My contribution for Day One: Love Languages for @nessianweek 2025. I had trouble choosing just one for each.
Words of affirmation are, admittedly, 100% my personal bias and not based at all on what we see in the books. So help me that woman needs to be told in explicit terms that she is loved and worthy of love. (Credit where credit is due: the quote is from Brennan Lee Mulligan playing Jawbone in Dimension 20's Fantasy High: Sophomore Year!)
Cassian is 100% physical touch and I will die on that hill.
Day Two: Bargains for @nessianweek made me think of how I wished ACOSF had started: with a bargain instead of an abduction.
I've rewritten Chapter 2 to set up the premise/excuse for whisking Nesta out of Velaris. I've included a portion of it below!
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The Conversation, such as it was, was a disaster. Cassian had thought it would be a quiet conversation between Nesta, her sister, himself, and his brother. A calm, sensible discussion in which Rhys put forth a startlingly eloquent argument about how Nesta could not be safer anywhere but with his most trusted brother and general in Illyria. No one would ever guess that she was tucked away there with the Night Court’s fiercest warriors. The threat that was Briallyn would be snuffed out unseen like a smothered candle in daylight and pass over them like a shooting star in the night, with official reports simply stating that the witch-queen had accidentally slit her own throat with scissors while cutting her hair. It had been so simple.
And it had gone so, so wrong.
The entirety of the Inner Circle had been there, lying in wait. It wasn’t a conversation; it was an ambush. And there Nesta was in the metaphorical corner like a wounded animal with nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.
Nesta had gone preternaturally still, and Cassian reacted to that on instinct alone. He did not know quite how he knew, but he felt in his bones that the Nesta who snarled, snapped, and sneered was the better alternative to the Nesta who went still and silent. So Cassian stepped in.
‘Look, we've a number of loose ends from the war. Briallyn wants your head bad enough that we’re worried she’s going to use her very intact army to do so. Who knows what the Cauldron gave her or what she took from It. Not to mention we’re not exactly a favourite of the other Prythian courts either, and they’re aware that you have Cauldron-Made powers, which makes you a valuable asset to any court and therefore a prime target. You’re also Feyre’s sister, which is a hostage situation just begging to happen. And, to top it off, Bryaxis is still out there somewhere. You have two options: you can stay here in Velaris knowing I'll be dogging your every step every hour of the day or night or you can come with me to Windhaven and you can roam freely within the bounds of the village. I'll go about my business in Illyria, and you can be left alone.’
‘I'm not going anywhere,’ came Nesta's cold reply. ‘And I'll be left alone right here in Velaris.’
‘Then I’ll make a bargain with you.’ The words were out before Cassian could think better on it. It was stupid to ricochet from your best plan to your worst, but Nesta made him feel the headiness of youth, like he wanted to take risks again and plunge down cliffsides at breakneck speed, pulling up at the very last moment before impact.
What are you doing? Feyre’s voice asked in the back of his mind. He shut her and Rhysand out and focused on Nesta. Just her and him, as if they didn’t have an audience for this foolishness.
Nesta examined her long nails as if bored, ‘You have nothing to offer that is of any worth to me.’
Cassian cocked his head and ignored the dread in his gut that told him she was right. ‘Can you be so sure? I would be bound to do anything you wish.’ Then he spoke the words of the bargain, ‘Come with me to Illyria, Nesta Archeron, stay with me there for a year and a day, and I’ll owe you one favour.’
‘Anything I wish?’ She looked him up and down critically as he nodded. Then, she said, ‘Amend your bargain to be a favour of whatever size I wish, and add a clause to ensure that leaving Illyria won’t cause me to break the bargain.’ A grim smile bloomed on her lips, ‘In case that little “hostage situation just begging to happen” happens.’
Cassian nodded in agreement and held out his hand, ‘Very well. A bargain, Nesta Archeron: come with me to Illyria by the end of this week, stay with me there for a year and a day as you are able, and I’ll owe you one favour of whatever size you wish.’
