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wildlyglittering · 3 years

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The Perils of Being Mr. Nesta Archeron

It’s important you understand this is my incredibly poor attempt at comedy and I just wanted to write some nonsense.

This popped into my brain after seeing all the posts about how awesome Nesta is and how she had a ridiculous amount of marriage proposals and interest from human men, fae males and demons alike.

I just kind of took it from there...

***

“I still like what Nesta’s done to the place.”

Feyre looked around the grand drawing room of the House of Wind, her dozing son on her lap and her bored mate at her side who murmured something which could be taken as an agreement while pulling off imaginary pieces of lint from his sleeve.

The House was now Nesta’s, in as much as anything sentient could truly belong to anyone, and as such was rarely used for official Night Court business. Its predominant function was as home to Nesta, Cassian and a reluctant Azriel, who’d been gifted the responsibility of ‘supervisor’ – a gift which Feyre suspected he’d like to return.

The Inner Circle still held Starfall at the House and, like now, the High Lord and High Lady of Night, would visit. When she visited alone, Feyre visited in the capacity of sister and friend but when with Rhys, it was all work.

Nesta and Cassian had embraced their titles as the Lord of Bloodshed and Lady Death and their combined reputations proceeded them sending them into every corner of Prythian and the many dark outer reaches was a tactic Rhys now employed.

The aim was to achieve negotiations and encourage peaceful surrenders where necessary but if there was resulting collateral damage, it was of little consequence to Rhys.

The other reason that the House was seldom used for official Night Court business was the unnerving issue of the House itself. Whilst the majority of the architecture remained unchanged there was the occasional surprise addition. Or subtraction.

Amren discovered the House’s penchant for the latter when, on one uninvited call, she opened a door which should have led to private chambers only to find herself plummeting through the air onto the ground. She swore blind the House foundations quivered like it was laughing.

Feyre wondered how independently the House acted from Nesta and how much it carried out her wishes. She suspected that this room, the grand drawing room, had been one of Nesta’s heart fulfilments or, at least, something for Cassian.

The room was sizable, entered from the hallway via a series of doorway arches wide enough for splayed Illyrian wings. Oversized plush furniture filled the room and the floors were strewn with thick sable rugs.

The most spectacular draw to the room was the window which stretched from ceiling to floor and from wall to wall on the side opposite the doorways. The view, one across Velaris’ golden rooftops and shining turquoise waters of the Sidra, filled the space like a painting.

Feyre sighed, at least this current visit was expected and so they weren’t risking the windows opening of their own accord to fling them out. The occupants of the House had been gone for longer than anticipated on this task and so Rhys sent ahead a message that he wanted a full debrief when they returned.

Feyre opened her mouth to speak again but stopped when she heard the thud of boots and flutter of wings.

“Finally,” Rhys said with a glance towards Nyx whose eyes flickered open.

“He’ll be happy see Aunt Nesta,” Feyre said in a sing-song voice to her now awake baby, turning him so he could view the entrance. “He loves Aunt Nesta.” She wasn’t above using her infant son as a tactic to avoid her eldest sister’s potential irritation at the intrusion into her home.

Rhys eyed up the shaking walls, “Yes, as does the House.”

Nesta entered first and Feyre breathed a sigh of relief that the floor remained solid underneath where she sat.

“Hello,” Nesta said, her voice soft and cooing. Her welcome wasn’t to her sister or brother-in-law but to the now beaming baby in Feyre’s lap whose legs and arms flailed in the air as he wriggled.

Nesta stepped further into the room, treading over the rugs, arms outstretched, “Come to Aunty Nesta.”

The vast windows let in the bright sunlight, sunlight which illuminated the state of the Illyrian leathers Nesta had clad herself in.

Feyre shrieked, twisting in the chair and blocked Nyx from Nesta’s grasp, pointing at her sister’s waist. “What is that?””

Nesta paused and frowned, looking down.

Aside from the interesting splotches of red across the leathers, the utility belt tightened around Nesta’s waist contained the usual items Feyre expected; knife, pouch, knife, another knife and then... another item she hadn’t.

A leather strap was wound in multiple knots around the thick band and tied to an uneven, lumpy dome the other end. The lumpy dome ended in a stump clotted with congealed blood.

“Oh,” Nesta said with a shrug, “I forgot.” She untied the leather strap and pulled the lump away. “Just another one for the collection.” With a graceful arm movement, Nesta threw what Feyre realised was a decapitated head onto the floor where it landed with a thud, a dribble of blood oozing fresh from the neck wound.

“Well, you can’t hold the baby until you’ve washed your hands. Thoroughly.”

Nesta frowned at her, an ice-cold glare fixed on her face. “Fine,” she snapped, as though Feyre’s request was unreasonable.

Cassian, unlike her sister, had taken some time to remove his blood encrusted leathers before greeting his guests, and he wandered in through the arch with a nod of his head towards Feyre and Rhys.

His hazel eyes noted the bloodied head by the door and he released a sigh.

“You need to stop doing that.”

“The House doesn’t mind.”

The shutters covering the windows in the other rooms started to clatter up and down.

“See?”

“Yes, but I mind and besides,” he gestured across to Feyre, “an infant is present.”

Nyx, now bouncing on Feyre’s lap, slapped his hands together as hard as he could in time with the House. He gazed at Nesta as though she’d sliced her way through necks especially for him.

“He doesn’t care,” Nesta said in a sing-song voice eerily similar to the tone Feyre herself used earlier. She beamed at her nephew, “He’s clapping with the House.”

Rhys’ face turned white, “The House is applauding you?”

“Oh yes,” Az said, arriving at last and pushing his way through where Cassian and Nesta stood to flop down onto the armchair next to Feyre. “Nesta always gets rapturous applause when she brings home a kill.”

Feyre glanced from Azriel, legs sloping over one armrest while his head flopped across the other, to Nesta and then onto Cassian who was pinching the bridge of his nose.

“As much as I am ecstatic to see you all,” he said, “I’ll leave Az to deal with the debrief. I need to go lie down for a while.”

Cassian exited as swift as he entered, Az not bothering to open his now closed eyes. The concerned glances of the other room occupants followed Cassian’s retreating back.

Nesta turned back to Feyre, the ice-cold glare melted away. “Excuse me while I disappear.” Then, in a heartbeat, her expression was one of joy, “Bye-bye baby, I’ll see you in a little bit for snuggles.”

Nyx let out a small sob as Nesta left and Feyre quickly turned him towards her, readying him for a feed, knowing that the small sob would turn into a loud shriek.

“Well,” she said, “she obviously prefers Nyx to me.”

“Feyre, darling – you got spoken to,” Rhys said. “I think it’s safe to say Nesta didn’t acknowledge my existence. Which I’m fine with,” he added, nervously eyeing up the House’s stone walls, “whatever makes her happy.”

Nyx, thankfully, latched onto Feyre’s bared breast and for a moment no noise sounded in the room other than his greedy milk-hungry gulps.

A thought played over and over in her mind though; Nesta’s look of concern, Cassian’s uncharacteristic broodiness. “Are they ok?” she asked Az, at the same time Rhys enquired as to how the recent mission went.

Az’s eyes fluttered open and he gestured to the head on the floor. “As you can tell – we won.” Then, his voice gentler, he turned to Feyre, “They’re fine.”

“Is Cassian upset at the violence? At Nesta doing the um...,” and using her free hand Feyre motioned across her throat with a finger.

Az laughed, such a rare sound it reminded Feyre of the bells on Solstice evening. “Not at all. He likes that she does those things it’s just-”

He paused.

Rhys, satisfied that the mission went well and not caring about anyone’s romantic woes, settled back into the loveseat while Feyre leaned forward, careful to not disrupt her feeding son.

Azriel nodded towards the head, “Before the Anguis went the way of Hybern and the Kelpie, he managed to propose.”

“Not another one!”

“Don’t worry,” Azriel said, “I’m sure Nesta is reassuring Cassian of her love as we speak.”

As though cued up with expert timing, or, as Feyre suspected, the House lifting a self-imposed sound barrier to prove a point, the thumping drifted down to the grand room from several floors up.

“That was...fast.”

Suddenly Azriel appeared just as exhausted as Cassian had. “Nesta reassures Cassian of her love at least twice a night anyway, and when she’s done reassuring him, he feels the need to thank her back.”

Feyre winced, her face contorting into one of displeasure while Rhys didn’t try to hide his smirk. “This is what – the fourth proposal? Fifth?”

Az closed his eyes and dropped his head backwards once more. “Ninth. This isn’t the worst we’ve had.”

Nyx snuffled and Feyre moved him to her other breast. “Wasn’t the first in the Winter Court?”

They’d been in Winter for the naming ritual of Kallias and Viviane’s baby and once the ceremony was done, all guests mingled in the palace hall. The High Lord and Lady of Winter stood on the dais, draped in silver and grey, Viv beaming as she held her pink cheeked daughter.

The music, food and wine flowed freely but Feyre could barely hear the former over the laughter of the high fae and the chime of glasses as toast after toast was declared. The Inner Circle members had dispersed throughout the crowds earlier, all intent on seeking their delight in various forms.

Feyre had seen Nesta on the dance floor for the opening songs but she’d long since gone and Feyre wondered if Nesta and Cassian had snuck away to take advantage of the Winter palace’s numerous private bedrooms.

She had done her duty as High Lady of Night, walking around the hall, ice blue gown sashaying around her legs as revellers congratulated her on the arrival of her own child.

Feyre had smiled and thanked them but she tired easily after Nyx’s traumatic birth and it wasn’t long before she sought out the fur-decked chaise longue tucked in one of enclaves on the far wall.

As Feyre made her way towards it, movement from the corner on her right drew her attention.

Nesta was standing by another enclave, glass in hand, virulently shaking her head. Nesta’s golden-brown hair had been braided into a complex knot adorned with diamonds which caught the fae lights and casted shapes on the ceiling. It had been this that captured Feyre’s eye.

“No,” Nesta said, “I don’t think so.” She smoothed down a non-existent crease on her dress, a pale grey-blue that shimmered like mist over ice, ever changing.

The male she was speaking to was some high-ranking courtier from Winter who Feyre had been introduced to earlier that evening but whose name escaped her. He was tall and handsome enough, gazing at her sister with sapphire blue eyes, but Nesta’s demeanour suggested nothing other than sheer boredom.

Cassian emerged from the crowds, seemingly drawn to what was happening in the corner of the room like a moth towards a flame, his body screaming nothing but fury. Still, he interjected himself between Nesta and the Winter male with a decorum Feyre felt he should be proud of. His fists were clenched and his jaw twitched as he ground his teeth but there was no violence. Yet.

Feyre moved quickly to them.

Side by side there was no contest that Cassian was the larger, broader and less refined male. He wore scuffed Illyrian leathers and the most he’d done for the event was clean his hair and tie it back.

The courtier wore ivory silk brocade strewn with pearls and viewed Cassian up and down with a sneer.

“And who, exactly, are you?”

Cassian spat out his answer, “Her mate and husband and your executioner – you are?”

“Ah yes,” Rhys said. “The naming ball. Was it just the one dance Nesta performed before she had the males panting over her?”

“Still,” Feyre said, “that one was the easiest to smooth over. No one was killed. Or maimed.”

