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🗡 Sam 🪦 “My name is Sam Cortland… and I will not be afraid.” - Sarah J. Maas, Assassin’s Blade
Idk what possessed me to draw this scene but I felt like the fandom needed a fun little shake up 🐒
Character/s belong to: Sarah J. Maas @Therealsjmaas
Book series: Throne of Glass
Can you do 29 fluff, 25 angst, 24 general for that prompt thing and make it Nessian.
Too
Word Count: 2355
Writing Masterlist
__________
TW: depression, suicidal thoughts, negative body image, negative self talk, eating disorders, body dismorphia, bad parenting, misogyny
__________
Prompts:
“Because I love you”
“You’re not you”
“I haven’t seen her/him/them smile in months”
__________
A/N: Thank you so much for this ask! I had so much fun writing this (I wrote it all in one evening in a rare burst of inspiration). Aside from the prompts, I was also inspired by a few other things, which I incorporated into my story.
Ch 18 of Renegade Nights by @unhealthyklarolineobsession ((referenced in the last line of the first scene))
The Selection series by Kiera Cass ((referenced in the last line of the first non-dialogue paragraph in the 3st scene))
pov by Ariana Grande ((just overall inspired, but also referenced in Cassian’s dialogue near the end of the 3rd scene))
I know the list of triggers is long but I just wanted to be on the safe side. I swear this fic isn’t that bad. Just kinda angsty. I hope you guys enjoy!
Silver flames had once danced in her eyes.
Now, they had turned to dull metal, surrounding the blue waters of her eyes.
Perhaps they reflected the Cauldron — that beast that had consumed her whole and killed her, but had not even granted her the mercy of death. No, it had turned her into a beast herself and had spat her out, forcing her to live an eternity in someone else’s body. Yes, her eyes were the Cauldron — that would be exactly the kind of cruel joke that it would enjoy.
Her existence was a joke.
She felt too much and then nothing at all. She burned too brightly, too fiercely and then was too tired to even get out of bed. They criticized her for being too much, for not being enough, for speaking, for remaining silent, for being too carefree, for being too uptight.
Fuck all of them.
She was free now. She had descended low enough that none of them cared about her anymore. She had pushed and pushed and pushed them all away.
Good.
Too bad she had to destroy herself to do so. Too bad she was stuck with herself. Too bad she could never escape.
She liked to spend her nights drunk and with a random male, hoping she could feel something. Although liked was a strong word. No, it was more that in the cover of the dark, her desire to fill her empty shell with some emotion became too overwhelming. By morning, she’d regret it, of course. It gave her a strange sort of pleasure to use herself like this. To hurt herself over and over with those nameless, meaningless males. Perhaps it was that she could destroy this body, which was not hers. She knew that they all thought it was better — that she should appreciate her newfound immortality, longer limbs, sharper cheekbones, and heightened senses.
She knew the truth. This was not, and would never be, her body.
She had never appreciated her body while she had it. She hated that she was born a woman and would have to fight to be allowed to travel the world. She hated that she was to be married off to the highest bidder. She hated that her hands were useless and that she couldn’t help sustain her family.
Now, she couldn’t look into a mirror without getting nauseous. Everything in her screamed that it was wrong. Even though she covered her pointed ears with her hair, she couldn’t ignore her too-long limbs. She numbed her senses as best she could but it still continued — the pounding beat of hearts, the pungent scents, the intuitive knowledge that gathered in her gut.
One night, before he too had completely given up on her, Cassian had stopped by. He told her he wanted to talk, but noticed how drunk she was. She had only stared back at him silently, unable to think of any words she wished to say to him. She could still remember the disgusted expression on his face as he turned away, gritted his teeth and mumbled, “You’re not you”.
How ironic. She hadn’t been herself since the war, since she’d become fae, and perhaps even before that, when her mother had explained how unladylike it was for her to yell or run or even stay up late reading. She had trapped her true self by building so many walls, she no longer knew how to get out. Hell, she no longer knew who her ‘true self’ was anyway.
If she had lost her personality and her body, what was left?
Her mind? Her heart?
She snorted to herself. She was heartless, as so many people had screamed at her — her sister, her fiancé, her… Cassian. As for her mind, well. Most days it just bothered her with intrusive thoughts. She was better off without it.
The world was better off without Nesta Archeron.
It was a truth she arrived at irrevocably. Whatever bits of herself remained only served to drag her sisters down.
It would have been better if she had just died in that Cauldron and never crawled out.