‘A favour that can be called in upon stepping foot in Illyria,’ Nesta added, ignoring the outstretched hand before her. The hard look in her eyes was confirmation enough that she was seeing if he would squirm. ‘That is to be fulfilled at a time of my choosing.’
Cassian sighed. ‘This is my bargain: if you come with me to Illyria by the end of this week and stay with me there for a year and a day as you are able, exclusive of visits to other territories, I will owe you one favour of whatever size you wish to be acted upon at a time of your choosing after one half-year has passed.’ He extended his hand further, ‘Take it or leave it.’
The little quirk to her lips heralded danger, but Nesta slid her hand into his and shook firmly. ‘Agreed.’
I still think that the Hewn City ball scene was tragically short. I also felt that Cassian didn't need to know how to dance Night Court dances (there should be Illyrian ones, for starters) AND shouldn't have jumped in to interrupt. Cassian being forced to just stand there like a guard on duty and watch as Nesta dances with Eris dance after dance after dance? Delicious. Beautiful opportunity for jealousy to eat him and his self-esteem alive (for the ANGST) AND you get to extend a beautiful #Neris moment. I don't know the whole scene, but I wrote out snippets of what I was thinking.
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‘If looks could kill, he’d be mist by now.’
Cassian swivelled his head at the familiar voice, and his glare found Mor beside him, dressed in her customary brilliant bloody red. Cassian, by no little effort, forced his expression to relax. ‘He doesn’t deserve her.’ It was the most tactful statement about Eris he could make at the moment.
‘And neither do you.’ Cassian’s eyebrows shot up at that, and Mor continued, ‘Like calls to like. She’s a viper; another viper suits her. Let Eris court her, Cassian, you deserve better than a snake in your bed.’
Cassian’s eyes in those few seconds had been drawn back to Nesta as she effortlessly danced, and, if the sway of her hips resembled a snake in their fluid undulation, then Cassian decided he very much desired that particular snake in his bed, venom and all. Mor placed a gentle hand on his forearm to recall his attention to her, ‘I’m not blind. I know you’ve been drawn to her since you laid eyes on her, but you’ve always had your pick of lovers in Velaris. There’ll be others.’
‘There is no other for me.’ Mor jerked back as if struck, and she frowned, but Cassian couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop. It was the relationship that he and Mor were supposed to have—once had, long ago—truth at all costs no matter how harsh. ‘There hasn’t been anyone else for two fucking years.’ He lowered his voice, still having sense enough that losing his temper with Mor would draw the unwanted attention of Hewn City’s nosy courtiers. ‘She’s my mate. I thought you of all people would know that.’
Mor slowly removed her hand from his arm, a look of pity crossing her face. ‘I’m so sorry, Cassian.’
‘Don’t be,’ Cassian snapped, baring his teeth. He didn’t need her pity. Or her mortification. Instead, he kept his face stony as Mor drifted back to the dais where Feyre and Rhysand sat overlooking the festivities.
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Nesta danced three consecutive dances with Eris, and the Hewn court tittered. In each, Eris seduced her, devouring her with his gaze. He showed immeasurable pleasure between dances when he held out his hand and Nesta willingly strutted towards him to accept his offer with an outstretched hand of her own. Cassian suffered through it all, standing sentry, blending in with the beasts carved into the pillar he was leaning against, listening as courtiers gossiped and speculated about the female he couldn’t seem to stop watching. What a catch. What a match. What power. A return to the old ways. The Night Court and the Autumn Court allied through an advantageous union. How they loved a good wedding. They hoped there would be at least one murder. And as the hours passed agonisingly slowly for Cassian, and as social propriety demanded that Nesta take other lords and ladies for dance partners, their words seemed to slowly sink their poisoned claws into his mind and aching heart.
They… they were right.
The mating bond was no guarantee of happiness, no true promise that the mated couple were well suited or deserving of one another. Rhys’ parents’ miserable relationship was testament to that. Cassian understood, then. He had wanted so desperately to be loved by her that he had been blinded by their reality. Nesta didn’t belong in Illyria with him. She practically glowed in a grand ballroom, surrounded by admirers all wound tightly around her little finger.