“I think the proposal with Chrysos was when Cassian was aware this was going to be a repeat issue,” Az said.

Chrysos stood before them, undulating between the visage of a male and of something else, something other – possibly human but not quite. His skin was translucent and his gold blood ran through his veins, clear to their eyes, like streaks in white marble.

He was horrifying and beautiful and Feyre struggled to tear her eyes away.

“I must marry you,” he said, directing his words to Nesta. Chrysos’ voice echoed around the cave chamber, strangely melodic, a harmony of angels singing in chorus, one voice on top of another. “I shall make you my Queen and take you into the darkness where we shall make the sweetest music and-”

Nesta’s shoulders sagged, energy sapped from her as she gave a frustrated sigh.

“What the fuck?!”

Feyre jumped at Cassian’s yell, the noise bouncing from the tops of the cave to the bottom, deep into the darkest part and back again.

“Seriously! For fucks sake, I am standing right here!”

Rhys chuckled. “That ended quick enough if I remember?”

“We were on a recruitment mission though, we wanted him on our side,” Az said, “not dead.”

“Cassian maintains he slipped.”

“From six feet away?”

“Yes.”

“With his sword aloft?”

“I didn’t think the proposal in Summer was too bad,” interrupted Feyre, now with Nyx resting against her shoulder so she could pat his back with soothing circles.

The party on Tarquin’s barge was held at the height of the season the Court was most famous for.

The weather was idyllic; sunshine beating down on Feyre’s skin, endless blue skies stretching ahead while a cool ocean breeze drifted from the teal waters teaming with coral. Dolphins pranced in the frothy waves around them, shimmering and shining, their scales a rosy pink.

“Look, Nyx, look!” Feyre held her cooing baby high, pointing the dolphins out to his curious violet eyes.

The barge moved at a comfortable pace and again, like all parties the High Lords arranged, the music, food and wine flowed. Guests streamed from the top desk to the lower one and lower still when they felt like taking to the private cabins, the heat in the air turning into heat in the blood.

The decks were vast enough to not see the same individuals constantly but small enough to see them often and Feyre had smiled every time she walked past a relaxed Cassian and Nesta.

On their first stroll about the deck, Nyx had been awake and grinning, Nesta peppering his small face with a flood of kisses that had him squealing and his limbs flailing with joy. Cassian had joked about knowing his place in the pecking order and Nesta smiled at him in turn.

Cassian’s hair was tied back into a loose bun, strands of black hair falling past his jaw. It was too hot for leathers and, with his white linen shirt with sleeves rolled up to expose the black tattoos on his arms, he was the most casual Feyre had ever seen him.

Nesta stunned in a dress of blue which started ice blue at her shoulders before blending into a shade so dark at the hem it was almost black. The front was a demure and delicately scalloped neckline but Nesta’s back was entirely bare, held up by invisible straps.

Multiple pairs of eyes glanced their way but Nesta’s hand never left Cassian’s and his free one travelled the length of her spine dipping beyond the fabric at her lower back.

You’re borderline indecent, Feyre told them with pretend outrage and continued to walk the deck.

The second time Feyre passed them, they had been talking to Tarquin and Feyre only caught a brief snippet of their conversation, trying to settle a now restless Nyx against her shoulder.

“One apology,” Tarquin had said, “that was my mother’s favourite building.”

On Feyre’s third pass, Nyx now in Rhys’ arms, Tarquin had gone. In his place stood a fae Feyre didn’t recognise.

“I had turned away for a couple of seconds,” Cassian said, his hands in fists, “and you thought this was your opportunity to sneak in here like a panting-”

“Cassian,” Nesta warned, “we don’t want another incident in this Court.”

“Well, there will be one if this prick doesn’t move out of here. We’ll see how he fares with my foot up his as-”

“Cassian!”

“She’s married and mated. Can’t you see the matching rings? Can’t you smell the mate bond?”

The high fae nodded his head, “Yes, but...”

“But? But what?! That’s it,” Cassian said, “we’re leaving this fucking party.”

Rhys and Az stared at Feyre as she burped Nyx, their mouths open.

“What?” she asked.

“You didn’t think it was too bad?” Rhys said, his voice incredulous.

Feyre shrugged, “No one died and no wars were started.”

“They’d only just removed the ban on Cassian to have to enforce it again.”

“I don’t think the second ban was fair though.”

“Feyre, darling. He destroyed the barge.”

“We spent hours fishing everyone out of the sea,” Az said. “Then we had to work out where Nesta’s unfortunate suitor had landed after Cassian threw him towards the cliff.”

“Wasn’t he clinging onto the side of the rockface?”

“Yes.”

“And didn’t Cassian destroy another building in his haste to get away?”

“Yes.”

“Alright,” Feyre said, frowning. “So maybe it was bad.”

“I quite liked the proposal from Locuples,” Az said, “that was the best for all involved. No one died and we ended up with a pretty good trade agreement.”

“Oh, I remember that,” said Feyre, “I was here when Nesta and Cassian came back.”

Feyre and Az had been in the grand room, as they were now, sitting opposite each other in companiable silence. Steam from their tea cups swirled in the air and Feyre gazed out the windows at the white clouds over the city.

“What the-?”

Feyre’s head snapped round, surprised at the uncharacteristic shock in Az’s voice. He stared towards the door archways and Feyre followed his eyeline.

Cassian and Nesta had returned, surprisingly quietly, as she hadn’t heard them land on the roof. Or perhaps, looking at the display in front of her, they’d travelled by some other means.

Nesta sat on a throne on an open topped litter, carried by two lithe creatures who were more shadow and smoke than real and whose feet never touched the ground. Nesta herself, bedecked with jewels, a tiara and clutching a sceptre, wore an expression of confusion.

Cassian followed on foot, wings tersely tucked in, heaving a trunk filled with gold, jewellery, silks, furs and bottles which wafted exotic scents.

Cassian glanced at them from the corner of his eye, “Don’t ask.”

“I thought we expected this to be a hostile negotiation?”

“I said don’t ask.”

“We still receive gifts on a monthly basis,” Feyre said and slid to the floor to lay a barely awake Nyx on the soft furs - one of those aforementioned gifts. She traced a thumb on the arch of his foot and watched it curl, his lips smacking in contentment.

Feyre swore the floorboards underneath him adjusted to accommodate his shape.

“Don’t you receive monthly gifts from Helion as well?” Rhys asked. “Or did Cassian put a stop to that?”

“Cassian put a stop to that one,” Az said.

“Doesn’t Nesta still have the first gift though?”

Az groaned and placed his scarred hands over his eyes. “Yes, and I cannot express how much upkeep it takes.”

Feyre smiled, “Oh, I remember that one too.”

The shriek took Feyre by surprise and she leapt from her chair, readying herself for action. It was only seconds before she realised it wasn’t a shriek of pain but one of sheer, childlike joy.

Once again, her and Az were in the House and, once again, she hadn’t heard the arrival of the House’s other permanent occupants.

“In the name of the Mother,” Az breathed and, in what was a familiar pattern, Feyre turned to where he was looking. This time, instead of Az looking towards the doorway, he was staring outwards at the windows.

Nesta, clad in her leathers and with windswept hair was sat astride a glorious white winged horse, her black leather a stark contrast to the white of the creature she sat upon.

“Someone find Gwen and Emerie! They need to know about this; they need to come here!”

With another shriek of joy and a gentle nudge to the horse’s sides Nesta rose higher, the wings of the horse flapping with enthusiasm, happy to appease its new owner.

There was a sigh from behind them and Feyre and Az turned. Cassian leant against the doorframe, fingers rubbing his temples.

“Cass... isn’t that Helion’s last and most prized flying horse?”

“Please – do not ask.”

“That thing is a nightmare,” Az said, “it eats everything, likes very few fae and can somehow find its way into the House in the dead of night. Do you know how terrifying it is to wake to find a winged horse hovering over you demanding sugar cubes while stealing your blanket? I can’t live like this.”

Feyre shot him a sympathetic smile while Rhys laughed. In the brief silence which followed, Feyre could hear the rhythmic banging echoing its way through the house.

“Aren’t they done yet?”

“Doesn’t sound like it.”

“At least it will be over soon.”

“Nope.”

“Oh.”

“You think this is bad?” Az said, “You weren’t here after the proposal with the Peregryn.”

To Feyre, the Dawn Court was one of the most beautiful. Its shades of gold and red weren’t bright or ostentatious but were the softer golds found in the rising sun, the reds not vermillion or scarlet but something akin to a dusky rose.

Every town held a thousand clock-towers, every hand matching perfectly, the chimes on the hour synching in a glorious song, calling to the skies in praise of a new day, of promises to be made, of joy to come.

The peace of that particular morning had been broken by the shouts of males, all raised in the ecstatic spirit of competition. Nothing violent or aggressive but it spoke to Feyre of knuckles and bone crunching all the same.

She’d pushed her way to the front of a crowd, the fae recognising her and making room for her to pass. A fighting circle had broken out in a section of the town square, cheers raising into the air as one of the fighters scored a blow.

In the circle stood two males, both tall and broad, barefooted and bare-chested. One had wings similar to the Pegasus which Nesta now owned, white and gold-feathered, and the other had wings as black as night, the rising sun highlighting veins and patches of amber.

A female was eagerly watching them, a female Feyre shoved past fae to move next to.

“Nesta! Why is Cassian sparring with a Peregryn?”

Nesta didn’t tear her eyes from the males. “Some old nonsense about fighting for the right to take my hand.”

Cassian landed a punch to his opponent’s jaw, the crack reverberating through the air as the crowd cheered on.

Sweat trickled down Cassian’s own jaw and onto his neck. His muscles were strained, his abdomen contracting. As the fighters turned positions, his back faced Feyre, black tattoos against dark skin, his shoulder blades gleaming with oil.

Feyre glanced at Nesta who was dressed in a pale peach dress adorned with pearls, her hair up but with soft stands framing her face. She would have looked a wholesome picture of innocence if not for her darkening eyes.

“Shouldn’t you stop this?”

“Probably.”

“Are you going to?”

Nesta’s eyes flickered from the top of Cassian’s head down his back and then, as the fighter’s moved again, to his stomach where they lingered on the trail of hair leading down to the waistband of his trousers. She sighed.

“A few more minutes.”

Feyre blinked as if she could rid herself of the memory. “I can only imagine.”

“If I didn’t visit the river house for dinner I would have starved. The House had to perform a deep clean.”

The walls shook in what was akin to a shudder.

“The bard was wholesome enough,” Rhys said.

Az groaned, “And yet ridiculous.”

In a concerted effort to apologise to the Courts on behalf of the behaviour of some Inner Circle members during previous gatherings, Feyre and Rhys had invited the High Lords and their significant others to Starfall.

The House remained still, either curious as to who all the guests were or silently sulking that there were guests at all.

The tang of a rich red wine was on Feyre’s tongue, not from anything she had drunk, but from a stolen kiss from Rhys, under the night sky, in a moment solely theirs before it became everyone else’s.

The night was filled with laughter and talking and Feyre slid into the embrace of her mate, content in the knowledge that Nyx slumbered underneath the watchful eye of the House’s nursery, a room which hadn’t existed before this very evening.

Her heart hurt, but in a good way, as though each chamber was bursting with a joy they couldn’t contain and her happiness spilled out into every corner of the rooftop.

