Melphs

Rai | She/Her | Bookworm | Art Commissions | Goodreads | Instagram Current Obsessions: ✦ Nesta Archeron ✦ Jude Duarte ✦ Loki Laufeyson ✦ Lucien Vanserra ✦ Selina Kyle ✦ Eris Vanserra Proflie picture commissioned by me from @zyulla_

[melphss]

#LizzieWeek2026 | Day 01: Animal

“The deer watched me with me with wide, unblinking, brown eyes. I didn’t move a muscle, momentarily captivated by the raw beauty of this ethereal creature, while a swell of sympathy washed over me. We were so very similar, this deer and me. We were both prey.“

Art by: somethingdeviant

Comissioned by: @melphss, arilvsemm, lizelriel & eden.lizx

Characters belongs to: Chloe Walsh

[melphss]

Lizzie Week 2026 | Day 01:  Reading & Writing

Lizzie in the future after becoming a successful author 📚

Art by: florestalie

Comissioned by: @melphss & dcthtropes

Characters belongs to: Chloe Walsh

[cassianappreciationweek]

Announcing Cassian Week 2026!

Join us in celebrating our favorite bat boy from July 19 through 25, 2026!

Welcome to Cassian Appreciation Week 2026! Feel free to participate in any way you can, from headcanons, fanart, moodboards, fics, drabbles, playlists…. no matter how big or small, anything celebrating Cassian is welcome!

Please tag @cassianappreciationweek and use the tag #CassianWeek2026 so we can see all your lovely posts!

And if you plan to post on Instagram, make sure to follow us and collab with us on the post!

This year’s prompts are as follows:

Day One: Devotion ⚔︎ Cassian is devoted to many things, his family, his soldiers, Illyria, his mate — how do you see him sharing and showing his devotion?

Day Two: Birthday ⚔︎ Cassian may not have an official, canon birthday, but we all agree he gives big Fire Sign Energy — how do you see Cassian celebrating his birthday and channeling his inner Leo?

Day Three: Enalius Reborn ⚔︎ The Illyrians call Cassian Enalius Reborn — how do you see him embodying the warrior-god? What might Cassian's destiny include?

Day Four: Lover ⚔︎ Cassian has had many opportunities for love across Prythian — who do you ship him with? Nesta? Azriel? Eris? Lucien? Any and all ships are welcome!

Day Five: Home ⚔︎ The cabin in Illyria? The House of Wind? The townhouse in Velaris? Or another unseen home? — what do you think home means to Cassian?

Day Six: Victories & Loss ⚔︎ Cassian's life has been fraught with both victories and losses — how do you see him handling these moments both past and present?

Day Seven: Free Day ⚔︎ Any topic of your choosing!

Thank you to @talkfantasytome, @c-e-d-dreamer, @moodymelanist, @dustjacketmusings, @melphss, @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk, @theteaqueendom , @podemechamardek, @perseusannabeth, @unhealthyfanobsession, @wishcamper, @xxvalkyriesxx, @jsmelodies, @jellybeanjellyfishblog, and @chelseamorninggirl for helping to plan this event!

We can't wait to see what you create!

[mystical-blaise]

🔥A COURT OF HOT TAKES🔥

Preface: Do I still read the books? Yes. Do I still enjoy most of them? Depending on the series, also yes. Now that we got that out of the way...

Rant #1: Bloomsbury and SJM are being messy with the fandom

Like most people, I was excited to hear about the new release being announced on the CHD podcast. Odd choice for an announcement, but sure. As I watched it, I couldn't help but find it quite performative in comparison to when she used to do lives with Steph post book release. There she felt real and natural. Relatable. On CHD, you can tell the questions were preapproved.

Then, finally, after an hour, we reached the moment of truth and got the announcement of not 1 but 2 books. That's it. Not to say it isn't something, but with the shipwar and all that jazz, and considering Sarah Janet has been silent on this for years, all it got from me was an "Oh." No titles. No couples. Nothing except that the next 3 are one continuous vibing story with hinted multiple povs route (which in itself is ANOTHER RANT I'll post later).

And let the record state that the CHD podcast was entitled "The Wait is Over," while all of us are now waiting 2.5 months for any other news. All we've gotten are some dumb Maasverse shitposts from the 'geniuses' over at the Bloomsbury social network. I don't believe an author is beholden to their fanbase to interact on socials or anything. It's a treat, and if they need to create space for mental health, I'm all for that. But Bloomsbury has zero excuse. They have barely mentioned ACOTAR in the 5 years we've been waiting for the next installment. YES, I know you're going to say, "But, mystical-blaise, we also got 2 Crescent City books in that time." Sure. Fine. Again, another rant I'll go on at a different time. In that same time frame, Bloomsbury dropped the ball on several opportunities to engage the fandom: the tenth anniversary of ToG and the tenth anniversary of ACOTAR. Sure, there was a new ToG boxset, but I'm still honestly still not sure if those covers are AI (mostly due to them using AI generated images on the UK covers of CC via Adobe Stock), so I didn't bother purchasing them.