Nesta’s mother might have been cruel and ruthless, but she was right in this one thing: Nesta was deserving of kings and princes. Not some nobody. Not some bastard born in a tent in the dead of winter. Not when all he could offer her was a pitiful cottage on a brutal mountain and a promise of war and bloodshed because that was all he was good for. Maybe this was what Mor meant. Maybe she hadn’t been insulting Nesta, maybe she had just been trying to protect him, and he couldn’t see it.
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‘Cassian.’
He paused in the corridor, turning to see Nesta framed in the archway. She marched forward until she was right in front of him, and in the dim light he could make out the glint of her eyes. Ah, he’d managed to anger her without even being present. That was new.
‘How, exactly,’ she sniped, ‘do you plan on being my bodyguard when you can’t even see me?’
‘I don’t. Azriel is taking over from here,’ he said, more gruffly than he intended. ‘You were right from the start. He is the better one for the job.’
A blink was the only sign of shock and disappointment, but Cassian had learned to read quickly in his time with Nesta, and his voice cracked as he answered the question she hadn’t put into words, ‘I can’t, Nes.’ Her face settled into her usual look of aristocratic displeasure - all pursed lips, narrowed eyes, and that little frown he had come to adore.
‘I just can’t,’ he repeated, before whatever small fracture within him splintered further, and Cassian spoke his mind fully, casting away what scraps of pride he thought he’d be able to keep for himself. ‘I can’t bear to watch you in there. And with him. It’s agony. He—he suits you.’
Nesta’s glare glittered like diamonds, cold but beautiful, crystalline but sharp as a knife. She took a breath and Cassian knew she was going to gut him with whatever words she had at the ready. Well, he would beat her to it.
Before she could utter a word, he continued, counting on his fingers, ‘Eris is very likely going to inherit his father’s power and become the next High Lord of Autumn. You’ll live in complete comfort in the Autumn Court’s sizeable palace, and he is rich enough to have hosts of troubadours accompany you wherever you go. He can sing and dance—and he’s won more smiles from you in minutes than I have in months—and—’ Cassian at this point had run out of complimentary things to say about Eris, so he said rather desperately, ‘He has a surname, Nesta.’
He couldn’t read her true feelings behind her usual thin-lipped expression, so he stepped closer as if proximity to her would give him a window into her thoughts. ‘I don’t even know if my name is my own. Do you know what “Cassian” means in Illyrian? The root word means “empty, hollow, lacking, useless, pointless”. I may not have truly known my mother, but I know she loved me. She wouldn’t have given me that name. So I have no name; no clan outside of your sisters, Rhysand, Azriel, Mor, and Amren; no palace or musicians to lay at your feet; no talent for anything outside of battle. I’m not the handsome prince from your books.’ He jerked his chin back in the direction of the ballroom, ‘Eris is.’
Nesta stepped forward, no sign of tenderness or pity on her face, just a slight tilt of her head in that cold unceasing appraisal of him. ‘It’s true. We are an unlikely match. Had she lived, my mother would have never chosen someone like you for me.’ She brought her hands to his face, thumbs pressing in on his cheekbones as Cassian dropped his chin to keep her gaze. ‘But she’s dead. And I want only you.’ Then, Nesta kissed him, and Cassian’s mind echoed only for that last part:
The potential submissions in my brain for Day Five: Missing Moments ✷ for @nessianweek was... a lot, but I will settle for the lack of a proper love confession. (The "There Shall Be No One Else" commandment was simply not enough for me.) Once again, I've put my mini-rewrite under the cut and I have restrained myself to just one.
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The Rewrite: I combined the Crashing Out Lake Scene and the Nuclear Blasting Briallyn scene. In the lake crash out, Cassian delivered one of the strangest, most bizarre pep talks I've ever read and one that I don't think adequately addressed the heart of what Nesta is going through. "Everyone deserves happiness! So, like, apply that to yourself, yeah?" just doesn't fucking cut it. I also thought Cassian's little knife trick (the fake stabbing himself) also felt dissatisfying. In my rewrite, I let him stab himself. Then, Nesta can fight & kill Briallyn in a Harp + Mask vs Crown boss battle, finds out Cassian has died in that time, and uses the Harp to try again - this time, successfully stopping Briallyn (from killing Cassian) and Cassian (from killing himself). I can't believe SJM didn't fuck around with more wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff when she WROTE THE MECHANISM INTO EXISTENCE IN THIS GODDAMN BOOK. Anyway, picture this: Briallyn is defeated. Cassian is now Not Dead but with no memory of having ever killed himself. Nesta, however, remembers Everything.