Azriel was intently speaking with Nesta’s red-haired friend while Elain watched on from a distance, either not aware of, or ignoring, her own red-haired watcher.

Amren and Mor stood amongst another group, Mor’s golden hair cascading down her back like a waterfall and near the balcony was Cassian and Nesta, pressed side by side, hand in hand as they gazed upwards, Cassian pointing to a constellation.

Nesta glanced at him as he spoke, her face softening in a way Feyre never thought possible, a smile on her lips. When Cassian looked back at her, to check her understanding of what he was saying, he brought their intertwined hands up to his mouth, to kiss her fingertips.

Feyre smiled, all was well and all would continue to be well. That was until a voice, clear and resolute, spoke out into the crowd.

“My High Lords and Ladies and Paramor’s, I am a bard from the Spring Court – famed as the best in all the Courts!”

Chatter drifted into murmurs as heads turned expectedly to the fae now standing in the centre. Feyre noted his lute fixed upon his waistband but the bard made no attempt to reach for it.

“I have travelled across the land, coming to the Court of the High Lord and High Lady of Night with one purpose and one purpose only – to serenade with tales of fortune and love!”

A ripple of anticipation broke out amongst the crowd to hear such songs and Feyre turned to Rhys. “Did you arrange this?” but his face was twisted in confusion.

“I dedicate my melodies to one female, one who understands music as though her very bones were formed by the notes. My song to you, Lady Nesta and also my hand in marri-”

“FUCKS SAKE!”

Feyre let out a sigh. “I felt so sorry for the bard. He must have seen Nesta on one of her visits. To think, he spent all those weeks travelling on foot to arrive to the House and then Cassian threatens to dangle him from the roof.”

“Cassian did dangle him from the roof.”

“No one’s going to invite us to any more parties,” said Rhys with a sorrowful sigh.

“I think we can handle an overly amorous high fae or two,” Az said, “it’s the demons which worry me.”

“They’re no cause for concern,” Rhys said with a wave of his hand. “In fact, we have a valuable asset on our side. Drag Nesta in front of them and it tends to shut them up.”

Feyre frowned. “That is my sister you’re deciding to use as romantic bait. Besides, the issue we had with the Caligo demon was that it didn’t stop talking. There was such a mess.”

Screams filled Feyre’s ears as terrified Night Court citizens ran past her, almost a blur.

Tears streaked down terror-stricken faces as they grabbed the arms of their loved ones and scooped up children too small or young to so anything other than shiver and cry.

Cracks appeared in the ground beneath their feet, the cobbles of the street twisting and turning before jutting upwards like the jagged, sharpened edges of broken bone. The air was thick with acrid smoke which stung Feyre’s eyes causing them to stream with the tears she saw running down her people’s faces.

Rhys was to her right. Or that’s what she hoped. He had been standing but he’d gasped in pain and then she no longer saw him through the gaps in the cloud. When she managed to glimpse him, he was on his knees, thick red blood pouring down his face from a cut on his scalp.

Feyre choked back a sob and clambered over the rips in the earth to reach him.

Steel clashed with steel in the darkness, the shouts of Cassian and Azriel tearing through the blackness as they pressed forward. A shimmer of magic absorbed as much of the darkness away as it could and created a halo around the members of the Inner Circle.

Hands, strong and steady, circled Feyre’s waist and Nesta held her up, helped her over the torn earth.

“I am destroyer,” the thing hissed. “I am consumer, I am flesh ripper and soul tearer and I-”

It turned, watching them all, gloating in their misery and gorging itself fat on their pain. One of its bulbous eyes slid to where they stood, Feyre leaning into Nesta’s side. Her sister’s hair was dishevelled, her arms smeared with blood but Nesta’s eyes remained cold and hard upon the demon.

“And I – oh, oh, you are spectacular.”

A roar ripped through the darkness; a bellowing from powerful lungs as the words of the creature reached the ears of all present.

“Absolutely fucking not!”

Cassian advanced from the void, red siphons blazing as though he were shrouded in flame. “I am her mate; I am her husband and I suggest you put those sloping tongues back into your mouth or Mother help me...”

Feyre swallowed the rising bile. She tried not to think about the events of that night, though she didn’t know what was worse – that night or now, with the thumping above their heads gaining momentum.

“He got the job done,” Rhys said and then smirked, “and he’s doing the same now from the sounds of it.”

“Rhys!” Feyre admonished and placed her hand on Nyx’s stomach to calm herself. “Why do you think he puts up with it?” she asked Az.

“What choice does he have? Besides, he loves and trusts her. There’s no one for him but her and no one for her but him.”

“Disgusting,” Rhys said with slight mockery to his tone.

“No,” Feyre said, “what’s disgusting is the head in the corner.” She eyed up the lump that had once been somethings head; the glassy eyes, the bloodied stump. She wouldn’t relish touching the thing but she would happily remove herself out of earshot of Nesta and Cassian’s post proposal love affirmation. “Where do I take it?”

“The House created a trophy room three doors down,” Az said.

Anguis’ mouth hung open, razor sharp rotted teeth all lined up on display. Feyre felt a slither of pity. “I’ll take it there.”

“No, Feyre darling, I’ll do it.”

Feyre breathed a sigh of relief and nodded before turning to Az. “Shall we wait for them to be done? We need to discuss the next mission which is rather sensitive.”

Az shook his head, “No, you may as well go home. It was a proposal so they’re not stopping until – what day is it now, Thursday? – they’re not going to be fit for purpose until Monday.”

Rhys, still lounging, stretched out into the space Feyre previously occupied. “We can’t wait that long.”

“Do you want to volunteer to interrupt them?

“No.”

Feyre glanced between them both. “Cassian did look rather sad.”

Azriel laughed again, the sound echoing throughout the room, his head thrown back. “Don’t pity Cassian, he knows what he’s doing.”

“And Nesta falls for it?”

“No, she definitely doesn’t fall for it.”

“But isn’t she in their chambers um...reassuring him?”

“Yes.”

Feyre bit her lip, “So surely...”

“Oh Mother,” Az rubbed his hand across his face. “It’s their form of twisted foreplay. When Nesta received a proposal from – well, I can’t remember which one, I came home early and almost went blind. Have none of you questioned the indoor swing?”

Feyre’s voice was quiet when she spoke, scooping up her son into her arms with haste. “I thought they were creating an inside playground.”

“Ah,” Az said, his voice soft, “not quite.”

The thumping reached its crescendo and blessedly, stilled.

“Oh, thank the Mother,” Rhys said, “they’re done after all. Az, go retrieve them. We need to discuss the next mission.”

“Why me?”

“You live here.”

“You’re the High Lord.”

Feyre looked around her, Nyx clutched in her arms. “I think the floor is sloping us out towards the door.”

“I don’t think so Feyre, darling.”

“No really, the head - which you said you’d deal with by the way - is rolling away.”

Feyre wasn’t imagining what was happening, she’d passed under the entrance to the room, Rhys and Az’s chairs beginning to follow.

“This happens,” Az said with a calmness Feyre didn’t feel. “Usually when they don’t want anyone to overhear the next part of their ‘Nesta got proposed to again’ sex marathon.”

“Why? What could they now be planning that’s so much worse?”

“I don’t know,” Az replied, “the House always shuffles me out at this point. One time I was trying to prep my knives and almost stabbed myself in the eye.”

“Right,” said Rhys, “I think we can walk out of here without a sentient lump of stone forcing us to. Which,” he said with an eye to the steepness of the floor angle, “is completely within its’ right.”

Feyre nestled a snoring Nyx into one arm as Rhys helped her up. Az was already on his feet, out the door and into the hallway before he got flattened by an oversized, burgundy armchair.

He turned to them both.

“So, where’s the next mission to anyway? Where are you sending our glorious Lady Death and Lord of Bloodshed and can I sit it out?”

Feyre and Rhys exchanged glances. “I think we might need you in attendance,” Feyre said.

Az raised an eyebrow. “Well, I know King Lascivus is causing some problems with his tithe but as long as you weren’t planning on sending us to his palace, it will be fine. He’s famous for his side hobby of trying to find a muse to depict as the Mother in his artworks. Borderline obsessed.”

Feyre cleared her throat, “Sounds like he’s fervently religiously devout.”

“Hardly. The issue isn’t him trying to depict the Mother but that he’s spent centuries convincing everyone that she needs to be represented in her naked glory and I quote ‘with the petals of her flower fully opened.’”

Rhys coughed and moved fast down the hallway towards the roof entrance his wings already forming.

“Rhys!” Feyre called out. “You know I can’t run when I’m holding the baby!”

Az’s voice was quiet. “Feyre?”

“You know we love you,” she said, not meeting his hazel eyes, “and you’re always welcome at the river house. For as long as you want, whether that’s weeks or months.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, “I swear on the Cauldron, if you need to you can stay for centuries.”

“Feyre?”

She turned and didn’t look back, picking up her own speed to follow Rhys, ignoring the quiver in Az’s tone.

“We love you Az,” she shouted over her shoulder, propping Nyx into a position ready for flight as the House opened its doors to hasten her exit. “Always remember that.”

TAGGING

@live-the-fangirl-life

@champanheandluxxury

@dontgetsalmonella

@purpleglitterypinecone

#nessian #fanfiction #nesta archeron #cassian #nesta x cassian #nesta #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #i wrote something #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nessian fan fiction #nessianfic #nesta archeron x cassian #nessian fan fic #the perils of being mr nesta archeron

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gwynrielsupremacist · 3 years

Text

A COURT OF LIGHT AND SHADOWS

Chapter 3: Nerves

Read at AO3

If Gwyn had thought the day before had been one of the worst of her short but experienced life, she was wrong.

That day promised many more problems.

Especially like asking Azriel if he could go with her to buy a dress and not get ridiculed in front of everyone when he probably said no.

She swallowed hard and clenched her abs, telling herself there were only 2 minutes left until that damn exercise was over and she could go to the library to continue the work that Merrill had imposed on her.

"Legs together, Berdara." Azriel's voice brought her out of her thoughts, turning her head to find him looking back, his face as serious as ever. Forcing herself no matter how much pain it caused her, she closed her legs and continued to support her body, preventing from falling flat on the hard floor of the ring.

Satisfied with the change in position, Azriel turned around and continued giving directions to the other priestess who were doing something that he claimed was wrong.

"I'm sure you couldn't even take the 5 minutes I've been like this." She grumbled disdainfully, moving her arms slightly to release tension, feeling droplets of sweat trickle down the neckline of her shirt, cooling her hot skin.

"Possibly he could endure 20 minutes of plank and then be 3 hours running, then do a series of push-ups and sit-ups." Elián answered.

Gwyneth rolled her eyes: "What part are you on? His or mine?" She protested, looking sideways to find Nesta and Emerie in the same situation, grunting with overexertion, cursing how little stamina they had after 3 weeks of absolutely no exercise.

"You have said a piece of information that was wrong. I have corrected it." He remembered.

Gwyn rolled her eyes again, breathing, blasting air through her burning lungs.

Everything burned.

And she still had to figure out what the hell to do with the ceremony. What dress should she choose? A simple one, gala, what color, with or without lace?

She began to feel her head throbbing, deducing that this was a signal to stop thinking about it and focus on maintaining the correct posture so that the two Illyrians controlling the exercises would not scold her.

