❄️ Happy holidays from your friendly neighborhood Nessian girlies! ❄️
Here’s a list of some of our favs from the archives if you need to get away from your family:
Thicker Than Water by @wishcamper
In Another Life, You Still Would’ve Turned My Head by @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk
The Mother Made Us A Savage Daughter (Who Never Begs for Forgiveness) by @unhealthyfanobsession
You Want It Darker by @chelseamorninggirl
The Kind of Reckless That Should Send Me Running by @jsmelodies
I Wanna Eat You Up by @dustjacketmusings
To Choose Her by @theteaqueendom
There’s Magic in Our Bones by @c-e-d-dreamer
Everything You Can do In War Is A Crime In Peace by @jellybeanjellyfishblog
A Snowy Punishment by @xxvalkyriesxx
And thank you to everyone who has read, engaged, commented over the last year--it truly means the world ❄️
maybe we were not meant for each other. maybe we re better off apart.
cassian x nesta (mated but not right for each other) (sad angst)
slight mention of eris and azriel being a good brother (call cassian out)
i am pretty average about cassian x nesta BUT i do love nesta with all of my heart. please no hate below. the idea for this story was given by @nestababe (slight modifications to the story and i hope you like it thank you so much for the prompt!!!)
trigger warnings: screaming, fighting, small mentions of abuse
There was a saying that Illyrians learnt to walk with death, never to run away from it. It came for all in the end but much sooner for an Illyrian - war was in their blood and death was their birthright. Cassian had accepted that all his life, lived it to the fullest when he was drenched in blood and holding someone’s severed hand in his own. Remembered how it was when arrows had shred his wings or when a spear lodged itself in his abdomen. Death had come to his doorstep and then left, everytime. But those were physical injuries - scars would be left behind and he would heal. It happened before and it will happen again. But this? This was something entirely new.
He watched as his heart stilled, as no adrenaline was in his system, as all his eyes could do was watch, watch how Nesta swayed along the dance floor with the music going in a flow, she was the cool water in a stream, she was the sunlight dancing through the leaves of a tree in a meadow. She glided, she flew across the room. With her partner, Eris of all people. He had earlier scoffed when she mentioned that she was going to dance with Eris at the ball hosted in the Hewn City in honour of Nyx’s fifth birthday. He had said something, he doesnt remember what it was clearly - everything before the start of the dance became a blur, his memories were failing him. All he knew was that it might have been something mean, he said that just to hurt her because he was hurting. He knew that much.
This time was different though; Nesta didnt fall for the rage bait or say anything. She did something completely opposite and unexpected - she laughed. Out loud. The loudest she laughed and smiled at him. Cassian felt as if the world stilled - he loved that smile, the way her lips would bend and how beautiful that chin of hers was. But the laugh? It was odd, it didnt sound like a witches laugh. He just couldnt pin it.
What he did know in this moment was that Nesta was swirling around with Eris’ hands getting a bit too comfortable. But that was the least of his worries. He saw it; The happiness, the warmth in her eyes. The way her lips kept muttering the next notes of the music, the way her feet glided along. A swan was what she was. And she was graqceful. It was true - she was born to be a dancer, she was made for this. She is happy. She is glowing. And its with another man.
Cassian’s thoughts were stopped when Azriel coughed standing next to him. His thoughts were shown clearly on his face and he knew if Azriel had one look, he would figure everything out. So he reverted to the one thought that was the most obvious.
“She’s practically cheating on me in front of me. Old habits die hard I guess.”, he said.
“What habits, Cassian? And werent those habits something that you do too? Then what about them - why blame her only?”, Azriel asked coldly as his eyes narrowed on his brother.
Cassian kept muttering about how he didnt know what Azriel was speaking about but he didnt have enough time so he continued on his monologue,“How about when you gave Mor lingerie in front of the male who was obsessing over her for 200 years or the mate that you claim to love? That’s a start. And lets not forget that you have bedded almost the entirety of Velaris’ women, by yourself and with us too in the same room.”
Cassian was stunned by the boldness of the question from his shy brother and tired answering,”Azriel, I didnt mean it that way…”
“What were you even thinking, Cassian? That Mor was going to stick with you forever? She has her own life and you knew of it. Her own secret life, her unspoken truth. And now she is living it. And when she told you about it, you had the most hysterical possible reaction!”, Azriel reminded him about that day. The way he had screamed at Mor for using him even though a part of him knew otherwise. And he didnt even know why he was mad. But Nesta tried calming him down and all hell broke lose. All of the anger broke on her and he stopped screaming at Mor. He was screaming at someone else. The memory disappeared as Cassian tried to repress it.
“When did the Shadowsinger suddenly become a therapist? When did he escape the shadows?”, Cassian asked with sarcasm as he took a large gulp of his alcohol hoping that it would numb the pain.
“I had my problems, I will not deny or hide away from them. But now I am better, Cassian, I have gotten over her and I found a new love,”, Azriel waved at Gwyn who was laughing with another fae and gave him a soft smile. “A love that is kind, that heals and that makes me a better person. We dont find mates easily yet you did, you beat the odds. But now? Maybe she shouldnt have found you.”
“Take that back, Azriel. Now.”, a low growl was heard from Cassian as he pinched his thumb - a trick he learnt when he was a kid to control the rage.
Fully expecting that Azriel would apololgise, Cassian looked at him with shock when he spoke in a slow voice, as if fate was whispering his ears, ”Cassian, the male that you have become is disguting. You have abused your mate in every possible way - emotionally, physically. You have taken advantage of her when she was healing in the House of Wind, did not stick up for her when Rhys said things to her that even he admits now were wrong of him. You have entered a spiral of making her out to be like her sister, either Elain or Feyre, but you have fialed to have become a good man.”
Cassian wanted to kill himself as Azriel continued, ”You want her to become like Feyre yet you do not act like Rhysand. You are petulant with her and simply bed her when you get horny and will not offer her
“Tell me honestly, Cassian, do you love her or the idea of her? Do you love Nesta or do you love your mate?”, Azriel spoke that final question, bowed his head and retreated back to his wife who had sensed that something was wrong. She knew her husband and it was not like him to have rage in his eyes after talking to his brother. But she could guess what it was about. In the end, Nesta was her sworn sister - and she would always want what was best for her sister. Cassian was not it. Maybe he will realise it now, maybe he will back away. There is no hope for change. If he wanted to, he already would have. Gwyn gave Azriel a kiss in the head and disappeared into the crowd with her husband, hoping to catch a moment’s quiet.