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Cassian felt like he was made of light and he all but beamed at her, opening his arms wide in pride. ‘Hah! You Unmade her!’ The light he felt dimmed as Nesta looked at him with wide, sad eyes. He wasn't certain what was supposed to be so shocking. ‘What's wrong, Nes? It's not the first time you've kil—’
‘You died,’ she blurted, then heaved a breath, as if a great stone had been removed from her rib cage and she could breathe again.
Cassian patted himself down, found himself very much alive, and frowned. ‘When?’
‘When Briallyn told you to kill, you stabbed yourself. You died,’ she said, more to herself than to him, ‘And I didn’t go to you first. I didn’t try to save you. All I wanted was death.’
‘But I didn’t. You stopped me.’ Cassian’s breath caught, and he frowned. That couldn’t be right. Nesta’s head had been bare when Briallyn winnowed him to her. Now, it bore the Crown. The Crown that Briallyn had worn when she had winnowed him...
‘Not the first time,’ whispered Nesta, her voice weak and her breaths shallow once more. ‘The first time, you killed yourself, and I didn’t go to you. All I could think about was killing her.’ She wrung her hands together and repeated, even quieter, ‘I didn't go to you.’
‘The first time?’ Cassian repeated, still working his way through her words before understanding dawned. ‘The Harp?’
Nesta swallowed thickly and nodded. And then, without warning, she brought her hands up to hide her face and burst into tears.
Cassian blinked once in shock before allowing his desires to rule him completely. ‘Oh, sweetheart,’ he murmured as he gathered her to his chest.
He wondered, running his hand up and down her rigid back, if Nesta remembered how to cry. Even as he held her, Cassian could feel her fighting it. She kept holding her breath until she was forced to inhale a breath that stuttered sometimes twice, sometimes three times. And then she’d hold her breath again before being forced through desperation to release that breath in a burst. Any noises Nesta made sounded like they were squeezed out of her throat against her will, muffled, high-pitched, and choked.
‘It's okay. I don't blame you. I understand,’ Cassian spoke soothingly, even as she moved her hands to clutch at his armour and buried her face into the crook of his neck. ‘I’m flattered, really. It was very Illyrian of you. Smite first, figure the rest out later.’ He moved to hold her face in his hands, wiping her tears away with his thumbs. ‘That's what made you so upset? Me, dying?’
She shook her head. ‘I—’ Nesta hiccoughed, before trying again. ‘When it counted most, I- I didn’t protect you.’
Cassian shifted so that he could cocoon her in his wings and shrugged, ‘So you tried again, and saved me the second time around. I envy you. I've said and done many things to you that I wish I hadn't. I regret hounding you when you told me not to. I regret telling you that I couldn’t fathom how your sisters loved you. I felt spurned and low, and I wanted to drag you down with me. It was a cruel thing to say when I knew how I loved you. I threw your Solstice present into the river afterwards. I regret that too. I regret hauling you out of that tavern when all you wanted to do was listen to music. I regret not believing you when you said you were only there for the music. I’ll never get to undo those moments, but the regret shaped me - it made me want to change, to do better next time. You did something you regretted, and then you got to change it and do better the second time around. Is that so bad?’
‘Y-yes,’ came the hiccoughing, stubborn reply. ‘I could fix that moment, but no matter what I do, I can’t fix me.’ The thought brought the threat of a fresh wave of tears to her eyes, and she dropped her head to his chest again.
‘Sweetheart,’ said Cassian gently, ‘There’s nothing to fix.’
An abrupt, disbelieving laugh burst from her chest. ‘All your family—and my family, too—would disagree. You deserve more in life than to be shackled to someone like me.’