She had to do the perfect exercises. She had to get Azriel's mocking smile out when he corrected some movement or posture.

Stupid, damn illyrian.

When the two minutes were up, the three Valkyries flopped to the ground, exhausted and sweating like pigs.

"I'm going to make that bastard sweat when we go to that damn cabin." Nesta murmured, making sure her mate wasn't listening to her from the other end of the circle, which was helping a priestess up.

"That's not fair." Emerie muttered, brushing the dust off her leathers. "You are going to spend at least a week having sex on any surface of the cabin but we have to come here, to this hell."

Nesta laughed softly, shrugging her shoulders as she grabbed one leg, stretching it out.

A hiss came from her mouth, possibly all of her muscles were clenched.

"You should do the same." Elián recommended. "Otherwise your whole body will ache."

"I'm the one who has to go through pain, stop behaving like a worried mother." Elián sighed, avoiding giving an answer.

But anyway, she followed the advice of her voice, grabbing the soles of her feet and stretching as long as she was, hearing with satisfaction how it gently creaked her back, undoing the knots that were in the back, in her muscles.

She stayed in that position for a few more seconds, then jumped up.

Next, she grabbed her neck from one side and gently moved it to the other, removing any knots that might be in it.

Finally, she did the same to her legs, hearing them creak slightly.

She went to the water station, putting her hands in the shape of a bowl and immersing them in the tub of water, to later drink from them, wiping the remains of water with the back of her hand.

She walked over to where Nesta and Emerie were, Nesta lying on her back while Emerie was on her belly, avoiding damaging her hurtful wings.

"We deserved 3 more weeks of vacation." Emerie whimpered, putting a hand over her eyes like a visor, blocking out the bright morning sun.

"We deserved more than 3 weeks. For the Cauldron, they almost killed us, we should have had a whole year of vacation." Nesta said, mimicking Emerie's movement, sighing softly when the sun stopped hitting her eyes.

Gwyn sat on the floor, looking at her friends: "I'd rather be up here. I'd spend all day in the library if not for training."

Emerie dropped her hand, glaring at Gwyn: "Haven't you made any headway out of the library yet?"

Gwyn denied.

She had told them at one point in the Blood Rite that she was tired of being in the library, and that she wanted to go out and discover the world.

Sure, it was easier said than done.

"Everything in its time." Nesta considered, grabbing her friend's hand and squeezing, smiling slightly.

Gwyn smirked, squeezing back and stood up, looking up for Azriel.

She needed to get the uncertainty of the dress once and for all.

Unfortunately, she couldn't find the Illyrian anywhere.

She watched as Cassian approached them, lowering his head in greeting. Gwyn followed suit, asking, "By any chance, you don't know where Azriel is?"

Cassian stared at her, then took a quick glance around the ring, surprised when he saw that his friend had disappeared.

"He was here just now." He muttered, scanning until he gave up, giving her half a grimace. "He will be inside the House, I can search for him if you wish." He offered, but the priestess refused, announcing she would look for him herself.

She said goodbye to her friends, Cassian and the priestess she knew, and entered the House of Wind, letting her eyes get used to the artificial light that hung on the walls.

She began to look from place to place, suspicious of what she might find there.

"It's a simple house, Gwyneth, you won't find anything out of the ordinary." Elián reassured her, but it was of little use, since her nerves were on the surface.

"Why the hell did I say I was going to the ceremony?" She whimpered, feeling her heart beat faster and faster, forcing herself to stop, waiting for her heart to calm down.

"If you don't want to go, it's okay. Nesta will understand." He told her.

She knew Nesta would understand her. She was trying enormously to get out of the library and go to the ceremony, and Nesta wouldn't be mad at her if she finally decided not to go.

But Gwyn would be mad at herself.

After all that she had tried, all that she thought she had made progress, she was not going to let fear stop her from enjoying one of her friend's happiest days.

But for now she needed to sit down, she needed to think.

She didn't know where she was, she saw doors and more doors and torches lighting the hallway.

Where the hell had she been?

She frowned, pretending to remember how she had gotten there.

However, she didn't pay attention to where she was going, she had been too busy trying to keep her from having an attack.

She closed her eyes for a few seconds, calming down, as she decided what she should do now.

Looking straight ahead, she decided to walk a little more, searching for any mark on the wall to guide her, until she found herself at the end of the hall.

She spun around, beginning to hyperventilate, feeling cold drops of sweat running down her back.

"There is no way out. There is no way out. There is no way out." She thought, trying to attack her own thoughts, but she couldn't. The fear she felt in her body paralyzed her.

She chewed on her lip until she felt the metallic taste of blood flood her mouth.

She dropped against the wall, hugging her knees to his chest as she said: "I'm the rock against which the surf crashes, nothing can break me, I'm the rock against which the surf crashes, nothing can break me, I'm the rock against which the surf crashes, nothing can break me.

But, of course, there were many things that could break her.

Being in a dark hallway, lost, was one of them.

She didn't know how long she had been in that position, it might as well have been minutes, it might as well have been hours.

But suddenly she heard footsteps. Footsteps of man, noticing the weight of the steps.

She didn't want to raise her head. She must not raise her head.

She knew that Elián was probably speaking to her, but panic prevented from understanding what he wanted to say to her.

She shrugged even more, praying to get smaller and smaller and smaller until she became invisible, closing her eyes and holding her breath. Who was the man who was coming? What did he want from her? What was he going to do to her?

She listened as the stranger moved, as Gwyn prepared to scream, to fight, or to go limp and pray to whatever god was listening at the time that the man in front of her would think she was dead, leaving her alone.

But what happened was much more different.

She began to perceive caresses, as if feathers were grazing her neck, soothing her nerves, while others settled on her arms and legs, doing the same.

She looked up and found the last person she expected to see right now.

Azriel was looking at her with concern and curiosity.

TAG LIST: @bookish-isha @imsointobooks @shisingh @feyretale @niaacotar @flora-shadowshine @tealnymph24 @trashforazriel @hlizr50 @meher-sumedha @heyovivi @positivewitch @greywarens-magician @sageofthegalaxy @valkygwyn @verifiefangirl @verifiefangirl-mainblog @snickerdoodlechittybangbang @genya-berdara @katekatpattywack @secretlovelybeauty @starbornsinger @sv0430 @deedz-thrillerkilller16

#heres chapter 3!#i hope you like it <3 #gwynriel #azriel #gwyn

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mardereads19 · 3 years

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Why the mentality of “Lucien is Elain’s mate so she has to at least give him a chance” is so wrong:

(I had to rewrite all of this twice because my internet is a bitch and it didn’t save correctly in my drafts 😭)

1. Elain was human so the mating bond means nothing to her.

Elain as a human only knew one thing: love was the catalyst for marriage and family. Humans don’t mate between themselves, they follow their emotions and then wed. At least that was going to be the case with Elain. She was going to marry because of love (that is what she believed in). The mating bond was not something she lived by. It was/is not sacred to her as it is to the Fae, because for her it wasn’t even a thing.

Forcing Elain to abide by the mating bond is as messed up as forcing a religion on someone. In fact, in Acotar it is said that the humans used to pray to long lost gods. The cauldron (a god-like entity for the Fae) was not even known to Feyre (humans) until she sees that mural in Tamlin’s library. So saying that Elain should respect the mating bond created by the cauldron enough to “at least” give Lucien a chance, is like forcing her to believe in something she had never planned to believe in in the first place. The mating bond for her is a Fae thing and though she is Fae now, ACOMAF tells us that Feyre has a human heart. So do her sisters.

2. It disregards her choice.

Like I established earlier, Elain believed that love and emotions were the crucial factors leading to marriage and family, but now out of nowhere the thing that leads to that is “fate”/the cauldron. Not her love, not her choice. She used to be so sure of who she wanted to be with and that was enough. For human Elain having loved and chosen someone was enough. Now she is predestined to be with someone. It is not her choice anymore.

Human Elain had chosen her beloved already: Greysen. He was everything she wanted. Even after the whole cauldron episode, she still wanted and chose him:

Even months after the war, just as her feelings towards Azriel began to become something other than friendly (in Acofas is when we first start seeing Elain get self-conscious and swallow nervously in his presence) Elain still loved Greysen and hoped to be with him:

She did not want a male, period, but she did not want the mating bond because it took away her choice of wanting Greysen. She also was still holding on to the hope of going back to being human (where perhaps that mating bond would have ceased to exist):

It was not Elain’s choice to become immortal and ethereally beautiful and to gain a mate. She was forced into these things and Lucien as her mate is simply a harsh reminder of this. For Elucien to work, it has to be her choice. She was robbed of it. In fact, let’s read the heartbreaking words Nesta herself said in Acosf:

Well, well, well... What an interesting choice (lol) of words. Nesta herself felt like she was losing part of who she was in accepting the mating bond. What makes Nessian different is the fact that Nesta chose Cassian before knowing he was her mate. She chose him for love. Would the story be any different if she had known before? I think it would. We read the argument that went down between them in Velaris and saw how she called in the bargain to get time to think things through before completely she obliterated Cassian with hate words. However, she already loved him, so she could move past it. Perhaps if she hadn’t loved him already, she would still be drinking and having seggs with strangers to push yet another unwanted truth into oblivion.

Feyssand was kind of similar. First, Feyre assimilated into Fae culture rather quickly and she loved Rhys before our King, the Suriel, spilled the tea.

Neither of these sisters were surprised with a mate as soon as they turned.

Even now, the bond puts a stop on Elain choosing Azriel, which is something that she must overcome if Elriel is endgame as I strongly believe it will. Saying “Lucien is her mate so she must give him a chance” means it is not her choice to give him a chance. Let it be her choice. Let it be because she wants to.

3. Lucien does not know Elain.

Before you come at me with the “she doesn’t give him the time of day to know her,” let me tell you this: Azriel began to know and see Elain during the time when she was in a trance, the same time Lucien could have learned to see her as Az did. In fact, Lucien had a moment with her in the private library of the HoW, but he did not know how to help her. Listening (and not just to her speaking, but really listening and being open to let her know he cares what she says) would have been enough. The main difference between Lucien and Azriel is this: Lucien knew she needed help, Azriel helped her. An example of how Lucien doesn’t know her, but Azriel does is illustrated in the gifts each of the mates males give her and her reaction to them (I couldn’t add the gloves one, but you know that one by now):

4. Doing it for his happiness might promote her misery.

The worst thing is reading “I want Lucien to be happy, so Elain should at least give him a chance.” What about her? Will she be happy in doing so? I am always grateful when I stumble upon an Elucien shipper who wants both of them to be happy. These people are real shippers and I celebrate them 😊. The ones who only care for him, not so much 😑. If she is miserable in the relationship, he is bound to notice and be miserable, too, at one point or another.

5. She is NOT interested.

Listen, Elain is simply not interested in Lucien. She has demonstrated that time and time again. Should a girl always have to have a reason to not entertain a boy’s affection? Can’t a girl simply say “no, thank you” because she wants to? In real life that is okay, but in Prythian it isn’t because they are mates and she needs a reason? Chile anyways, so…

Let’s pretend Eris was all nice and none morally-gray, and Morrigan turns out to be Eris’ mate. Are y’all going to be all like “she should give him a chance because they are mates”? No, because she is NOT romantically inclined towards males. Then the point stands. Because Mor is not interested romantically in males, she should not be upheld to giving Eris a chance. Since Elain is not romantically interested in Lucien, she should not be upheld to give him a chance. “But he is her mate...” 🙄😒 Let her do what she wants, jeez.