__________
Cassian tried not to fidget as Mor laughed at something Rhys said. Everything should have been perfect — it was another one of those dinner parties with only those whom Cassian cared about. There were no diplomatic relations to consider, only good times to be had as he ate with Az, Mor, Rhys, Feyre, Amren and Elain. After all the time he had spent during Amarantha’s reign, longing for Rhys’ return, Cassian really should have been more appreciative of the simple fact that they were all here.
Except they weren’t all here.
It seemed that everyone else didn’t even notice or care that Nesta was absent. To be fair, Nesta was almost always absent from these dinner parties, even if she was invited. Nesta’s presence caused arguments and tension but still, Cassian couldn’t help but feel that she should be here.
As if reading his thoughts, Elain, who was seated directly across the table from him, asked quietly, “Have you seen her recently?”
Cassian took a sip from his cup. “Not too recently, no. Last time I went… well. I don’t think she wanted me to be there.”
He glanced sideways and checked that Rhys, Mor, Feyre and Amren were still animatedly conversing. He felt a strange relief that they were not paying any attention to his conversation with Elain. There was no real reason to feel guilty for speaking to Elain about Nesta, but he knew that a part of him didn’t want Rhys and Mor and Feyre to join the conversation. He didn’t want to have to listen to them complain about her. He didn’t want to have to defend her after she had hurt him, again, but he also didn’t want to listen to them as they pretended as if they had attempted to help her when he knew for a fact that none of them even tried to understand how she was doing.
“Is she okay?” Elain continued in her hushed tone.
Cassian shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. She’s… no. But I don’t think it helps when I try to visit her. Last time…” He sighed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her that quiet. It felt wrong. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable like that again.”
She blinked at him. “Maybe she misses you.”
He gave her a sad smile. “I doubt that.”
Elain shot a glance at the Inner Circle. “You know, when we were very young, Mother always scolded Nesta because she was too loud.” Elain’s eyes were wistful. “Nesta loved to talk for hours and hours about the books she was reading. Mother said it wasn’t ladylike and that Nesta needed to stay grounded in reality, but Nesta would still tell me all the stories. And she used to laugh so loudly, she’d make everyone else in the room laugh too. Mother obviously hated that, but Father loved it.”
Elain looked down at her plate. “I miss her laugh.”
Cassian didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to think about when Nesta’s spirit had been crushed. Perhaps that wild child still remained but was hidden away. Too bad he had never gotten to meet her.
“Have you ever heard it?” Elain asked suddenly, after a few moments of silence. “Her laugh?”
Cassian shook his head, his shoulders slumping. “No, I haven’t even seen her smile in months.”
Elain peered at him for a few moments, evaluating him quietly. “I don’t think… no,” she mumbled, nodding to herself.
“You’ve never seen her real smile,” Elain declared, her voice uncharacteristically resolute. “You’d know if you had. Her smile is like the sun. It lights up not only her face, but her whole world.”
Cassian didn’t need to ask what Elain meant by ‘her whole world’. Nesta wasn’t generous with her affection. She didn’t smile at the people she passed on the street or try to make strangers comfortable. But for those she did care about, she would move mountains and part oceans.
He liked to think that he could be on that short list.
Perhaps then, he’d be able to have the honor of seeing her really smile someday.
__________
“Why are you here?”
“Because I love you.” The words slipped from his mouth before he could stop them. He attempted an over-exaggerated grin to act as though it was a joke, but he dropped it quickly. It was the truth and there was no one here to judge besides her. She may shatter his heart, but it was only ever hers to shatter anyway.
Nesta raised an eyebrow. “I’m unloveable, remember?”
Her voice was bitter and hoarse. Cassian would never know that they were the first words she’d said in days.
Emotions crossed his face in rapid succession — confusion, shock, guilt, anger, regret, sadness, hesitance.
“I’m sorry about what I said,” Cassian’s voice was heavy. “I was wrong.”
“No, that’s the thing.” Nesta’s laugh was harsh and brittle. “You were right. I don’t understand how my sisters can love me either.”
Her eyes slide behind the doorway of her house where Cassian stood and rested on the darkness of the night. “It’s a force of habit, I suppose,” Nesta mused, “due to the blood and the bed we once shared.”
Her eyes moved back to Cassian’s figure. “They’ll outgrow it soon enough, I’m sure.”
“No, they won’t,” Cassian interjected. “They- You can’t outgrow love. And I was wrong. I do understand how they love you because I love you.”
It was better to get it all out in the open, Cassian told himself as he declared his affection for the second time.
Nesta scoffed. “Attraction isn’t love.”
Cassian opened his mouth to answer but Nesta continued, “and neither is some fated connection or bond.”
His eyes widened but his mouth snapped shut.
“The Cauldron,” she growled out the word Cauldron as if it were a swear word, “doesn’t decide love.”
