet_monster” and it’s actually really funny because when I was just a lurker on tumblr and didn’t interact with anyone and read on AO3, I was the BIGGEST FAN of her work. Like I mean, reread almost everyday because for one, there was literally not much Nessian work out there so you devoured whatever the hell you could find. Her work is some of the best that’s out there so I obviously...ahem...may or may not have every fic memorized. My favorite one is I Made Dinner- Impeccable in every single aspect. WAIT I just remembered I also love, love, love it takes time and a little death.

-Sand and Stardust by @sayosdreams makes me fucking cry and scream and laugh and cry all at once. So beautifully crafted and it’s Nessian babies!!!!

- @letstakethedawn writes...well, honestly, FILTH. Anyways, I think I’ve read Babooshka many times and well...rose quartz’s are just neat I think. That’s all I’ll say. Read it to understand it.

- It Was the End of Everything by @nehemikkele. Beautifully told. Made me cry. Also, not the only thing written by this writer- because there is SO MUCH to read. But it’s the one I’ve had a chance to read fully and loved unconditionally.

-Been obsessed, remained obsessed, will forever be obsessed by Bottled Up Storms by @perseusannabeth. Imagine soft Cassian, soft Nesta, all the angst and softness in the world and you’ve got this fic.

There are SO MANY more, but these are the ones I can list easily off the top of my head. I actually have so many fics saved and liked but I need to scroll a bunch through my tumblr to find them. Which I will when I’m feeling particularly nostalgic one day!

#nessian #nessian fics #ask game

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bookstantrash · 4 years

Text

A/N: Yeah, I broke my ghosting and wrote an one shot. My mental health has not been very good these days, and writing helps me.

I have no ideia how to feel about this. I started it with angst in mind but I think it ended up way less angsty then I had planned? Either way, I hope it does not look as bad as it seems to be.

Icarus

Emerie once knew the language of the wind. Spoke it fluently. Effortlessly.

It used to be like breathing for her. As easy and automatic as the action of inhaling and exhaling the pure and fresh air of the Illyrian mountains.

Mêmbira suí Ibutû.

Daughter of the Wind.

That was how Emerie’s mother used to call her.

Emerie remembered little of her mother. A smile, a lovingly hand braiding her hair, brushing it after a bath.

She remembered her walks with her mother. How they used to go to that deserted greenfield, its open space Emerie’s personal playground. Her mom would watch as Emerie soared higher and higher, the wind as gentle as her mother’s caress on her face.

“Watch me cig! Look how high I can go!” small Emerie would shout, her voice filled with delight.

“I’m watching xe nhia” her mother would loving answer, her wishful eyes watching her daughter fly, laughing and shouting in warning when Emerie got bold and would do a backflip or drop and open her wings too close to the ground.

Emerie’s mother could not fly. The scars on her wings were proof of that. But she never let that hold herself back from feeling happy for her daughter.

And Emerie flew for her cig. Higher and higher, wings strong, wind roaring around her. Each flap of her wings was to hear that laugh and see that big proud smile on her mother’s face.

But then her mother died.

And the nightmares began.

Emerie would dream of losing her wings. The scars she saw on her mother’s wings on hers.

She’d wake up painting and sweaty, and would run from home straight to her playground.

She’d fly until she felt the air getting thin, until she could barely breath, until she swore she could touch the moon.

When she was nearing the point of fainting from lack of air, Emerie would plummet down, getting dangerously close to the ground. Only then would she open her wings wide, stretching them to the point of pain and getting back to safety.

Time passed. Emerie became older.

Every day she dreaded the day her first cycle would come. Everyday she woke up and glanced at her sheets, her heart stopping every time during the seconds it took to realize they were clean. White. No sign of blood on them whatsoever.

She would scape to her playground whenever she could. Would fly for hours.

Her father tried to hold her back in the shop. Keep her inside, working.

Being an ornament.

Being seen but not heard.

There and not there at all, her existence a mere object of fleeting importance.

Emerie hated it. Knew her father kept track of her scent. To see if it had changed.

To see if she had bled.

Emerie knew her father did not care about the High Lord’s new law, which had banned clipping.

Her father came from a traditional family. An old family who had more money than most, but still less than the powerful camp lords had.

Their backwards mentality, however, was the same.

She remembers the day it came as if it was yesterday.

She woke up, and the usual panic before she saw the sheets was the same.

But this time it did not pass.

It became unbearable.

Emerie could feel her lungs closing, her pulse quickening, and dread, pure and deep dread filling her stomach.

She had lit scented candles to try and disperse the metallic smell of blood, ripping the bedsheets in small pieces and feeding the blazing fire in her room with them.

She remembers dressing with shaking fingers, finally braiding her hair in her usual style after countless attempts.

Remember getting downstairs to the shop and praying to the Mother her father would be so busy counting those damn gold coins or scheming some merchant transaction with the camp lords to stop and pay attention to her.

He had done so well in ignoring her after her mother had died.

“You’re just like your cig” he used to tell her.

Only when she grew up did she notice that he did not say it in a lovingly way.

He said it with a bittersweet tone.

As if he was saying she should have been the one to die from the plague that had befallen Illyria years ago.

No amount of power, contacts or money had been able to save his termireco.

The day his wife died was the day her father never looked at Emerie again the same way.

He had lost his opacatúmbae. His world.

Emerie thought she had managed to finish the day without her father finding about it.

How foolish had she been.

How stupid to dare and hope.

She also remembers when they came.

Four Illyrians, all friends of her father.

They held her down.

She tried to fight.

She kicked and bit at them, screaming and crying.

It was a fruitless effort.

One of them pressed a handkerchief against her mouth and the last thing she heard was her father’s voice before she passed out.

“I’m sorry xe tagira. It’s for your own good”

When Emerie woke up, she had scars.

Her beautiful proud wings were scarred just like her mother’s had been. Like most of the older females at camp were.

The day Emerie lost her wings was the day the wind in Illyria blew so strong that tents were torn from the ground and trees flew.

The ibutû was mourning the loss of his mêmbira.

For three days and three nights Illyria was throw into completely chaos.

For three days and three nights Emerie didn’t eat. Didn’t get out of her room.

For three days and three nights Emerie mourned, together with Qilaë, goddess of wind, what she had once been.

And when she got out of her room, face tearstained but brown eyes deep with hatred, she never gave her father an easy day until his passing.

Emerie would purposely stay away from home all the time, helping with chores at the healers tent or in the communal kitchen at camp.

She would spit insults at the males her father tried to sell her to, lashing at them until they were scared of her, until not even one male in Windhaven would dare accept her as his wife.

When her father died, she fought to be the owner of the clothier.

She hoped her father was turning over in disgust in his grave.

With time, Emerie slowly learned how to deal with the pain.

It became a fog that came and went as it pleased.

Sometimes it was so tick she would find herself screaming until her throat was sore.

Sometimes it was as brief as a summer breeze.

Sometimes Emerie would find herself standing in her old playground, opening her wings and flapping them in vain attempts of raising herself even a millimetre from the ground.

It did not matter how many times she tried. How her wings screamed in pain and how she fought back her tears.

She never left the ground.

Time passed again. Emerie would go to her playground less and less.

One day, she started going again.

Now, Emerie went to the playground with Azriel.

It all began when he found her there, alone, hair free and wind kissing her face, as if Qilaë was greeting her.

He probably had followed her through his shadows.

Even with her eyes closed Emerie could feel his presence. Could feel as he tentatively walked towards her, stopping beside her and staying quiet, letting her enjoy the moment.

And she told him the story of Mêmbira suí Ibutû, who had flown higher than anyone else had ever dared to before.

When she finished the story, she was sobbing, Azriel having moved to embrace her, his wings around them creating a cocoon of safety.

Protecting her from the horrors of the past.

Protecting her like she should have been protected.

After her crying had ceased, Azriel only asked her one thing.

“Do you trust me?”