Disclaimer: I don’t hate Lucien whatsoever, I actually love his character, but these are some reasons why I hate the argument of “they are mates she should give him a chance.” I think that mentality is not okay. Literally. *feminism has left the chat*

#acosf spoilers #acosf #elain deserves better #pro elain #elain #azriel #lucien #elucien #elriel #acotar 5 #acotar #sarah j maas

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alltheworldsinmyhead · 3 years

Photo

this is me trying

a03 / angst/ hurt/comfort

Decades after Feyre banishes Nesta from Velaris, Nesta comes back in the worst possible circumstances. After all, who knows of grief more than her?

established nessian, established feysand, think whatever you want of elain.

tw: stillbirth

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

Nesta finds Rhysand on one of the hundreds of the House of Wind balconies.

Standing with his back to her, he blends in the dark so well that she probably wouldn’t have noticed him, if not for the lights of Velaris; the city spreading below like a bejeweled carpet, like a bright halo outlining his figure.

She was on her way to find a drink – she hasn’t touched spirits in a decade, but maybe tonight is finally the night – but something about the sight makes her pause on the threshold.

They winnowed in such a haste, Cassian and she, that she did not even have a second to take a closer look at Rhysand. She cannot even recall the sight of his face when he appeared in their kitchen and gave them the news mere seconds before she was clutching at his arm, time and space warping around them.

And so she stays still, watching him now, thanks to, maybe, some morbid curiosity or maybe to something else she doesn’t dare to name.

‘’Thank you.’’ He says so suddenly that she twitches. ‘’For coming.’’

She has to bite on her lip to suppress the venom biting the roof of her mouth. She’s my sister. Of course, I came, you prick. – she would’ve replied back when she was still living here.

But it hasn’t been a case for many, many years now… and besides, she understands from where his words come from.

And so she simply takes a few stiff steps until she finds herself right beside him.

He must’ve been standing here for a long, long time. – crosses her mind when she glances down at Rhysand’s hands; at this thin layer of fresh snow coating his knuckles, almost like powdered sugar.

Rhys doesn’t ask her how Feyre is, whom she left her with, and she doesn’t tell him. He probably knows it better than she does, anyway. They’re still and silent. Nesta’s sensitive ears catch only the faint, soothing sound of the wind, the almost inaudible flutter of snowflakes in the frosty air. It still amazes her, even after all this time, the things her body is capable of. Probably, if she really tried, she would be able to hear the heartbeats of all the Fae huddled inside the House, hear how they inhale and exhale, hear how they all grief in the heaviest, most terrible kind of silence.

Nesta doesn’t try though, so the only heartbeats she hears are the twin ones always beating in her chest - her own and it’s fluttering echo, soothing her like nothing else ever came close to.

She leans on the railing, letting the snow dampen the long sleeves of her dress. Cold does not bother her anyway; winter in Velaris is milder than spring in Steppes and she hasn’t been truly cold since she has accepted the mating bond, flames and embers of it forever warming her inside out. The Rainbow glimmers and twinkles miles and miles from them when she whispers, soft and slow:

‘’I am sorry for your loss.’’

Rhys whips his head towards her, violet eyes widened in surprise, but she continues before he can respond.

‘’And I am thankful that you send for me. Truly.’’

‘’She asked for you.’’ He says as if it explained everything, fixing his sight back on the view of the city. Maybe it did explain everything, for him.

What agony, to feel her suffer, suffer yourself, and not be able to do anything about it.

Her heart clenches in her chest and, not even a second later, a wave of warmth spreads through her body, making her skin tingle. A soft caress which, she has already learned, meant what is wrong, Nes?

Everything. Everything. She was supposed to be happy. I didn’t need to see her ever again because I knew she was happy. And what can I do now, if her own mate stands here helpless?

Flames and embers, burning her gut. Hurt and helplessness rivaling hers reverberating in her bones.

Nothing. You can do nothing, Nesta.

‘’I didn’t understand why.’’ Rhys continues unexpectedly, his voice as cold as the frosty wind. ‘’I don’t get why she wanted your comfort, out of everyone. ‘’

‘’And yet you came for me.’’

‘’She asked for you.’’ He repeats. ‘’So I brought you. I thought it will help but – but she’s just as – you did not change anything.’’

Nesta is positive she has never heard Rhysand sound quite so lost, stumbling on words and actions, his hands shaking on the railing and darkness gathering around him like a misty cloak.

He looks so desperate. I guess that’s what a few decades when there is no hurt that cannot be soothed with a kiss does to you.

She has forgotten – how depended both of them were on a bond to fix everything, how seamlessly they adjusted to being mated, how easily they got used to acting as one person rather than two. No wonder Rhys doesn’t know what to do now.

She has forgotten how it all operated in Velaris, did her own damn best to banish Feyre from her thoughts. Had to do this, just to heal, to live, to figure out how to be happy on her own, how to be her own person, how to love Cassian, how to allow him to love her.

But she is standing now. Because Feyre sent for her because Feyre is hurting and nobody has the strength to tell Rhys what needs to be done.

Nobody but the resident bitch of the family.

‘’Rhysand. You have to let her see the baby.’’

It’s like a punch; the sheer torrent of power exploding from his body at her solemn words. But Nesta is not afraid of him nor she has ever been. She stands her ground; raises her chin up and turns herself into a pillar of steel.

‘’It’s not your business.’’ He grits through clenched teeth.

‘’Oh, it very much is.’’ She keeps her voice calm, keeps her breath even. ‘’ Why would you take him from her? She needs to see him- listen to me! If you don’t let her see him, she will never quite come to terms with it.’’

‘’How can you – it will only make her suffer more.’’

Out of sight, out of mind.

‘’No.’’ she steps closer; close enough to see how his eyes widen when she grabs his hand and squeezes it. ‘’She has carried this baby and gave birth to it and never got to hear it cry. Let her hold him, let her say goodbye, for Cauldron’s sake.’’

Rhysand blinks at her as if he did not understand the language she speaks in.

‘’Rhysand. You two will be okay. In a decade or so she will be pregnant again and this time, the baby will live. And it all will be just one shadow during an otherwise perfectly sunny day. You know that. Elain-‘’

‘’Don’t talk to me about Elain!’’

He wrenches his hand from her grip, stumbling on his own feet.

‘’Elain didn’t predict – this.’’

Nesta inhales deeply.

‘’Right vision. Wrong time. ’’

‘’Go ahead and tell Feyre that then. Tell her she should not grieve now, just because she will someday have another baby – go ahead, do that, and I will gladly throw you out myself.’’

‘’You don’t understand.’’ She suppresses Cassian’s anxiousness swimming inside her gut. It’s not your fight, love. It’s not your battle. ‘’Rhys- Rhys, I know you want to protect her, but you have to let her go through this. You need to let her feel this pain. You can’t shield her from this, not anymore.’’

For Nesta knows – and deep, deep down she suspects Rhysand knows her too – that Feyre is strong enough to go through this fire. Strong enough to bloom again, her courageous sister who needs trials and challenges much like Nesta herself does, who will grow from this pain like a tree sprouting fresh leaves after winter.

And maybe it is not about Feyre’s pain, not truly.

For a heartbeat, none of them moves, none of them even breathes. Nesta, back straight and biting the inside of her cheek. Rhysand, avoiding her eyes, his own wild and desperate.

And then he lets out something between a sob and a laugh and collapses down.

‘’I can’t.’’ He whispers with his forehead resting on the metal of the railing, on his knees on the snow and sounding so alien that she can barely believe it’s his voice. Only shreds left from the High Lord she has come to known. All the money, power, glory, all the riches and all the magic and even he cannot bear a burden this heavy. ‘’Mother above forgive me, I cannot do this. I cannot – I cannot bring her the corpse of our son to hold. I can’t. I just can’t-’’

‘’I understand.’’

For Cassian – for Feyre – but mostly for the heart-shattering sadness with which he said our son, caressing every syllable and every vowel, Nesta rests her hand on his trembling shoulder.

‘’You don’t have to do it. I will. I will bring him to you.’’

---------------------------------read more on ao3-----------------------------------------------

#nessian #feysand #archeron sisters #acotar #acowar #acomaf #acofas #acotar fanfiction #nessian fanfiction #feysand fanfiction #nesta archeron #feyre archeron

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ladynestaarcheron · 3 years

Text

Invisible String - Chapter One

ao3 - ff.net - masterpost

back on my bullshit, y’all! got a new multi-chap. here’s a summary:

There's no love lost between Nesta Archeron and the Cauldron. It stole life from her, so she stole Death from it. But not long after the war, Nesta realizes it gave her something, too: a mate.

Nesta knows any gift the Cauldron gives her is only for the worst, and it doesn't take very much to see how, so she does her best to keep it to herself. When someone's truth magic reveals her secret, and a number of relationships pay the price, Nesta knows what she has to do: destroy the mating bond.

On her journey to new lands, Nesta learns her own soul and discovers how her fate is decided, and whether love works into that equation at all.

and without further ado here’s chapter one!

---

It is, like most things, not Nesta's fault when her mating secret gets out.

People mock her for that, she knows. Roll their eyes. She knows they think her childish, that she's not taking responsibility for her actions. But she rarely acts at all; perfectly content to sit quietly on an armchair by herself, reading a book. It's the whole rest of the world that seems determined to keep her from peace.

When she feels it dawn upon her, like a sort of snap in her soul, she innately knows something is wrong. It's not something she wants. Not that it's something she wants but doesn't think she deserves, not something she wants but not right now, just something she does not want.

First of all, the idea sickens her. Especially when she looks at Feyre. Her soul tied to another, whether she likes it or not. It's not equal, despite what her sister thinks. It can't be equal, not when there's centuries'-perhaps millenia's-worth of bloody history, of male violence and aggression. Playing into that makes her want to vomit.

Second, this is not her choice, as Feyre now loves to say. This is that thing's choice-the Cauldron. And obviously, something that hated Nesta as much as the Cauldron did doesn't want anything good for her. So it has to be the wrong choice.

And she knows it with every pulse of blood, every link of bone. He is wrong for her. It's to punish her; that's why the Cauldron did it. It looked and saw what would hurt her the most, hurt her loved ones the most. And forced him upon her.

Well. She's not going to have any hand in it. And she's kept that up for months, with not so much as a word to anyone, and avoiding him at all costs, so there's no chance of him confronting her about it, in case he suddenly changes his mind.

But Elain's got some ridiculous dinner planned, and she can't afford to risk hurting her anymore than she already has, so she goes. And he's there-they're all there.

Nesta sits by Elain, with their backs to the open window. Cassian is on the other end of the table, but he is pointedly looking anywhere but her. Especially at Mor, right next to him.

Fine. That's just fine. She doesn't care.

"This is delicious, Elain," Rhys says to her, and she beams at him, taking the dish and passing it to Azriel on her other side.

They compliment her in turn, more gentle than Nesta normally sees them. Even Amren. She knows Feyre, switching between gazing lovingly at Elain and surveying all of them from the head of the table with narrowed eyes, has something to do with it. While Nesta thinks she herself can never be too vigilant with Elain's feelings in her-er-fragile state, she's not sure she trusts Feyre to handle the situation properly.