Then for ACOTAR, when they could have really gone all out, especially if they knew these were coming out, all we got was terrible dull black 'special edition' with nothing special. Literally nothing special. It would have taken me 5 minutes TOPS per cover to desaturate and get the text ready for foil. After what they lost previously, I think they expected max profit for the cheapest editions possible to recoup any losses. Now Bloomsbury is expecting people, in this economy, to shell out $60+ in the span of 3 months to preorder based on placeholder covers with no other information? To top that off, the only reason SJM has an interested fandom right now is because the creative community kept it alive for YEARS. And what do they get in return right before the announcement? Most of them lost their licensing because her management team is going to venture into retail. This was such a terrible move and a gut-punch to the fandom that kept her characters in the forefront while she did...things. I'm fine with people making money, but this whole situation has just left a bad taste in my mouth and is absolutely not a good look for SJM or Bloomsbury.

[dimalry]

I‘m sorry, I simply don’t have the energy to post anything new or reply to anons. I can only offer this 🤲

Old Untouched wips part 4:

I still really love this one. It’s a shame that I never went back to it. I always had this Image in mind of Nesta dancing with death. Though, the dress needs lots of work.

Inej & Kaz, my favorite crows:

And a chibi inej too 🤧

Got some more art of Jude from 2023

It’s a shame that I barely post of her— the colors suck though.

Failed Feysand redraw:

Evil Elain Archeron:

This idea came straight after the evil Valkyries. I had pictured Elain to be so mentally messed up that she would gradually force the Night Court to be a Court of sun and light- meaning she managed to take over the Night Court and killed bunch of people who thrive in darkness and mistreated all those who don’t have a bright aura to them. It isn’t because she’s likes Sunshine or whatever obviously- it’s not like that.

To add on:

Ignore the crap I wrote, it makes no sense (drawn in 2024). Personally I think evil Emerie is my favorite cause her lore and arc is so good. Also, they‘re purely evil. Evil like Emerie slaughtering children because they‘re children and Gwyn trying to sacrifice Azriel to Koschei after ruining his wings with fire (Don’t worry, he gets his lick back)- Nesta would have her Carmilla moment (Castlevania) before her death. Emerie ends up being the only survivor of the Dusk court.

I thought it‘s a cool angsty horror series. No I don’t want to get into what I had pictured for Evil Elain and Feyre working alongside Amarantha. I‘m quite embarrassed to share this. Originally they were suppose to be sort „girlboss“ dark and have some romance involved, not outright monsters. Nesta is actually the most „decent“ villain here.

ANYWAY

One of the Ship babies from early 2024 (I think?). Yeah don’t think I forgot about them.

Last but not least:

I visibly cringe whenever I look at it- it’s so corny 😭 I remember the reference and I had wanted to make my own version of said reference

See ya 👋

[tpcanvas]

“She wanted to live, and live well, and live happily.” 🩵✨

Character: Gwyn Berdara

Belong to: SJM

My IG: tp.canvas

[melphss]

@nestaarcheronweek | Day 06: Birthday Girl

For Nesta’s birthday, missiemei, ktreadsthings, and I imagined Nesta, Emerie, and Gwyn hopping over to Lunathion, grabbing a mocktail, and turning up the volume with some Valkyrie Karaoke.  

We picked a classic Icona Pop tune for them to belt out, but what would you have the Valkyries singing at the top of their lungs?!

Thank you to chimoart_ for creating this fun work of art! It was a delight bringing these characters to life with you.

Art by: chimoart_ Comissioned by: @melphss, ktreadsthings & missiemei Characters belongs to: Sarah J. Maas

[theteaqueendom]

Laztana

With ten minutes to spare, a contribution for day 4 of @nestaarcheronweek , Lover!

The Love Actually AU of my dreams is finally here. This is the most self indulgent thing to ever exist.

Stay tuned for chapter two which is... smutty ;)

---

"Zer liburu mota da?”

Tilting her head, Nesta furrowed her brows, confused.

Cassian pursed his lips, thinking how best to translate.

“Liburu. Libro. Is, um… “ Raising his hand, he made a mock stabbing motion. “Crime? Or erromantzea…romance?"

“Oh!” Nesta said, understanding. “Oh, yes. Romance. I write romance. Romance books.”