Cassian had no answer to that question, he was simply standing at the edge of the ballroom floor after Azriel left him. He didnt know what to say or do but he knew that any answer of his would result in the truth being realised. He was tyring to stop his mind from analysing this or even thinking about this. The truth, he could not accept it. He was not a bad male, he was a good man who loved properly. Right? Right?
But the truth has a funny way of coming up when you least expect it, always coming up in the end, never being able to hide. A quote Rhys’ mother kept telling the boys when they were young and tried hiding that they had drank the previous night. He couldnt hide from the truth. He made the grave mistake of looking up as he saw it yet again and his heart sank even further - the way Nesta was now laughing. That laugh. Her laugh resounded across the hall and she was the centre of the party, the life behind it. He thought that she was Death, that she was the reason for the sadness of her family. But he could see it a bit more clearly now - she was not death, she was life and happiness, she was the reason for the strength of her family. The reality is that he knew this but he could not accept it, could not digest it and instead it came out with those words, with those hateful vitriolic comments.
Yet here she was, happy as a butterful. She was not cheating on me. Eris was not a homewrecker here. Cassian was. Cassian wrecked her, Cassian destroyed her. She was happier without him. Eris was not the reason for her happiness, the dancing was, Cassian’s absence was the reason. And somehow that hit him harder and worse. This punch he could not recover from whatsoever. Was Azriel right? About everything?
Azriel’s question resounded in his head again - tell me honestly, Cassian, do you love her or the idea of her? Do you love Nesta or do you love your mate?
Cassian staggered outside, barely gripping the railing on the side as he exited the hall. The guards looked concerned but knew better than to help the General of the Night Court’s Armies back to his feet.
Cassian was spiralling now, he was hunched over in the snow that was biting him, the cold numbing his fingers and knees. He finally remembered what it was. What the laugh sounded like. It was an emotion he saw many times in his life - pity. Nesta was pitying him when he had said those things. But that wasnt the realisation that hit him the most.
That laugh was a goodbye. It was good riddance. Cassian’s heart stilled for the umpteenth time that night as he launched himself into the dark night, not knowing where he was heading. Just knowing that he could not stay here another moment.
ok…hear me out, a fic where cassian has a kid (prob adopted or smth) that’s nonverbal bc trauma or disability reasons, and it kinda wears on cass so one night he’s like talking to rhys about how his kid isn’t normal, and the kid went to get some water but overhears the whole thing - just angst to comfort
love your writing btw💗💗
Beautifully different
Pairing: Nessian & Their kids (Oc!Briana & Oc!Zion)
Summary: Cassian has a lot of pent-up frustration and worries about his son, Zion, who is diagnosed with selective mutism. He slips up in front of Zion, and now he has to apologize and make it better.
Word count: 1368 words
Warnings: Disabled child (selective mutism), angst, miscommunication, a bit of swearing, allusion to Nessian conceiving another child.
Dividers made by @tsunami-of-tears ❤️
“It’s called selective mutism,”
Cassian could still remember the confusion and worry that had set in his head the day Madja had announced the diagnosis of his son, Zion.
Cassian’s grip tightened around his mate’s shoulders, his jaw clenched with anger. “So he’s not talking on purpose?”
“No,” Madja’s voice had softly reassured him and Nesta, whom was crying against Cassian's chest. “No, it’s not how it works. It’s a rare childhood anxiety disorder. It’s the brain response to a trigger that makes Zion unable to speak in certain situations or around certain people,”
He remembered how it made his stomach twist with guilt, how the sight of his mate crying in his chest at the hard news had brought tears to his own eyes. But Madja’s comforting hand on his shoulder had calmed him down, grounded him. Her voice had enveloped his heavy heart and soothed his ache like a soft salve.
“It is not your fault, to any of you,” Her other hand gently rubbed circles on Nesta’s back, calming down her sobs with her reassuring words. “There are treatments to attempt to cure this, and things you could do to help Zion’s condition to go away,”
“We’ll try anything,”
Cassian was a bit late to pick up his kids from Feyre’s studio. Madja had deemed it helpful to sign up Zion on recreational activities with other children for him to interact with, so Cassian and his mate did. Of course, Briana, the perfect big sister that she was, had insisted that she absolutely needed to go too so she could hold Zion’s hand if he got too shy (but mostly because she absolutely adored her auntie Feyre, and she was overly excited to make some art with her.), so Cassian and Nesta had no choice but to agree. As if he would’ve ever denied anything to his little princess anyway…
The doorbell rang when Cassian pushed the door open.
“DADDY!”
The tiny bundle of curly hair wrapped in pink chiffon jumped into his arms, and Cassian caught her up in his arms before twirling her around. He bit her chubby cheeks playfully, making Briana’s melodic giggle to fill the room. “Hello sweetie, I suppose you had a great day?”
“The bestest day ever!”
Cassian huffed a laugh before putting her down on the floor slowly. He lifted his eyes and scanned the room, searching behind every canvas where the paint decorating them was still fresh and shining. Finally, his eyes landed on the one exposed on the easel exposed in the farthest corner of the room, where Zion sat, absentmindedly applying the same shade of blue all over the white canva.
Cassian had to hold back his cringe, and forced himself to not look at all the other kids' artworks and compare them to his son’s. Instead, he just caressed Briana’s hair. He crouched down to be face to face with her, and smiled.
“Hey, why don’t you go and play outside with your brother for a while? I need to talk with Auntie Feyre,” Briana opened her mouth to say something, but Cassian poked her nose and cut her off. “Alone.”
Briana sighed dramatically, pouting a little before taking her little brother’s hand and cheerfully dragged him along to the swings outside the studio.
Cassian waited until he was sure that both of his kids were outside, playing, and not paying attention to him, then he made his way inside the studio. His ears led him to where water was running, and leaned in the doorway to where Feyre was cleaning a shit ton of paint brushes. Sometimes, the warrior wondered how she dealt with such messes weakly, for fun.
A chuckle left his throat at the thought, and made Feyre’ face snap up from her task. A bright smile flashed over her red, blue, purple and yellow painted face. Feyre tried to wipe it away, noticing Cassian’s amusement glinting in his eyes, but her attempt very much failed, as it only resulted in spreading the paint all over her face even more.
“Are you here solely to make fun of me, or to actually pick up your kids?”
Cassian chuckled, scratching the back of his neck while a flush of embarrassment creeped up his cheeks. “Yeah, sorry, I’m a bit late to pick up the kids I know… I was…” He cleared his throat, trying to ignore the mental image of how busy him and Nesta had been. “Busy.”
“Busy making more of those little ones?”
Nosy woman.
“How has it been for them today?”
“They’ve been good. Briana has made some progress on her painting today…” Feyre frowned, hesitating. Then she shrugged, avoiding the topic. “They’ve been good.”