“With my life” she answered.

Grabbing her waist, Azriel shot to the sky and for the first time in years Emerie left the ground.

He held her only by the waist, supporting the rest of her body with his shadows as he flew.

It was as if Emerie could fly again.

And in that moment Qilaë knew her daughter had come home at last.

•

Fixed tag list: @sayosdreams @thewayshedreamed @sjm-things @perseusannabeth @arin1030 @caotica-e-quieta @vidalinav @swankii-art-teacher @ireallyshouldsleeprn @duskandstarlight @greerlunna @thegoddessaltenia @dayanna-hatter @verypaleninja @awesomelena555 @courtofjurdan @allilal @sensitiveillyrian @moe8 @illyrianwitchling13 @silvernesta @bri-loves-sunflowers @queenestarcheron @imwritingthesewords @vasudharaghavan @rainbowcheetah512

Emeriel tag: @julemmaes @angrypotatofairy @illyrianwitchling @moe8 @thewayshedreamed @ko0mbayamylord @rosegoldannie @fourshizzle149 @arin1030 @elide-lochan-salvaterre @the-bookish-deer @silvernesta @a-girl-named-isa

{Please let me know if you want to be added in either the Emeriel or my Fixed Tag list}

#sarah j maas #sjmaas #sjm books #sjm fanfic #emerie #azriel #emeriel #azriel x emerie

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flowerflamestars · 6 years

Text

Ivy Moon Extras: Samhain

A dead witch brushed Nesta’s cheek at two in the morning. The time had come. She tumbled as quietly as she could from Cassian’s bed, off balance from the difficulty of untangling his embrace. Not fully awake, his brow crinkled as Nesta slid away.

She barely made it to the roof when the ghosts started coming thickly. Unlike the werewolf sleeping two floors bellow, Nesta couldn’t see in the predawn dark. But even stumbling up the stairs, she could see the dead. A cool kiss on both cheeks from her grandmother- the Acheron who’d raised Nesta never visible, never stayed beyond a moment long enough to make sure her granddaughter, the heir to her dark, impossible gift, knew she only ever need call upon her. But it was out in the open air of the wards she’d woven on Cassian’s home, clear starry sky above despite the pulse of the city around them, that a ghost she’d known for nearly as many years stepped out of the nothing. “Reinita,” The long dead werewolf called in greeting, striding foreword to take both Nesta’s hands. Today, tonight, she could. Samhain had come with the pass of the witching hour. For a single day, the veil lifted. Ghosts might become more visible- stronger, visiting their magical descendants. For Nesta, who could hear them every day of her life, this was the time her power swelled to it’s zenith. The in-between, those grey hours, when she could interact with the dead like they still walked the earth. And this year, she recognized Caterina’s hazel eyes. After all, her youngest son’s gaze was the thing Nesta fell asleep to. Beloved, on both faces, in such different ways. She’d never been sure- the time after her own mother’s death a haze until the Hunt found them- but Nesta was very nearly certain that Caterina Aguilar had been watching over her since birth. Involuntarily, Nesta squeezed both hands. “Did you always know?” Cat- she’d always called her Cat, all those years- smiled softly, and shook her head, dark curls swaying around her face. “No.” Nesta couldn’t help but see Az in the smile. Now that she knew them, knew everything, how could she possibly have thought she’d been prepared for this moment? “There was something about you, darling. I thought you might grow up to lead a pack, like I did. The moons mark was on you, and my time as a mother was always cut short.” Nesta saw the hug coming, used it as an excuse to swallow the sudden burn of tears. A mother- not something any of the Acherons had truly possessed in a long, long time. Their mother had moved on. After the demise of their human father she’d simply followed after him- Nesta had no doubt that she’d followed him still into the peace of human death. Not once had she ever answered the summons of her death-blessed daughter. But Cat always had. Estella. Farzaneh, Leila, Amaya, Zaynab, old Emine, laughing Isabella- generations of magic handling women and werewolves that Nesta had never known she owed to Cassian. The dead to whom time didn’t matter, who’d seen her as family, past and future, forevermore and always come to her regardless of Cassian’s presence in her life. Was this the bond wolves always felt? Pack- belonging, familiarity, kinship. A laugh fought it’s way out of Nesta’s tight throat. “And the Spanish lessons?” Cat chuckled in return, stepped back to take in the enchantment of stars overhead. “I’d like to say if was for fun,” She told Nesta, “But my grandmother insisted, actually.” Something bright- excited, wild- was blooming beneath Nesta’s ribs. Steely, determined Estella Aguilar who wanted Nesta married and a pack alpha, no matter the obstacle of her being a witch. The last member of Cassian’s family to hold the gifts he carried. “Soul magic." The full strength of Cat’s grin was all her own, huge and fascinated. “Soul magic,” She agreed easily, before continuing with careful casualness. “Were you ready, when you found him?” A lightening strike. A curse. Infinitely kind eyes. Bare tawny skin under temping moonlight and the best laugh Nesta had ever heard- ready was not the right word. “Were you?” Nesta asked, meeting Cat’s gaze. The sky was just beginning to lighten. Not dawn yet, but the edges of blackness beginning to cede way, even as the stars continued to shine. Power hummed beneath Nesta’s skin- she could feel the spirits of thousands, an uncounted number of sparks, now floating up out of the dark. She kept the dead, and the dead kept her. This was their time. “For Arian?” Cat was laughing again. “Never. After Rhysand was born, after the world kept turning. Well, do you know I fell on top of him the first time we met? Knocked him straight to the cave floor, that poor man. He turned so red I was half convinced his wolf would have a scarlet coat." Not Caterina’s soul-bonded. But Arian Kamran Ahmadi- the werewolf who gave Azriel his night dark eyes and Cassian his booming laugh. Who’d forged the gold chain that hung around Nesta’s neck even now, amber humming softly with still strong protective magic. Love is a choice and a destiny, Gywnn Ap Nudd had taught Nesta. Love is freedom. She thought Cat had chosen well. “Never,” Nesta echoed. Ready wasn’t the point at all. Cassian had fallen into her life- no less dramatically than a choice mistake in rappelling. She might have run if not for the surprise, and Cassian would never have followed. She might have found him ten thousand ways- but what mattered was this: that to be beside him, to know again the shape of his hands and keeness of his mind, was as easy as taking a breath. Absurd, terrifying- Nesta barely knew him and understood him completely. And she loved it. Nesta sighed out a gust of cold October air and let herself smile. “You ready to see him?” For so utterly delicate a woman, the werewolf strength was unmistakable as Cat took her hand once more in answer. She’d been thinking about this since the library. Not just the coming dying season, but the way Nesta herself existed as a physical threshold between the dead and the living. The reveal of a witches touch was true- so long as Cat held her hand, others would see as Nesta did on this in between day. And so the long dead Caterina Aguilar followed her son’s mate down the stairs, and into the world of the living. —- Caterina could feel the others gathering. If she’d looked over her shoulder she’d see them; aunts and cousins, her pack and kin, at Nesta Archeron’s back as they always had been. The weave of the scarf Emine wore over her head twinkling under the kitchen light as she slid forward to weave braids in Nesta’s hair. Great Uncle Sebastiano arriving with click of his unneeded but doubtless immaculate cane. Estella scolding Leila as her hands wandered over bookshelves spilling plants and paperbacks. She couldn’t look. Because there he was: Cassian, her little Leo, strong and grown and happy, sleep rumpled in this kitchen that smelled like home. Cat could scent his emotions gentle on the air- confusion waking to an empty bed, care and concern and need for he must have realized what day this was. Love. Like alchemy in every bit of the air of his home. Her boy was loved. There would be time later- for questions, for stories, to meet each and every member of the family her sons had made. To see her Azriel, Rhysand, whose scent’s painted the air here too with contentment.