---

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Tag List: @c-e-d-dreamer @podemechamardek @talkfantasytome @moodymelanist @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @eerievixen @sweet-pea1 @thewayshedreamed @agents-assemble @jsmelodies @aelinchocolatelover @unlikelypersonalknight1 @bri-loves-sunflowers @misswonderflower @acourtofladydeath @natasharomxnov @unhealthyfanobsession @fiction-loving-person @daddyduncan69 @bobanna81 @a-trifling-matter

@blueunoias @authenticgaymer @xstarlightsupremex @pham-tastical @ladyefoxy

[unhealthyfanobsession]

It's Just Science (Don't Let it Break You)

Resilience (scientific definition): the capacity of a system to absorb disturbance and reorganize while undergoing change so as to still retain essentially the same function, structure, and feedbacks. 

Snippet:

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

That was the life Cassian had built here in Chile - seasonal. Always changing, never static. It was supposed to calm the restlessness he had always felt thrumming underneath his skin. He’d said it to Nesta just a few nights ago – he wasn’t built for an office. He wasn’t built for a routine or a steady place. He wasn’t … he didn’t stay. And no one ever stayed with him.

So why, suddenly, was he feeling more restless than ever. 

Cassian decided to go back early that day. He was covered in dust, but he didn’t have that usual sense of satisfaction in the center of his chest. Just all this restless energy surging underneath his skin. 

“Hey,” everything slowed down. 

A casual, pale hand on his dust-covered forearm. 

His head turned.

Grey - not blue - eyes caught his and then …

Calm.

His shoulders untensed, the humming beneath his skin slowed.

“Hey.”

Read on A03 HERE

For day 5 of @nestaarcheronweek

[my-maasverse]

Nesta’s Resilience

I saw on the prompt “What does her resilience mean to you?” and it got me thinking about why I love Nesta so much, so instead of headcanons, I’m gonna answer this question honestly.

To me, Nesta is the heroine I wanted when I started this series. She’s smart, she’s strong-willed, she doesn’t take anyone’s shit, she’s kind, she’s romantic, she perseveres when things get tough, she’s beautifully broken, and she has the potential and willingness to grow. She’s like Belle if Belle got to learn swordplay!

Her backstory where she was abused by maternal figures and forced to carry such heavy expectations all her life resonate with me on a deep level since I experienced something similar growing up. The fact that Nesta, even though she fights with them, is still so protective of her sisters to the point that she road off to try to rescue Feyre in the first book is something I really relate to because I too am an eldest sister who would move heaven and earth to protect my sisters.

Despite everything she’s been through, all her trauma, Nesta is so resilient. She has no true court, no true home, but Nesta is revered as a Queen of Queens and whether the Inner Circle wishes to acknowledge it, Nesta is a savior of worlds. She might seem prickly, but it’s just a defense mechanism, and she is truly compassionate. I love how she fights for what’s right.

Nesta isn’t perfect but she is a queen. I want nothing more than for her to have her happily ever after. I want her to explore and rediscover herself as she heals from years of pain and responsibility. I want her to finally see herself for the wonderful person she truly is because if she can heal, maybe fans who see themselves in her can heal too.

@nestaarcheronweek

[voidcommascreamintothe]

Nesta Archeron Appreciation Week 2026 | Day Five: Resiliance

@nestaarcheronweek

Plans come together as the sisters go up north to seek the help of the one and only, General Emerie Armstrong.

[chelseamorninggirl]

Nesta Week - Day Five: Resilience

This is probably one of the most personal one shots I've ever written. It's a silly little modern AU thing for @nestaarcheronweek, dealing with trauma, therapy and mental health, and the soft, safe haven we all deserve. I hope you enjoy!

The Book Of Love

Rating: T

Chapter: 1/1

Word count: 5,811

Relationship: Nesta Archeron/Cassian

Taglist: @alexof90s @jsmelodies @misstyfikacja @freyjascatchariot @something-xoxo @heyluuu @musty-old-claptrap @pham-tastical @heirtotheshad0ws @spilledcoffeechronicles @wolfnesta @frostystarlight @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @acourtofladydeath @theteaqueendom @acourtofbatboydreams @spookypersondinosaur

Let me know if you'd like to be added to or taken off the taglist!

Snippet below the cut

The puzzle piece won’t fit.

Nesta turns it ninety degrees and tries again. Still wrong. She sets it down with more force than necessary and sits back, flexing her fingers. The afternoon sun streaming through their living room window has shifted while she’s been working, painting new shadows across the half-completed image. It’s a reproduction of Claude Monet’s Les Deux Saules, a pond with weeping willows and waterlilies, all blues and greens and soft lavender.