“The bond isn’t why I love you.” It felt surreal to be acknowledging both the bond and the feelings between them. “And as beautiful as you are,” Cassian’s eyes swept up and down her figure once for good measure, “that isn’t why I love you either.”
“What, are you going to pretend like you love my personality?” Nesta said, an ironic laugh at the back of her throat. “There’s certainly nothing to love there. No one likes my personality, not even me.”
“Nesta, I love your strength-”
“My strength? I have no strength, Cassian. Look at me.”
He looked at her. Beyond her beauty, her cheeks were too sunken and pale. Her muscles were too thin for a High Fae. Her bones were jutting out in places and dark circles lined her eyes.
“I’m broken, Cassian.” Her voice was factual. There was no sadness in her tone.
“No, Nesta, you’re not… Nesta, I know you’re going through a lot right now but you’re still the fierce, strong, passionate, secretly caring Nesta I know and love. You’re the Nesta who reads smut and tries to keep a straight face when I ask you what you’re reading. You’re the Nesta who took care of Elain in the House of Wind. You’re the Nesta who stood up to the High Lords for a cause you believed in. You’re the Nesta that was with me on the battlefield.” His voice dropped to a whisper at the end.
Nesta’s eyes flickered with emotion but her voice was robotic as she replied, “No, I’m not. That Nesta died a long time ago. I’m the Nesta who drinks and fucks and cusses. I don’t talk to my sisters or fight for anything or care for anyone. I wake up each morning and lay in bed, wondering why the world decided to torture me by giving me another day of this painful existence.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper as well. “I don’t want to read or talk or eat or even move. I’m just so tired.”
Cassian felt as though someone was squeezing his heart. Why hadn’t he come sooner? “Okay. Maybe right now, you’re just a tired Fae. But you know what Nesta? I love you anyway.”
“But why?” Her voice was demanding yet also sounded genuinely confused. Cassian often forgot how young the Archeron sisters were, but in moments like these, he remembered.
“Love doesn’t need a reason,” he said, “but if you need to know, I love you for all of it. Your pretty and your ugly, your ups and your downs, it’s all part of you and I love you. I don’t know exactly what you’re going through, but I’ve been lost and so tired before. You said that you aren’t strong, but even the fact that you’re still here proves how strong you are.”
A tear ran down her cheek and she seemed to crumple into herself.
Cassian stretched out his arms, offering to support her weight but not wanting to overstep her boundaries. She leaned into him and he wrapped his arms around her.
“I’m so tired.”
“I know sweetheart.”
“And it hurts. It hurts so bad,” Nesta sobbed. “Why is it so loud? I can’t- I don’t want to hear it anymore.”
He had no idea what she was talking about, but he rubbed her back gently, trying to soothe her.
“Why is it so bright? Why does everything smell so much? Even the people! It’s so much. Too much,” Nesta cried, one of her hands moving to clutch the side of her head.
Cassian swore at himself. He’d never even considered how it would feel to suddenly gain fae senses after living as a human. No wonder she was so overwhelmed.
He just closed his eyes and held her slightly tighter.
She cried.
“I don’t know what to do or how to live like this,” she whispered after some time had passed— perhaps seconds, perhaps hours. “I’m so tired, Cassian.”
Her eyes were shut, too.
“I know,” he murmured. Her arms moved to embrace him back. “I’m here, Nes.”
__________
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Before the Dust Settles
Word Count: 4856
Writing Masterlist
__________
TW: miscarriage, death, depression, self-blame, eating disorder, victim blaming, disassociation, mentioned sexual assault
__________
A/N: Huge shoutout and thank you to @thewayshedreamed for beta-reading this fic and for being so supportive! I couldn’t have done without you Dani ♥️ Also, tysm @perseusannabeth for listening to my early rambles abt this fic, and @bookstantrash for helping my indecisive self finish up editing this. Love you guys :)
Green. The color of grass and Springtime, when seeds sprout and eggs hatch.
Blue. The color of the sky. The color of her mother’s eyes. Would she have seen those eyes beneath their sleepy, blinking lids?
Red. Her legs were coated in an ominous crimson as she raced to the hospital. As her baby, who had never had the chance to become a baby, never had the chance to take a breath of air, never had the chance to see or hear or smell or taste or touch, to have eyes and legs and fingers, disintegrated.
Maybe she should have screamed. Nesta had always been one to go down fighting, kicking and screaming and biting, even if it seemed hopeless. Maybe she should have yelled at the healers to do something, to save her baby’s life, instead of just telling her that her child was gone.
The world looked grey now. It was a blurry and muffled, as if she were underwater. Perhaps this was all just a Cauldron-induced nightmare. Was she still drowning in its depths? Had everything that had happened after that point merely been a taunting vision?
