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grapecaseschoices · 13 days

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OC in 15: Kendis Crawford-Louel

rules: share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

I was tagged by @deepinifhell and am woefully delayed in getting on this.

Tagging: @thedeadthree @thee-morrigan @nat-seal-well @nightingalesighs @laufire @lusavors @cypresswrites @thelittlestspider @mt07131 @roxaro @quaxorascal @tuomniia @andthatisnotfake @sunshineandviolets @sapphic-story [tagged fifteen peeps! i think! and as always no pressure!]

Most of the dialogue from old rp stuff repurposed for this meme, some from unposted stuff, and a few I made up for this. (As warning: some cussing)

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1] However, strangeness of the situation proves that the metal gates aren’t fully down around the castle, because she bites out, bluntly, “No! No. I’m not okay.” Her breath hitches. “Don’t. D-don’t follow that up with another question. I thought we talked about this.”

By ‘we’ and ‘talked’, she meant the time she summarily shut down his last attempt to dig deeper. It should’ve been obvious by now that Kendis didn’t like accepting what they insisted on dishing out.

2] "Yook, Kenny, yook!"

"What'm I lookin' at, teeny tyke? --- Well, now. Look at that! Is that me? In fact, I know that's me. That's the second prettiest person in this entire art of prettiness. And is the one right next to me you? It's got to be 'cause that's definitely the prettiest person in this."

"You siwwy, Kenny. Boys not be pretty!"

"Am I? Well, if you're sayin' that's right then I'll consider it. But being silly doesn't mean I'm wrooooong~. Boys can be very pretty, kiddo. People can be whatever they wanna be so long as they're --- kind, yeah? And you're the kindest, prettiest, most talented teeny tyke, I've ever known. Oh, now you're laughin' at me, huh? Well, Ima show you 'bout that teeny brat."

3] "Who invented white allosexuals, like for real? Someone return this woman to sender."

4] "We're not even four days into a fucking New Year and this shit stain is stinkin' up the place."

5] "And I get that it's different things for different people. But I rather lose a place, than lose the people that matter with it."

6] "I know you've probs been lied to lately. But you're really not cute."

7] "He obvi picked bad pics on purpose, you Italian booger."

8] "I'm like Siri. Except better looking, smarter, much louder, and not an AI slave to a hegemonic hell-hole that stole the name of one of the best fruits. Like ever."

9] "Um, excuse you. I'm not reckless. What 'bout me screams the self sacrifice type?"

10] "Hey. Hey! Look at me! That's it ... slow breaths. I've got you. Do you -- you're okay, slowly ... Do you remember what I told you last week? Just nod. I've got you. I've got ya. You remember this? That's my pinky. We pinky promised -- the biggest and most bindable way to lock in a promise, yeah? And you may not know this about me, but I don't make promises that I can't see through. I said you're gonna be okay. And I mean that. I'm gonna make it happen, okay? I'll -- I'm here now and I'll be there at the end. Prommy, prommy, prommy, prommy, pro -- oh, a laugh, huh? Ha. That's what I like hearing. Leave the worryin' to me, dude."

11] "If this human version of a mutated ingrown armpit hair follicle don't get up off my face in the next 10, 9, 8, 7, …."

12] “Ow! Fudging snowcaps! That bitch hur –” They stopped mid-yelling but simply began complaining underneath their breath.

13] "I'm --," Kendis gestured sharply with their right hand as if orchestrating their feelings or encouraging Morgan to jump in. Not that they gave her much of a chance when they quickly added, "You know."

"You're?" Morgan smirked, "You know? I don't think I do."

"Yes. You do."

"Nah, nothing's ringing a bell."

"Well, that's probably all the brain damage you got from the last fight."

"Right. I remember that. The fight where I got stabbed instead of you."

Kendis' nostrils flare and their jaw clenches so tightly Morgan almost feels a sympathy twinge in her own teeth.

14]

“Then why won’t you tell me you love me? Maybe a little reward so I can be brave?”

“‘Cause a face full of kisses wasn’t enough? Wow.”

“Sure, it was nice but this is a big deal. I think I deserve a bigger reward.”

“Aren’t rewards for after you actually do the stuff?”

“You’re right. How about you say ‘I love you’ just because you do!”

“You look cute when you pout an’ you’re gonna be late.”

“Please, Kendis? We’ve been dating for a while now and … That is – Unless – You don’t.”

“I don’t what?”

“You know you are always avoiding it, saying how you feel about me, and you’ve never come close to saying the words .. and sometimes I’ve wondered … I’ve been very patient the last several months –”

“Then keep on with that.”

“Okay. Okay. Kendis. Do you love me?”

“Can we talk about this later? This ain’t as black an’ white as you’re making it look like.”