She’s been at this for more than an hour now. It’s been two hours since she got home from therapy, changed into Cassian’s oversized Yale sweater and her shortest black sleep shorts, and settled at their dining table with the puzzle spread before her like an offering. Like if she can just get all these pieces to fit together, maybe she can do the same with the fragments in her head.

Dr. Chase says EMDR is supposed to help with that. Help her brain process the trauma it’s been storing in all the wrong places, filing memories under “immediate threat” when they should be archived under “things that happened but are over now.”

Except it doesn’t feel over. Not when she’s sitting in that office, following the light bar back and forth while her mind dredges up things she’s spent years burying. Not when she comes home feeling like she’s been turned inside out, every nerve exposed, skin too thin to contain everything she’s feeling.

—————

Continue reading

[maladattata]

put Nesta into a yellow wallpaper for @nestaarcheronweek day 5 (resilience) 👍

"[He] laughs at me, of course, but one expects that in a marriage. [...] You see, he does not believe I am sick! And what can one do? [...] - what is one to do? Personally, I disagree with their ideas.Personally, I believe that congenial work, with excitement and change, would do me good. But what is one to do? I sometimes fancy that in my condition if I had less opposition and more society and stimulus—but [he] says the very worst thing I can do is to think about my condition [...]. So I will let it alone."

Girl, get out from under these men, get out of the wallpaper and get creeping!

Let me say that I do kind of hate this drawing, she looks too washed out and not washed out enough at the same time, technically the wallpaper should have a more geometric pattern but I wanted the big sixties flowers to give a nauseatingly sweet and feminine and happy vibe, but I worry it's too positive now. I worry it's too elain with the flowers, and then it would be too nice. The flowers need to be overbearing they need to swallow her and bind nesta. It's the chains of sweet kind womanhood yk. Anyway, I hate the fae ears they piss me off. I also gave Nesta a bob bc it felt right and she would eat. Yeah unsure how I feel about this but here it is anyway.

[whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk]

Are You in Pain Like I Am? (ao3)

Happy @nestaarcheronweek!! Here's a little ACOSF fix-it for day five: resilience.

Or, alternatively, a post-kelpie scene where Cassian isn't a complete ass ✌🏻

******************

The sun was shining.

Beyond the walls of that moonstone palace— beyond the edge of that bathtub so large it was more of a pool than anything else, where the edge fell away against an unobstructed view of the horizon…

The sun was shining. The sky was blue. Like the clouds that hung heavily above that Bog simply didn’t exist, the horrors beneath that grey swathe of sky from another world entirely. Here, there was sunlight glancing off the water that steamed gently in the bathtub, refracting and reflecting until it formed patterns on the ceiling above. Here, there was nothing but peace and quiet and a brightness barely short of…

Optimistic.

That was the word for it. 

How fucking ridiculous it was, she thought, as she looked out at that same sky - that same land, despite the miles now stretching between her and the nightmares of the Middle - that the two could exist at once. Especially when a shiver racked through her, her entire body seizing; like her muscles remembered the taste and sound and smell of the Bog, even now. The water— the way it had rushed through her as it closed above her head, insipid and stagnant and cold. As cold as death and just as unforgiving. Even now she was cold, right down to her bones, and looking at that great pool masquerading as a bathtub…

Nesta looked at the curls of steam rising gently from the surface and saw only the mist that coated the surface of the Bog.

She couldn’t make herself move.

Standing there, at the edge, the steam curling around her toes, she remained frozen, like her body was no longer hers to command. It had already taken an age to recover from the trauma of the Cauldron - though had she ever recovered? In any real sense, had she ever really healed? - and now here she was, standing in the cold with her arms wrapped around herself like if she just kept holding on, again, then she might keep herself from breaking apart. 

With trembling hands, she traced her lips.

The cuts there stung, where that… thing in the Bog had attacked her, latched onto her, tearing her skin with its teeth as it sought to steal the air from her lungs. 

No, her body wasn’t her own.

Not anymore.

And, gods, what she would have given to have felt - for just a moment - like there was something in her life that she could still choose. Could still have some kind of control over.

Another shudder echoed along her arms, through her ribcage. Still she stood there, naked as the day she was born, looking down into that pool of water, far deeper than any bath ought to be, and wishing she could urge her legs forwards. Wishing she could wash it all away, rinse away the horror with the bar of soap left out on the side.

She was still standing there when she heard the door open.

Nesta might have turned, once. Might have cared enough to snap at whoever it was that entered her space without even knocking first.

She didn’t have the strength, anymore.

Didn’t care if it was her sister, or her sister’s insufferable mate, or another creature like that from the Bog, come to finish off what its kin had started earlier. She was too entirely hollowed out from using the Mask, so empty that just a breath in the wrong direction might fell her. She didn’t think she could lift a hand in her own defence, not even if it meant the end of her.