He frowned. ‘You’ve got it all wrong. I want to be shackled to you, Nesta Archeron. You think I don’t appreciate that you chose me? To trust? To love? To take to your bed?’
Nesta wiped at her eyes, and grumbled, 'That's the mating bond talking.'
Cassian scoffed. ‘It's not. I know you now, Nesta. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what Feyre was thinking when she told me she painted flames for you on your dresser drawer instead of dancing shoes or smutty books or a fucking lute. It’s because you’re passionate as all hell, and I love your fire. Mother preserve the poor sod who gets between you and someone you care about.’
Though Nesta was no longer crying, she still regarded him pityingly and said after a shuddering inhale, ‘Except it didn’t save you. It was still my fault you died.’
‘You said I stabbed myself?’
Nesta winced, and nodded.
‘That wasn’t your fault. I was given a choice, and I made it. I plunged the dagger. I wanted to die to save you. If anyone’s at fault, it is Briallyn for kidnapping me and forcing that choice to be made.’
‘I could have used my power, I could have tried—’
‘You did use your power, Nesta,’ Cassian retorted with some exasperation, ‘You went back in time. You got to slaughter Briallyn twice, and I’m still alive. I don't see the problem.’
A shuddering sigh came from where she had nestled against his chest. ‘Because I can’t make the thoughts stop. I can’t bear to be in my head. I’ve failed everyone I’ve ever loved. I watched my mother wither away and die. My father came to save me, fought for me, and I wasn't able to save him, either. I wasn’t able to follow Feyre into Prythian. I couldn’t stop Elain from going into the Cauldron. I couldn’t save you. I have been so, so horrid to each and every one of you, and I don’t deserve… I don’t deserve that- that love. I don’t deserve any of it.’
Cassian held her apart from him, so that she was forced to lift her head and meet his gaze. He frowned, ‘You do, though, Nes. I love you, sharp tongue and claws and all. All right, so you think you’ve failed everyone. I disagree, but so be it. I still love you. All of you and as you are.’
Nesta blinked owlishly at him, and Cassian cocked his head. Speechless or tired? He certainly felt the latter. Then, her face relaxed, and held less of that care and concern. She bestowed him with one of her small, reluctant smiles that suggested she was smiling against her own wishes. ‘I love you, Cassian.’
Cassian allowed himself a small chuckle at the confession. ‘Oh, I know. If you didn't, I'd be dead.’ Whatever serenity had overtaken Nesta fell from her face as she glared at him. ‘What? Too soon?’
'You're impossible,' Nesta hissed.
'It was quite flattering, being kidnapped,' Cassian noted, feeling a smug smirk overtake his features. 'I plan to rub it in your sisters' faces when we next see them.'
'I want to go home,' demanded Nesta, irritably.
'Now that,' said Cassian, hoisting her up into his arms and stretching his wings, 'sounds more like the Nesta I know and love.'
Nesta huffed, but wrapped her arms around him nonetheless and was silent. Cassian only winked at her. 'Never change, sweetheart.'
I thought more about respect than worship for Day Six: Reverence ✷ for @nessianweek. In my opinion, SJM missed the boat in ACOSF by having Cassian take off-page dance lessons with Mor - I get that she wanted him to surprise Nesta but that translates to more quality time with Mor and less time on-page spent dancing with Nesta. Meanwhile, Nesta participated in Cassian's interests throughout the book (whether or not she wanted to is a discussion for another day). She even read books that Cassian liked to read. It didn't feel like a two-way street. I would've liked to have seen Cassian participating in Nesta's interests with Nesta, even if that means being a little irreverent in the process.
Converted a WIP into a submission for Day Seven: Free Day ✷ for the last day of 2025 @nessianweek!
Also including a writing WIP. In my ACOSF rewrite, Cassian bargains for Nesta to spend a year and a day with him in Illyria for her own safety to protect her from the machinations of Briallyn and other fae courts as they vie for power in the wake of the destruction of Hybern and the Spring Court. (My writing/drawing for Day Two: Bargains sets up the premise.)