But now there was this; tired hazel eyes so much her own brightening as Nesta walked in. Shifting to vivid wolf amber with shock, with joy, as the witch pulled Caterina into the room and Cassian saw his mother for the first time in more than a century. One more wolf arrived. Cat scented him long before he was visible, tracked his steady movement through the growing crowd. Felt the spark in her own heart as he shifted, peace spooling out in waves. Her Arian took her free hand between both of his, gentle as the day they met. “Love,” He murmured, dark eyes wet. “I know,” Cat replied. And she did. It might as well have been her own heart split in two between them. Arian had always wanted to be a father, their time had been so brief. Once, twice, he pressed her hand to lips, Cat’s fingertips brushing the neatly trimmed beard she adored so much. She smelled like a bonfire, but Nesta was pointedly looking away from the exchange. That, they’d fix too. Family was not blood. But now, they moved together to meet again the son she’d had but ten short years with, who Arian had only known in death. Their Cassian, who’d made them proud every day.

@bon-bon-salvatore @strangeenemy @sannelovesreading @maddieimhot @ladyvanserra @rhysand-darling @empress-ofbloodshed @highfaenesta @marianaftm @illyrianinterrasen @tntwme @the-smoldering-illyrian-beauty @jahelyden @sjmasstrash @sunsummoner @rairrai @rhysanoodle @a-trifling-matter @eastside-divebar @skychild29 @happy-smiling-things @missanniewhimsy@abillionlittlepieces @poisonous00 @macomafastraash @vampwitchel @symwinter @acotarfanfic@rapunzel1523 @the-regal-warrior @wolffrising @tswaney17 @they-call-me-cuatro @queenofillea1@neverlandoftimespacefuckery @dayanna-hatter @mastercommandercaptain @vidalinav@mindnumbmikey @wewhohavefailed @city-of-fae @rhysanddarlingfeyre @fucking-winchester-trash@lordof-bloodshed @firemadeofgirl

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ekaterinakostrova · 6 years

Note

Can you write something more smutty about Nessian? I feel like I can only trust you with such scenes, because most other writers on Tumblr (no shade) lack an understanding what the relationship between those two is like. While your works are always full of sensibility and honest but gentle intimacy-which feels so true to their characters (tbh sometimes you even depict them better than Sarah, even though I love her)

Wow !!! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR SUCH AN AMAZING COMPLIMENT! Well… As a result, I did not quite get the level of passion that you wanted, but I promise that I will try to do the best for the next time. I’ve been madly in love with this couple, and no one writes anything NESSIAN. I’m dying slowly…

But still, you have to try to read Nessian stories written by my favourite authors! Here is the list:

1. @stardustsroses - her last story for nessian was definitely exhilarating and sultry, so fucking intense and sensual - you must read everything!!! I love her writing smut scenes, she is the best of the best ones in this field.

2. @vidalinav - if you are looking for cute nessian scenes. She is literally my goddess. I fell in love with her style, and I read her every new workwith such a great pleasure.

3. @wildlyglittering - delightful reading. Be sure to read her every work. There is the real Nesta.

He came awake just after nightfall. He lay listening to Nesta’s soft breathing. She lay so close to him, her body pressed tightly against him.

He sighed heavily, burying his face in her golden hair, breathing deeply of her scent. The mix of her aroma drove him crazy.

He has been dreaming of this moment. For so fucking long time he has been dreaming about this very moment, when she finally will be in his hands, in his arms.

The perfect texture of her bare skin reminds him of her beauty.

It was exciting to lay here with her, covered by thick and dark shadows and watch as she peacefully slept. It was a bliss to be able to pull the sheet from her body and simply enjoy the lush sight. To devour her with hunger eyes.

The cool air hit her body and her needles hardened as she moved, sprawling out in the bed, as her hand flung across his pillow as if reaching for his warmth.

He wanted her. All of her. Not only her body - the soft moonlight was spilling scross her body. He wanted to devour her soul, he wanted her heart only for himself.

And she was his.

He wanted to explore her body. He wanted her striking eyes looking at him, while he would make love to her.

Sometimes he thought, asked himself with hint of curiosity - where she had come from?

Elusive Nesta.

Powerful Nesta.

Cunning Nesta.

Ruthless and poisonous Nesta.

She was his own toxic, his only one obsession.

She sleepily turned her head toward him, as if she could feel his gaze.

“Cassian…”.

So soft and tender voice.

His jaw hardened, he gasped with pleasure. His name on her full lips. Lips he loved so much.

“Is everything all right?”

She was so beautiful. She looked at him with excitement, while he looked into the depths of her dark gray eyes, which resembled him a burning storm. So many feelings are boiling in the depths of these wonderful eyes. He felt himself falling forward into her eyes.

She was his life.

He tucked a gold curl over her ear, enjoying the features of her face. Full, generous mouth and long feathery eyelashes. Could he ever imagine that there would be such a woman in his life? Could he ever imagine that she would look at him with such eyes?

“I’m just looking at what is mine”. He waited a heartbeat. “Thinking about all the ways I want to make love to you”.

‘Hmm …,’ she moaned blissfully.

She looked up at him, her heart in her eyes. He framed her face in his hands, his naked body blanketing hers. Her vivid gaze drifted over his face, studying the intensity of his expression - steel in her glinting eyes. She was everything he was not. Her eyes were so deep, full of colours. The eyes that could see too much.

He froze.

‘I want you’. He wasn’t even certain that was his voice, husky and low and already groaning with desire.

“I have always wanted you. Since the very first moment I saw you”.

She flashed a mysterious smile, tipping her head to one side, her golden hair sliding over her shoulder.

‘Well, then.” A soft amusement in her voice.

His hand slid up her shoulder to the nape of her neck, sliding around her throat.

“Say it, Nesta. Say you are mine.” She touched her tongue to her lips. Her eyes of winter storm are cold and calculating, full of desire and passion.

“Yours…”, she barely whispered.

He still held her gaze, refusing to release her. His eyes darkened more.

“And who do I belong, Nesta?”

Her smile was cruel.

“Mine. You are mine,” she answered softly. He was not sure that he would survive this night, when her wicked hands touched him.

#nessian #nesta #nesta archeron #cassian #Questions

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moodymelanist · 1 year

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I Guess It’s Half Timing (And The Other Half’s Luck) Chapter Three

We were down to the wire, but we made it! I graduated from law school two weekends ago (eep!) and everything’s been a little hectic since then, so I’m proud of myself for making my posting schedule happen still hehe. Hope everyone enjoys this chapter and we’ll be back next month for the next part 🤍

✷✷✷✷✷

Nesta

Two weeks later, Nesta found herself wandering around the mall food court with Elain. Feyre had been busy with one of her commissions so she’d had to bow out, but Elain had managed to sweet-talk Nesta into accompanying her shopping anyway. Something about needing a new dress for one of Lucien’s family outings.

It wouldn’t have normally been so excruciating, but Nesta hadn’t been dealing with so many symptoms when they’d made their plans. Her morning sickness had thankfully died down, but being assaulted by so many sights and smells wasn’t exactly helping with her nausea, and her bladder had shrunk down to the size of a pea in the last week. She’d somehow managed to keep her act together as they’d strolled through the various aisles of Nordstrom, but the second Elain had suggested they get something to eat, Nesta’s body had started going haywire.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Elain asked, shooting a concerned look Nesta’s way as they walked toward Cava.

“I’m fine,” Nesta answered through gritted teeth. She just wanted one day with her sister to go well, dammit, and she couldn’t even do that. “I just… I need to go to the bathroom. I’ll text you my order, okay?”

Keep reading on AO3 here!