“Nes.”

Her name— breathed so gently.

Slowly, and with effort, she managed a glance over her shoulder. The movement pulled at the muscles in her neck, strained parts of her that were already sore and aching, and there he was, standing in the doorway with a steaming porcelain cup held in his hands. Cassian’s eyes were fixed on her bare back, blinking across her shoulders, like he was trying so hard to find somewhere to land his gaze that was safe, that wasn’t the bare curves of her waist or her thighs or anything else that, even now, she didn’t bother to conceal from him. 

What was the point anymore?

His eyes were shuttered when she looked at him, but she didn’t miss the way his hands tightened on the cup he held, like it was all he could do to stop himself from reaching out and touching her. Something inside her hesitated at that— an ember of interest flickering, like a rope tossed to her in the darkness. Some strand of control that she might still call upon, that she might be able to wield to her own ends.

She turned to face him, watching as his face went slack.

He wasn’t the first man to see her bare— far from it. He’d already touched her, kissed her, too. So what difference did it make, Nesta thought as she beheld him standing there, mute, in the doorway? Why shouldn’t she take what she wanted? Erase the burn of the Bog with the kind of heat his touch might bring her?

Still his eyes didn’t drop below her face.

It angered her, somehow.

After all the innuendoes he’d made, all the propositions…

Now was when he decided to be fucking chivalrous?

Slowly, she dragged a hand across her waist. The only part of her that didn’t hurt. Slowly he blinked, and it felt like an age before he opened his eyes again, like he wished to keep them shut. 

“Why are you here, Cassian?” Nesta asked, her voice a low brush across the tiled floor.

It was husky, that voice. Not because she was attempting to seduce the man in front of her, but because she had screamed so loudly, so forcefully, that she had damaged her vocal cords, and even with expedited fae healing, she hadn’t yet returned to normal. For him— she had screamed, she had gone into that bog, for him.

He took a shuddering breath, holding out that damned cup.

“I brought you some tea,” he said slowly.

“I don’t need tea.”

A small furrow creased his brow, like he saw the lie and didn’t feel like buying it. Not for a moment. She took a step closer, standing right in the spot where she knew the sunlight would gild her curves, tracing her hips like a dusting of gold powder. She let her hands slide along her sides— another safe spot, where the creature’s hands hadn’t had chance to roam. She needed him to fix it, to slide his hands along her body, like if she allowed him to - if she chose to let him - it might somehow erase the horror of before.

“Nes,” he said again, his voice quiet. “Please.”

Please what?

What did he want from her, this warrior who stood against her at every turn? Who railed at her as much as she railed at him, and never once broke?

She wanted him. No, needed him. She took another step, waiting for him to give in to all those things he’d said existed between them. To make good all those promises he had made her every time he came out with some lewd comment, some rude joke. 

“What are you here for, General?”

Oh, she liked the way his eyes flared at that. The way they - for just a moment - widened.

“You went through hell today, Nes. I wanted to…”

He trailed off, like the words were stuck in his throat. Still, his eyes travelled no lower than her jaw. And maybe it was indignation, maybe it was rage that made her body feel fragile again, a tremble in her fingers. It certainly wasn’t the lingering cold; wasn’t the fear that had consumed her and burned her until she was nothing more than a husk. She wouldn’t allow it to be either of those things.

“What I need, Cassian, is—“ Another shudder, one that made her feel like the ground beneath her was tilting. She forced her head up, forcing his gaze to her neck, where she could feel another bruise blooming. “I need—“

He let out a slow breath, almost mournful. Nesta scowled.

“I need—“ She trailed off again, her fingers rising to her lips and tracing again the new cuts there. She could still taste the bog water, could still hear the water rushing around her as she was dragged to the bottom. “I need to—“ She squeezed her eyes shut, closed her hands into fists. “—Feel something else, something—“

Suddenly, It was difficult to breathe. Water licked at her skin, a phantom she could have sworn was real. It hurt as though it were real, a memory of claws being dragged along her forearm, crushed tight around her wrist that she felt as keenly as though she’d never left that bog at all. She’d stopped smelling the bubbles and the soap. No— all Nesta could smell now was the lake, the moss and the algae, the dead things in the water. She felt the cold, right down in her bones, burrowing into her marrow. It was like the Cauldron again, fear so potent and so deep there was no bottom. No end.

And yet, Cassian was there.

Warm and alive and there, and she reached for him again, needing to feel something that wasn’t cold or bitter or painful. 

Her hands drifted across his chest, gliding over his shoulders. She felt him tense beneath her fingers, his eyes sliding closed as, at last, he set down the tea he’d brought her on a nearby table. When he returned to her, his body angled towards hers like she was the sun, pulling him into her gravity, she reached out for him, her fingers stretching.