As she tilts her head back to drink from the glass of wine she's poured herself, the gust of wind that blows in through the back window teases a strand out of her braid, and she knows she's right not to. Because Feyre stiffens, looks at her, and says, "What's that in your hair?"

Everyone turns to Nesta, and it's all she can do to keep her face from burning. "It's called a coronet," she says through gritted teeth, knowing full well that's not what Feyre means.

"No. That smell."

"Vanilla scented soap," she says coldly.

Feyre's mouth parts open a little. "Are you...mated?"

"Of course not," she snaps.

Nesta keeps her eyes determinedly away from them all-from their wide eyes, white faces. What right do they have, anyway?

Another slight breeze strengthens Nesta's scent in the room-and they can smell it on her. Smell him. And this ridiculous...this unwanted...bond.

"It's Az." Cassian's voice is flat, hollow, seems to echo in the otherwise silent room as they all register what he said.

Nesta doesn't entertain their silence. "Of course it is not," she says forcefully.

Morrigan lets out a small gasp. "It is," she says, voice catching.

Nesta swears inwardly. Her stupid truth magic. She had forgotten.

There's nowhere to look now. Not at either of her sister's faces-one desperately trying to catch her eye, one staring at her lap, unmoving; not at Rhysand and Amren looking at each other; not at Morrigan, whose eyes are flickering between her and Azriel; not Azriel himself, for she has never wanted anything to do with him and she will not start now; and most of all, not at Cassian.

In a most unbecoming display, Nesta, hands curled against the table, shoves herself backwards-Feyre flinches at the sound of the chair scraping against the floor-launches herself up, and, seething, sweeps violently out of the room.

She can barely see, for all the anger burning her vision. Can't hear, either, for the roar in her ears, but she knows her sister well enough not to be taken by surprise when she leaps out in front of her.

"Nesta!" Feyre cries. "I'm so sorry-I had no idea-I'm sorry, I-"

"When are you going to learn," she hisses, "not to intervene in matters that do not concern you?"

Feyre's eyes shine silver-this she did not expect. "I'm sorry-I thought-I thought-"

"I know what you thought."

"I'm sorry," she repeats miserably.

Nesta doesn't reply. What is she supposed to say to Elain now? She probably won't show any anger; just retreat even further into herself. Wonderful.

"And Elain..." Feyre says. "Oh, this is all my fault, Nesta!"

"I know that," she snaps.

"I just thought..."

"I'm not interested in hearing your excuses." Her voice is a particular sort of harsh she never uses with her sister.

But Feyre, to her credit, does not flinch. She only closes her mouth, nods once, and says, quiet, sorrowful, "You're right."

This irritates Nesta even more. She knows she's right. She doesn't need to be told. "Go home. Do not talk to Elain," she says.

"Are you going to talk to her?"

"I need to think. Go home."

"What about-?"

"Do as I say." Nesta marches past her and makes her way to her apartment. The walk normally takes longer; she's there within a quarter hour.

She rips her scarf off and throws it down. It doesn't crash, obviously, just falls limply on the floor. Not satisfying. Does little to assuage her anger at...everything.

Such rage she feels. At Feyre for ruining the façade she had built. At circumstance. At Azriel, for existing, for allowing a blossoming something to occur between him and Elain when he knew, he knew they had this stupid bond and obviously that could only ever end in one way: her sister's heartbreak.

And at Cassian. Whenever she leaves her apartment, she can feel his presence somewhere above her, tracking her. He'll find some way to corner her whenever she drags herself to Feyre's house, to irritate her or try to provoke her. How she'd hiss at him and hurl insults to get him to leave her alone. And now what is it that has stopped his incessant obsession of finding her wherever she hides? This thing that she didn't even choose. It's honestly disrespectful, above all. Irking her was his favorite pastime until now, only because she's been marked by some ancient thing.

Then she feels more anger at Azriel, because a part of her isn't angry, it's sorrowful and pitying, and then she realizes-that isn't her. That feeling inside of her own body-it isn't hers! It's his!

And it's...close.

Nesta whips around and rips open her door, some tiny bit of her hoping she is wrong about who it is.

She isn't.

"I came to see how you're doing," he says, in that low, cold voice of his. Cold enough to make her shiver. For all the wrong reasons. Perhaps it takes time to get used to, but they've barely ever spoken.

"I'm fine," she says shortly. Then, "You should not have come."

"We need to talk."

"We do not."

He doesn't offer a retort, only stares at her. If she couldn't feel his ever-present sadness, she wouldn't be able to read him at all.

"I would like to talk, please," he says finally.

Nesta locks her jaw but steps aside to let him pass. He sits down on one of her couches, wings drawn tight against his back-she does not have any of their big armchairs to accommodate them. She takes her seat across from him.

She has not been alone with him very often, but every time, she is struck anew by how it feels when they are together. It feels...like nothing at all. No, worse than nothing. Because this is a mistake. Some magnet inside of her is pulling them together...but she doesn't want it.

"I'm sorry this happened," he says. "I should have taken better precautions. I know we agreed...to keep this between us."

The one time they had spoken, he means. When they both felt the bond snap into place. She had not known what it was, how it worked. He had explained it all to her. Naturally, she had been horrified.

"So now...we're...we're just... we have to..."

"No," he had said firmly. "We don't have to do anything. The mating bond...it's always going to be there. A part of you-us. But we can just ignore it."

"We can ignore it?" Nesta asks, thinking of when she had watched her sister and her own mate, before they had gotten together. Even then Nesta had thought their connection remarkable, how they moved in sync with each other.

She'd been horrified, even without knowing any magic was involved.

"We can," he said. Hesitated. "It's...it might be...there'll always be a pull. But we don't...care for each other like that. So it shouldn't really affect you too much."

"And you?" she'd asked.

"It won't affect me either," he said forcefully.

But he had been wrong. It has affected her-and now it's ruined her.

"What other precautions would you have taken?" she asks. "Was there something we weren't doing?" For she knows they did everything they could. They kept apart, never even spoke about each other to anyone. Everything taken care of...but her meddling baby sister.

He doesn't answer, but she can feel him begrudgingly accept her words. How she loathes this-this invasive, parasitic feeling. It's not as miserable as it might be, of course, neither of them are Daemati, so they aren't constantly bombarded with each other's thoughts like Feyre and Rhysand, but his presence in her mind...his emotions...like she never has a minute to herself anymore.

And he's so cold. Every part of him is so cold. Even when he's happy-when he's listening to Elain chatter about her garden or training with Cassian or doing whatever the hell with Morrigan, whatever she does in her spare time-even then it's a detached, guarded sort of feeling.

"I wanted to tell you I understand you're upset, but there's no reason why things have to change."

Nesta looks at him sharply. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"We are still in agreement regarding our own relationship," he says evenly, "and I know...well, this doesn't have to affect any other relationships we may have."

"Did you come here for reassurance from me? Because you're not going to get any," she says, blunt.

"I believe I was reassuring you."

"You forget," Nesta says, a grim set to her face, "I know when you're lying."

He gives her a rueful smile. "So you do."

They sit in silence for a few minutes before Nesta says, "Look, Elain just needs some space. She's private. But I'll talk to her tomorrow and explain."

He doesn't answer. Why he bothers pretending like he doesn't fancy her sister around her, she doesn't quite understand.

It's not that Nesta wants him to have a relationship with Elain. It's just that she needs Elain to know that there is nothing going on between the two of them and there never has been and there never will be. She tells him as much.

"You are at perfect liberty to tell your sister anything you desire, of course," he says, but she can feel his relief.

"All right," she says, standing up. "That's settled. It'll be fine. But they'll all see we've been this way for months and nothing has happened so nothing needs to change."

"Right."

"Your coming here to speak to me is an outlier," she says. "You should tell them that."

"Would you like me to tell someone?"

Nesta clenches her fists. His tone is careful, measured, but it doesn't matter, because she knows what he's asking.

And her answer is no. Not even a little bit.

"Tell Feyre," she says, "so she doesn't get any more prying ideas."

He nods his head once. He doesn't like how she speaks of Feyre, she knows, but he doesn't say anything, which she appreciates.

Besides, she realizes, pleasantly surprised, he's not too happy with her either.

---

Nesta lets herself into Feyre's riverfront home after a trek through the gardens reveals Elain is inside. Mercifully, she makes it to her room without bumping into anyone.

Perhaps it's less mercy and more everyone is avoiding her, but no matter. She doesn't care. In fact, she prefers it this way.

"Elain?" she calls, knocking softly on her door. She opens it slowly and peeks her head in.

Her sister is lying on her bed, still in her nightthings. She stirs as Nesta sits down next to her.

"Nesta," she says sleepily.

"You're still in bed?" Perhaps her optimism from last night's conversation with Azriel is misplaced.

"No, no, I was just taking a nap."

She's...lying. Elain is lying to her.

And she's in bed at one o' clock in the afternoon.

"Oh," Nesta says. "Well. I just came to talk to you..."

"There's nothing to say," Elain says.

Nesta bites the inside of her cheek. "Yes there is. I need to tell you that Azriel and I are not in a relationship."

"Oh, Nesta-"

"And we don't ever want to be in one."

"It's none of my business, of course-"

"Don't be ridiculous," Nesta says, slightly bewildered. Elain had very much considered Nesta's two or three suitors entirely her business when they were silly human girls; why should this be any different? "But it's not real, anyway. It's a mistake."

Elain goes very still. "It's not," she says quietly.

"Of course it is."

"It is not."

Right. Because the Cauldron loved Elain. So Elain...what, worships that vile thing like everyone else here?

"I think I'm going to shower," Elain says, voice falsely bright. "Are you going to spend the day here?"

Nesta starts at the sudden dismissal. "I...no."

"Oh," Elain says, enough disappointment in her tone that anyone who doesn't know her as well as Nesta does would believe it. "Well, I'll see you soon. And please don't worry, Nesta, dear. Everything's quite all right."

With that, she hurries into the bathroom and shuts the door behind her.

So perhaps, Nesta muses to herself on her walk home, she was wrong about how much time she should give Elain. Perhaps tomorrow she'll be more willing to talk.

Except she isn't.

And not the next day, either, and not the whole week after.

And Cassian's not springing up around the city anymore.

It's only Feyre who talks to her, too much guilt and uncertainty in her darting eyes telling her far more than her words do when Nesta asks her would-be-casually why her Inner Circle no longer stalks various of her favorite haunts and why does she think Elain has once again taken ill and is missing their lunch.

Well. Feyre might stutter through a non-answer, but Nesta knows exactly what the matter is. And she might not know how to solve it herself, but she knows who does.

So three weeks after her secret is let out, Nesta books passage to the Spring Court.

---

Chapter Two

#nesta archeron #nessian #azriel #acotar #so glad to finally be sharing this!#i think of this chapter as more of a prologue really #anyway it'll be short! only four chapters or so

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dutifullybitchypeach · 3 years

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My two cents worth for the first six chapters and some reasoning around IC and Nesta. All my own personal opinion. Read if you want but it's just my general thoughts. Please, please don't flip if you disagree. I love Nesta and the darkness she is in right now and her behaviour is taking over this sassy no nonsense Queen and it needs to change.