“And Zion?” Cassian pushed, moving closer to where Feyre was washing the paint brushes. “Has he… made any progress? Did he make any friends?”
Feyre left the brushes in the sink and wiped her hands on her apron. “Well, he tried a different shade of blue on his canva today… He didn’t participate actively in the group today but…” She bit her lip and placed a hand on Cassian’s shoulder, “Maybe it’s normal, perhaps that’s just how he is you know… Maybe he’s happy like this-”
“Well I am not. A child needs to have social interactions to develop, Feyre. He’s not normal,” Cassian pinched the bridge of his nose. He could feel his face heat up, his breathing getting as heavy as the guilt resting on his soul. “Madja was wrong. That kid will never be normal. He’ll never be like the other kids,”
Anger bubbled up within him. How was his son not normal, when his daughter was? “Where the fuck did I mess up-”
A thud that came from the other room cut off Cassian. Both Feyre and his face snapped to the door, where a tiny wing peaked out.
Feyre’s face twitched and she patted Cassian on the shoulder. “I’ll wait outside with Briana… and I’ll make sure that the front door stays closed while you talk it out.”
Feyre quickly made her way out of the studio, cheeks red from the embarrassing situation. She carefully avoided eye contact with Zion’s heart-broken face.
Cassian only stayed in the middle of the supply room, staring at Zion’s tiny wing peeking out of the doorway. He sighed, and ran a hand over his face. “Zion…”
Zion hesitantly moved from his hiding spot and slowly dragged his feet in front of his father. His head was kept so low that Cassian couldn’t even see his eyes from where he stood. He kneeled in front of his boy, his warm palm coming to cup his cheek. His thumb brushed off some tears staining Zion’s cheek, but he still avoided his father’s eyes.
“I’m sorry I…”
Cassian’s throat tightened, cutting off any sounds when the silent room filled with Zion’s choked sobs. He brought his face to his chest, his own tears now falling on top of his son’s head. He held him tight against him, as if he was afraid that the boy’s heart would crumble if he’d let him go. “I’m sorry, Zion. So sorry…” Cassian whispered against the boy’s ear, his hand rubbing slow circles on his back.
Zion sniffled, his face now tilted up to look into his father’s eyes with so much sadness.
“I said horrible things, I’m sorry. Every kid is different, I know. I just…” His voice broke. Cassian looked up at the ceiling and inhaled deeply. He calmed his sobs down before taking control of his voice again. “I just want you to be happy, my son,” His eyes met Zion’s, the same shade of hazel eyes staring back at him. “But… I guess sometimes I need to remind myself that the definition of being happy for you isn’t the same as being happy for me,”
Zion nodded, his little hands coming to wipe away Cassian’s tears, the same way he did for him.
“Are you happy, Zion?” Cassian whispered, his face painted with concern.
“You make me happy.”
And these were the most words Cassian had heard from his son, but the most beautiful ones anyone had said to him in all of his immortal life span.
summary: It's been a few months since Nesta and Cassian have made things official, but things have only gotten worse for Nesta.
warnings: ANGST! slight inner circle slander, no happy ending, not super pro-Nessian
word count: 2.8k
a/n: this fic is based on 'This Is Me Trying' by Taylor Swift, also spot the Grey's Anatomy quote hehe. This fic is basically me working out my own relationship issues haha, so it was pretty emotional to write because I'm basically Nesta in this situation and it's rough. But I also truly think this is a more realistic version of Nessian than the one sjm tried to shove down out throats in ACOSF.
DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE
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Nesta sighed as Cassian’s arm squeezed around her shoulders, squishing her farther into him than humanly possible. He belted out a laugh at whatever Mor had said, a deafening noise next to Nesta’s ear. His touch felt like acid on her skin, and all she wanted to do was get away from it.
Nesta had been trying her hardest to communicate her feelings with Cassian, she truly had. But it was hard – everything she said seemed to leave his brain the second he was around the Inner Circle, like they were now. Nesta was at one end of the couch with Cassian to her right, and Elain on Cassian’s left. Feyre was sitting on an armchair across from them with Nyx in her arms, in Rhys’s lap, while Mor and Amren were perched on cushions by the fireplace. Azriel was sitting a bit behind Rhys and Feyre on a stool, quietly observing the scene. A couple hours ago, Nesta had pulled Cassian aside and explained that she was having an overwhelming day, and requested he not touch her for the night. She couldn’t explain why she felt that way – she tried, and nothing came out. All she wanted was some physical space from Cassian’s presence. The male had sworn he understood, and said he would give her space.
That had lasted all of 20 minutes into the evening before he slung his arm over her shoulders and pulled her body into his. He had failed to notice how Nesta froze, rather than relaxing into his touch as usual. She knew it wasn’t malicious, that he wasn’t deliberately ignoring her request. He had just simply… forgot.
And this wasn’t the first time she felt suffocated and trapped by Cassian. Guilt plagued her, knowing he truly didn’t mean to do it, he was just trying to show his affection. For a while, Nesta thought that the Cauldron had mated them under the premise of opposites attract. Cassian was extroverted and wore his heart on his sleeve, easily making friends and jumping into any conversation or group. Nesta was an introvert, preferring to mask everything she felt, both good and bad. She did not have that confident ease about her, nor did she feel inclined to befriend everyone she met or chat their ear off. She was perfectly content to be more like Azriel, sitting and observing rather than participating.
But maybe there was such a thing as people being too opposite for it to work out.
Nesta had felt like she was drowning in the Cauldron all over again, slowly being backed into a corner and suffocating under Cassian’s constant presence and need for her attention. Now that they were officially together, he was everywhere. Cassian had lightened his duties in Illyria to spend more time with Nesta, which only made it worse. At first she had found it sweet, but as the weeks passed it became more irritating.
Cassian was supposed to love her. Surely, someone who loved her would be able to understand her enough to know that this wasn’t what she wanted? He was always trying to find different things to do with Nesta, and it was beginning to get overwhelming. It hurt her heart to see how enthusiastic he was, how badly he wanted to make her happy. She was disgusted with herself for not feeling the same, for wanting to fight and pull away.
Her youngest sister’s voice brought her attention back. “Do you have anything to add, Nesta?”
Nesta blinked, not having heard a word of what was said. “To what?”
Feyre sighed. “We were just talking about building another home for me, Rhys, and Nyx in the mountains, since you and Cassian basically live at the House of Wind now. What do you think?”
The room was tense, everyone frozen as they awaited Nesta’s reply. If she was in a better mood, she would have chuckled inwardly. No matter what she did, no matter how many times she proved herself to them, the Inner Circle would always see her as a rabid monster waiting for a chance to lash out. Perhaps if it were another day she’d entertain them, just to show that she hadn’t lost her bite. But she had no energy today. “Sounds like a great idea.” She said simply.