Slowly, his fingers closed around hers.

But he didn’t weave their hands together. 

No, instead his palm closed over her knuckles, folding her fingers back towards her palm. 

“No, Nes,” he said gently.

And that— that was it. The moment Nesta felt her chest cave in.

***

Oh, it killed him.

To fold away her touch, to tuck it away when all he wanted was to lace his hand with hers and hold it so tightly she might never get free of him again. 

She snatched her hand back, a snarl on her lips, and he felt her pain— not just a shadow or an echo of it, but every aching, excruciating piece of it. 

Gods, didn’t he know what it was like, that urge to carve out the darkness and burn it away with the taste of something stronger? Hadn’t he spent decades chasing solace at the bottom of a bottle after a particularly nasty battle? Wasn’t that what had him laughing louder, living harder, during all those years Rhys was Under the Mountain?

Hadn’t he, too, tried to silence the screaming in his head by falling into bed with any pretty girl who looked his way?

He swallowed now.

Hadn’t she always been his mirror? A reflection, a parallel, just a shade or two removed.

No, Cassian hadn’t endured what she had. But he’d dealt with his own trauma similarly enough. Enough to know that falling into bed with her now would be a bad idea. A fucking catastrophic mistake.

Slowly he reached out again, gently, keeping any hint of rejection off his face. That wasn’t was this was; could never be what this was.

“Not like this,” he said.

Her eyes flashed again, silver engulfing the blue. Her lips twisted again, those awful scratches contorting in a way that must have been painful. She wrenched herself away.

“Don’t give me your pity,” she hissed. “You can either fuck me or you can leave.”

Cassian blinked, folding his arms over his chest as he assessed the distance she put between them. Carefully— he had to tread so carefully.

“You want to feel something else? Fine.” He shrugged, forcing his heartbeat to steady, to stop hammering like his life depended on it. “But I won’t jump into bed with you when what you really need is to rest. To heal. I’m sorry if that’s what you expect of me. If that’s the kind of man you think I am.”

“You’re a hypocrite,” she said flatly, anger flaring in those eyes— those magnificent eyes, that would have him crawling over broken glass any day of the fucking week. 

He forced himself to shrug again, the picture of nonchalance.

“Yeah,” he admitted, with a slight tilt of his head. His hair fell across his brow, but he didn’t brush it back. He let it stay there, knowing exactly how it softened his face, made him seem… gentler, somehow. “And any other day, any other time, I’d have been on my knees for you the second I walked through that door and saw the way you were looking at me.”

He dared a single step towards her.

“But not today.”

There it was again. That coldness in her face, the anger that was only barely hiding the agony beneath. Her lips quirked into a brutal, ironic kind of smile. A bitter laugh escaped her, one that verged on the edge of a sob. He wondered if she knew how much he saw through it— how little her bravado affected him.

Another man might have bought it. Might have thought her callous and cruel.

Not him.

Never him.

“If you’re not to give me what I want, then get out.”

Cassian only raised his hands— a surrender. “I won’t let this be something you come to regret. Not when it comes to… us.”

She snarled. “You don’t know what I’ll regret— what I’m feeling.”

“You think?” he challenged, just strong enough to make her falter, to make that ice in her eyes melt a fraction. He relished in it, the way she faltered when he failed to walk away, to turn his back the way she expected him to. “You think I haven’t been where you’re standing? Chasing some kind of feeling in all the wrong places?”

“Lecture me all you want, General. It won’t change anything.”

Cassian held out his palms, face up towards her. He wondered if she could tell how much his every nerve, every bone, every molecule was screaming for her, pleading and begging and all but prostrate before her. He softened his voice, swallowed a little as he took a deep breath. The scent of the Bog lingered, and for a moment he squeezed his eyes shut against it, wishing he could make all of it just… disappear.

“You want choice, Nes?” he asked, a shade more gently than before. He tilted his head, his palms still held out in offering— to let her know, in no uncertain terms, that he wasn’t walking away or turning his back. That refusing her bed wasn’t a refusal of her. “Then fine. I’ll give you whatever you want. But not this. Not anything that I don’t think, deep down in my gut, is going to help you out of this fucking nightmare.”

There was a pause. Heavy and weighted, where Nesta didn’t move at all. It was preternatural, that stillness, like some kind of war waged within her, and she wasn’t yet certain which side would prove victorious. He didn’t let his eyes stray from her face, kept his gaze boring into her own, like he could pour all of his concern and care and dedication through that connection, that tentative bridge forged when her eyes met his. He watched her swallow, watched her fold her arms across her chest. Her fingers tapped on her arms, slow and steady.