But the cramps she felt were too real. Besides, she couldn’t bring herself to care about what reality was anyway. Even if everything was just a vision, her child was dead. Cassian’s child was dead. That was her reality.
So she sat on her bed in her two-day-old pajamas, staring at the grey wall, wishing she hadn’t taken for granted all the times when it had looked green.
__________
A knock sounded on the door of her bedroom.
“Nesta, come on, we’re going to be late!” Cassian’s voice called through her door.
Was she supposed to go somewhere, wondered a small voice at the back of her mind. But mostly she was too tired to think, let alone to talk, or — gods forbid!— move. No way was she going anywhere, not even the kitchen.
“Nesta!” At her lack of response, Cassian opened the door and entered. He looked startled as he took in her attire. “We’re supposed to be at Rhys’ place in ten minutes! Come on, get dressed!”
Oh, yes, Rhysand. High Lord of the Night Court, host of dinner parties, husband of Feyre, and father of Nyx. Nyx would have been her baby’s cousin. Would they have had the same jet-black, silky hair? The same sunkissed, almond skin tone? Would they have played together?
Perhaps they would have sat next to each other on the swings, and Feyre and Nesta would have stood behind them, pushing them gently and chatting softly.
“Nesta!”
You have to answer, Nesta told herself. She couldn’t let Cassian suspect that something was wrong with her. If he did, he’d offer her kindness that would make her break down and confess everything. She couldn’t let herself hurt him that way. After all, she hadn’t even gotten the chance to tell him she was pregnant.
Taking a silent deep breath through her nose, Nesta steeled herself and forced herself to say, “I’m not going.” Cassian would never know that those were the first words she’d said since the healers had told her the news.
“What? Please, last week you promised you were coming!” Cassian huffed, frustrated. “Are you trying to punish me for staying out late last night having drinks with Rhys?”
She couldn’t make herself answer. It took all her energy to sit upright and blink every once in a while, when all she wanted was to melt into a puddle or to fall asleep and never have to wake up again.
“Seriously, Nesta? Look, I’m sorry, alright? Would you please just get dressed?”
I’m sorry, Cassian. I’m sorry that I’m being difficult. I’m sorry that you always have to put up with me. I’m sorry that no matter how hard I try, I can’t be a perfect wife the way Feyre is to Rhysand. I’m sorry that I’m irritable and difficult. I’m sorry that our baby is dead.
The words didn’t seem to escape her lips, since Cassian’s didn’t respond; he just continued to stare at her expectantly, with slight frustration in his gaze.
She shook her head in response to his question. The action made her nauseous, probably because she hadn’t eaten in over 24 hours.
Cassian opened his mouth to attempt to convince her to go, but shut it without uttering a word. He had probably realized that nothing he said would convince her.
“Is everything okay? Do you need me to stay home with you?”
No. Nothing was okay and never would be, because nothing, not even the gods-damn Cauldron, could bring their baby back. Nesta could never ever fix it. She wanted to wrap herself in his arms and yell at the world but none of that would bring them back. No, the only thing Nesta could do was to spare Cassian the pain. She needed to rein in her selfish desire for comfort and instead make sure Cassian never, ever found out. Cassian, who had never had a father and had lost his mother too early in life, who had been dealt a hand with far too much loss and violence, didn’t deserve to be hurt this way. This was Nesta’s burden to be shouldered.
So Nesta merely shook her head again. As she watched Cassian’s figure retreat out of the room and leap into the sky, she realized that suffering alone would make her feel a little less useless. If she could cry for both of them and hurt for both of them, then her pain would serve to keep the smile on Cassian’s face and the light in Cassian’s eyes.
And for that, for him, she’d willingly endure any torture. She’d willingly condemn herself to eternal silent suffering, if only to spare the male she loved — the male who was, and had always been, far too good for her. For Cassian, she would survive this.
Nesta sat there alone as the light outside faded and the room grew darker. She had no idea how much time passed. She just sat there, trying to push all her thoughts out of her head.
Pitiful, that’s what it was. She was supposed to be a Valkyrie — strong both physically and mentally. Why was it that now, she failed to do even what she’d learned in the first days of mind-stilling exercises with Gwyn?
She needed to get her emotions under control. So far, she’d managed to keep Cassian unaware. The day of her miscarriage, Cassian had been dealing with trouble in Illyria and had come home late. He had kept his emotional shields up as he usually did when with his troops, so he hadn’t felt her pain through the bond — pain she hadn’t managed to contain despite her best attempts as she felt her joy bleed out of her. If Cassian had smelt any of the blood that had refused to leave her clothes, then he likely assumed it was just wounds from training and hadn’t said a thing. He had spent the next day discussing strategy with Azriel and Rhysand and had gone drinking with them afterwards. Honestly, it was a miracle that she had been able to keep up this facade for so long, with her obvious despair permeating the room.