#acotar #acosf #Nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #moodymelanistwrites #pregnancy nessian fic #pregnant!nesta #nesta x cassian

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nestasgalpal · 2 years

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Not even his Ch. 4 [Nessian smut]

Nesta’s Galpal Masterlist | A03

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 5 | Part 6

Tagging:@zoyaslai @champanheandluxxury @pataytayo @nessiantrashh @dustjacketmusings @saltydreamcollector @generalpeachyboots @generalnesta @simpingfornestaarcheron @arinbelle @a-court-of-valkyries @azrielsgirl @swoopingoccamy @vasudharaghavan @vidalinav @sv0430 @nessianforlife @claralady @sayosdreams @malluzia @dealfea @kylosmomm @torvifox

Chaos reigned in every hallway they walked through. The inside of the castle was a fuss of servants carrying even more candles to the gardens, silverware rattling inside big baskets as they transported to the dinning hall all the items needed for the banquet. Maidens run up and down the stairs, big lumps of fabric in their arms that could have been linens for the table, dresses for their ladies or even bedsheets that still hadn't been put in the guests' bedrooms for the night.

The mayhem in the service's hallways was so out of control, nobody had time to be curious as to why the General of the armies and the Captain of the city guard were pacing through them all the way to the Princess' wing of the castle.

If he forced himself to remember, Cassian was almost certain he had walked past the big door belonging to Nesta's chambers a few times during his years living in this castle. Back then when he had been just a boy accompanying his predecessor to the council meetings. Five years younger than him, Nesta had been barely a girl. More like a spoiled rotten child, or so the General used to say. A famously uptight Princess, proud and never bothered with anyone too unimportant to sit at her table.

There were two guards, one on each side of the wooden door.

"Rest", Azriel said. The men put their swords down almost with relief. "You may leave. The General and I will escort the Princess once she is ready. Go to the dining hall and make sure nobody except the designated staff comes in to make the needed arrangements. No one is to touch the chalices, ¿understand? And escort the maidens out once the tables are set." Azriel's voice was so steady and lacking any trace of emotion that nobody could have guessed he was making the orders up on the spot. His words seemed beyond question. "Not a soul is to go back inside once it is ready, and until you are told otherwise."

The men saluted. "Yes, sir".

With that, they left, leaving the Princess' door unguarded. "I don't like how easy that was." Cassian said. "Nesta should be guarded by people with half a brain, not puppets."

Azriel rolled his eyes. "Not now, Cass."

The Captain knocked on the door. Three taps, a long pause, then four, and then another two. Like a secret combination. Cassian glared at his friend discretely, a question in his eyes. When the redhead maiden opened the door, a grin tugged Casian's lips up in a half smile. Who is this?

Azriel only rolled his eyes again. Not now, Cass.

As if they had known each other forever and showing absolutely no respect for his rank, the maiden asked promptly. "What?"

"I need a favor." Cassian stood there, trying to read the answers to all the questions that popped in his head as his friend and this young woman ignored him entirely.

"Absolutely not. I don't have time to help you today. ¡We have a royal wedding about to happen and an unprepared bride to get dressed for it!"

She was wearing the garb of the Princess' maidens. Just knowing Nesta was on the other side of that door had Cassian's heart thundering in his chest.

"It's today or never. Ask the Princess." Az pointed at him. As always, his movements were fast and discreet, avoiding the attention of those servants still passing by.

That's when the redhead noticed Cassian for the first time. He was taller than Azriel, broader too, and standing right in front of her. How she could have been so uninterested in him, she simply didn't detect his presence, was beyond him. But he didn't have time to care about this girl now either.

"Please, let the Princess know I'm here. I'm General Cas..."

"I know who you are." She cut him half sentence. Her eyes examined him, up and down and with suspicion. "One moment." And with that, she disappeared behind the door, slamming it shut.

"Don't ask." Azriel warned Cassian before he had the chance to even think about it.

"I wasn't going to." He half-lied. He was absolutely going to question him later.

Not giving them time to go into a deeper conversation, the door was opened again. "Come inside. Quickly." She ordered, again, forgetting to show any respect for their positions above hers.

A room with a small table in the middle and probably thousands of books hiding the stone walls from the view greeted them. There were two more doors, but only one of them was open. Cassian got a glimpse of two sofas and a chimney hiding behind the wooden panel. The other one was opened right then, barely a crack wide enough to allow a second maiden to get out.

She did mark Cassian's presence immediately. More even, she studied him, and made no effort to conceal her scrutiny. She must have reached a verdict, because a "hmm" escaped her lips. Her hair was thick and black.

When she spoke, Cassian realized they had met before. She was younger than him, and after all these years her features had changed so much, Cassian hadn't noticed at first. But she came from the same village he and Azriel did. She had been the girl in the caravan... Emerie. But hadn't she...?

"You have half an hour." Emerie said, almost in a hurry. "And I want her dressed when we come back." It came out as a threat, somehow.

Taking an hourglass from one of the bookshelves, she turned it and put it over the table, starting the countdown right on that moment. By his side, Gwyn took Azriel's arm, and he let her steer him, Emerie following right behind, to the room with the sofas.

This time, Cassian got a full view of the space. And of the chimney, as the three figures neared it. One of the candlesticks was pulled, and next thing he knew, the three of them had disappeared behind it, swallowed into a passageway.

Not having it in him to care about that right now, Cassian then turned his attention towards the still closed door, knowing with every fiber of his body that Nesta was behind it. He looked back to the entrance of the Princess's chambers, now unguarded from outside. There was a tension in the air, that emanated from the knowledge of how illicit what they were doing was. How wrong and dangerous, in case they got caught.

But most importantly, Cassian felt the sensation of something pulling him toward Nesta as if it was almost a physical thing. Like a string tugging from him to approach. Urging him.

He could hear that damned metallic clinc as she walked towards the same door from the other side.

Hypnotized by the sound that still haunted him and sparked a small fire inside his chest in equal parts, for it meant Nesta was there, Cassian's feet moved with a will of their own. His hand touched the knob, almost scared. Twisted, and pushed.

And there she was.

Glorious, the afternoon sun illuminating her from behind, Nesta Archeron was at the verge of tears and within arm's reach. Cassian halted, starstruck, certain he must drop an anchor so time couldn't move onwards.

Nesta, as he became paralyzed, took the lead and shortened the distance, jumping into his arms.

"Cassian."

Instead of satiating his needs, the touch whet his appetite for her.

He took Nesta into his embrace, wrapping her in his arms and holding her tight against him.

"Nes" He whispered. "We don't have much time."

"I didn't know if you would come." Her words were muffled by the fabric of his cape hanging from his shoulder, where her head was nestled. "I've been waiting for you."

The extent of how different their lives were had never truly sunk in until recently for him. She was the Princess, the future Queen. He was beneath her, yet had so much more freedom, he could have stormed into her chambers at whatever time today, whilst Nesta hadn't been allowed to move from them.

So much, yet so little power.

He had been an idiot. He definitely felt like one, seeing who's life was really in shackles. Even now, just by being here together, she was risking so much more.

Nesta let go of him and walked towards the vanity next to the window. The General took the opportunity to look around and see her berdoom. It was huge and beautifully decorated.

"I came to say goodbye. This time forever."

From afar, she nodded, her face serious and determined. Which hurt, but also made him proud. Her voice was soft when she spoke. As if she feared Cassian would break down if she was only a pinch sharp.

He may.

"Once I'm married, I won't be unfaithful to him. I can't."

Cassian already knew that. Nesta had never said the words, but he had always known. Morals, duty, expectations. All the unbending rules that had shaped her growing up were engraved too deeply inside the Princess for her to ever treason them. Not even for herself would she betray what in her eyes were the canons of life itself.

This was it was him chortening the distance and putting a loose hair behind her ear.

"I won't ask that of you. Ever." He leaned in. Nesta cupped his face with both hands, and Cassian closed his eyes at the touch. She didn't, though. The General could feel her icy pupils fixed on him. She was thinking, although both knew there was no way out of this. "Would it make it any easier if I went away?" He asked.

There were options in that sense. He was supposed to stay here to help the kingdom transition into a new period of peace, help all the men and women who had been recruited go back to what their lives had been before every pair of hands was required to join his army.