“But it is. It is a very black and white question with a very black and white answer. Do you love me?”

“Austyn. Austyn? Stop that! What’re you doin’? Don’t. You’re – fuckin’ –”

“These are the notes I wrote you. Look at them. Look how far they reach on your floor. Look!”

“No”

“You never even wrote it back. I kept saying it and writing it and you never gave anything back … B-because … because you don’t.”

“I never gave – We’re not doin’ this right now. Again. Why’re you doin’ this right now? We don’t even have the time to really get into -”

“What is there to get into? It’s yes or no, Kendis! If you say that, then it will be all settled.”

“Maybe stop cuttin’ me off an’ let me speak.”

“You cut me off first! And don’t you start raising your voice at me!”

“You started that shit first, yourself! What is with you?”

“Why are you acting like I am overreacting? I’m not! It isn’t wrong to want to know whether or not my best friend is in love with me. It isn’t wrong to know if you really see a future with us together or if you’ve been just tagging along because I’m one of the very few other out girls in school.”

“You called me your best friend.”

“What?”

“You should know how I feel. You say I don’t give you nothin’ back but that’s a damn lie an’ you know it.”

“Then why don’t you say it? I say it all the time!”

“But are you really meanin’ it?”

“Uh - Wha – EXCUSE ME!?!!”

“Are you? How can I say those words to someone that's not a sure thing? You talk a lot about a future that ain’t here but what you really got to say for the now.”

“Wow. Asshole.”

“Takes one.”

“Fine. Don’t love me. I think it’s best if we take some space right now and reconsider our priorities.”

“Austyn. I didn’t mean – Austyn this is silly.”’

“Is it?”

“Why're we even doin’ this right now? What about the formal?”

“Don’t call me unless I call you.”

“Austyn!”

“Don’t.”

“You know what? Fuck you.”

“Apparently not even in the next few months, asshole.”

15]

Kendis narrowed her eyes but forced herself to take a deep breath, “You. Bumped into. Me!” Honestly, that was a generous and kind assessment. If Kendis had been human, she doubted she would’ve been able to stand with only a headache and a bad mood to show for it.

“Yeah, because you slowed down when you weren’t supposed to! I was keeping pace with you, speeding by the way, and then allva sudden –”

“I know you’re not blaming me for any of this, let alone your speeding, you Stranger Things reject.”

“Excuse me?”

Kendis felt that anger again – no, they could almost taste it. It was just wafting off the air from the shifter in front of them. It was churning up their stomach like sick, this anger that wasn’t their rage.

It was restless, like her’s was, but was also too hard, too cold.

Not right, not right. The warning blared in Kendis’ gut. Something was off and they needed to leave.

“Don’t!” They warned when the person reached out to grab at them, clearly making Kendis ready to skedaddle. The sharp yell struck out like a roll of thunder, loud and final enough to make this person hesitate, before Kendis’ voice dropped into a growl, “Don’t. Touch. Me.” [x]

#insight: kendis crawford louel #oc: kendis crawford louel #kendis x austyn #i wrote this great exchange for morgan and kendis but it deleted so fuck that #effing tumblr #grapecase writes #also i had a bunch of people tagged but it didnt save and idr who i tagged and i dont remember who has been tagged before so #im winging it and if i missed you im sorry. just do it and tag me. and i double tag you im sorry #as always no pressure #the longer stuff is toward the end #so long post #i'm not satisfied with number two but i've decided to stop fussing

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wingsdippedingold · 1 month

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ACOTAR fic ab Rhysand’s Sister: When Stars cry: She fixes the Night Court

Ok I’m actually pretty excited to write about Rhysand’s sister

So far the plot goes:

Pre story: in her youth she began experiencing visions about the future. She was initially close with Rhysand and the other bat boys but in time she slowly grew distaste for them after seeing the state of the Night Court under Rhysand’s rule. I plan to include flashbacks to her childhood to show the contrast between her gentle nature then and the woman she becomes, but her heart is still buried under her anger.

Story:When her mother is killed by Tamlin’s father she was kidnapped (they glamoured a random fae girl to look like her and sent her head to Rhysand to trick him and their father). She was locked up by Tamlin’s father so he could use her power, but because he was killed she was forgotten about and lost.

She’s spent 500 years locked away deep in the Spring Court in a coma-like state, drifting between the dreams of the creatures throughout all of Prythian. Her magic was still left in traces and its said you can hear the sound of her harp in the wind of the night court, as well as in the dreams of those she knew in childhood (she basically haunts Rhysand’s from his sleep) .

Tamlin eventually stumbles upon her and she decides she needs to take the night court over from Rhysand. She starts with the Illyrian mountains- negotiating and helping the women. After lengthy work she gains their support in overthrowing Rhysand.