She had to pull herself together.
Just… maybe not just yet. Right now, it was a struggle just to take another breath. Her stomach grumbled, urging her to feed herself. However, her legs, which were number than her heart and steadier than her mental shields, refused to budge. She closed her eyes for a moment and wondered why she was surprised that her body was failing her yet again. As much as she had grown to love her body while training to become a Valkyrie and fighting in the Blood Rite, she should not have forgotten that it wasn’t really hers. No, this High Fae body was given to her by the Cauldron. Although, it was debatable whether she had ever really owned her body. Had her human body not been a tool cultivated by her mother to manipulate powerful men? But still, despite being malnourished, it had been hers — enough for her to fight tooth and nail to preserve its purity against aggressive ex-fiancés.
This body… Nesta wanted to think that she owned it. It had grown and changed with her, becoming stronger and fuller and more flexible. Perhaps this was just a reminder that nothing really belonged to anyone. Her body, her soul — it was all part of the universe and in truth, she was powerless to control its fate. Her baby, too. They had never really been hers.
Nesta had been so excited to share the news with Cassian when she had found out a month ago. Anxious too of course, but mainly excited. She had read up about every detail, since she was not as informed as she wanted to be about the differences between human and Fae pregnancy. She researched everything from the best foods to eat during pregnancy to how long to breastfeed to whether flying was safe during the later months. She had even found information on how to make a safe, enclosed space with a soft floor where an infant illyrian could start to fly.
At first, she wanted to tell Cassian, but she had read about it and decided to surprise him with it as a Solstice present. She had imported a special candle from the Day Court which masked the scent of her pregnancy and had made sure to hide her nausea from Cassian to avoid his suspicion and worry.
Now, she was glad she’d decided not to tell him.
She opened her eyes, sighing softly, and found a tray of food lying next to her. As she picked up the spoon and took a bite, she realized it was all her comfort food: a plate with fried potatoes topped with fried egg, along with seafood paella and a bowl of chicken noodle soup.
“Thank you,” she whispered to the House — her first real friend. Eating made her feel slightly better, even if it was just because doing something occupied her mind. Still not all her thoughts were silenced: as she took a bite of the eggs, she couldn’t help but remember reading about how eggs had high nutritional value and were a food source of nutrients for pregnant females.
When she finished eating — which, to her surprise, was when almost everything on the tray was gone — a few books appeared, replacing the tray. Instead of the usual romance, these were fantasy. The House had clearly sensed that Nesta needed to escape reality for a while and that reading about happy couples would only make her feel worse.
Nesta breathed in the scent of the book — the ink, the pages, the book-binding glue — and felt a sense of calm wash over her as her problems faded away.
Later, when exhaustion finally closed her eyelids, she fell asleep still clutching an open book to her chest, her mind soaring over glittering seas riding an iridescent thousand-year old dragon.
__________
“Nesta?”
She awoke to the sound of a female voice calling her name through the door. She blinked and looked around, still groggy. She wondered briefly why Cassian was not sleeping next to her before recalling the events of the past few days.
“Nesta, you better be fully dressed because we’re coming in!” called a different voice.
Emerie. Gwyn. What were they doing here? Had she forgotten to tell them she wasn’t going to training? No, she had definitely let them know that she wasn’t feeling well and couldn’t attend. There was no reason for them to suspect otherwise, not after they’d seen Nesta dry heaving after training last week due to her morning sickness.
Nesta opened her mouth, trying to formulate some response that would make them leave but she found that she couldn’t use her voice. The thought of pretending to be alright exhausted her despite the fact that she had quite literally just woken up.
The door opened and the two females entered. As they gazed at her, Nesta knew she should try to put on her regular expression but it was futile.
Emerie’s eyes softened and Nesta resisted the urge to flinch. She didn’t want their pity. She didn’t want their comfort. She didn’t-
“We were wondering if you were willing to invite us,” Gwyn said tentatively. “We missed the Pegasus.”
“And the food,” Emerie added.
“And you, of course.” Gwyn’s eyes pierced her and Nesta knew her friend could see the sadness that was drowning her, burying her alive.
“But mainly the books and the food,” Emerie said, smirking. The light, joking air they put on was for her sake. Because they knew that, no matter how far she’d come, Nesta tended to retreat into her shell when things got bad. That her old habit returned and she needed to be gently coaxed into talking about her feelings. She needed to be reminded that people loved her and that she deserved to be loved.
