I am ooooobsessed with your art and style!! All the little details are delicious, so much to munch on. I would love to see your take on Nessriel if that tickles your fancy but otherwise I am just happy to be graced with your talent!
I meant to answer your other ask and deleted the post by accident sorryyy
I also misread nessriel as nesriel (nestaxazriel) my bad
@moonpatroclus , @panicatthenightcourt , and I are so excited to celebrate Cassian this week. We think the hair prompt is an excellent excuse for our guy to show off! We just know he does a little extra flex while he ties his hair back! 👀
When we reached out to the.angel.incarnate , they had incredible ideas of their own for a Cassian inspired by Greek and Anatolian culture. We couldn’t be happier with it!
Art by @/the.angel.incarnate, commissioned by Willow, Panic and me.
Ok like. Imagine life without ads. You wake up, check your messages across a variety of apps, no ads. You get up and put on the tv while you prep your breakfast, no ads. Maybe you drive somewhere and switch on the radio, no ads. Maybe you drive a long distance, yet somehow, not a single billboard on your path. You pick up a newspaper or magazine to pass the time, no advertisements only articles. You turn on your game console, the home screen is just about your games, no ads to buy more. You open a streaming app, you don't pay extra for no ads, there's just no ads ever.
Think about how much of your time is spent looking at ads. "Download ublock" yeah I know, I have. But that doesn't change that the world is covered with endless advertising. Imagine never seeing that again. How much better our lives would be.
💜 Lady Death and Her Kingdom, in which Nesta sees the dead and deals with the consequences, ongoing.
💜 I Could Find You, Darling, in Any Life, amnesia!fic in which Nesta disappears after the war, and when Cassian finds her, she has no memories, ongoing.
Post-ACOWAR:
💜 And Now She Becomes Death, in which Hybern revenge kidnaps Nesta for beheading the king, and she escapes, completed.
Post-ACOFAS
💙 To Pay a Debt, in which Nesta leaves Velaris after seeing that she hasn't been included in Feyre's paintings, but her mother has, completed.
💙 The Whole Truth, in which Elain reveals that their father sold Nesta multiple times when they lived in the cabin, completed.
Post-ACOSF/ACOSF-Fix It
🧡 Burning From the Inside Out , in which it is revealed that Nesta has chronic pain/illness, completed.
🧡 The Hike, Alternatively, an alternative take on the hike, in which Nesta attempts suicide, completed.
🧡 Of Death and Resurrection, Nessian/Rhysta Brotp, in which Nesta sacrifices her life to save Feyre, but can't be fully killed due to her power, thus requiring Rhys to go into her mind to save her, completed.
Of Open Wounds and Retribution, set in the ODaR-verse in which Nesta meets Tomas Mandray at a peace summit between humans and fae, and the family discovers what he did to her, completed.
🧡 The Consequences of Normality, in which Nesta tries to conform to IC expectations post-ACOSF, and Cassian realizes that he prioritizes them over her, completed.
🧡 Like Fire, She Raged, in which Emerie calls out the IC for their treatment of Nesta/treatment of Illyrian females, completed. (For Cassian Week 2025)
🧡 To Choose Her, in which Cassian and Nesta get together in secret at the House of Wind and are discovered several months in, completed. (For Cassian Week 2024)
🧡 If I Could Hold You For A Minute, in which Cassian and Nesta learn about love languages after a training session ends badly in Illyria, completed. (For Nessian Week 2025)
Post-HOFAS:
❤️ Fissure and Thaw, autistic!Nesta breaks down after the events of HOFAS, completed. (For Nesta Week 2025)
Elain was blessed by the cauldron,
Nesta was cursed.
Headcanon
When Nesta emerges from the cauldron she's a writhing, snarling mass of scales and claws, fangs dripping with spittle and eyes burning with rage.
Somewhere, someone whispers in horror- or perhaps awe
'You're my mate.'
She slaughters all of Hybern's men in the span of a single breath, and it takes Elain, shakily getting to her feet and reaching out her hand for Nesta to shed her beastly form. But when she takes Elain's hand in hers, suddenly she's screaming and falling falling falling
Nesta's power is death, and everything she touches will die. A gift to some, a curse to others. Elain, blessed by the cauldron, wakes soon after. But the others? Attendants and servants and the other unlucky few? They all fall under her hand.
Rhysand is quick to commission a beautiful set of gauntlets for her. He seals them with his own magic, reassures her that so long as she wears them, no harm will come. He smiles too quickly when she accepts them. Feyre fastens them for her.
Soon, Nesta is persuaded to reside in the House of Wind. She cannot leave it, and the only ones able to reach her are Rhysand and his Inner Circle.
No-one needs to die, and she will be safe. For her own good, she obeys.
But death cannot be contained, and if it cannot spread, then it will infect. Each day that passes pulls her deeper and deeper into delirium. But even as death courses through her body, fire burns hot in her veins; a rope, a bond, keeping her tethered to life...