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Cassian took a deep breath, and knocked on the bedroom door.
‘What do you want?’ came Nesta’s muffled voice from behind the door. Her irritation, on the other hand, came through the thick wooden door quite clearly.
Cassian cleared his throat. ‘I’m sorry. About earlier.’ He looked up at his ceiling in a silent prayer for strength and fortitude before continuing, ‘You’re my guest, and I was breaking about twelve rules of Illyrian hospitality. While you’re here, I’ll take care of you. That includes meals. I’ve made stew if you’re hungry.’
There was a pregnant pause that made him fidget in silence, until he heard the door creak open. Nesta looked at him stonily, as if she had a mind to make him toil for her forgiveness, before looking down at the plate and bowl in his hands, ‘What kind of stew?’
He shrugged, ‘Venison and root vegetables. With fresh bread and butter.’ He felt a blush coming on, an inkling of shame and embarrassment, and he looked down at the stew with her. ‘You won’t get the variety of food here that you can in Velaris. The mountains become almost impassable in winter, so we eat with the seasons - whatever you can grow, gather, herd, or hunt.’
The only relief was that since he and Rhys had concocted this half-baked plan to bring Nesta to Illyria, he had been able to fill the earth cellar outside the house to the brim in preparation. He stored all the things he knew would be scarcer once the trade routes to the mountains were cut off by snow and poor weather conditions: salt, nuts, vegetables, cured meats, grains, butter, cow’s milk and cheeses. He had stocked up on it all.
‘Go on,’ Cassian gently encouraged. Nesta hadn’t yet taken the food from his hand, but was watching him suspiciously. ‘I haven’t poisoned it. It’s not magicked. It’s perfectly safe to eat. You might even like it.’
She rolled her eyes and accepted the plate. ‘Thank you.’ Then, she disappeared into the bedroom and shut the door.
Cassian sighed before wandering back to his own table to eat. He sat, staring for a moment at his own bowl and then at the closed door. This wasn’t what he had envisioned for a whole year: her in her room and him outside of it, waiting. Elain had told him to be patient and imperturbable, but he came by neither of those traits naturally. Feyre had also advised him to curb his temper, which was fucking rich coming from her. Cassian steeled himself before going over to the door and knocking again.
‘What?’
‘Why don’t you come out and eat dinner with me? I have a table and everything.’
‘No thank you.’
‘You can’t possibly think to stay in that room all winter, Nesta. You’ll drive yourself crazy.’
‘I’ll manage.’
‘Listen, I’ll make a deal with you. Eat with me at the table, and I won’t speak unless spoken to. I might even have a book or two you can read instead of talking to me. Or I can just as easily eat outside your door and tell you all about my day. It’s been a long one. We’re hosting some games among the war bands this year late in the summer, and I don’t think Devlon or his soldiers are really ready for—’
The door opened, fully this time, and an irate Nesta was on the other side of it. Cassian didn’t know what part of him had grown so twisted in darkness, but even her anger felt like the glowing warmth of sunshine. He wanted to bask in it.
‘Fetch. A. Book,’ she commanded in a firm staccato, as if he had trouble hearing.
Cassian smirked and jerked his head towards the kitchen. ‘Take a seat, and I’ll see what I can find.’
He was able to source a book or two that Mor had left behind from the last time she had stayed with him. He flipped through the pages quickly to ensure there was no evidence that they were once her property before offering them up as a sacrifice to Nesta. She picked one and began to read.
Cassian ate comfortably before the twisted, perverted part of him that wanted her attention at any cost started to nip at his heels again. He valiantly resisted the urge to provoke her or speak out of turn until the desire became unbearable and he yielded to it.
Placing his spoon down, he propped his chin on his fist and watched her read. This had the desired affect: Nesta looked over the top of the book to glare at him. He only briefly raised his eyebrows in question. Far be it from him to lose at a game of his own creation. Nesta glowered at him for a moment before returning to her book.
He watched her diligently ignore him for a time before she dropped the book to scowl at him. Cassian merely allowed himself a smile.
Nesta broke first.