Once she does kick him out she moves the CoN above the mountains (seriously the Night Court is the biggest one and they can’t find any room for the CoN???).

She becomes friends with Nesta (there is a chance they date), potentially Elain (I want them to bond over seer abilities and bring out the creepy in elain). I doubt Feyre since she’s devoted to Rhysand and it’ll be hard to undo her character assassination but I can try. She may have a thing with azriel rekindle but she’ll have to make him see the error of the NC since he’s a loyal Rhysander.

Idk if I want to keep her and Tamlin as a strong platonic relationship or let it turn into a romantic one. I think their growth and moving past Tamlin playing a part in her mothers murder and her imprisonment would be really interesting. We also don’t see enough f/m friendship in ACOTAR. They’ll definitely have a strong bond regardless.

other things about her:

She has beef with the cauldron and the mother and denounces the mating bond (still deciding If I want to add a plot line about that)

In youth she was a friend of Tamlin, like her brother.

She was an avid musician

She often ran away from home to spend time outside of her father’s confines, often visit other courts and enjoyed spending time in the spring court.

She also often snuck out into the CoN and stole food from the manor to give to the little kids.

She completed the blood rite to prove herself to her father

Her visions were developed because she has seer-like powers, but not exactly, more like foresight. This is how she saw Rhysand’s and the night courts transgressions during her imprisonment.

She recieved Illyrian training from Cassian and Azriel.

She, like Rhysand, is very powerful. She also shares Daemeti abilities.

When she was born she was considered an abomination because of her not-so-Illyrian wings. I might retcon this tho because I don’t want her to turn into a Mary Sue.

For names I’m thinking of the following;

Morana - A Slavic goddes of winter and death (Mora for short, her and Morrigan liked to match as kids)

Astraea - the Greek virgin goddess of justice & innocence and meaning star. I’m partial to this because I think it fits her character.

Vega - Latin for falling star, if I use this I’m gonna make some connection between her and star fall (or with any of the names idk)

or maybe an Rh name

—————

what do y’all think? I would love any and all feedback since this is a creation I want to share and enjoy with everyone!

also as a forewarning I’m not as flowery of a writer as sjm but that might be a breath of fresh air from growling “males” and watery bowels.

LMK if you want to be added to a tag list for updates!!

#anti sjm #anti acotar #anti sarah j maas #anti rhysand #anti inner circle #anti cassian #acotar fic #pro nesta #pro tamlin #rhysand's sister #acotar #acotar fanfiction #when the stars cry

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bruxbea · 1 year

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leaving Flemeth’s hut with only the ragtag armor they were picked up in...Morrigan’s clothes are literally made of belts so she’s not sharing wardrobe- assuming Ali still had his gear packed from the wilds trip... Hawthorne 1000% stole whatever tunic of his that was available for sleeping in before eventually acquiring new clothes in Lothering... but you know she kept it... Edit: Khimi got into the elf-root so have some more Hawthorne Origin lore for fun under the cut:

- Hawthorne’s got some boundary issues due to Circle life: - The first few nights after Ostagar going towards Lothering she tries once to bunk with Morrigan but is called immature and rejected before the sentence is finished. - She spends one useless and restless night out in the open by the fire before plonking down next to Prince Fromage like “I’m used to sleeping near at least 50 other people, please be a light in this sea of insomnia-” This becomes habit until they just share a “Grey Warden” tent after Bodahn outfits the crew in thanks. - Terrible at remembering to actually be in private before changing clothes and is known to stalk into camp doffing her blouse mid sentence. It’s not too much of a problem at first as she spends the first few weeks in a heavy chest/shoulder bandage but there’s an audible shift in tone once the bandages come off. (Kinloch’s norm was to undress in Templar line of sight so she’s for the most part oblivious until the squad holds an intervention.) - Steals Alistair’s tunics like they’re boyfriend sweaters well before either of them figure out they’re dumb for each other- - Hawthorne refuses to kill people if and when she can: when they first start out she is fairly difficult on the subject until Morrigan of all people points out she’s asking them to kill on her behalf, like it or no. She’s fairly ruthless when it comes to darkspawn however. Pretty 50/50 on listening too far into a demon’s pitch- - Her fighting style very quickly adapts into subduing opponents and buffing her teammates with constant healing magic, draining one to rev the other. She is for all intents and purposes an Entropic Vampire and Loghain uses it much to his advantage when vilifying the Wardens. - It is not uncommon to find Thorne and Alistair trying out strategic combinations by having him equip runestones to weapons or armor while she imbues them with varying protective spells. They are absolute fucking nerds when they are like this: Wynne once found them on the roof of Castle Redcliffe holding a runestone and a metal rod in a storm...suffice to say they were “grounded” immediately... - Hawthorne is unfortunately allergic to her mabari though she loves him dearly. It’s obvious she’s just come from playing with him when her nose sounds stuffy. - She is the first to admit she took some Circle life for granted, albeit only once and definitely under her breath. The crew may be poor on their feet but they definitely have hot/running water when they can...middle of an abandoned wood or no. The cupcakes are a nice touch too- - Crucial financial decisions have been waged over supplying new armor or furthering the Miniature Golem doll collection-