THIS INCLUDES SPOILERS.

....................

Is the House of Wind a prison...technically no. Nesta just does not have the ability to fly or winnow. And no one is on standby to be her taxi. She can leave by walking. Amren threw her that challenge on purpose. She's not alone, Az and Cassian live there. And the Priestesses. Yes it has dark memories. Yes. I know that and I take it on board.

On a side note, it's irritating to hear 'I'm not your prisoner" from Nesta (who I like!!!!) I think of Azriel, Feyre, all the Fae Under the Mountain, even Elide 💗. Then again everyone's idea of prison is different. But the fact remains. She CAN leave. It's just bollocks hard. For a reason

But we know it's what she needs. We know that. We don't have to like it. Not one likes the reality. The ultimatum is uncomfortable and harsh. Our way or fuck off. They are not suggesting manual labour or degrading her. They suggest training, food, working in a library, purpose, being part of something. This doesn't sound bad to me. It just sucks it comeing across as an order. But this is Nesta's POV and she doesn't do requests or pretty please. The fact I got riled up reading it is a compliment to Mass. I had to take a major step back and reassess. Nesta sees everything as an attack. And no that is not her fault. Stay with me! I agree people enjoy provoking Nesta ( Rhys, Morrigan, Cassian) and then get affronted when she bites back. At some point I'd enjoy her retaliation akin to her ripping their head off :) And their vow to never go there again.

The IC 'review' is what annoys me. The "we" will decide where you go from here if you play ball. My hope 🤞 is that Nesta will TELL THEM where she will go/what she will do with sass. But right now sitting on a rock instead of trying to train is fucking juvenile (Again I stress I like Nesta). She hates her power as far as I can tell. But she is so low she can't see the wood from the trees. Or the hand that is been given to her.

Does Feyre have a right to be embarrassed. Yes. I'd die of shame if my sister (I have 3 btw) kept at that again and again and again all on my families dime. Without even being polite or respectful to anyone. She's only ever provided for Nesta. Period. Not to mention being a high lady with all the responsibilities that entails. Living her own life (well earned) and well life in general! I mean Jesus, Nesta is not her only priority. She maybe ours lol! But Feyre has 101 things going on. Give her credit. She tried with Nesta several times. Gave her space and time which Nesta wanted while still making the effort to reach out. Nesta needs to acknowledge that. Feyre was bankrolling her self destructive lifestyle and it had to stop.

The whole "your behaviour reflects badly on us". Well yes it does. Nesta doesn't get a free pass. The whole of Pyrithian is rebuilding and our girl is pissing away money. That's not even hers! Her behaviour does undermine the Court, folks must eye roll when IC lay down the law when your sister/ sister in law is prancing around being a with a big fuck you. Everyone is broken and rebuilding. And it's a slap in the face. Is the saving face irrelevant to Nestas issues, yes! But is Feyre allowed to feel fucked over, yes! Sisters say shit when they fight. Arguments are not flawless debates. Their emotive and bring out the worst in people. Feyre darling is feeling the pressure of being high lady and it came out all wrong. Especially when it's your sister acting up.

And Nesta never tried (as far as Feyre can tell) WE know Nesta IS trying, and surviving every day is a battle. But Feyre doesn't. Why would she. Nesta doesn't speak to her. But their relationship is so toxic that it's beyond Feyre to get it. And that is not her fault. NO ONE is perfect. There is only so much responsibility Feyre can CONTINUALLY take.

Rhys being there. I have a feeling that a male will not let his pregnant mate anywhere near someone he is afraid of. It's instinctive. Someone who hasn't trained to control their powers especially. He is on High Lord mode cause guess what he is a High Lord. This is his court and the people in it his responsibility. Not to mention the oncoming drama with the queens on the horizon and general court bullshit. Does he abuse his position of power.... well in this world the HL have the power. Everyone is answerable to one. Even Amren obeys the rules. Nesta doesn't/won't recognize that. Which is rare. They tricked and lied to get her "consent" surprise surprise a dick move from Rhysand/Feyre. We know they will do that for the "greater good". Lie, steal etc all in the name of saving the day. He screwed Morrigan over in front of her ass Father for flip sake! My point is the NC stability is his priority now more than ever if impending fatherhood is on the way. It's no surprise he wants Cassian to take on more responsibility. Nesta is a liability cause she is AWOL. It's worth noting he had this plan for months but Feyre refused preferring to give Nesta space and the opportunity to decide for herself what she wanted. So we could assume if Rhys had his way Amren and Nesta would have still been friends and it would have been far different. Amren would have been by her side. Do I condone his domineering behaviour, no not in a million years. And neither did Feyre. Will he apologise? Probably not he's an arrogant ass. And wanted to control the room. Fact. He wants/needs Nesta on board the team to bolster his ranks. She is that powerful. We KNOW he will do anything to protect his family (baby on the way).

Morrigan and her nasty comment on sending Nesta to The Court of Nightmares. Cassian acknowledges it's an insult but also the truth. That's a harsh fact on how Nesta is percieved right now. But I believe she wouldn't just thrive there, she would CONQUER ;) I don't know if Morrigan is referring to the people that abused her or the "type" of people that live in Hewn City...? Will we give HER the benefit of the doubt... hmmm.

Morrigan and that comment on good people giving Nesta the benefit of the doubt...that's Morrigans issue. She never gave Eris the benefit of the doubt and yet he proved her wrong with Keir. She's all over the place as a result . And she's been lying for 5 centuries. To her family. Cassian said he values the raw honesty that he has with Morrigan. Wow is he going to get a shock some day. Nesta may be a bitch but at least she's an honest one. And Morrigan knows it which must rattle her to no end. Point is Mor isn't supposed to be in this story very much and Nesta never really cared for her opinion anyway. So neither should we. I've checked out of Mor. Knowing she won't give Azriel closure or honesty just makes me not consider her opinion. It suits her to keep Nesta down in the gutter so her lie can continue.

Amren - her behaviour. I have to remind myself Amren is OLD, a stint in the Dungeon is probably a standard response! Her idea after the Summer Court fiasco and the jewels was to go there and crush them. Amren is by nature harsh. Which is why she gets on with Nesta the most. Cassian tells us she cares. Nesta can't see this. Her comment on Nestas sex life in ACOFAS. People ran with that. Fae lifestyles always kind of disgusted her. She wasn't Fae so bodily functions were an alien concept. Now she's Fae she's slightly horrified. Also no one else has much to say on Nesta's bedroom antics. Cause it's a non issue Mass doesn't do slut shaming. So neither should we. Speaking as a woman also here.

Elaine - we know Elaine craves peace and quiet. Confrontation is not her thing. Being there would mean Nesta would use her as a crutch, and I'm not sure Elaine wouldn't cave. Nesta pushed her away on purpose and Elaine choose to try and find some sort of contentment. That's her right and choice. Agree or disagree. She walked away or decided she can't deal with Nestas difficult behaviour. I don't know. Or is she oblivious to the situation ?! Who knows. Elaine is an enigma! It's the first 6 chapters! Right now they are two different people and have been drifting apart since ACOWR. Nesta is a dichotomy of pushing people away and hurt when they stop trying. It's exhausting for the people that have to deal with it. Who are not perfect and have their own issues and lives. Elaine has stepped back from this situation. Because either she recognizes it needs to happen or cannot sway the majority. Though I think Elaine did say something to Feyre, cause when Nesta pressed her she refused to say what Elaine thought. Just that she wasn't there and not part of the issue. Feyre is high handed when it comes to her sisters. Because that's the role they allowed her. Nesta is fighting back. And Feyre takes it personally. Which is only natural. They're sisters.

Cassian! Ah Cassian. He was spectacularly rejected and being around Nesta is a constant reminder. That's enough to make me cringe in a corner. He acknowledges he stayed away cause it hurt too much. He's a soldier and has serious self discipline. He has no idea how his behaviour/comments hurt her until she confronts him. Deliver him a few home truths. Another well deserved kick in the balls. Flirting with Mor, not sure his behaviour there has ever changed. He keeps it normal cause being around Nesta gives him the shakes!! Lol. He is slack jawed after Nesta and wants her badly, passion we know is big thing for them. It ignites them. Raw and real. Recognising Morrigan is aesthetically beautiful is just a fact. We know she's a looker. So what. Meh to this issue some people have.

We know from spoilers they start training and communicating and Mass is a Nessain ship so I'm excited to see this grow and flourish! I've read spoilers here on these two so I've no qualms.

Cassian for me is right. He and others have been through similar situations before so can empathise. But until she answers him back without snapping he won't be able to be that shoulder to lean on or turn too. He's not going to be her Prince though. Nesta is her own Queen!

I've read some spoilers on her friendships and I'm so happy. I've no idea how it will go but it says to me that the IC have a block when it comes to Nesta and don't see her the way others do and Nesta opens up to people who don't have a predisposed prejudice.

Also the IC have no idea how Nesta is going to react at any stage. It's like walking around on eggshells. Why would anyone actively choose to be around someone like that. That and very obvious fact they are BUSY AF. They don't have time to have a daily bollicking from Nesta. Yet all fall in when the plan is announced. Make what you will of that.

Some further musings:

Nesta being reminded she has to be respectful to Clotho and the priestesses is sobering. Like wow, people can't trust you will have basic manners. Again I know this is Feyre saying it but Christ to worry about that. Will be interesting with Gwyn and that friendship and a nice reality check for the IC.

I spent 4 God damn books understanding Rhys motives. He's a prick yes. Which I enjoy. But the bastard people are making him out to be I don't agree. Half of Pyrethian hates/hated him, Nesta hating him won't stress him. Or her for that matter. They have a 2 people they both care about in common and will just have to deal.

Training in Illyria, well Nesta is powerful, training in the mountains is probably damage control if she explodes. And a change of scenery from her prison!

Rhys was controlled for 50 years, Amren escaped worlds to be free. I don't believe they want to control Nesta.

Families are messy and fucked up. The intervention is a perfect example of how arseways it can get.

Azriel being Azriel I'm not sure about anything with him right now. I've read the snippets and spoilers and I'm all over the place. He is one of my favourites. FYI when I say IC I never mean Azriel I don't know why but I always imagine he finds it just plain drama and avoids it at all costs. Nesta is drinking and gambling away her life. Okay! Nesta is now training and we are all on board to help. Okay! Nesta is a powerful Queen and we are all afraid. Okay! Nesta has turned Cassian into a drooling mess and hes ass is hers. Excellent ;)

Sisters! They need to deal and respect each others independence. They are all in the wrong. It's just annoying at this stage. Personally I'll rip into my sisters when I need to but usually get a red mist when anyone else does. Even if they are in the wrong. I have a habit of always defending them.

So overall the angst killed me in the first 6 chapters. Did Rhys dominant shite irritate me? Yes. Do I want Nesta to make it clear she's not a pawn in his/their world? Yes. In spectacular fashion please.

Did Feyre handle it well? No. Does she ever deal with Nesta well? No. Perhaps only when Nesta is more inclined to talk. Which is rare. The ultimatum we know from Cassian sickened Feyre she recognizes it for what it is it but really cannot see any other option. Her fault or a combination of factors you decide. It was hyper tense situation we all just wanted to get through.

Would we be so angry if this was a soft approach headed by Elaine/Feyre/Amren? Would Nesta even react?