But after tracing the plan with the council, he needn't stay. He could go back to Kyrlan Fort, and make things happen from there. Cassian had a chance to leave this place behind, and even if he right now hated the idea, he also knew about the power of distance. And he would rather help Nesta than indulge himself, so the call was hers entirely.

If Nesta needed him to disappear, he could. Easily.

Opening his eyes to meet hers, Cassian waited for her answer. She was smiling faintly.

"That won't do." She said. Her fingers caressed his face. "I like to think there is too much of me in you, and too much of you in me, that no amount of distance that we put between us will ever make us vanish from each other's mind. I know it is like that for me, at least. You could travel to the end of the world, Cassian, you could vanish for a thousand years, and I still wouldn't stop loving you with every bone in my body."

Cassian silenced her with a kiss. He ended the conversation, for it was not needed. He knew where her feelings were, and she knew about his. They didn't have to waste more time with the talking. Nesta put her arms up and around his neck, pulling him closer, as if it was even possible.

Into that kiss, they channeled all their worries, and used them to fan the flames of their lust.

His hands quickly found their way to her dress, dragging the silky fabric up and over her head. Under that, she was wearing the most tantalizing lingerie he had ever seen. Truth be told, Cassian hadn't seen much, but the look of the bodice and bottoms, the garter belt... Nesta was exquisite.

Nesta copied him and reached for his belt.

"No." He stopped her hand and brushed it with his thumb in reassuring circles. "Let me do this for you."

She pouted, "I want you."

He believed her.

"You've got me, Nes." Cassian planted a path of kisses on her stomach as he kneeled, then looked up at her and squeezed her hand. "I will be yours forever. Even when you don't want me anymore, I will still belong to you."

His lips travelled all the way from her navel to the hem of her underclothes. It was followed by a series of sighs coming from her. Cassian let go of her hand and gripped instead her hip to steady her body in front of him. His teeth bit down on the fabric and tugged.

Cassian's breath brushed her cold skin and made her burn with desire. His grunt reached her ears, exciting her further. With his mouth, he pulled the piece of clothing down. When it hit the floor, Cassian still didn't use his hands. Instead, his mouth went straight for her core, tongue flat against her sensitive skin as he parted her folds with it and delighted himself in her sweetness.

Only that and nothing else in the world could satisfy his seething desire of Nesta.

From the floor, Cassian took the discarded piece of clothing, and looking up straight into her eyes, he showed her his hand. When Nesta realized what he was holding, her eyes widened. He put the underwear into his back pocket.

"I'm keeping this."

"Let me kiss you." She pleaded, out of breath.

But there was no time for that. Grain after grain, the sand fell, making the passage of their last encounter.

Cassian stroked her with his tongue to get it where he really wanted it. Almost roughly, he used both hands to push her thighs apart and place them over his shoulders.

"Ohh" Her excitement matched the surprise in her whimper. Her ass came to rest on top of the vanity, and her elbows on the wood as she leaned back had to help her stabilize herself.

Each stroke of Cassian's tongue shook her to the core. He licked and suck until Nesta was nothing but a quivering mess. The only reason she didn't fall when her legs started to tremble due to his ministrations was Cassian's hand back on her hips holding her in place -in place for him to devour.

Cassian didn't know if her moans of pleasure were loud enough to be heard outside the room, but they pierced his ears, demanding his full attention. As his tongue drew circles around her most sensitive spot, right on the apex of her legs, he truly felt so lost in the pleasure he believed the moment would last forever if only he refused to part with her.

She dug her nails on his fabric-clad shoulder, desperate to grip something. Anything. Nesta's thighs clenched at the sides of Cassian's head as she neared her climax. Her throat was sore, her voice breathy, when she screamed his name, and the world stopped spinning for them.

Only when Nesta fully climbed down of her orgasm did Cassian prie himself out from between her thighs. He was panting too, his cock hard as ever, his heart pounding.

The room still swirled around them. Both were exhausted but also genuinely happy. Still catching her breath, Nesta couldn't erase the wide smile on her lips, and neither did him. Cassian planted small kisses on the inside of her thighs, delicately letting go of her legs.

"I love you" She murmured.

Coming here had been the right decision and worth the risk just for those words. If they were to part ways, this is how their final time together ought to be: with both of them smiling like puppies, too full of lust for each other to move, and giving their hearts the chance to speak. Both of them.

"I love you too, sweetheart." He winked. "Now let's get you dressed."

The royal orchestra started playing, and this time the familiar sound of the wedding march didn't sting as badly. The groom's entrance came first. The young Lord walked down the isle in a perfectly tailored set of pants and doublet with his family's coat of arms embroidered over his heart.

Cassian had never seen Lord Balthazar before, for the man or his family had never been part of the war council... or the Crown's council, at that. Until not so long ago, this man had been an unfamiliar name, barely mentioned by anyone.

Standing in the first line of seats as he finally made it to the altar, Cassian found comfort in realizing this was the most unremarkable man he could have imagined. Balthazar was tall, but not as much as the General. His build was broad enough that you could refer to him as a fit man, but nothing more. His muscles were for show, since he would never need to use them. He was good-looking, sure. Cassian could give him that. But he would never be describes as handsome by anyone, not even by the eldest ladies in his grandmother's inner circle, now that he would finally be wed. No-one to convince of their protegee's good qualities by slightly exaggerating them.

There was absolutely nothing interesting or important to know about Lord Balthazar, beyond the fact that he could fill every room in this castle with gold and jewels.

With some delay, the sting of jealousy finally pinched his heart. The young Lord was absolutely unremarkable, yet he was the one standing on the altar, waiting for Nesta to arrive.

And when she did, she looked stunning. The rays of sunshine as the golden hour hit stole gilded highlights from her hair and made the crystals in the dress shimmer like stars. The entire crowd let out marveled expressions, a chance Cassian took to do so himself. He sighed at the view of her. She deserved nothing less than the entire city worshiping her.

He followed her figure as she joined her soon-to-be husband up there in the platform. Her family was on her side of the altar, standing now behind her so they didn't block de view to the hundreds of spectators. The Queen and King were the closest to their daughter, then the two princesess, and finally, next to the youngest, the Queen's pupil, Rhysand, who Cassian knew well. They were all in awe.

"She will be a phenomenal Queen." He told Azriel under his breath. His friend agreed with a faint movement of his head.

Next to the princess, he realized a second too late, the Queen was looking at Cassian right in the eye, as if warning him not to make anything he would later regret. But Cassian wouldn't have been himself if he hadn't been just a little bit stupid.

Discretely enough that only the Queen, her eyes already fixed on him, would notice, Cassian put the back of his hand to his lips, and wiped his mouth.

A glimpse of horror shone in her pale blue eyes, mixed with the last rays of sunshine as the sun finally set, and illuminated by thousands of candles, the ceremony began.

#nessian #nessian fic #nessian fanfic #nessian fanfiction #nesta archeron #nesta #nesta acotar #cassian #cassian acotar #nesta x cassian #cassian x nesta

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vidalinav · 3 years

Note

Since you asked... Soft Nessian headcanon: Nesta is absolutely the type to read through the night and Cassian will be passed out asleep curled up next to her but periodically there will be a sleepy mumble of "go to sleep" but Nesta will just keep saying "one more chapter"

This technically was just a really good headcanon, but I am so sleepy that I wrote a fic about sleep. This is my second fic about sleep... being half awake must inspire me or something.

Nesta’s chest is a beautiful thing. Not just because her breasts mold perfectly in his hands and she becomes pliant as he tugs and bites, but because when Cassian lays his head there, he can hear her life like trickles of water. Her heart is the pitter-patter of rain.

There’s nothing quite like music than the sounds that Nesta Archeron makes. From her moans, to her yells, to her quick snapping fingers when she’s frustrated. There’s nothing much that can compare to the sound of her breathing. Even the symphonia can’t rival her heartbeat.