‘I thought we had a deal.’
‘We did,’ Cassian admitted airily. ‘How do you like the stew?’
‘Passable.’ It’s delicious, Cassian, thank you for slaving over a hot stove for me, he translated in his head until Nesta very primly laced her fingers together on the tabletop. All trace of irritation had been quickly and quietly snuffed out. The female who sat before him now was made entirely of ice and steel. She leaned in slightly, as if to make sure her words would hit their mark. ‘I know you think this little bargain of yours is very clever, so let me make things perfectly clear. It won't work. We are not friends. We will never be friends. We are nothing to each other, and we will still be nothing to each other after a year and a day. So go about your business, and leave me to mine.’
Cassian felt stunned into silence, momentarily transported to a cold winter’s night on the banks of the Sidra. Prior to that night, he had forbidden himself from thinking of her. During that night and for every night after, he couldn’t stop. It had taken everything in him to pretend to be normal, to be unaffected by her dispassion, to care nothing of her in return. His pride goaded him to ignore her, to give her a taste of her own medicine, but when she hardly seemed to notice his inattention, it stung all the harder. He had lashed out, said things designed to hurt her, but instead of fire he was met with ash.
She was right, of course, even if she didn't realise the extent of it. The bargain was part of a plot built on the flimsiest of pretences. Rhys had come to him with the magic words he had wanted to hear: I have a way to fix it. After all, it had worked for him, hadn’t it? I grew on her, Rhys had said with a small, contented smile. Like a foot fungus, Cassian had added, earning himself a playful shove and laughter. He had allowed himself to hope.
He told himself that he didn’t know why he cared or why he bothered, but that was a lie. He knew.
He was constantly reaching for the glimpses of the woman he had seen. The woman who didn’t balk when her transformed sister and three Fae showed up at her door; the woman who accused him of bewitching her before successfully driving a knee between his legs; the woman who was ferocious in defence of a human world that had done nothing to earn that loyalty; the newly transformed Fae female curled in an armchair reading her smutty romance books, unconscious of the way her face softened as she read; the Emissary who pretended to want nothing to do with him only to snap at him for not saying hello; the female who constantly read his body for injuries; the female who leaned into his touch as she tested her newfound powers; the female who desperately screamed his name in battle, saving him by drawing him nearer to her and out of range of the incoming blast; the female who sobbed and begged him to get up, who covered his body with hers when he could not.
He wanted that person. He’d do anything for another glimpse.
Cassian blinked away the memories and propped his elbows on the table, lacing his own fingers and resting his chin on them. ‘I understand.’ Her gaze was hard as stone, so he repeated, ‘I do. But this isn’t a prison, and I don’t want it to feel like one. We may not be friends—’
‘We are not friends,’ repeated Nesta definitively.
Mother save him, he could feel his temper rising. ‘—but that doesn’t mean,’ Cassian persisted, albeit through gritted teeth, ‘that we have to be miserable crammed in the same damn shack for a year and a day. Now, do you want some wine with that stew?’
Nesta nodded, watching him warily as he rose to fetch a bottle and pour them both a glass. Cassian paused before handing her her glass, instructing, ‘It’s customary in an Illyrian home to speak a word of prayer or well-wishing before drinking. Usually something hopeful.’
Nesta huffed, ‘Yes, a toast. We—I mean humans—do it too.’
Cassian frowned, ‘You prayed for toast?’
‘No,’ said Nesta, exasperated, but the tension had ebbed from her shoulders. ‘Among humans, it’s called a toast.’
‘Oh,’ said Cassian, taking his seat again. ‘Go on, then. Toast me.’
Nesta glared at him, but then a wicked smile overtook her lips as she clinked her glass against his. ‘To your good health. You'll need it if you continue to interrupt my reading.’
Cassian leaned in, smirking despite himself, at the first glimmer of the once-human woman who was always ready to go toe to toe with him. ‘Oh, sweetheart,’ he murmured in a patronising way he knew would only infuriate her further, ‘This isn't my first time living in the same house with you. I'll survive.’