Everyone visibly relaxed, relieved that Nesta hadn’t made a snide comment about how many houses Feyre and Rhys had, even though she wanted to. Cassian patted her arm proudly, as if to say look how much more docile and well-mannered she is now, thanks to me. Realistically, Nesta knew that wasn’t actually what he was thinking, but it sure felt like it. Only Feyre gave her a strange look, as if she could sense something wrong.
“So, Nesta,” Rhys said smoothly. “Cassian tells me you’ve gotten pretty good in the sparring ring.”
Nesta’s mouth was dry, the hot air from the room closing in on her. “I’ve improved, yes.” She managed a reply, earning another squeeze from Cassian that tightened her throat even more.
She hadn’t wanted to be touched at all tonight, yet he was doing it anyway without even thinking.
“It’s been a while since I’ve practiced, you could probably give me a run for my money.” The High Lord chuckled, taking a sip of wine.
Again, everyone anxiously waited for Nesta to challenge him, to cause a scene and ruin the evening for the group. It made her feel physically sick, how she felt like she was drowning all over again and not only had Cassian not noticed, but the Inner Circle seemed to like her better this way – a shell of the female she was before, a quieter version.
“I think Rhys is challenging you, sweetheart.” Cassian chuckled. “Go on, go kick his sorry ass.”
“I’ll pass, thanks.” Nesta said quietly, but it was too late. Mor and Amren had stood up, moving over to where Azriel sat in the back to clear the space on the large rug by the fireplace. Feyre had climbed off Rhys’s lap, too, taking Nyx with her and handing her to Elain as she joined everyone over by Azriel.
Rhys down the rest of his wine and stood up, pushing his chair back and wiping invisible dust off his sleeves. “Come on, Nesta. Show me what you got.”
The room began to close in on Nesta even more, the air stifling and catching in her throat like sandpaper.
“It’s fine, really.” Nesta insisted, but was interrupted by Cassian gently shoving her to her feet.
“My girl is gonna make you eat dirt, brother.” Cassian said as he pushed Nesta up onto her unsteady feet.
More cheers from the females by Azriel began to sound up, all urging Nesta to show off her skills. It should have felt endearing, and she should have felt more excited at the opportunity to punch her annoying brother-in-law in his face. But all she could feel was suffocation, like she was back in front of her mother’s cruel gaze being forced to perform for people that did not care for her. An object, a plaything to be used to entertain others then put back in its box when they were done with her.
“No.” Nesta’s voice was barely above a whisper, unheard amongst the loud cheers.
“Nesta, Nesta, Nesta!” Feyre and Elain chanted from the background, egging her on. But she was frozen, arms slack at her sides.
“Come on, Nes!” Cassian barked playfully. “You’re acting like I haven’t taught you anything. Come on, do it for me–”
“I said NO.” Nesta snapped, her sharp voice silencing the room as she whirled around to face Cassian. He stared at her, eyes wide with shock.
“It’s all in good fun,” He said, brows furrowed in confusion. “He won’t actually hurt you. Besides, when else are you going to get the chance to–”
Nesta cut him off, her anger bubbling over the surface like a volcano that had waited centuries to finally erupt. “What part of the word ‘no’ suddenly means ‘convince me’?” She demanded.
Nobody said a word. Disappointment was written all over Cassian’s face. Amren snorted in the background, her whisper pointedly loud as she said, “I guess some people will never change, even after being spat out by the Cauldron.”
Tears burned in Nesta’s eyes, but she refused to let them see. Wordlessly, she stormed past everyone, making her way to the door of the river house. She hadn’t even made three steps out into the street before it opened up again behind her, heavy footsteps crunching in the snow.
“What the fuck, Nesta?” Cassian demanded, grabbing her arm and pulling her back.
“Let go of me.” She spat, trying to rip her arm from his grip. But he only held on tighter.
“We were having fun, what’s wrong with you?”
“Cassian, let go of my arm right fucking NOW.”
The male glared at her, but obliged. Nesta yanked her arm back to her side, rubbing the now sore area. Annoyance seeped from the male as he ran a hand through his hair. “The night was going well,” He grumbled. “It was all going well until you made a scene. For once in your life, Nesta, can’t you just try?”
“This IS me trying!” Nesta shouted, his words stabbing her harder than any knife could. After everything she had opened up to Cassian about, how could he not see that she was trying her best? That she was trying to make him happy by going along with his obscure date ideas, putting on a happy face being dragged to dinner with the Inner Circle even though they basically locked her up after the war?
“Well you’re not trying hard enough!” Cassian’s words hit her like a truck. The tears she had been fighting to keep back began to stream down her cheeks like icicles in the frozen wind. “Fuck, I’ve tried to hard to convince my family to give you a chance after how you treated them. I’ve gone out out of my way to make you happy, and this is what you fucking do? We all try so hard for you, and you won’t try at all.”
Nesta couldn’t stop herself from flinching at his words. Her brain screamed at her to yell back at Cassian, to bring out those claws she spent the last few months trying to rid herself of. But she couldn’t. She was exhausted, tired of pretending to be as happy as Cassian was. It sucked the life out of her, chipping at her away piece by piece until she felt empty inside. Her old self would be ashamed of how submissive she had become.
Cassian sighed, rubbing his face, and taking a step towards Nesta. He held his hands out to hold her. “Nesta, I’m so sorry–”
He stopped speaking when Nesta took a step back, shying from his touch. His hazel eyes were filled with hurt and confusion, and she sighed. “Cassian,” She said slowly. “Did you not remember how I asked you not to touch me tonight?”
The Illyrian’s brow furrowed in confusion, then softened as the realization dawned on him. “Is that what this is about?”
Nesta sighed, another tear rolling down her cheek. “Not just that–”
He interrupted her. “I completely forgot, Nes I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you just tell me to fuck off?”
“Because I shouldn’t have to. You should have remembered to respect my basic wishes. You don’t listen to me, Cassian. You hear me, but you don’t listen.”
Cassian sat down on the steps by the door, wings drooping in sadness. But she felt no pity for him, only anger. He was the one who didn’t listen to her when she asked not to be touched, who ignored her when she protested sparring with Rhys, but he was somehow the victim too? It made her blood sing with anger. “I tell you not to touch me because I’m having a bad day, and you pull me into your lap like a dog,” She continued icily. “I tell you I don’t want to do something, and instead of respecting that, you try to force me to do it for everyone’s entertainment. You know damn well that Rhys has never liked me, and how he meant it when he threatened to kill me a few months ago. And yet you pushed me to try and fight him anyways.”