And then—

“I want a bath.”

It was quiet, little more than a whisper, and her words were hoarse, like it had pained her physically to ask him for anything at all.

Cassian only blinked, looking at the veritable pool of water behind her.

Nesta shook her head roughly. “No— something… smaller.”

The word hung between them for a moment until—

Oh.

Oh, yes. Cassian looked at the expanse of water behind her and felt it all click suddenly, terribly, into place. It settled over him, a cold, cruel realisation as his eyes skimmed the water and realised that the sheer breadth and depth of it… It was far, far too reminiscent of the bog Nesta had only narrowly escaped just a couple of hours ago. Reminiscent, too, of the Cauldron. That other trauma she’d been dealing with, quietly and on her own.

One word resounded so loudly in his skull, it was like a bell had just been rung.

Fuck.

Suddenly, he felt guilt gathering like a stone in the pit of his stomach, closing his throat. Suddenly, he felt like he’d been the biggest fool in the entire world.

Was it any wonder she’d been hesitant? That she’d felt the panic and tried to claw back control any way she could? Used her body as a weapon when everything else had failed her? She couldn’t make her limbs carry her to the water, but she could take him to her bed. Control— that’s what she was seeking. Some semblance of it, a fragment of it she could cling to. 

He was a fucking idiot.

And he watched her eyes shutter, watched her arms tighten around herself, like she was retreating, putting her walls back up. In his shock, he practically stumbled forwards, tripping over himself as his hands paused an inch from her skin. So close— he was so close to reaching for her, placing his palm on the curve of her elbow. But she didn’t move, and he didn’t want to push, so there he was, lingering, reaching for her, his touch never landing.

“Yes,” he said, trying to remember how words worked, how sentient beings formed full-fucking-sentences. “Of course— yes. Just give me…” He ran a hand through his hair as he backed up, heading for the door without turning his back on her. “There’s a porcelain tub in one of the rooms down the hall. Just give me a minute to fill it. Why don’t you…”

He motioned to the robe laid out on the bed, and the tea he’d brought, still sitting, ignored and forgotten, on the table. 

Nesta raised a brow. “Don’t you have a legion of servants to do this kind of thing for you?”

Cassian blinked. Slowed, for just a minute. How could he explain it— that he could ask one of Rhys’ servants to fill a tub for her? Just like he could have asked one of them to make her tea, too. But he hadn’t. Had made it himself, because there was some urge lying deep within him - something long dormant, waking at last - that needed to be the one to brew her tea, to run her bath. 

“Probably,” he said, with a shrug so noncommittal, so blase, that it was a wonder he pulled it off. “But who else could be trusted to make sure there’s just the right amount of lavender oil in your bath? It can’t be left to amateurs, can it, sweetheart?’

She let out a huff of amusement, and the sound of it warmed something in his chest. Slowly she reached for the bathrobe, folding herself within it as some of the tension melted from her shoulders. He offered her a small smile, one that he could have sworn - for just a moment - was echoed on her own lips. 

“Make sure there’s enough bubbles, too, General,” she said, lifting her chin in a way that made that smile on his face spread as she clawed it all back, every ounce of her composure. Flawless— she was flawless. “I’d hate to find it… lacking.”

He smirked, bowing his head in a show of perfect deference. “Never, sweetheart.”

And he thought that was it— thought they were done. He turned his back at last, his hand curling around the door handle.

But Nesta stopped him. 

“Cassian,” she said quietly. When he turned, she was studying the tea he’d brought her, like it was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. She didn’t look up a she said, softly, “Thank you.”

His hand went slack around the doorhandle. 

“Don’t thank me,” he murmured. “You never have to thank me.”

“Regardless,” she said, looking up at last. Her eyes were like flint, hard and unyielding. “Thank you.”

He looked at her— really looked. All the sharp lines of her, engulfed by the bathrobe that almost swallowed her. All her edges softened in a way that was so rare, so vulnerable. It made his heart ache, just looking at her. Just standing before her made him want to drop to his knees— made him want to hold her against his chest and never, ever let her go. And he knew - as if he hadn’t figured it out already - that there was no lengths he wouldn’t go to keep her safe, nothing he wouldn’t sacrifice for her. 

There was strength, there. In the way her eyes held his unfailingly, in the way she was still fucking standing there at all, after all she’d been through.

And it felt like forever before Cassian smiled softly, before he dared to step away from the door and close the distance between them. Slowly, gently, he leaned in— giving her ample opportunity to back away, to keep that safe distance if she wanted to preserve it. And when Cassian pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, he felt her body loosen just a little.

He pressed his palm to the nape of her neck, holding her gently. Softly. The way she needed to be touched, held, after the hell she’d endured.