It was Illyrian custom to only raise one's glass, but Cassian gently touched his against hers in what he assumed was the human way. 'May your books be half as diverting as I am.' At her loud scoff of disbelief, Cassian only smiled and drank. It was going to be a good year.
adrian chase who abhors bigotry and slaughters racists and has empathy for prostitutes and intuits his friends' needs and is desperate to meet another him. to meet someone who understands. who goes into the other room to cry and welcomes comfort when it's offered. adrian who cares for his friends' safety and makes sure eagly is never forgotten and tries to maintain relationships with daily phone calls.
adrian chase who is everything you could ever ask for and then some.
I would love to see some human traditions tied into Nesta and Cassian's mating ceremony. So I made up a human tradition of kissing under the veil... which probably wasn't made with giant illyrian wings in mind. What's a wedding without a little mayhem?
acotar fandom just a reminder that multi shipping is okay. you’re aloud to like more than one ship. if you don’t, also okay. just… you don’t have to pick a side if you don’t want to
My sister, it seemed, had managed to find the only thing relatively close to a slum. And insisted on living there, in a building that was older than Rhys and in dire need of repairs.
There were only a few blocks in the city like that. When I’d asked Rhys about them, about why they had not been improved, he merely said that he had tried. But displacing people while their homes were torn down and rebuilt … Tricky.
ACOFAS, Chapter 4.
Sooooooo... this didn't apply to Nesta's block of flats, I take it? "Man, repairing a derelict 500+ year old building without displacing people is tri-- JUST KIDDING! TEAR IT DOWN, BOYS, I'M GOING TO EVICT MY SISTER-IN-LAW! NO NOTICE!"
Also Rhys and his "trying" lmfao I swear if we see the Illyrian wing clipping issue solved with a snap of the fingers I will snap the whole book in anger.
In my opinion, one of the most powerful things about ACOSF is how human Nesta’s arc is, even if a lot of the book is about Nesta coming to terms with her new Fae existence.
Her journey is about coping with trauma, grief, and soul-crushing self hatred. It’s about the slow, painful process of healing when you truly don’t believe you deserve to.
Nesta carries so much guilt—from her family's past, from the war, from everything she didn’t do. And instead of running from it, she lets it consume her. She spirals. She pushes people away. She self-destructs. She’s not the likeable sister, and she knows it, maybe even hides behind it and uses it as a shield.
And then there’s the imposter syndrome. She's been told since she was a child that she's meant for more—meant to be great, meant to be powerful. But all she sees in herself is failure. Uselessness. Someone who didn't help when it mattered most. She doesn’t feel powerful. She feels broken. And that contradiction—between what others see and what she believes about herself—is heartbreaking.
The powerful part about her journey of healing is that nothing about it is easy or magical. Consider it an act of defiance, but she goes about it in the most human way possible. Through hard work, blood sweat and tears, love and fear and feeling.
Nesta doesn’t heal because someone tells her she’s worth saving. She heals because she decides she is.
She isn’t soft, she isn’t easy, she isn’t digestible. She is grieving and angry and bitter and even a little cruel. Shes for anyone who’s ever looked in the mirror and not liked what they saw, for anyone who questions if they deserve joy or love at all. She proves that you can always find the strength to keep trying, and come into yourself as something powerful.
WHY COULDN'T THEY DO A C-SECTION!!!!!! WHY THE FUCK COULDN'T THEY DO A C-SECTION SARAH!!!!!!! CASSIAN LITERALLY HAD HIS GUTS HANGING OUT IN ACOWAR BUT YOU'RE TELLING ME NO ONE IN THE ENTIRE HISTORY OF THIS MAGICALLY ADVANCED RACE HAS EVER SURVIVED A C-SECTION???????????? WHEN REAL NON-MAGICAL PEOPLE HAVE BEEN SURVIVING C-SECTIONS FOR HUNDREDS IF NOT THOUSANDS OF YEARS?????? SARAH WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!!!!! SARAH MY SUSPENSION OF DISBELIEF!!!!!!!! THIS SHOULD HAVE BEEN A NON-ISSUE SARAH!!!!!!!!!!!