Cassian stared at the frozen ground. Nesta could practically feel his confusion, a raging sea of emotions written all over his face. The wind blew his hair into his face, a sight that Nesta would have found beautiful once. But now it only filled her with sadness. She had bent herself backwards trying to become ‘worthy’ of Cassian in his and his family’s eyes, cursing herself alone at night and thinking she was the problem. Cassian was an objectively good male – loving, affectionate, good in the bedroom. Any female would be lucky to have him, so why wasn’t Nesta happy?
The answer had been deep down inside her, trying to claw its way to the surface, begging for Nesta to acknowledge it. And then it washed over her one day – everyone was quick to assume that she was the one at fault in the relationship, not Cassian. And somewhere along the way, she had convinced herself of that too, pushing down her gut feelings for the sake of trying to make it work with the general. She knew that her words shot to kill when she was mad, and she often couldn’t stop them no matter how much regret they filled her with. But when Cassian had come along, she learned to hold her tongue, to push back those claws inside her. The issue was that in the process of doing so, Nesta had begun holding her tongue more often than needed, bearing the facade of a female submitting to her mate just like everyone wanted.
Nesta had finally been de-clawed, Cassian wearing her talons around his neck like a trophy. She felt like an open wound at every party, her former self slowly oozing out of the gaps in flesh Cassian had clawed from her. And the worst part was, everyone liked her better this way. But she felt the opposite of better, she felt suffocated and empty.
“I understand you are trying to push me out of my comfort zone,” Nesta continued through tears, swallowing the thick lump in her throat. “And I appreciate it because sometimes that is needed. But you’ve pushed too hard, Cassian.”
“I only wanted what was best for you.” Cassian said dully.
She scoffed. “And how would you know what’s best for me when you never asked me? What, you just assume because we’re together you have some sort of decision-making capacity over me? That you have any idea what’s going through my head, what I’m feeling, or even what I want?”
Cassian stood up, taking a step towards Nesta. She stepped back again, wanting to keep the space between them and not caring about the hurt that flashed across Cassian’s face. “I know you, Nes.” He said softly. “And I love you.”
“No, you don’t.” The wet spots on her cheeks began to freeze over in the cold wind. “You love the idea of me. You love being with me, having me by your side. But you don’t truly know me, Cassian. And you don’t truly love me. You just think you do.”
The hurt swimming in Cassian’s eyes churned into anger. “You’re kidding, right? So you mean the past five months we’ve spent together have been nothing? That I truly didn’t get to know you at all in that time?”
“You’re 500 years older than me, Cassian. Five months is a blink of an eye in your lifetime. So no, you didn’t truly get to know me in that time.”
Cassian scoffed bitterly, shaking his head. But Nesta continued. “The only reason you think you got to know me was because others forced us into each other’s proximity. I did not come to spend time with you on my own free will. And I was isolated from everyone and everything, except for you. In that time, Cassian you… you took something from me. You took little pieces of me - little pieces over time, so small I didn't even notice. You wanted me to be something I wasn't, and I made myself into what you wanted. And I let you, because I thought I could make you happy that way. But it will never happen again. I am done changing who I am to make myself ‘worthy’ of you.”
Nesta turned around, not waiting to hear his response as she strode down the snow covered cobblestone. There was no towering presence following after her, much to her relief. She did not go back to the River House, or in the direction of the House of Wind. Truthfully, Nesta had no clue where she was going, only that she was done letting herself fall apart to please people who would never love her for who she truly is.
synopsis: After Nesta passes away, Cassian loses all sense of self, spiralling into a deep depression, becoming numb and unresponsive. Besides alcohol, his only other comfort is returning to the camp he was born in, that he long ago wiped from the maps of Illyria. Maybe if he stays there long enough, he’ll disappear, too.
warning: angst
music: Doe, Jane - Shakey Graves
word count: 900~
Read on AO3
~~~~~~~~
The crooked door isn’t even properly pulled to, creaking as it rocks back and forth, groaning with its own set of miseries.
Less than half a hinge holds it in place, and Rhys can imagine how it might like to be put out of its misery, torn from the frame so it can finally rest, it’s grieving tune finally ceasing. How Cassian can withstand its wretched groans…his mental walls click shut, forbidding the thought to gain a single more inch of power over him.
Frost has bitten its way up the wooden posts keeping the ceiling aloft, creeping in along the floor, crackling faintly beneath the sturdy Illyrian boots that were made to combat this exact problem. Still, the indoors of the old shack is hardly any warmer than the crisp outside, his breath curling before him like more than just air is being strung from his lungs. It might as well, with how depressive the scene is, dredged in reeking misery and…his nose wrinkles faintly, and he prepares himself for the sight he will surely be greeted with when he turns the corner to the main room of the hovel.
His foot halts at the threshold, body paused in the hallway as he takes in the sight he’d thought he’d be strong enough to withstand.
Cassian is slumped on the floor, back hunched with his wings carelessly splayed across the torn up sofa that would hardly be large enough to hold the upper proportions of the male’s body. Even wasted and harrowed as he’s become. The strong bones of his wings pushing up from beneath the skin, skeletal and deathly.
Rhys doesn’t even know if his brother is aware enough to mark his presence anymore.
The wind turns, and the scent of an upturned stomach, of sweat and fevers, of what he prays is medicinal alcohol but knows is the grieving, recreational kind, washes over him. His throat rolls, taking the moment to steady himself before approaching what’s left of his brother.
Cassian doesn’t even raise his head to greet him, not even a shift of his eyes, dull and blank.
“Does it make it easier to be here?” Rhysand asks quietly, stood by his side, looking down on the crumpled body of the Illyrian General. “I have to imagine it does, otherwise it would be insanity to keep returning.”
No reaction.
Cool, violet eyes stare downwards, urging some kind of response. Waiting for a bottle to be thrown his way, for a shift in the air, or even a twitch of muscle. Something.
Rhys doesn’t avert his eyes, continuing to watch over his brother, waiting for a reply that he won’t get.
The silence stretches further, and the longer it reigns the further he feels the gap widening, opening up into a chasm, watching as it swallows the male whole. Pulled far down below the earth. Away from the wind, and the rain, and the sky. Away from the crisp chill that bites at the underside of leathery wings during an early morning flight; away from the lashing droplets of rain that spit from the clouds during a storm; away from the freedom of the open sky.
“You should at least board the windows up,” Rhys remarks, glancing to the shattered panes. The fragments strewn across the frozen floorboards, some of them giving way in places, revealing the frostbitten underground of the shack. “And fix the door too, while you’re at it. It’ll give you something to focus on.”
No reaction.