It was because of Gwyn and Emerie that Nesta found the strength to get out of bed and walk with them to the living room.
She didn’t miss the long glances Emerie and Gwyn shared as they seemed to be debating what to do, but she didn’t react to them.
“So, Nesta,” Emerie said, “I actually read this book recently, I think it was called Amethyst Mischief? It was incredible.”
“Oh, who was it by?” Gwyn inquired.
“Asterion Winika. She also wrote Tinted Skies of Raleigh. Have you heard of it?”
“No,” Gwyn replied. Nesta shook her head as well.
“Well, it’s about this young female who was born in a world where there is a form of alchemic magic that they call ‘technology’ which is based on lighting-generated impulses. They power thousands of different things with this lighting energy, which they call electricity. Anyway, so this female was travelling…”
As Emerie recounted her story, with Gwyn chiming in occasionally, Nesta felt as though she were slowly thawing. It was as though she’d been encased in a cloud of heavy despair and now, the dark clouds were slowly moving to let a tiny stream of sunlight through. Her sadness still clung to her, but it had loosened its grip slightly, giving her room to breathe.
Although she could not attempt to feel joy, she felt like she was able to get through her day — to make it through without feeling as though she was being crushed by a mountain (now, it only felt like a boulder).
At the end of the afternoon, as she walked her friends to the door to say goodbye, she felt like she would be able to survive this. She just had to take it one step at a time.
__________
Cassian groaned, his arms raised above his head as he stretched in his chair.
“Long day?” Nesta asked. The dinner table, with their now empty plates, stood between them.
“Full day of training and drills with the Illyrians,” he replied, closing his eyes in exhaustion. “Sorry I didn’t come home last night. I needed to head to Illyria and-”
“It’s fine. Gwyn and Emerie came over today,” she said quickly, before steering the conversation away from her again. “How did the training go?”
Cassian let out a tired half-laugh, his eyes still shut. “About how you’d expect. Over-enthusiastic and energetic new recruits who need to learn some discipline, conniving warlords, disrespectful and power hungry males all around. But the drills went well.”
Pride cut through the haze of his exhaustion as he uttered that last phrase.
He opened his eyes. “It’s something beautiful, watching them all come together to fight. Of course I hope we won’t ever have another war but when we do these drills and they get into formations and fight the siphon-made simulation, they stop being individuals who are desperate for power and recognition and instead become the legendary Illyrian army. Watching those recruits who’d usually beat each other up for an extra portion of meat work together, helping each other up and guarding each other’s blind spots…”
His hazel eyes shone like liquid gold as awe colored his voice.
“It’s like Enalius is there. It’s glorious and it’s, well, I guess it’s why I love doing my job,” he smiled.
As she watched him, joy sparked in her chest which she felt keenly given its absence in the past three days. People often forgot that Cassian’s passion matched her own. They believed him to be easy going due to his mask of innuendoes, jokes, and smiles, and didn’t bother to notice his fire. Nesta loved watching him get passionate about subjects he loved. His face, his voice, and his soul lit up and Nesta couldn’t help but smile as he bloomed in front of her — fireworks breaking through the darkness of her despair.
Once in bed, Cassian promptly passed out. Laying curled against him, with his arm and wing tossed over her, Nesta felt his heat seep into her bones. In his cocoon, she felt safe, protected from the harsh tragedies she wanted to forget. Her last thought as she succumbed to Morpheus’ lull was that as long as she had Cassian, she would be alright.
__________
Nesta woke alone.
She got out of bed, threw on a robe over her nightgown, and headed towards the kitchen where Cassian probably was. Her fae ears picked up the sound of faint voices, growing louder as she approached.
Nesta entered the kitchen. For a brief moment, she absorbed the sunlight that streamed in through the window and felt at peace. Then, she took in her surroundings — or more precisely, the people who surrounded her. Cassian was in the kitchen, of course, but alongside him stood not only Azriel but also Mor, Rhys and Feyre. They seemed to be having breakfast together, as Cassian and Az cooked something on the stove while Mor and Feyre chatted as the blonde made tea. Why they had all decided to gather in her house this morning, she had no idea. Perhaps Cassian had invited them and hadn’t bothered to inform her. Or perhaps they thought that since this house had once belonged to Rhysand, they were still allowed to come and go unannounced as they pleased. Either way, she was in no state to deal with so many people, especially so early in the day.
Hoping to get some caffeine into her system, she took a step towards the cupboard to grab a mug when she noticed something moving at Feyre’s feet. A flutter of wings, chubby outstretched fingers, and rounded violet-blue eyes froze her in her tracks. Nyx. The sight stabbed her sharply and pain flooded her senses as a sludge of ugly emotions bled from the wound.