... Confined to the Spring Court, Lucien burns. He has found his mate at long last, and she is dying by her own hand.
He will stop at nothing to save her.
plot plot plot
Nesta gets to keep her powers, she escapes the night court, and as her mate, Lucien is the only one who won't be harmed by her powers.
!!! And they lived happily ever after, aight bye !!!
Would you do mortal for Tamgenia? Either of them but the other is involved
ask game: send MORTAL for a scene from my muse's past in which they had a brush with death, either themselves or someone close to them
On the other side of the darkness, she is the first and only thing he knows.
An impression, foremost. The cadence of her voice carries to him, wisteria on the wind, sweet and elusive. He draws nearer to parse out her words and finds, regretfully, that they are not meant for his ear at all. She does not assume such tones with him, no matter that he would enjoy it if she did.
"The High Lord is to be disturbed no further tonight," she orders. "Nor come morning, save that I am sent to tell you otherwise."
The chord is perfectly struck. Regal and commanding. No argument can be brooked, yet no offense can be taken. It took him a long time to find that balance. Even now, he finds himself discordant more often than not.
Especially now.
"Yes, lady."
Lady.
His lady?
She must be. She is. He brought her here, and here she stayed, and stayed, and stayed, even when she could have gone.
His lady.
Animal warmth suffuses him bodily. Tingles, sparking out along his limbs as when he shifts between forms. They gather to each other at his chest, compounding, surmounting—and there, too, they snuff out, a million stony deaths.
They are not quite painful, yet through them, he hears the distress—feels it. Little stutters of breath, drawn in, metered out. A sorrow like mist on the skin. It pools, crests, spills over.
He opens his eyes.
Basked in the soft, warm glow of the hearth, she glitters and ripples. He thought her an ember at first, so quietly burning, so relentlessly alive. But now that he knows her better, he thinks his lady more like the molten glass she spins on her fingertips: ever-changing, ever-growing, features finely wrought in any form she assumes.
Languid, he watches her. There had been a reason he wanted to do so, but having caught sight, he cannot recall it to mind. All of his thoughts are runny. They drip, drip, drip. He cannot hold to them save how they pool around her.
His lady.
She palms at her face, then turns her back to him.
The air smells of salt and herbs as she goes about her task. Though her hands never settle, there is no sound at all to her motions, like she resents any reminder of the space she must take, like she fears to draw attention for what might come of it. This happens, sometimes—when her mind drifts back and her body has only the memory of its muscles to rely on.
Indeed, when she crosses the room, her cheeks shine.
He lifts his arm to reach for her. "Come here," he says, but what emerges is a snarl.
Sharply, she turns to him, lips parted for gasp, eyes round and wet.
Afraid.
Of him.
He had only wanted to comfort her. He reaches again—
—and is blinded by the roar tearing up from his throat.
"Don't," she urges, suddenly there at his side like he wanted. "Don't move, my lord. Please." Voice tight. "Please. They only just stopped the bleeding."
He does not understand, but he knows he does not want her to sound this way. Certainly not over him. He goes still.
She relaxes against him as does the bottom of a breath limber the ribs, but her hands remain fisted tightly into her skirts.
He had been glad to finally see her in this dress. He had long imagined how it might fit to her, where it would cling, where it would tease—where he might fit his touch. Alone in his chambers, he had pinkened in the face at the thought like a youngling unversed. It could not compare to the conjuration of her as they walked the wood, fantasy made flesh, all of the world muting itself to highlight her splendor. He had just found the words to tell her so when the first arrow split his chest.
"There's blood," he says. His lids heavy just to utter it. Then, "On your skirts."
She bothers not with glancing at them, though for there ever to be a stain pointed out otherwise, she would. Her gaze flits over his face before she turns away. "Yes."
He hates it when she turns away.
But she is back soon. Her fingers press warm against his temple from beneath a damp cloth. He turns his face into it and wills his eyes to remain open.
"Yours?"
"No, my lord." A swallow. Slender throat. Elegant. "Yours."
He hums. "Good."
Her touch halts, then withdraws. The absence, in itself, is harsh to contend with.
He opens his eyes to find a scowl on her face. He had not realized them closed. "You're angry."
"And you are a fool," she snaps. "Good." Two-handed, she wrings the cloth out over a basin. "Good. Quite." Again she wrings it, though with all the steam to rise from it, there is no water left at all. "I should wonder how you would feel to watch me speared through with ash wood, then deem it good only that you were the one left unscathed."
Suddenly stricken, she freezes. "I beg your p—"
"I'd never let that happen."
She lowers the cloth into the water before turning back to him, herself glistening, chin set to wobble despite her best efforts to still it. A whisper, cleaved through: "You could have died."
There was a time when he would not have minded that.
Then there was her.
Worth dying for. Yet the thought of leaving her behind—
"You are not allowed," she asserts.