#dragon age ramblings #delete later #trying to drop personality quirks in thread but always deleting them cos I think #Dude no one cares about the trivials #but if you're like me you live for the trivials #it's the only other outfit of hers I can name with confidence #tiny HoF power stancing in a shirt that fits her like a dress

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emeriethevalkyriegirl · 1 year

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Nesta Archeron (Harry Potter AU)- Chapter 28 (The Forbidden Forest)

Summary: The girls get caught and are about to serve their detention...in the Forbidden Forest

Nesta and her group quicken their pace as they walked back tot he houses. they’ve just been spotted by Morrigan Fallout. The meanest Gryffindor in school. When she returned for the next semester, she was meaner and crueler than ever. The only person who can keep her in line is Azriel. Whenever he showed up, Morrigan would quiver in fear. All the time.

But now, Azriel was probably asleep in the Ravenclaw house. Nothing was gonna stop Mor now.

“Eris had always wanted a dragon. Told me one time while he and I chatted in the fire.” Nesta whispered, not wanting to wake all of Hogwarts. Catrin chuckled. “That’s crazy.”

“And worse, Fallout knows.” Gwyn added looking off in the distance. Emerie tilted her head. “Is that bad Gwyn?”

“Very.” Gwyn shuddered as the others looked as well and gasped. There before then was Professor Viviane with a lit candle. She looked at the girls with a stern look, earning another shudder from Gwyn. “Good evening ladies.”

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“Nothing, I repeat, nothing gives a student the right to walk about the school at night.” Viviane proclaimed as Nesta, Emerie, and the Bedara twins tried not to shiver in front of their Professor. Nesta didn’t know which one was colder. Kallias or his wife.

Nesta stole a quick glance at Morrigan who was smirking the entire time. It took every fiber in her body to not pounce on her like a panther.

Viviane continued. “Therefore, as punishment for your actions, 50 points will be taken from each of your houses.”

“Huh?”

“What?!”

“50?!” All the girls shouted together. There Perfects are never gonna let them live this down. Heck, they’re not gonna let them live at all.

“And to ensure it doesn’t happen again, all 5 of you will receive detention.” Morrigan, confused, spoke up. “Excuse me Professor, but I think I heard you wrong. I thought you said the 5 of us.” Morrigan said as Viviane huffed in clarification. “You heard me correctly Ms. Fallout. As honorable as your intentions were, you too were out of bed after hours. You will join your classmates in detention.” Viviane announced as Nesta and the others snickered. (Karma’s one hell of a bitch >:))

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Indeed Professor Viviane was correct. She called Beron to come and grab all 5 of the girls. She didn’t explain what sort of punishment the girls will have but they had a feeling they were going to find out the hard way.

Morrigan grumbled under her breath. “I can’t believe I have to be in detention with you lot! I should be sleeping in my bed by now.” she argued as Catrin growled at her. “At least you didn’t have 100 points taken from your house!”

“Quiet! All of you!” Beron glared from behind as they all walked up to Eris hut again. Eris was in front of his hut with a lantern in his hand. “You’ll be serving detention with my son tonight. He was a job to do in the Forbidden Forest.”

The girls gulped. The forest was forbidden for a reason. Did they really have to serve detention in there!?

“Yeah, whatever.” Eris replied waving his hand in disinterest. Beron sighed. “Are you still sad about that bloody dragon?”

Eris glared at his father. “So what if I am?” he recoiled as the girls looked at him in confusion. Eris sighed and answered the unspoken question. “Norbert’s gone. Kallias sent him off to live in a colony.”

“Well that’s good isn’t it?” Nesta asked. Emerie nodded in agreement. “Yeah, he’s with his own kind.”

“But what if he doesn’t like his colony? What if the other dragons are mean to him? He’s just a baby.” Eris argued as his father rolled his eyes. “Oh shut your mouth, boy. You’re heading into the forest after all.”

“Wait, what?! I thought that was a joke! We can’t go in there!” Morrigan exclaimed with fear. For once, Nesta and the others agreed. “Students aren’t allowed.”

“She’s right.” Emerie said as Catrin mumbled a ‘for once’ under her breath followed by a chuckled from Gwyn.