Why was it that Nyx was able to be standing there, in perfect health, with his perfect arms and legs and hair and wings, while her baby had never even gotten a chance to grow any of their own? Why was it that Nyx could hold onto his mother’s leg, babbling happily, while Nesta would never be able to hold her baby, let alone hear their voice or see their smile? Why was it that Nyx could be alive, could be born and grow up, getting a little bigger and stronger everyday, while Nesta’s baby had never even tasted a second of life?
Rage and despair churned into a violent tornado. Nyx let out a soft cry, as her baby never would. Feyre placed a kiss on his brow, as Nesta would never be able to do. Nyx exhaled air that her baby would never breathe.
Too much. The tornado had shredded her insides — her passionate heart, the temporary joy the afternoon with her friends and the night with Cassian had placed in her, the strength cultivated by her mother and her society and later by herself — all torn to pieces.
The tornado threatened to escape her, to cut others to ribbons with sharp words and destructive acts, but Nesta used the remaining shards of herself to hold it in.
Nyx laughed a toddler’s laugh: bubbly and consuming and innocent. Because that’s what he was: an innocent toddler.
How could she have, even for a moment, wished ill upon such a being? Not just any child, but Nyx. Nyx, for whom she had sacrificed her powers. Nyx, whom she had rocked to sleep and fed apple-sauce to and babysat countless times. Nyx, who always smiled so widely when she played peek-a-boo with him and whose eyes sparkled as he wrapped his tiny fingers around hers. Nyx, who crawled and then walked towards her just because he loved her hair and her hugs. What kind of monster was she to question his right to exist, just because her own child had been taken unjustly?
Cold. Cruel. Contemptible. Her guilt grew claws that dug into her.
A monster. That’s what she was. No wonder the Mother had decided not to give her a child. She didn’t deserve one. What she deserved was this: unending, unrelenting pain.
Yet Nesta was a coward, so she backed out of the kitchen, eager to get away from the adorable toddler who brought her such agony.
She slid down the hall. Her footsteps grew louder, echoing the double beat of her heart: Mon-ster. Mon-ster. Mon-ster. She shut her eyes, then covered her ears, as though any of that would stop her from hearing the beat.
How could it, when the words came from everywhere? From the Cauldron which had stolen her child away, from the world which had castigated her from a young age, and even from herself: Mon-ster. Mon-ster. Mon-ster. She thought that she’d grown and changed but perhaps she’d only gotten better at deluding herself. After all, beasts can never really turn into people, no matter how hard they try and beguile themselves with fairytales.
How could she escape the truth? How could she escape herself?
Your fault, whispered the walls. Your baby is gone forever, hissed the floor. You deserve it, yelled the ceiling. And then they were all closing in on her, tighter and tighter and she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t fit in this tiny cage, this prison of her own design and-
“Nesta!”
She gasped, inhaling deeper as her chest finally loosened. It was Cassian’s voice behind her.
“Hey, Nesta.” His voice was so soothing and it grounded her like nothing else. She blinked a few times. She hadn’t even noticed that her vision had gone blurry but now it began to clear.
“I’m so sorry that I didn’t tell you everyone was here,” he said. “I completely forgot that I had invited them a while back. I tried to tell them that we hadn’t prepared brunch but they just said that they’d assemble things and then I kind of gave in and… I didn’t mean to overwhelm you. I’m sorry.”
She had left the room because she couldn’t deal with all those people. She needed space to process the unexpected torment of facing Nyx. But Cassian wasn’t people: he was her mate, her husband, her partner, and her lover in every sense of the term.
She wanted to hug him. To bury herself in his strong, caring arms and chest and never leave his embrace. To leave behind the hurt and the pain that clawed at her continuously, and shield herself with his love.
Nesta turned around slowly, and met his amber eyes. Part of her wanted to be trapped within them forever, frozen in time in the eye of her hurricane.
“Nesta?” Her eyes fell to his lips as they curved slightly. “I brought you a surprise to cheer you up.” His dark lashes cast a shadow along his left cheek as he winked.
He raised his arms, and held out a wide-eyed, smiling child. Nyx.
Nesta could only blink in shock as her internal storm started up once more, the winds stronger than ever.
“He wanted to see his favorite aunt,” Cassian grinned, so joyously it singed a hole through her already battered heart. She couldn’t tell him that looking at this child, who Cassian adored with his whole being and brought him so much happiness, made her want to retch, smash every item in the house, and then sob for the rest of eternity. “And I know how much you love this little ball of mischief.”
Cassian raised Nyx higher and pressed a light kiss to his hair, causing the toddler to giggle happily.
He would have been such a great father.