Rhys watches silently for a few more moments, before shifting on his feet, legs bowing beneath him as he settles into place beside his brother, unable to help the sharp ache in his chest when the slightness of Cassian’s frame becomes obvious, set beside his own.
“You know, I’m sorry I wasn’t welcoming to her as I should have been,” Rhys says suddenly, but not loudly.
He doesn’t try to look at his brother, instead fixing his gaze firmly on a space in the wall where the wood has begun to give way to the outside. He’ll know if Cassian makes any sort of movement.
“I’m sorry I never made the effort to see her how you do. For causing strain between you, because I couldn’t get past my resentment she was given a chance I would have bled for.”
Nothing.
Is there anything he can say to get Cassian to show even a flicker of life?
He worries there isn’t.
He clenches his jaw, throat closing up. “Come back to Velaris,” he says, unsure if it’s an order or a plea. “If not Velaris, then at least the cabin in the mountains. You can drink there, if you must.” He looks down into his lap, then glances at Cassian sidelong. Looking at the vacant gaze; the dried, flaky remains of regurgitated saliva on his chin; the deep, haggard look to his skin, gaunt and drained.
“I’ll carry you out of here, if I have to,” he says thickly, volume softer than it had been when he first entered the ruined shack. “If you can’t fly, Az and I will take you. If you need a bath, we’ll bathe you; if you’re hungry, we’ll feed you; if you’re lost, we’ll find you,” he continues, watching his brother longingly. “Just let us in.”
This Masterlist includes Multi-Chapter Fics, One Shots, and series of loosely connected one-shots. Unless specified, assume my works are Modern AU because I have a slight addiction to that.
MULTI-CHAPTER FICS
KINTSUGI - needs ao3 account
to search (in tumblr): #kintsugi acotar fic
7/? on AO3
The Cauldron blessed one sister and cursed the other. Though her story has been told, has it been done justice?
Recently updated: 13, June, 2024
WHITE MUSTANG -
to search (in tumblr): white mustang acotar fic
Archeron sisters centric
Do you even live on Prythian if you don't know the Archeron sisters?
Nesta Archeron: bestselling author, heiress, scandal.
Elain Archeron: award-winning actress, businesswoman, scandal.
Feyre Archeron: artist, businesswoman, scandal.
Notice a trend? Where the Archeron sisters go, scandal follows.
What happens when that goes a bit too far?
Recently Updated: 23, June, 2024
Media based content: 1 (Moodboards),
Season of the Witch - only on AO3, updating regularly, can be read without an account
3/?
Nesta Archeron ripped something from the Cauldron, so it made her something different.
(If Prythian had witches, vampires, and werewolves.)
Last updated: 18, November, 2024
ONE SHOT SERIES
When in Adriata - One shot series set in canon on AO3, Summer Court POVS and tidbits. Read the tags.
like you’re chasin’ the truth (grip on tight to your youth) - Angst, POV Tarquin, READ THE TAGS!!!!
you can swim around (but I don't want you to drown inside me) - Angst, POV Tarquin, READ THE TAGS!!!!
ACOTAR OUTSIDER POV - One shot series set in canon on AO3, POV of headcanons/canon events from regular fae or from characters that are not in the main cast.
In order:
Damn the Pegasi
A glowing entity on an honest-to-the-Cauldron Pegasus was descending on them!
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Or, Adela is late for work and Helion is very much not helping.
The Joys of Fatherhood
“Difficult to forget the man who taught me how to change a nappy,” the High Lord smiled, appearing like his younger, roguish self. “My mother never had any reason to doubt my caretaking abilities for my sister after that.”
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Or, the past and the present collide in this Velarian’s quest to help the High Lord get Nyx to sleep.
How to Embarrass a High Lord
“Don’t be scared!” Kiko declared, much to the confusion of all the adults. “When the ground moves and you scream—don’t be scared!”
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Or, Rhys learns that there are consequences to ground-shaking pleasure.
bastards - a series of loosely connected one shots inspired by Rivals
bastards
Nesta takes a long drag of the cigarette.
“Wouldn’t happen to have another, would you?”
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Or, in which Dusk watched too many Rivals edits and had to write something inspired by it.
knights
“There you are, I’ve been looking for you.”
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Or, in which Feyre meets a man she’s heard too much about.
ONE SHOTS
always an angel - AO3 link
Tumblr link
Angst. Nesta and Rhys being estranged siblings.
candle smoke - AO3 link
Tumblr link
Feysand fluff bc a mutual got me thinking about it at midnight
Ultraviolence - AO3 link
Tumblr link
“You shouldn’t hold on to that,” Nesta told him. “We’re not together.”
“You can argue that when your clothes don’t take up half my closet,” Koschei snatched the phone out of her hand, tossing it somewhere and muttering that he’d cover it when she protested.
all i am is a man - AO3 link
Tumblr link
Who was he to deny her? He hated the sand, ironically, considering he was raised by the beach and with Varian throwing him into it at various times, but who was he to deny Nesta Archeron? With that smile, those eyes?
His Love (To Be) - Only on AO3, does not need account to read/comment
When the barista called a name and she raised that perfect head, the book in her hand lowering, his very blood came to a still.
Nesta.
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Stalker fic. Please read the tags.
she shall never know i love her - Only on AO3, does not need account to read/comment (HEED THE TAGS)
He hated Nesta, the Archeron or Tarakis that she was, the Nesta she never was to him.
What does it mean to love and be loved? - Only on AO3, no account needed, for Rhysand Week 2024.
Rhysand Darling's tell all about love and his life, written by Emerie Haven for Velaris Magazine.
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'Loved Ones' Prompt for Rhysand Week 2024 (Tumblr)
Tradition | Hounds - Only on AO3, no account needed, for Eris Week 2024.
“I think it is time a Vanserra tradition is reformed.”
Nesta sighed. “I don’t suppose I can take my Louboutin boots?”
baby put on heart shaped sunglasses ('cause we gonna take a ride) - Only on AO3, no account needed, Feysand (DILF Rhys.)
Feyre feels a thrill–dangerous, exhilarating, fatal at the thought of his jealousy.
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Beach houses, summer break, and hot older men make for a dangerous combination.
you're in my world now (you can stay) - Only on AO3, no account needed, Feysand (DILF Rhys again.)
“I’m old enough to be your father,”
“I don’t care.”
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Or, in which Rhys is hot and depressed and Feyre is hot and single.
she took my heart (filled it with nothin' but pain) - on AO3, no account needed, Feysand, DILF Rhys
Feyre needs to blurt out the words more than she needs air at this point–but she knows she’d have to stop it. And how’d she do it, anyway?