Morrigan continued. “And there are...werewolves.”

Beron laughed darkly. “There are more than werewolves in those trees, little lassie.” he replied as he walked away from the girls and back to the castle.

Eris sighed and mutter a curse under his breath. Nesta didn’t hear it but she could’ve sworn it was directed to his father. “Alright girls, let’s get moving.”

#pro nesta #pro emerie #pro gwyn #pro catrin #morrigan #beron #eris #Harry Potter #Nesta Archeron (Harry Potter AU)

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kayla-2 · 2 years

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More Feysand imagines.... because I miss them

Rhys gives more sentimental gifts to Nyx like his first ornament, history book, ring, or jewel. It’ll be something nyx cherish between just him and his father as he grows up

Feyre gives more creative gifts like hanging his painted hand and foot prints or painting his crib with stars. She frames everything nyx creates.

Feyre probably put little nyx symbols all over her stuff as a little gift for herself. Like a little N at the top of her paintbrushes. She does it to Rhys things as well. A little painting of nyx in his desk drawers or replacing a bookmark with an art by nyx

The inner circle probably gives the family more time to themselves then normal because they are still reeling from nyx birth, even though it’s months and months afterwards. Morrigan lingering around more because it’s hard to make her part from nyx and Feyre. She has her own nightmares about losing her family, being the person that held nyx that tragic day

Rhys is emotional during this time because he wasn’t suppose to have these moments with feyre and nyx. They were all suppose to be gone and his “the things I love tend to be taken away from me” quote was suppose to come true. But it didn’t and yet, he is still scared. That suffocating fear he thought he left under the mountain.

Feyre keeps her emotions more calmer than Rhys, because she knows how closely nyx watches her and any sign of distress will cause him to be upset. She has a way deeper torment, like grief. The continued death within herself and her family keeps turning out alright or sustainable but death seem to always breath over her and it causes her to freeze at random moments. She ask for Morrigan and Elain to stay around just in case she needs to hand nyx off to someone and get herself together

But nyx is their life-line and his smiles and laughter helps in ways he’ll never know. He’s drowning in gifts from his aunts and uncles and friends. His favorite being a glowing stuffed toy bear from Helion, for his ironic fear of the dark.

Feysand takes him out for a stroll well into the night. People in Velaris waves as the city glitters and pulse with life but they let the family walk and walk through the snow without interruption. Feysand each hold one of nyx hands and swing him into the air as he squeals and wind rushes through his clothes. They fly to an edge of a clift that sits high above Velaris and nyx kicks and play in the snow. Feysand watches each other, noticing that they were distant from each other that day. But Rhys moves a strand of Feyres hair behind her ear and kisses the top of her head and they hold hands. A small signal that they are struggling but will always be there for each other.

Cassian and Morrigan comes to see them, always worried about their high lord and lady. Morrigan pulls out a bag and hands it to nyx, who gives it to his parents and it’s a gift from him. A snow-globe, filled with little trinkets that nyx pointed out himself during some of his outings with his aunts. A purple flower from months ago in Elain’s garden that reminded him of his dad or a soft, brown toy deer that color reminded him of his mother’s hair….or something he stole from Amren. But he claps as feyre and Rhys looks at their present and nyx babbles toddler noises and goes back to playing in the snow, not knowing that he revived a new feeling of peace into his parents.

#acotar #acosf #acomaf #acowar #feyre #feysand #rhysand #nyx #I just really hate how they keep having all this tramua for plot and never show how that impacts them #it’s why the fandom doesn’t allow them to make any mistakes or be traumatized because it’s not written well

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flowerflamestars · 3 years

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i remember that you once said something about privateer nesta could you elaborate? please? *shrek cat eyes*

WHO TOLD YOU I AM COMPLETELY VULNERABLE TO THE CAT EYES??

okay, so admittedly I don't remember the context in which I said this?? But I still SUPER super love the idea

and it matches with what we'll call the Dream ACOTAR Extended Universe Plot, almost canon.

We begin with the final battle against Hybern. Tamlin dies, closing the loop of his tragic, misspent life. Amren stays dead, a magical being on to the next adventure.

Rhysand stays dead.

He functionally (magically) threw himself on a bomb, and took the whole blast. He's not the Cauldron- and no one man could repair what it once was, but he could contain the fatal, drastic implosion of an object that was meant to endure forever, fractured into more and more peices.

Why is this important?

Because it leaves a world where Feyre Archeron- twenty-ish, romantic hero, prop, prisoner- becomes High Lady in her own, true right.

(I don't think she's necessarily good at this job, because why would she be? It's not even her fault- Feyre has no idea about how faery politics work, no real tangible knowledge of her own inherited kingdom.)