So Cassian finds Nesta’s chest most agreeable. It’s the best place to sleep, where he can wrap his arms around her while she reads. It’s the best position for his wings.

He worries about his weight hurting her at first, but Nesta assures him that she’s comfortable. She’s always cold, Nesta reminds him.

You keep me warm, she says.

Cassian swears he blushes at her words but he buries his burning cheeks in her blue nightgown and she burrows her fingers into his hair.

It’s easy to sleep with her heartbeat in his ears. It’s like his soul calms at the thump it makes and she reads the night away, absent-mindedly stroking his hair. He wants to cry at first... at the touch. What it means. She, the female of his dreams, in his arms.

More than that, Nesta loves him. He’s never felt more loved in all his life so it’s easy to drift, to float down still waters where sleep awaits. He has never felt more safe than in her arms.

And sometime in the night, she laughs. A soft bell rings in his ears and the movement of her chest has him grasping her tighter.

“Go to sleep,” he mumbles.

“Shhh,” Nesta whispers as if his interruption disturbs her. “It’s night already, you should be sleeping.”

He merely gives her a slow blink and when she raises a brow as if to say of course, she’s right, Cassian can’t seem to argue when he’s only half-awake.

“Go to sleep,” he grumbles, when he hears the shift of a page.

“There’s only one more chapter,” Nesta says.

“That’s a long chapter,” Cassian muses as he closes his eyes.. He can still see the chuck of more than a few chapters under her hands, but he’s too tired to argue and Nesta’s much too soft and warm to resist.

And when Cassian awakens for the third time that night, he can only frown at the book still in her hands. The light is still on and the heavy glow makes him want to shield them both with his wings.

“Go. To. Sleep.”

“There’s only a few more chapters,” Nesta pleads, showing him the pages as proof. “I’m not lying this time.”

Cassian concedes, tucking himself into her chest as he grumbles about sleep. He drifts off to dreams thinking of rain.

When Cassian wakes for the fourth time, it’s to a heavy book thumping on his back. Her thumb is still stuck in-between pages and Cassian reaches for her bookmark first.

Her chest moves languidly like ships rocking on the sea, and Cassian thinks he’ll dream of waves tonight. He'll hear siren songs as he sleeps.

But first, he reaches for the light and tucks her closer.

@arinbelle

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #vidalinav answers asks #cassian simp chronicles

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moodymelanist · 1 year

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Where The Light Won't Find You Chapter Nine

hello my fellow mommy Nesta simps. hope you enjoy this one cause we're finally starting to get to the ~good stuff~ heheeh. Happy day 6 of @nestaarcheronweek 💙

✵✵✵✵✵✵ Nesta

Nesta startled at the sound of heavy knocking at her bedroom door the next morning, narrowly avoiding being stabbed by a pin one of her handmaidens was using to take Nesta’s measurements. She’d gained enough weight back that she needed some alterations made to her wardrobe, and she was more than happy to let herself be poked and prodded at if it meant more glittering gowns.

“My apologies, Your Grace, it was an accident,” the handmaiden stammered out. She looked young, with light brown hair and giant brown eyes that reminded Nesta of how Elain had looked years ago.

“It’s alright, don’t worry yourself,” Nesta told her. The poor girl looked on the verge of tears, but visibly calmed herself once she realized she wouldn’t be punished for something that wasn’t her fault. “I’m not going to hurt you. What’s your name?”

The handmaiden took a deep breath before answering, though Nesta could see her hands were still shaking slightly. “Bronwen.”

“Bronwen,” Nesta repeated. Whoever was outside – and Nesta would put money on it being Cassian, considering how loud the noise was – knocked again, and she sighed in annoyance. “Why don’t we finish this later tonight, and I can wear something else? It must be urgent, with all that knocking.”

Bronwen cracked a watery smile before nodding her assent, the two of them working quickly to dress Nesta in a simple navy gown and brush her hair out of her face so she could open the door.

“Yes?” Nesta asked, only somewhat annoyed to see Cassian before her. She might’ve been in a better mood to see him after last night had he bothered to have some decorum, but she knew something was wrong from the look on his face. “What is it?”

“Rhys sent me a letter,” Cassian blurted out. “I think you should see it.”

Keep reading on AO3 here!

#acotar #acosf #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #evil!nessian #moodymelanistwrites #NestaWeek2023

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moodymelanist · 2 years

Note

Potential nessian prompt: overly affectionate drunk Nesta and Cas just taking care of her

This is so wholesome and I love it ♥️

Currently accepting fall themed prompts/kinktober prompts if you want to send more!

“Cassssssssian,” Nesta slurred, giggling as she spotted her boyfriend waiting for her outside the bar. “You came!”

“Of course I did,” Cassian responded with a grin. He took a few steps forward and wrapped her in his arms. “I couldn’t leave the love of my life stranded, could I?”

Nesta had been persuaded into going out for Halloween, and she, Emerie, and Gwyn had thrown together a last-minute group costume before heading out for the night. They’d dressed as the Power Puff Girls, and Nesta had semi-ironically decided to dress up as Bubbles. She’d taken enough shots to no longer be self conscious about putting her hair into pigtails and wearing a skimpy blue dress, and she’d sent so many drunk texts to her boyfriend that he’d declared he was coming to take her home.

She’d readily agreed — she wanted those arms around her, but who could blame her — and having his warmth around her was more than enough to ward off the October chill.

“Gwyn and Emerie are still inside?” Cassian asked.

“Mhmm, with Azriel,” Nesta answered, tilting her face up to look at him. Her friends were even drunker than she was, but she’d made sure to tell Azriel that she was heading outside to meet Cassian. Even in this state, she wouldn’t wander off without telling someone sober where she was going. “Gimme a kiss.”

Cassian obliged immediately and leaned down to gently press his lips to hers. Nesta couldn’t help but smile after they’d pulled away, more than happy to let him lead her to the car and strap her in. The drive back to their apartment was quick and uneventful, and before she knew it, they were back in their familiar living room.

“Snacks?” Nesta asked hopefully once she smelled something good. She couldn’t tell what it was, just that it was warm and would probably taste delicious.

“Yeah, snacks,” Cassian answered with a little chuckle. He managed to get her seated on the couch before he kneeled in front of her to start taking off her heels. “I heated some pizza before I came to get you.”

Nesta just looked down at her boyfriend, captivated by how thoughtful he was. She just loved him so much, he was such a good person, he made her feel so safe, and he was so beautiful—

Why was her face suddenly wet? Was she… crying?

“Nes, baby, don’t cry,” Cassian replied as he slipped off her heels. He looked like he was about to start laughing, and Nesta was suddenly so embarrassed that she slapped her hands over her eyes so she wouldn’t have to look at his amusement.

“Don’t laugh at me,” Nesta demanded, but it really came out as more of a whine. She peeked at him through her fingers once some of the embarrassment had faded, adding, “I just love you so much.”

Cassian’s features softened as he rubbed the feeling back into her feet. “I love you too, sweetheart. You have no idea how much.”

“Really?” she asked quietly, dropping her hands from her face altogether.

“Really really,” he reassured her with an easy grin.

She melted at the sight of that grin and reached out to cup his face, marveling at the way he lit up at her touch. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Isn’t that supposed to be my line?” he teased.

“No deflecting,” Nesta told him, attempting to be stern. “I have the most beautiful boyfriend in the world. Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll definitely take it.” Cassian got up from his spot on the floor and smoothly picked her up from the couch, barely straining to hold her in his arms as he carried her into the kitchen. “Now come on, I want to get some food and water in you before bed.”

#acotar #acosf #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #moodymelanistwrites #nessian prompts #seasonal prompts #anon asks

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moodymelanist · 2 years

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I don’t know if you’re still taking prompts, but here’s one potential one of you are: Elain and Lucien. And they could be engaged at this point or something, but they have the iconic drunk/sick “would you love me if I were a worm” talk only instead of Elain saying it, it’s Lucien 😭😭

oh my god this is so hilarious YES. let’s consider this a part two to this drabble I wrote last year of Elain taking care of drunk!Lucien…

Elain somehow managed to get her boyfriend in and out of the shower with minimal water spillage, and she was particularly proud that he’d even let her get through some kind of nighttime skincare without minimal fuss.