"Hey Velaria, you know your super hot dad that you adore because he’s also the best-dad ever? Well, guess what?"
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Or, in which the reader can indeed guess what and should read the fic before Dusk impulsively deletes it.
i knew you in another life (you had that same look in your eyes) - Gwynriel one shot, on AO3, no account needed
“I love you, Shadowsinger.”
“I love you, Berdara.”
be a part of the scene like you’re livin’ your dream (walk the room like you’re on fire) - Angst one shot, Elriel happens and Lucien is very depressed, READ THE TAGS, only on Ao3, no account needed
Three sisters, three brothers, the perfect match. Lucien was always the outlier.
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Or, in which Elain and Azriel marry and Lucien suffers.
more unhappily married nessian for the people!!!!!!
read the first part here :)
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The only word to describe how she feels now is naked.
Cassian holds her hand as they walk through the onslaught of cameras. He doesn’t speak and she doesn’t speak but she feels his mind roiling, a perverse, innate movement inside her chest. He wants to talk to her, she knows that much—he wants to talk it out, let’s talk it out, Nesta, but after last night and I just wish that you could really love me, she’s said enough. He won’t be getting a word out of her.
The second they get into the restaurant she pulls away, makes for Elain’s figure in the corner. Cassian lets go of her. Cresseida snatches her attention halfway there with a fierce hug. “Hi,” Nesta says, voice still a bit hoarse, genuinely glad to see her. Thin, elegant pins sparkle in her snow-white hair. “Congratulations. You look gorgeous. Where’s Alastair?”
Cresseida grins and squeezes her hand. “I lost him fifteen minutes ago, I think Tarquin grabbed him. Oh well. I’ll have him all to myself for two weeks.”
“Ahh, the honeymoon I’ve been hearing so much about.”
“The honeymoon you’ve been hearing so much about!” she laughs, and takes a deep breath. “Truth be told, I’m so ready for this whole thing to be over. The wedding, the parties…” she shakes her head, eyes still elegant and present with appropriate mirth. “Velaris is exhausting sometimes.”
“Believe me, I know.”
Elain joins them, pressing a kiss to Nesta’s cheek and then to the bride-to-be’s. “Hi beautiful, how are you?”
Cresseida smiles. “Ready to be tipsy.”
“Allow me,” she says, and with a wink dives into the crowd, cutting a line straight through to the bar. She emerges in record time with three flutes of champagne.
Nesta gives a startled laugh and takes one. “You’re magic.”
“Cauldron-blessed.”
“I’m being summoned,” Cresseida says wryly, and gestures to her tall, handsome brother, standing on the other side of the room. Alastair and a short, dark-haired woman are with him.
Then, Mother help them, Feyre materializes out of nowhere in a silver sparkly dress that leaves scandalously little to the imagination and looks, admittedly, stunning on her. “Oh my god, I have to tell you guys something. Fucking Azriel, of all people, has a girlfriend—” She stops and frowns, staring at Tarquin, a bit flushed. “Who’s that girl? With Tarquin.”
“Oh, that’s Nuan,” Cresseida tells her. “She works in Thesan’s court.”
“They’re dating?”
Cresseida nods and takes another sip of champagne. “For the last couple months, yeah. I really like her. I think he does too.”
There was a period of time before Rhysand, after Tamlin, when Feyre’s attention was caught utterly and incandescently on Tarquin. He was younger, much more her speed. He seemed to intrigue her and kept her guessing. With an energetic mind as quick and eager as a butterfly, Feyre inexhaustibly grew bored and he was good for her. Nesta doesn’t know the extent of that relationship. She only ever met him briefly.
Then this, too, was severed almost violently by the bond with Rhysand clicking into place. Tamlin had been nobody; Tarquin become nobody too. Rhysand was everything the moment they met. Rhysand is her entire world, the love of her life, her beloved mate.
And yet, Feyre watches the girl—Nuan—with cold, exacting eyes. That ferocity she bundled deep inside herself, that intensity she conquered within herself to belong—Nesta watches it emerge, watches her little sister, ruddy and tough, almost, nearly—
“I’ll see you guys later,” says Cressieda, waving at the brink of the crowd. “Get drunk without me!”
Nesta smiles and turns away as well, entirely without the patience necessary to entertain Feyre’s company tonight. Elain follows her and links their arms together. She doesn’t feel like speaking. This is something her sister seems to understand as they go to a smaller table in the corner of the vast, loud restaurant. They position their chairs close together to face the rest of the room; to guard their backs, to observe the crowd, both, neither; Nesta’s head is pounding with a worry that isn’t her own, a sick cold spreading through her veins. Her eyes fall inevitably on Cassian. He’s standing with his beloved brothers, hands in his pockets, laughing. He’s so beautiful it pains her. He smiles like it isn’t painful.
He looks at her, then. Sees her already looking. Across the room his smile drops, his eyes soften, his brows pull together. He makes as if to come to her.
She looks down, looks away.
.
By midnight the guests have dwindled to a generous twenty. Nesta twirls her wine glass. On the abandoned dance floor, Alastair holds Cresseida with blinding love as they sway. Elain is talking animatedly with the bartender. Feyre is nowhere to be found—come to think of it, neither is Rhys. She can see half of Azriel through the back door propped open, talking on the phone, crouching on the concrete with a cigarette. It glows red.
And Cassian, silent, a palpable presence in her body, stands as he has been on the other side of the restaurant, talking with Tarquin and the girl, Nuan. He leans against the wood of the bar and gesticulates gracefully as he speaks. His mouth moves in that beautiful way; she can almost hear his voice, low, even, steady.
Maybe she’s tired. Maybe the dam broke last night and now the world is ending. But her heart burns and her eyes burn, too, tears threatening to well up and fall. She drops her head, panicked and sad, tired of being sad. She went three years without shedding so much as a tear—she can last this night.
Her chest twinges; she looks up to see Cassian walking towards her. Alarm jolts within her, joins arms with squeezing pain, derelict, real.
She went to the doctor, once, when the bond had only recently snapped. She was experiencing chest pains, heart palpitations, headaches. Her blood was hot. Her body was cold. There was something inside of her that she had to get out, somehow. She’d sit on the bathroom floor, hunched over the toilet, fingers down her throat, trying to eject the pain.
He holds his hand out to her. “Will you dance with me?”
Wordless, she goes with him.
He holds her in the classic style. This is what she learned in her mother’s sitting room. Now, gratefully, that most of the party has gone, the music can be heard. It lingers softly in the air—cello, violin, solemn like a dream already being forgotten. She’s tall, but he’s taller. With a sigh she rests her head on his shoulder. He tenses.
He softens, and pulls her closer.