But both the men who stole her and defined her and loved her and hurt her are dead.

And it not only sets her on a journey to become, on her own, an actual character in her own life, but it galvanizes the Archeron sisters.

Feyre's basically fucking comatose after the battle. Elain has been a mess this entire time, but after that last fight with Grayson, walking into the war and stabbing a king in the throat- she is as vital and herself as Nesta has seen her in years.

Nesta just watched her father die and felt nothing- and she hates herself for it. She and Elain had taken the head of the man who stole everything from them- and she doesn't have a single regret.

Feyre screamed until she could no longer- there's so much magic seething out her it hurts to look at-

There's a dark well inside herself that could rise. But why should Nesta let it? So what, if she doesn't mourn her father? He'd never cared about her and Elain- not when they were young, too busy and important to even speak to his own children. Not when they lost everything, and he'd tried one last time to sell them both into marriages to recoup the family loss. Not after, in the starving cold, no matter what she'd tried to force him into action.

Nesta had been mourning all along a human girls human life- what is an absent, neglectful, shitty in the most ordinary of ways human parent if not a part of that lost future?

Their sister owns a fucking country- their sister is, at this minute so hemmed in by her followers no one can see her, much less comfort her- there's a war camp falling apart around them- there's Nesta, Elain, and Azriel, unhurt, upright, alive.

(she does not let herself think that an hour before she'd been ready to die and thought it right, the ending the meant to be conclusion of her story. she does not think about how she'd wished Cassian healed beneath her hands and that he had healed, that she'd wept to learn she could do more than destroy.

that she'd still been weeping, her mouth bright with his blood, when he'd pulled away, dragged himself to Morrigan's waiting arms)

Nesta Archeron is alive. Her sisters are alive. They're free, and she'll be fucking damned if this all falls apart before Feyre can heal.

Nesta turns to Azriel and asks if he can take control of the legions.

She has no time for his blank, angry eyes- she knows he's hurt, he's mourning, he's lost- but she needs him. Cassian's...down. Rhys is dead. Feyre and Morrigan are not coming out of that tent.

And he just listens. Thoughtfully. Asks what Nesta intends to do.

And Nesta looks at Elain- soft, kind, gentle Elain who'd never once wavered now when life was on the line. Who hadn't cried a tear for their father, or for the man who'd kidnapped and then married their baby sister.

The danger wasn't over- and neither had the steel faded from Elain's spine.

Nesta tells Azriel she's going to find Keir.

Nesta isn't blind- she's walked the Hewn City, spoken to the eldest darkness. She was also at the joke of a Summit- Autumn wants new territory, Keir wants to rule Night. And here Night is, weakened, a lamb to slaughter.

Nesta's not going to lose again- she's not going to give these ancient, cruel lords another chance.

Elain grabbed her hand and squeezed- the one person, always, who Nesta never need explain herself to.

Aren't the High Fae technically Morrigan's Elain asked, a bare whisper as they walked through the camp.

It went without saying yes, but Nesta had never seen any indication they respected her enough to listen to her. She made a face, and Elain made one right back, rueful. She had eyes too, after all.

They're not going to listen to us in these clothes, Elain also told her.

She was right, of course. They were High Fae, and that mattered to those vile pricks, but they'd been outfitted for flight. She would do almost anything, actually, to be free of leather pants.

Which Elain, a gleam in her eye that Nesta was learning meant magic, dreamy and happy- led her precisely to a gold topped tent, stepped inside, bowed, and asked without a trace of hesitation if Helion Spellcleaver, Lord of Day, would perhaps do them the favor of loaning them some garments.

Solid gold eyes gleaming against blood and smoke tinged dark skin, beautiful, glorious Helion, smiled.

Day-white against Night- but also, Nesta knew, taking care with her crown of a braid, the splatter of blood left on her throat, her mouth, her cheeks like fine paint- white was the color of death.

Elain covered herself completely- shawl wrapped over her hair, tucked around her neck, breathing easier now, in human modesty- but hung from a golden belt that Helion, with the clear air of someone who knew something about seers, had found, metal hammered with stars and flames, was Truthteller, the long blade without a sheathe, black metal swallowing up light.

Keir was easy to find, and in fine form, surrounded by Darkbringers, who looped back behind the sisters the second they were close.

Nesta was not afraid- she'd thrown power into the sky and it had hurt. Not in depth, but because she was still holding on- it wanted out-it wanted to devour-

Elain dipped a flagrantly rude, swallow bob of a curtsey. Nesta didn't even bother- just let Keir hail them, royal family that they were. He liked the sound of his own voice, but he was also clever- they'd come here of their own volition and now they were trapped.

She could smell the reinforcements, the utter Autumn reek.