She’d let him watch her change into pajamas as a reward for being good, and he’d looked at her with such adoration the entire time that it had almost been too much. After that, she couldn’t keep him from food any longer, so they’d moved to her couch.

They were munching on their well-earned McDonalds when Lucien — definitely still drunk, no less adorable — decided to blurt something out.

“Elain,” he said, slowly eating another fry while he waited for her to look over. “You’re the best girlfriend in the whole world.”

“Thanks, honey,” she replied with a smile. He told her some variation of this at least once a week, but it was still sweet of him to say it. “You’re the best boyfriend, too. Even when you’re drunk off your ass.”

“Would you still think that even if I was a worm?” he asked. He took a loud sip of his Sprite.

“What?” she asked back, thrown by the sudden conversation shift. How drunk was he? “What do you mean?”

“Would you still love me if I was a worm?” Lucien repeated.

“I… guess?” Elain replied slowly. “I mean, would we both be worms or would I still be me?”

Lucien shrugged, taking a fry break. “We can go through the hypothétiques later. Just answer the question, Munchkin.”

“You’re the one with the hypothetical, I’m just trying to get some basic questions answered,” she fired back. She was long used to her boyfriend throwing in random French words into their conversations, so she’d barely bat an eye at it. Instead, she took a break to eat some fries before responding, “If I were still me, of course I would still love you as a worm, Lucien. I don’t mind them when I’m gardening.”

“There’s a difference between I don’t mind something and I love something,” he responded, pouting. “Which one? It’s important.”

It’s really not, Elain thought, but she kept that to herself. “Obviously I would love you no matter what form you took. Our relationship would just look… different, is all.”

“Different how?” he demanded, still pouting.

“Lucien, worms can’t even talk. How would we get anything done?”

“The power of love?”

“Oh my God. Language barriers between humans are one thing, but inter species communication...”

“Humans communicate with pets all the time!”

“There’s a big difference between domesticated animals and invertebrates.”

“But do you love me enough to try anyway?” Lucien asked.

Elain sighed. “Yes, Lucien, fine. I love you enough to try and communicate with you in all forms, okay?”

“Okay,” he answered with a little smile. “And for the record, I’d love you as a worm too.”

#acotar #acosf #elucien #elain Archeron #Lucien vanserra #moodymelanistwrites #elucien prompts

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vidalinav · 3 years

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would please write a fic in which the house do little petty things to rhysand, amren and morrigan? like moving their chair when they're about to sit, or flowing curtains into their faces when they're talking, stuff like that?? please?

OMG This took forever and it's good enough for what it is. Also my experiment was correct. I can finish fics when I just continue snippets.

Summary: Nesta leaves for a weekend and both the House and Cassian are upset about this.

On the first night that Nesta’s away, all is well.

At least that’s what Cassian tells himself to get him through the day. No sense in dwelling on his mate’s absence when she’s spending a weekend with Emerie and Gwyn. Safe and sound and happy.

Never mind that he wishes to be spending time with her…

They deserve this. Especially Nesta who he can already see smiling. Those bright, fond eyes lit up in baby blue.

Cassian will distract himself from her absence instead. He won’t think of the lack of music. He won’t think of snarky replies gone silent. The teasing laughter bursting out of her lips that he can almost hear in this quiet house.

No.

He’ll take a long bath. Polish his weapons. Read a book that he’s been putting off for ages and he does.

But that gets boring as soon as the afternoon sun heats up their living room. So Cassian wanders the halls in search of the many rooms his mate is always going on about.

Secret doors and floors and wild things. Nesta describes wonderous ballrooms and terrariums. Great large baths. Cassian finds that all the rooms are bordered shut.

He rattles the handles, and the doors mock him as they stand. Sturdy and unforgiving. He twists another and the handle falls off. The House laughs in the way a house does. With the creak of a flapping door. It must find it amusing watching him huff and stomp his feet.

But one door creaks open at the other end of the hall and Cassian thinks that the House must be taking pity on him. Once, he might have found himself scratching his head at thought of being pitied by a House, but Cassian’s too curious about what lays inside. He runs to the open room.

He’s nearly there when the door slams shut.

Cassian pulls at the handle and the door doesn’t budge.

“Oh you’re good. You think you’re so funny!” He yells out. “Wait till Nesta hears about this, I swear.”

But the House is as haughty as his mate, he finds, and it doesn’t like to be threatened by the summonings of a witch. Cassian watches as the lights flicker off. One by one, he’s left in a dark hallway.

“So what? I’ve faced monsters bigger than you.”

The House seems to grow irritated at that. Cassian can almost see Nesta’s face, that glare. Those piercing eyes that mean she has a knife in her pocket or some strong words. He never knows which is worse.

But Cassian has also never been one to shun away. Even from Nesta’s temper.

So he crosses his arms, tapping his foot as if to say Is that all you’ve got?

Perhaps, the House can also read minds. Body language.

At once, the floorboards start dipping where he stands as if some invisible hand is pressing on piano keys. Cassian moves before he trips, but not before his foot catches on the wood.

Doors start slamming shut. The curtains at the other end of the hall open and close, as if to say here is safety.

The living room’s brightness makes the hall seem even darker. A gaping mouth that wishes to swallow him. Cassian needs no other warning. He moves quickly beyond hidden rooms.

The House laughs as the house does. Endlessly amused. Victorious and perhaps feeling a bit forgiving since it won. For when he enters the living room, a roast chicken is waiting for him on one of their smaller tables.

Is it an apology or a thank you for the laughs, he doesn’t know.

Cassian figures he’ll brush the events off as a playful indiscretion.

By the time night comes, and Cassian can scratch one day off the weekend without her, the House and him have settled on a simple routine. He doesn’t go peeking through things and the House gives him what he needs to live.

It’s much like a cat in that regard. Spoiled and dismissive. But Cassian won’t bite the hand that feeds him, even if he spends the day subtly rearranging things the House moves around. The House distracts him and for that he says a small goodnight to the mountainous beast.

But whatever distraction the house provides, Cassian isn’t prepared for seeing the other empty half of the bed.

It’s cold without Nesta. He has no one to hold. Cassian clutches her pillow and he says a quick thank you to the House for not changing the casing. It still smells like her. It doesn’t keep him from tossing around, though. His thoughts running rampant, to fill the spots where Nesta’s missing.

What could she be doing, he ponders. What is she wearing? What is she saying? What expression does she make?

The House must be thinking of her, too.

A picture appears where Nesta sleeps. It’s a painting of their mating ceremony. Cassian pulls it to him, running his fingers over her face. She’s dressed in a pretty ivory. Her hair braided back into a veil. Nesta smiles into her bouquet, soft and beautiful, and Cassian can see the fondness in her gaze, the shy teasing on her lips.

“You miss her too, don’t you?” Cassian asks, his voice traveling to the four corners of the room.

The House only responds, by pushing down the blankets on Nesta’s side of the bed. Cassian sets the picture back, tucking it under the sheets.

He closes his eyes, falling asleep with his head on the frame.

In the morning, Cassian wakes to the bright hot sun. The curtains are gone as if they’ve never been there at all and he covers his face with the pillow. Somewhere in the House, clocks chime. Loud, boisterous cuckoo noises. Not one, but many going off simultaneously. He can’t even recount having a clock at all.

The picture at his side is gone and Cassian wonders where the House has taken it. He has this vague thought that the reason the House doesn’t want him looking through its room is because he’ll discover a shrine filled with Nesta’s things.

The House doesn’t let him ask.