“Nesta,” he murmurs. His fingers twitch on the small of her back. “Can we talk about last night?”
She huffs a laugh. “No.”
“We’ve got to talk at some point.”
“Talk with yourself. I’m done.”
His hand moves hesitantly to her upper back, where her skin is bare, fingers skimming soft and cautious. “There are things I need to tell you.”
“You’ve had three years, Cassian,” she says lowly. Like always, he startles at the sound of his name. “It’s too late for either of us to make an effort.”
His chest swells and she knows he’s about to make some clipping remark, a towel over her mouth. She braces herself for it. It doesn’t come. His hand slides down again to the small of her back, although the heat of his skin still manages to seep through the fabric.
“Tell me what you want,” is all he says.
What does she want?
Does she want anything?
She used to want love, more than love she wanted happiness, more than happiness she wanted stability. She’s been given a husband, a house, a city in which she can live at the sparkling epicenter; she’s been given money, status, sway; she’s been told, we’ve found a man to love you, we’ve filled your bank account, we’ve picked out clothes for your closet, she’s been told, in words and glances and silences and taut, fierce, ordering voices, there’s no reason for you to be sad now. Is there anything worse than what she is? The oldest sister, unfailingly terrible? A disappointment, too stubborn to give in. She used to wonder—perhaps she’d be happier if she let Feyre reign. Soften to be made again. So, out of tiredness, she took Cassian, accepted him into her body.
So she sheltered his heart. Her lungs stretched to fit his breath as well as her own. Souls, entwined, struggling for room. So he sheltered her.
Hand-in-hand they go together, to parties, to galas, to luncheons, to surprise interventions followed swiftly by tea and pastries. They have sex on regular intervals and it’s fine. He isn’t gentle but he isn’t hard. She can extricate, easily, pleasure from him. She doesn’t know if she’ll ever like it, if pleasure is something her body knows. All she feels is the heat of him on her skin and beneath it as well, his languorous passion, bitter and gratifying, in her mind, in her hands, in her soul, if such a thing exists.
And so he holds her in a dim restaurant and says, Tell me what you want. Says it as though she could be expected to answer.
She lifts her head and looks at him. His eyes flit vigilantly over her face.
“I want,” she says, “a bottle of the wine served tonight.”
To his credit he doesn’t look angry or surprised. He nods stiffly. “I’ll arrange it,” he says.
She pulls against his grasp and he lets her go.
.
Late that night they’re lying in bed. She can tell he’s awake. She’s lying on her side, facing away from him.
“Cassian,” she whispers. Her voice sounds soft even to her in the darkness.
A small pause.
“Yeah?”
“You have to understand, it’s…”
Another pause, heavy with expectation.
“You can tell me.”
She blinks. There’s nothing for it. All that anger, it’s as though it’s now been replaced by a screaming urge to be understood. She pulls the sheets closer around her.
“I used to like you. I had a crush. You were a storybook character to me, a prince from a fairytale.” She takes in a shuddering breath. “And you were—gentle, with me. You were kind and I hated everyone and I wanted you to like me back. I knew you wanted to sleep with me, but I ignored that, I think.”
“Nesta, I—”
“Then the bond happened,” she tells him. “It’s different for men. You have… urges. You walk around getting horny and overprotective. For me I thought I was dying. The only guy I ever really liked was now practically inside me. And you went on living your life.” She shakes her head, swallows. “I lost you. You might have liked me. I knew you’d never love me. I thought, I’ll grin and bear it. At least I’ll live comfortably. I won’t have to work. Well, anyway.” She closes her eyes. Her voice pitches up, the tell that she's about to cry. “There’s nothing I want anymore. I don’t know what I want.”
The sheets rustle, the mattress dips. She feels him closer to her.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“You were in my head,” she hisses, feeling stupid.
“You kept me out,” he says lowly. “And besides. No matter what Rhys tells you, minds are indecipherable. I could submerge myself in your head and not understand a thing. I’ve only ever felt shadows of impressions of feelings from you.”
She frowns and takes a breath. “You’re telling the truth?”
“Yes.”
“Then why does Feyre go through my head?”
There’s a brief, menacing silence.
“What did you say?”
“Periodically, Feyre goes through my head. To check if I’m hurting myself or plotting treason, is what I’ve always guessed.”
“And you agreed to this?”
She laughs dryly. “I haven’t agreed to a lot of things.”
“Do you let her in? How does she do it?”
“She’s my little sister. She’s clumsy at loving people. A family trait. I crack open a door in the corner and she very stealthily sneaks through.” Nesta smiles, despising herself. “Like a gyn appointment but worse. At least you make an appointment for those.”
Then, blessed Mother, she starts crying again, as predictable and irrepressible as an infant screaming for food, for love, for warmth. It’s quiet this time. No shaking, horrible sobs, only salt and water leaking from her eyes, making the darkness blurry.
“Nesta,” he says softly, which, of course, only makes it worse.
She rolls onto her back, pressing her palms into her eyes. “Oh, god,” she laughs. “Oh, god help me. I’m so tired. Maybe I’m still sick.”
“Then let’s sleep,” he says, hesitantly. “I’m sorry, this is a conversation for tomorrow. Want me to go to the guest room?”
She can’t find the words and covers her face with her arms. When she was little her mother didn’t like her to get her hair cut short. Shining hair swirling thick and smooth down her child’s body. She used to grab it in her hands and cover her face with it, like within her flower-smelling hair she could disappear; she would slip between the hanging laundry sheets of the world and no one would find her, not a soul.
With placid fingers he eases her arms away. She opens her eyes to see him above her, blurry and reliably beautiful. She wants to lose her memory. To start over in this bed.
Brow furrowed, he brushes her hair back from her face, painstaking and gentle. She looks at him all the while, examines his face. Such calmness. Dark eyes, darker lashes. His mouth is turned down. How many times has she kissed that mouth, felt its heat?
He bends and presses a kiss to her forehead. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, breath fanning warm over her skin.
She takes a shaky breath. “I have a cellphone,” she whispers. “I have a college degree in literature.”
“I know.”
“A mate bond is a myth, Cassian.”
His mouth tenses. “I know.”
“I’ll always hate you.”
“I know,” he murmurs. “I love you. I mean it.”
She swallows. “Sleep here tonight.”
“Alright.”
She rolls back onto her side. She wonders drowsily where she went, where her anger and horror and bitterness went. Sometimes she thinks she feels it in her throat or her stomach; the reaction is split and swift; kill it, kill it, kill it; clutch it tight, Nesta, never let it go.
Sleep gathers her like a child gathers a stray bird’s feather into her basket.
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they're so bad at communicating it makes me laugh and also cry