Nesta interrupted, and asked Keir to come and swear fealty to her sister.

It was never going to get the right answer, but it had to be said. It had to be heard.

She'd been right- they'd been right- Keir enjoyed the cruelty of getting close to Nesta, denying straight to her Archeron face that no, Rhysand's bloodline was ended. It was time, it was right, for the House of Truth to once more hold their throne.

He spoke his treason aloud, looming over Nesta- close enough to touch.

So Nesta did.

She'd willed Cassian alive and whole. It was so, so much easier to remember fire, death, drowning, to push and want the revolting man's destruction.

And when he fell, silvered fire that had filled his lungs spilling from his throat, Nesta did not flinch. She looked to the next lieutenant, a frankly indistinguishable golden haired pale-eyed blandly handsome man in black armor, and asked, if he, as the new commander of the Darkbringers, would like to give a different answer.

He did.

Azriel met them halfway back to Feyre, grim mouth flickering for a second at the sight of Elain, before looking, stone-faced, at Nesta beside her, leading a crowd of the highest ranked Night Court faeries she could find.

Keir? He asked.

Dead, Elain answered, and that was that.

The Shadowsinger fell in step with the Seer, a threatening shadow to two pale beacons.

It was Azriel who actually went inside the tent. Who said what needed to said, what made Morrigan splutter loudly enough to be heard outside, before she burst out the tent in a whorl of hair, before blanching.

Nesta had just enough control not to roll her eyes. They come to swear fealty.

And Morrigan, chewing her lip with all the dignity of a child- Elain and Nesta had been trained out of such gestures at eight, what did she think was happening here? - shook her head. She's not well, it can wait.

No, Azriel said, from behind her, it can't.

He was supporting what looked like the entirety of Feyre's weight. Dead-white, blue eyes a blaze, Feyre looked blearily out at all of them like she recognized no one.

Elain, treasure that she was, came forward to take her sister's other hand, whispering both condolence and explanation.

And so the High Houses of Night knelt in battlefield mud, and swore eternal loyalty to the youngest Archeron.

It was only after they were gone that Nesta hugged her sister- hard enough Feyre protested, a fresh batch of tears soaking Nesta's shoulder even before Elain joined them.

It's Azriel, voice a little less like a phantom, who tells Feyre they're handling things. That if she wants to rest more, that's fine.

She was so clearly shattered- Nesta half wondered how much of that Azriel can literally feel/hear with his shadow...things.

Feyre protests that there's things to do- Feyre makes it halfway through a sentence about plans before she says Rhysand's name like he's still alive and collapses in on herself like a wave crashing.

Nesta and Elain tuck Feyre back into the blanket pile. Nesta manages to kiss her forehead before Morrigan is there, hugging Feyre putting herself bodily between the sisters.

They leave, and outside, Azriel is waiting.

To hand Nesta a gaudy, enormous platinum ring. The seal of the Night Court- Nesta recognizes it from shipping manifests, but she'd never actually seen it as an adult. Here, as a faery.

Her thoughts on Azriel's powers hold true, as he answers the dismay: Rhys only used it when he had to. It had passed between the whole Court of Dreams hands, there had not been a vizier, a lord of stars, since the time of Rhysand's father.

Nesta puts on the hideous ring, barely flinching at the brush of magic, it resizing to her hand.

Elain grasps her other, squeezing, and asks Azriel who is next.

They work ceaselessly, pausing only to sleep. Azriel, Nesta is quite sure, isn't sleeping at all- until she goes looking for him with a question and finds him finally, finally out cold, face tucked in Lucien Vanserra's neck.

In silence and gestures, they come to something of an agreement- and when the Night Court comes to the table to talk peace, it's with Lucien. Jurian, who Nesta immediately liked.

By the time they return to the North, there is not a Lord one who does not know the names and nightmarish qualities of all three Archeron sisters.

Feyre mourns, and learns to govern slow. Cassian goes back to Illyria and does not return for a long, long time. Morrigan becomes Feyre's second- Nesta laughs, not altogether kind, when Lucien tells her this. No one has been able to answer her as to why, if Morrigan is so powerful, why did she not fight? what does she actually do?

What answers to her questions she does find are appalling. Why does Winter block our every turn? oh, Rhysand killed more than a dozen children. Why is Summer refusing our trade? Well, Rhysand stole their ancestral pride. Why is the Hewn City so wrathful at even the slightest form of intervention? Because Rhysand had left Keir to rule alone.

Nesta doesn't want to rule the fucking court. She thinks she could leave all of these politicians to rot- but she won't let Feyre misstep her way to death, shouldering a burden of her dead mate.