Cassian compared Nesta to a sleeping dragon who has just been woken up. Nesta needed a kick in teeth. A major reality check. Life in Pyrethian is hard. This a fae world. She is angry and incensed they have dared to 'interfere' and 'assume' she will be controlled. I want her to tackle her demons, confront her fears her issues with herself and others and live! Live! I've no idea what she wants and can't wait to find out.

***I've read some spoilers on the end. The rumours and the actual basic plot ending. I'm like Mass I love a HEA. And am hopeful I'll be satisfied. I had a similar theory when I heard the pregnancy rumour. A move by Nesta that would never have anyone doubt her.

#acosf spoilers #a court of silver flames #acofs #nessian #nesta archeron #nesta and azriel brotp

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booksapphic · 7 years

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Summary: Mesta fic based on the prompt "It's 2am, you're craving chocolate cake and neither of us can sleep, so why don't we bake in our underwear?" Mostly fluff, some smut. Length: 2k Rating: Mature Read it on AO3 Notes: This was written for my own personal enjoyment and stress relief, so it’s not as good/edited/polished as it normally would be. ya’ll get to see what my first drafts look like lol. sorry, but also i don’t care bc it’s cute and sweet and i love this and them. ALSO this same prompt was originally written by the light of my life @rileylefae, and i read her cute lil fluff drabble and “....... okay but what if they fuck” “anna-” “too late.” You can read her original here.

Nesta turned over in bed, still awake hours after climbing underneath the covers. It had been a long day of dealing with the worst denizens of the Court of Nightmares, helping Azriel torture them while their queen looked on. Her and her wife had collapsed into bed together once their work was done, falling asleep in their underwear, too tired to put on pajamas. And even though the moon had long since risen over Velaris, her brain would rather think about chocolate cake than sleep.

She sat up with a groan and blinked her eyes in the starlight coming in through the window. Maybe she should admit defeat, bother Cassian into taking her down to Velaris to wile away the night…

Mor’s arms wrapped lazily around her waist, tugging at her until Nesta glanced over. “Hello, moonbeam.”

Nesta brushed a strand of hair from Mor’s face, appreciating her sleepy smile, her soft eyes, the way the sheets and her pink lace underwear only partially covered her mostly-naked body. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

She captured Nesta’s hand, pressing a kiss to the middle of her palm. “I was having a dream where Rhys and Cassian and Az were singing and dancing about chocolate cake. I think it’s better that you did.”

Nesta gave a sheepish smile. “That’s my fault too. I started craving chocolate cake hours ago and it’s keeping me up.”

“Well, if you’re craving chocolate cake and neither of us can sleep anyway, why don’t we bake?” Mor said.

Nesta shook her head, smiling, and didn’t protest when her mate pulled her out of bed.

“Do you even know how to make a cake?” Nesta realized as Mor put various packages on the kitchen counter.

“Mmhm,” she said her normal cheeriness dampened by sleep. “We used to do family dinner nights where we cooked the whole meal together, from appetizer to dessert. The thought was always to give the staff off for a night, to do the chores ourselves, but we normally just ended up eating things as they became ready.”

“That sounds… fun,” Nesta said. “Why don’t you do them anymore?”

“We stopped when Rhys-when he had to go. And then he came back, and there was a war coming and we were all still healing from his time gone, and-we never picked it back up.”

Nesta considered that for a second as Mor washed her hands. “Maybe it’s time to bring it back,” she said. “Assuming you can make a cake.”

Mor flicked her with water from her still damp hands, laughing when Nesta hissed. “We’re making the cake. So wash up and start melting this chocolate.”

Nesta did as she was told, pressing a quick kiss to Mor’s lips as she passed to remind her wife who was in charge.

“Wait,” Nesta said, halfway through breaking the chocolate bars. “Why bother making chocolate cake when we can just eat the chocolate?”

“Nesta, wait-”

Nesta popped a square of chocolate in her mouth, and spit it back out a second later. “What the fuck is wrong with this chocolate?”

Mor laughed. “It’s baking chocolate. You have to add sugar to it.”

Nesta looked at her wife, somewhere between horrified and angered. “Why would someone intentionally make chocolate that doesn’t taste good.”

“It gives you more control in your baking, to decide how sweet you want whatever you’re making,” she explained.

“It’s ridiculous,” Nesta said, deeply betrayed.

“It’s why we’re making the cake and not just eating the chocolate,” Mor said, still smiling.

Nesta stopped working the chocolate to watch her mate, the way she seemed softer here, with only the two of them awake. For once the walls she kept up, so bright and powerful like sunlight, so that no one could even see they were meant to keep them out—for once they were down. There was a streak of flour on her cheek that matched the brightness of her hair, the curls rumpled instead of falling in perfect ringlets. It was the Mor that only she ever saw, and even then, it was rare.

“You’re staring,” Mor said, but the words were only just teasing. Nesta didn’t doubt she had felt everything she had been thinking through the bond.

“You like it when I do,” Nesta said, matching her tone.

“I like what it means, more,” she said, love radiating through their bond, and Nesta decided that this Mor, with her hands in the bowl of batter, shining like sunlight not in self-protection but in boundless love—she wanted to see her more.

Somehow, they managed to get the chocolate melted and the batter mixed and the cake in the oven before ending up with Nesta sitting on the counter and Mor standing between her legs, the leftover batter in a bowl between them.

Nesta scooped up her fourth fingerful of batter as Mor took her fifth, and they both licked off the batter at the same time with matching “mmmm”s. Nesta laughed and Mor giggled, drunk on sugar and lack of sleep and the other’s presence. They were still smiling as they leaned over the bowl between Nesta's legs and kissed, all teeth and laughter, Mor's hands spread on Nesta's thighs. They only pulled back, flushed and breathless, when the timer for the cake went off.

Neither of them moved for the oven, instead watching each other in the dim light.

"We could make frosting to go with it," Mor suggested, and Nesta nodded eagerly. Anything to keep us here, in this moment, a little while longer.

Mor was the one to pull the cake from the oven and all the ingredients and materials for frosting from the cupboards so Nesta wouldn't have to move from her perch. It was only logical; she was the one who knew what they needed for the frosting anyway, and the kitchen was small enough that the two of them moving around at once would lead to them bumping into each other. It had nothing to do with the fact that Mor could feel Nesta's eyes tracing over her hips and ass when she bent down to pull out the confectioner's sugar.

They were working more closely together this time, the frosting needing only one bowl as opposed to the many they had used for the cake. Mor switched out the empty batter bowl in Nesta's lap for a clean one, and unwrapped the butter while Nesta opened the container of cocoa powder. She jabbed the tablespoon measure in, and brown powder exploded over the counter and Nesta.

She blinked at Mor, offended. "You'd think for all I love chocolate, it would be a little bit nicer to me."

Mor did her best to force down the laugh threatening to bubble out of her, and instead gave a sympathetic nod.

Between the two of them, the frosting was done quickly. Mor reached for some of the finished product, but Nesta caught her wrist.

"Oh no," Nesta said. "I've learned my lesson. You only get that once it's on the cake." She moved the bowl to the opposite side, where Mor wouldn't be able to reach without going around her first. Nesta motioned for the cake where it was still sitting on the opposite counter.

Mor didn't move. "We can't frost the cake yet; it's still hot. If we try now, the frosting will melt right off."

Nesta frowned. "How long until it'll be cooled?"

"An hour at least."

Why does baking have to take so long? "We’re going to have to find something to pass the time."

Mor smiled in a way that made Nesta's breath catch. "I can think of something."

That was Nesta's only warning before Mor's hand was under her black shift, parting Nesta's thighs with only a touch, her finger against her clit.

Fuck, it felt good. Nesta hadn't been planning on sex tonight, but she didn't know now how she couldn't have, with her mate standing there in that pink lace ensemble that only barely covered her, smiling like a vixen. The suddenness of the action only intensified Nesta’s desire, and she moved her hips against Mor's hand in encouragement.

Mor stopped the motion of her fingers in the same moment, and Nesta whined, but Mor immediately moved to catch and spread her slick, and the whine changed to a moan when she hooked a finger inside Nesta, giving only a single pump before pulling back out.

"Mor-" Nesta gasped. "Fuck, Mor, if I had known you were going to fuck me like this we could have skipped the cake altogether-"

Mor captured her words with a kiss. "And if I had known you would have looked so hot sitting on a counter in nothing but your underwear, I would have taught you baking sooner." She pressed a thumb against her clit to emphasize her words.

Nesta moaned again, and Mor's movements started anew, a finger inside her and another against her clit, her tongue and teeth against her neck. It was too much, all at once, and Nesta was powerless to do anything but fist her hands in Mor's curls and move her hips in time with Mor's fingers.

This female before her, this queen who had fought for years to be no one's but her own—she was Nesta's, too. And even with everything she had done for her freedom—she was willing to share it, if the person she was sharing it with was Nesta.

Even through her lust, Nesta pushed that emotion through past their fallen shields, down the bond. I love you, I love you, I love you, it pulsed, and Mor snapped her head up from Nesta's neck to make eye contact, her fingers stilling.

And even as her body begged for more, they watched each other, both breathless but barely breathing.

"I love you," Mor said, quietly, gently.

Nesta didn't say it back. Mor knew better than to expect she would. Nesta's love showed itself in other ways; through the softness and laughter and smiles, the soft, steady, light shining from her that too often went unnoticed.

"I love you, my moonbeam," Mor said, and kissed her mate.

It started out as soft as the sentiment, then quickly deepened as both of them remembered what they had been doing a minute before. Mor's fingers scraped at the fabric of Nesta's shift, trying to pull it off, and Nesta helped it up and over her head. And when she was naked, Mor stopped for just a moment to look at her and Nesta took the moment to appreciate Mor's silk robe hanging half off her shoulders, the lace underneath the same color as the flush across her skin. It was only when Nesta sent her lust down the bond that Mor leaned in and flicked her tongue against Nesta's nipple, pressed a kiss to her sternum, above her navel-

And then a stroke of her tongue up to her clit.

Nesta fell back against the counter at the sensation. If before was too much, now was just as bad, and Nesta crossed her ankles over Mor's back, pushing her closer, closer—please, closer—fingers scrambling for purchase against the smooth granite, Mor too far away for her to hold.

"Mor-" she gasped desperately. There had been once, when they had first gotten together, that Nesta had been silent in bed, too nervous and closed off to make a sound. It had only been upon Mor's continuous and enthusiastic encouragement—I want to hear you—that Nesta had finally let go. She's been thanking her mate for it ever since. "Mor, please, I'm so close, please, your fingers-"

Mor obeyed immediately, a finger curling inside her as her tongue continued to work Nesta's clit. A few more strokes and-

Nesta's back arched and she cried out Mor's name, her mate stroking her through it with her fingers, pulling her face away to watch her wife come from her touch.

And when it was over, and Nesta was left a breathless, sweaty mess on the kitchen counter, Mor slid her hand out from between her legs and reached into the frosting bowl Nesta had been so bent on protecting. She licked off the glob of homemade frosting with a smile. "Delicious.”

#a court of thorns and roses #acotar #acotar fanfiction #a court of mist and fury #acomaf #acowar #mesta #mesta fanfiction #mor x nesta #nesta x mor #acomaf fanfiction #my fic

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