You took that from him, whispered her heart. You didn’t deserve a child and the Mother knew that, so she had to destroy his baby. It’s your fault. You killed his child.
Something in her expression must have betrayed her, because a crease appeared in Cassian’s brow and his smile faded slightly. He cocked his head and gently held out the laughing child towards her. “Do you want to hold him?”
She didn’t want to be here, in such close proximity to this reminder of everything she could have had — everything she had lost. She didn’t want to look at Nyx, who stared up at her with earnest round eyes and rosy cheeks.
She instinctively took a step back from Nyx, her waking nightmare, and shook her head. She tried desperately to think of a way to cover up her actions with the excuse Cassian had concocted — that she was merely overwhelmed by the Inner Circle’s unexpected presence this morning — but she couldn’t think as the desperate emotions churned and churned inside her. Her body wanted to succumb to their thrall, to sway and collapse and drown in the storm but she couldn’t — not here, in front of Cassian. That would only lead to questions, which would lead to pain for him, she reminded herself sternly. So she would need to cover up her tracks quickly.
But it was too late. Cassian’s eyes were already filled with alarm and his voice was coated with confused concern as he asked, “What’s going on? Are you alright?”
No, she wanted to yell. No, no, no. The child in Cassian’s arms, who most including her usual self would classify as a bundle of joy, was currently torturing her with his presence alone. She wasn’t strong enough to contain the throbbing anger and agony for much longer.
Nesta’s eyes finally obeyed her, tearing away from Nyx to gaze up at her mate. Nesta’s stare must have revealed that she wasn’t overjoyed to see Nyx as he had expected; he had realized that for some inconceivable reason, she was vexed by this toddler’s presence.
She watched as his emotions danced in his eyes. He looked as though he couldn’t recognize or understand her. Worse yet, a flicker of unease and of fear shone on his face. He had never looked at her like that before, and it broke something within her that she hadn’t even realized she’d been clinging to this whole time. The certainty of her bond with Cassian and the love they shared had been the one thing grounding her and now it was gone. He had glimpsed the truth of her: that she was a monster. She could feel herself spiralling as her brain noted that Cassian’s strong arms were supposed to be their child’s spot, not Nyx’s, and that those loving, protective kisses should have been their child’s.
She needed to leave before she hurt anyone else, before Cassian asked her the questions that lingered in his eyes.
So Nesta spun on her heel, and raced to their room. Mercifully, Cassian stood still in shock for a few seconds before chasing after her. Though he was faster than her due to centuries of training, the head start had been all she needed to enter the room before him. The House, her friend who understood that Nesta couldn’t bear the pain looking at Nyx or Cassian would cause her, quickly shut and locked the door behind her.
Within the privacy of her room, Nesta finally allowed herself to fall apart. Tears streamed down her face as silent sobs wracked her body. She let herself succumb to the suffering and the ache. Any remaining strength dissolved into nothingness and her head drooped onto her knees.
Outside, Cassian knocked and desperately called for her to let him in, to tell him what was wrong. His pleas were muffled by the House’s magic, but he still begged, until his throat was raw and his voice was hoarse. Even then, he stayed, resting his head against the cool wood of the locked door between him and his mate. He reached out a hand to her through their bond and felt the drops of sadness that seeped through the cracks of the usually immovable fortress walls of her mind.
Cassian shut his eyes, drowning in worry and pain, not knowing that across the door, his mate did the same.
__________
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Nessian taglist:
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Before the Dust Settles:
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I've stared at this for too long so before I start hating it, I'll post it! Also a quick part 2:
Metamorphosis I love Arcane’s artstyle so much!
we all know who is it
─ clayolivia headers
› like if you save or use | Ⓒ oliiemia on twitter
10 Things I Hate About You just has the biggest nessian vibes.
Instagram: marcellamac_art
SAO ELES
I love these two idiots
art: eklixio [instagram]
give us what was promised, sarah you coward.
“Nesta’s mother had wanted a prince for her. Cassian now thought she’d undervalued her daughter. Only a king or an emperor would do for someone with that level of skill.”
- Cassian
“The music was no longer the most beautiful thing in existence. He was.”
- Nesta Archeron
(Please don’t repost this without permission, thanks!)
Here it is guys… The promised Nessian art 😅 finally finished it 😌😩 I just finished moving out and I will have more time to draw and share with you guys 🎉❤️ characters are Nesta and Cassian from A court of thorns and roses by @sjmaas Hope you guys will like it xoxo
Cassian complaining to Nesta after being scolded for breaking his banishment against the Summer court:
such a stunning nessian art by artbyemmilinne on instagram!
the hottest couple of prythian
art: xena.fay [instagram]
More Nessian love
art: TealDeal