An order. Regal and commanding. Perfectly struck.
He feels it in his bones.
"To die?" he replies.
Tearful, she nods. "I would forbid it if I could."
No argument can he brook. Off of her tongue, he says, "As bid, my lady."
Her eyes widen. Blush colors the high of her cheeks. "Your lady."
His lady.
Whose else could she be?
Gingerly as he is able, he shifts aside in the bed. It hurts, but he is tired and wants only to rest in her embrace. "Lie with me."
A pause.
Quiet, "Do you know who I am, my lord?"
Her lord.
His lady.
The first and only thing he knows on the other side of the darkness.
He nods.
"The tonic they gave you for your pain was potent," she tells him. Sadly. "I will let you rest.” Always sadly, and this time he does not know why. “Return with the dawn, if it should please you."
Again, he must open his eyes despite that he did not realize them closed.
"Don't go, Iphigenia," he says. "Lie with me."
Emotion glitters and ripples across her finely wrought features, burning, alive. She catches her bottom lip between her teeth, then tucks herself into his side. He breathes her in deeply, keeps her there in his lungs as long as he is able. His heart would be pounding, if only it could.
See i get the whole Nesta was raised to be courtly and behave and get a wealthy guy and I see how that is a typical story for that character to fall for the lowly stable boy and forsake her earthly spoils for love and what not. But it just isn't what's going on with nessian. Firstly, she gives up courtly life in acofas for herself and everyone, including cassian tries to force her back to it. Secondly, Cassian is not a lowly stable boy he's like no 3 guy in the night court and if we are to believe feyre even more powerful than other high lords. And thirdly their love story is what the court expects and what the mother herself has decreed to be right. Which is why Nesta's story and book are about healing by accepting, about enduring and conforming, but definitely not about breaking free or finding yourself.
My crack theory and just hear me out. All of this is set up for Nesta to try and escape the night court and she's gonna go though illyrian and she ends up needing help getting to the coast, while avoiding the IC who are looking for her and she runs into Balthazar (the illyrian male who helped her during the bloodrite). Who agrees to help her because of mutal hate of the IC or something (idk I haven't figued that out yet). They journey to the coast yk young adults forced proximity and they end up getting attached and and he goes to the other continent with her and she finds her destiny. Trust bro trust.
P.s balthazar is the stable boy here
P.p.s she could also end up with tamlin but this analogy doesn't really work either
You are covered in his cum. Your legs are shaking, strands of his thick seed sticking and dripping between your thighs. You can barely talk let alone walk. You come to the bathroom door but you are stopped by huge arms with long fingers hugging you from behind.
"Where do you think you're going?" His voice is low, growling, but soft and comforting and you shiver from delight. "Why are you leaving your place next to me."
"To take a shower."
"Oh no no no." His hands glide across your stomach and cup your tender breast. "I like to see you like this. Marked by my seed. Covered in it. Full of it."
You feel his penis throbbing against your back. "Don't tell me you want more?"
"It's never enough." He lifts you with his huge hands and pushes his pulsating cock between your thighs. "Mmmm, so warm, so soft, so tight."
He starts thrusting in and out, in and out, between your legs. You can see his moist glans getting soapy from your arousal and his cum. You tilt your hips so that his cock can rub against your clit. You hold his arms while he uses you like a doll, thrusting and bucking while he grinds and pleasures himself with your body. You cum and scream and he bites your neck as he shoots another load onto your skin.
"Is this finally enough?" You laugh.
He kisses your nose. "Never. And it's entirely your fault. Around you I can never feel satisfied."
There is nothing more empowering than riding your enemy's cock while he spits and curses you. But he is hard. For you. For your body. You can see it in his blood-shot eyes. He is tied down, beaten by you, completely covered in cuts and bruises. The big bad monster defeated.
"Accept I'm your mistress now. You are mine to do whatever I wish with. My slave."
You bite his swollen nipple one more time while bouncing up and down against his shaft. He is sweating, furiously trying to break his bonds. You laugh. All his efforts are futile - you made these chains just for him. They fit him perfectly just like his dick fills your hole completely, stretching you just right.
He is trying to suppress his moans. But his desire is throbbing inside your pussy, betraying him. You rock your hips back and forth, moaning in pleasure, gloating in your victory. He hates your guts but can't mask how much he enjoys being fucked by you.
Just before you are washed over by your orgasm, you stand up, sliding off his erection, and squirt all over him, shaking from pleasure. He snarls and tense, chains dangerously vibrating from his strength. You moan in ecstasy, rubbing your wet cunt, and his exposed cock twitches before spurting his hot seed all over your thighs that arched above it.
"Aaaaah fuck! Fuck!" He is furious, humiliated beyond words. His own body failed him.
You laugh, licking your own arousal from your fingers while his cum tickles your skin. "Don't worry - you'll get used to this, my pet."
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2087