The sheets begin to shift as if tired of waiting for him to move. They tighten at the corners, flatten in the middle and Cassian imagines sheets like rope. He scrambles out of bed before he can suffocate under the covers. The House seemingly huffs, the pillows fluffing loudly like hands smacking at the feathers.

“Fine. Fine,” Cassian grumbles, irritated, rubbing at his eyes. “You know you’re moody when Nesta’s gone.”

The House only opens the door to the bathroom widely, fanning it as if to say hurry or it will shut forever. Cassian heeds the warning, mumbling about rude houses and manners.

Cassian feels Nesta’s absence in his tired eyes. He can’t stop himself from yawning as he makes his way to the dining room. There’s no breakfast waiting for him when he arrives. He asks for eggs, and nothing appears.

“I think Nesta would appreciate you feeding me,” he goads. Cassian tries not to contemplate the lunacy of speaking to the House as if it’s a person.

Not a person. A villainous beast.

The House doesn’t like his tone. It lays a plate down, the ceramic rattling on the table. The eggs are still in their shells.

Somewhere, Cassian can hear the doors squeak.

“You look awful,” Rhys remarks.

Cassian waves it off. He feels awful, too.

The House doesn’t like when Nesta’s not home, he’s come to realize. It opens and shuts doors, dishes start dropping, things stay dirty and get messier. Cassian trails the halls as things start falling to the floor.

“The House is having a tantrum.”

Cassian tries to appease it, but his attempts seem to make the House angrier. He flies down to the city to get romance novels, as Nesta has told him it likes. But when he comes back and he thinks all is well after the books are taken, a few hours later when he’s conveniently staring out to the city skyline, their big picture window clear and open to the skies, pages of books fall down the mountain side like rain.

He knows exactly what books they belong to.

Not your taste, huh? Cassian huffs. Could have just said that!

But if the house doesn't like his tone before, it definitely does not like his tone then and before he can remark anything further, there’s a large bear standing in the middle of the living room.

A bear!

Cassian doesn’t even bother with it. He moves to balcony, flying down to the Riverfront estate without looking back. He hasn’t been back for several hours.

“Because of Nesta?” Mor asks.

Yes. Because of Nesta... Because they can’t seem to function properly without her. The House is throwing fits. Cassian can’t sleep. It’s only been two days and he doesn’t think he can handle anymore of this.

“Maybe you just need to assert dominance,” Amren helpfully suggests. He can hear the mocking jest in her tone. “I mean, Nesta’s basically it’s mother. Maybe you need to show it, your its father.”

Cassian glares as the others laugh, “That sounds like a swell idea. Maybe I should just spank the rock like a misbehaved child.”

“Or,” Rhys drawls lightly, “maybe the House is just not used to it only being you. Nesta’s gone and Azriel’s also away. It might be lonely.”

Rhys shrugs as if feeling sympathy for the large beast.

Cassian’s never thought of it like that. It’s alive so... he supposes if it can miss Nesta, it can also be lonely. Too bad loneliness means almost getting hit by falling plates and being eaten by a bear.

Mor raises a shoulder, her eyes brightening in a way he knows means trouble, “Perhaps, it just... wants more people around.”

Cassian sighs, looking to the ceiling. At least these walls won’t cause him bodily harm. “If this is your attempt at inviting yourself over... I warn you right now that I’m not responsible for anything that happens to you physically, mentally or emotionally.”

Mor only claps her hands in excitement.

~ Above the fireplace there’s a painting of Nesta and him. Cassian’s eyes are on his mate and Nesta is grinning sweetly, her cheeks a little bit red. Cassian always smiles when he sees it.

It’s one of their first pictures together, made beautifully by the House when Nesta asks. It’s no wonder that it sits at the center of their home.

“She’s only been gone for two days,” Rhys teases, bumping his shoulder with his. “Is the mating bond chafing?”

Cassian shrugs sheepishly, “I just... would rather be with her. No offense to you fools but you just don’t entertain me like you used to.”

Amren sneers disgusted, “We certainly wouldn’t want to entertain you like Nesta can.”

“Hey!” Cassian warns. “The House has ears and so do I. She’s more than entertainment.”

“You two do seem happy,” Rhys notes, gesturing to that picture.

“Well I certainly never thought she could smile,” Mor says.

Cassian knows the House isn’t going to take kindly to that comment.

He sighs as he grabs Mor by the shoulders, ignoring her hasty yelps. She’s standing by too many breakable things and Cassian assesses the living room looking for any threats.

Indeed, a vase falls at their feet where Mor was previously standing.

“So happily...” Mor adds, shirkishly.

“I see what you mean about the House,” Amren states. She moves throughout the living room, pointing to things that she thinks might come to life. Waiting to call out behave or listen here. The objects remain inanimate. “Seems it’s developed Nesta’s attitude,” she says, wrinkling her nose and flicking at a table.

Amren makes her way to velvet blue, tucked close to the window where a book lies on the side table untouched.

“I wouldn’t sit there,” Cassian warns, “That’s Nesta’s reading chair.”

Amren snorts as if she believes nothing bad will happen to her. Cassian knows better and he resists covering his eyes. He doesn’t want to see what the House will do nor what fit Amren will throw even without her power.

Cassian must have a gift for prophecy or his friends must be predictable for the House moves the chair just as Amren sits. She falls to the floor.

He can hear Mor’s and Rhysand’s laughter from behind him. Amren smacks at a lamp, and the House takes that as the first punch. A chandelier crashes in the middle of the room, crystals splattering everywhere.

Cassian wonders how he’s going to explain that one when Nesta gets home.

“How was Windhaven?” Rhys asks.

Cassian raises himself from the floor, his head feeling much too heavy after several bottles of wine. To forget the night, he’s said. The elephants, the tigers, Amren’s shrieking. The doors that kept opening until more things poured out. Creatures he didn’t even know existed stomping throughout his home.

Mor’s hair is a tangled mess by the time the House settles, cuts and bruises fading back to tan skin. Amren is locked on the third floor. Rhys merely sips his tea throughout the day and well into the night. The House refills it over and over as he dutifully shouts praises about Nesta’s beauty. Her kindness. Her love. His gratefulness.

The House is wary about that at first, but Cassian supposes it doesn’t care about old grudges as long as Rhys knows who’s queen in this castle—who’s the witch residing between these walls—who's picture is on the mantle.

At the sound of her voice, Cassian holds his breath. The House blinks away, along with the lights that flash excitedly.

Nesta huffs lightly, “you’ve been there before.”

“Yes, but not because I enjoy it or have friends there.”

Cassian can just imagine that nonchalant shrug. That content movement of her body.

“It’s cold and dark and people look at me as if I might curse them where they stand.” He can hear the light tilt of laughter. “I kind of enjoy it.”

Cassian jumps up from where he lies, startling Mor from her place on the couch. Nesta’s gaze locks on his, and no picture can possibly replace the light of her eyes as she grins.

“You look like you fought a war,” she says, and Cassian smiles so bright and big at the snarky remark. Nesta moves as he moves, and he can barely resist running to her and having her in his arms.

“Didn’t you sleep while I was away? You look tired.” She places her hand on his cheek, rubbing her thumb under his eyes. “You should take a nap.”

“Come lay with me and I’ll do whatever you want,” he answers, grasping at her waist. She smells like air and snow. Something cold and infinite. He holds her close intent on warming her up. Cozying close where the House keeps their bed warm.

The House has other ideas, however, for it opens all the doors. Flickers all its lights. There’s a feast waiting and ready for her return. It’s morning and already there’s a five layered chocolate cake on the table. Nesta laughs aloud, flittering out of Cassian’s arms and into the ones that belong to the House.

Cassian sighs...

After all the males, beasts, and otherwise, he never would have thought he’d be competing for Nesta’s love with a House.

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #nessian fanfiction #vidalinav writes fanfic #vidalinav answers asks #vidalinav writes fic requests #I say as if like forty times #that’s why I have to edit

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