“Alright,” he said, his lips still so close to her hair that it was another kiss brushed against her crown with every word he spoke. “One bubblebath. Any other requests?”

Nesta shook her head.

“Just the bath,” she said, pulling back, disentangling herself from his grip. “And I meant it about the bubbles. You’d best make sure there’s enough.”

Cassian barked a laugh, turning his back once more and striding for the door.

“Always, sweetheart.”

Taglist: @asnowfern @podemechamardek @c-e-d-dreamer @lady-winter-sunrise @starryblueskies7 @melphss @sv0430 @that-little-red-head @misswonderflower @fwiggle @tanishab @xstarlightsupremex @burningsnowleopard @hiimheresworld @wannawriteyouabook @hereforthenessian @valkyriesupremacy @theteaqueendom @moodymelanist @talkfantasytome @pyxxie @jmoonjones @unlikelypersonalknight1 @pham-tastical

[wishcamper]

happy @nestaarcheronweek!

i'll be updating this day by day with little ficlet snacks for your reading pleasure, because nesta deserves to be worshipped by everyone

Six times people lusted after Nesta Archeron, and one time someone loved her.

Day 5: Resilience - NESREN

Amren thirsts for the wine only Nesta can drink.

Read on ao3 here, preview below the cut!

Amren takes a sip from her glass, thick red liquid obscuring her view of Nesta Archeron across the table.

She's in a foul mood already. This swill is barely worth the swallow. Water-wraith blood, likely, though it's sat too long in the bottle and now stinks of a tide pool. Tastes even worse.

Amren sinks further into her seat, grumbling.

Nesta says something cutting to Cassian and he laughs loudly anyway, immune to the sting of his mate's whip. Or craving it, perhaps, devoted to the lash as he is.

Amren doesn’t hear the words. She’s listening to something else.

Tag list: @wolfnesta @clarranam @jsmelodies @misstyfikacja @scarlettrose80 @silly-little-lizard @acourtofladydeath @freyjascatchariot @spilledcoffeechronicles @chelseamorninggirl @norabraveseeker @mydnights @irithiadourden @ericacharles514 @ladyefoxy @something-xoxo @smol-grandpa @humansaredumb @pham-tastical

Please let me know if you’d like to be added or taken off! apologies if you're coming from one of my other fics, i only do a general taglist

[c-e-d-dreamer]

Oh, Dear, Don't Be Discouraged

A/N: Sometimes, to be resilient, you need a little help from a stranger 😉 This little ficlet was inspired by this post. I loved the idea and this little fic would not leave my brain until I wrote it. If you're a fellow DMVer, I want you to imagine the Red Line (aka what I imagined when I wrote it), and I'd like to give a special shout-out to @dustjacketmusings who suggested a goat. Hope everyone enjoys and happy @nestaarcheronweek

Nesta is pretty sure she's having the single, worst day possible. As though spilling her fresh cup of coffee on the way into the office wasn't enough, she spent most of the day putting out fires for a client who belittled, begrudged, and leered at her rather than saying thank you. She'd give anything to drown it all out with a heated blanket, a tall glass of wine, and her latest read, but instead, once she gets home, she'll finally have to face the half-filled suitcase sitting at the foot of her bed, finally bite the bullet and finish packing and hit the road.

Instead, all she has to look forward to is a long journey back west to attend her father's funeral.

Her phone is heavy in her hand under the weight of her unread and unanswered text messages. The pestering ones from Elain asking if she's left already, when she's leaving already, does she have an ETA. The ones from Feyre practically guilting her for not taking more PTO to be there sooner. But there's definitely not enough time or wine in the world to unpack all that.

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2025 tag list (let me know if you want to be added or removed; bolded names mean Tumblr won’t let me tag you 🥲): @moodymelanist @sv0430 @bookstantrash @hiimheresworld @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @glowing-stick-generation @goddess-aelin @melphss @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @wolfnesta @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @that-little-red-head @theteaqueendom @superflurry @freakingata @susanbanarchy @jsmelodies @unhealthyfanobsession @presskmewleroux @nativeswfl @livinforthetea @dying-of-wanderlust @berkskc @the-new-ribbon @underneath-the-sidras @deadandsane

[sssoulsuckerrr]

I'd Chase You to the End of the World

This came to me unwillingly one night before bed and I just had to begin to bring it to life for @nestaarcheronweek Day 5: Resilience. Maybe Nesta's pre-resilience. but nonetheless... Enjoy!

Summary: Pre-canon non-compliant AU where Azriel is the torturer of the Night Court and human Nesta has been seized for espionage. For the months she's being tortured, Azriel's been living in agony, but he won't realize why until he's face to face with her.

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