There's nothing they can give Winter but apology and so that's what Nesta does. On her knees, in a gilded palace of ice, stars caught in her hair and the seal on her. Kallias, bright and young, seems to know something about inherited problems- he does not ever forget, but he forgives, at least, the Archerons.

Summer is more complicated- but Nesta does what she can. Gives them every melted, ruined piece of the Book. Offers reparations for the next millennia. Ends up paying for what she is appalled and embarrassed to learn is a two hundred year old debt for a building the head of the Night Court's armed forces- Cassian, fucking Cassian the ghost haunting Nesta- had destroyed. During a brawl. At a solstice party.

She deals only with Cressieda, and they come to understand each other very well.

Nesta was not raised for politics and bullshit- her mother wanted her to marry a crown, but Nesta wanted the family empire. Trade. The Archeron legacy, denied to a girl. She likes Summer more than any place in Prythian, and she doesn't hide that. She relearns old lessons of tide and routes in secret, before Cressieda reveals that of course, she knows who the Archerons were.

It goes well, until Morrigan finds out what she's been doing, and tells Feyre.

The youngest Archeron had been doing better. Morrigan has been right by her side, through everything. Cassian is in Illyria, and Feyre understands why, writing him letters. She writes letters to Rhys too, if only to have a way to direct the words.

Azriel, spectral and busy she sees the least of, but Feyre never doubts his presence, keeping her safe. Elain comes, drags her out into sunlight, brings Lucien and it makes Feyre happy to see them together. Nesta comes too, with them both and alone, with papers from Feyre to sign, with affection sharp-edged but true.

Feyre knows she owes them all more than can be said- she's not stupid, she knows they're keeping Night together. That slowly those responsibilities will fall to her, when she's ready.

She does not think about how much of those responsibilities is cleaning up the tangled mess of betrayal Rhysand left behind. In her head, there is only Rhys- beloved and shadowed, kind and tortured.

Until Morrigan tells her that it's been acknowledged, in public, by Night, that Rhysand was a thief, and a murder of children.

Feyre loses her shit.

Rhysand had done what he had to. Who was Nesta, to say such things? She'd always hated Rhys. Rhys had always hated her, maybe he was right- the children. Rhys had mourned them in screaming nightmares, but he hadn't hurt them-

(Feyre does not stop to think it strange, that Rhys could have nightmares of memories not his own. That he might have fractured just a bit, under Amarantha. That the Red Lady had no daemati- that was why she'd kept Rhys all along.)

The fight is as ugly as can be imagined. And what proceeds is of course, worse. Feyre says terrible things she will ultimately regret and apologize for, but what becomes clear is that Morrigan thinks that Nesta means to hold power forever.

That she's taken advantage.

And Cassian, called home by rage, believes her.

That is, more than her ungrateful sister, more than the ongoing weight of cleaning up after a man she despised for good reason, the end of Nesta Archeron's Night Court career.

She'd thought she loved him- she'd been willing to die with him- but they'd lived. This was the life, the next life, and what did he think of her? That Nesta was a power hungry snob. That she was paying too much heed to politics.

That Nesta belonged quietly at home. That she should have learned to fight somewhere along that way- a point so convoluted it made Lucien laugh- that she hadn't learned anything that mattered.

That she had no right to kill Keir, because it had hurt Morrigan.

Had he ever, Nesta would wonder later, even liked her? Enjoyed anything about her but for that magical tether, telling him he was blessed with something special?

Nesta was something special, and she knew it.

And so she returned the ring to Azriel, packed up her possessions, and left.

First to Day, where Elain had bought a house. Fury and tears both met the explanation of what happened- fury and tears that turned to getting inadvisably drunk in sunlight, when Lucien and Azriel snuck away to join them.

For the first time in Nesta's adult life, she had no obligations. Magic, money, freedom- the whole world was out there.

She stopped wearing black. Learned pants where actually lovely, when they fit correctly and weren't made of leather. Learned Azriel could laugh, and Lucien was as clever as she'd always thought.

She read books, she ate fruit, she took Helion up on several of his more lascivious offers.

She thought of Cassian, and it ached, but not enough to go backward.

Elain's house was by the sea, right on the water. The scent of salt reminded Nesta of Summer- but also of her oldest, most secret dreams. The warehouses of goods, like mysteries to solve. The account books she stole, learning by candlelight the trade in her blood.

Ten years after the war, Nesta bought a ship.

She set out to be a merchant, use what she knew, but what happened was this: Nesta Archeron did not care anymore for rules. And so when she came upon Hybernian remnants-for they were an island kingdom, even more one with the water than Prythian- pillaging a Summer town, she destroyed them.

She stole their treasure, gave much of it back to the people.

Found, unexpected, that she had much more of a taste for marauding than she would have expected. There was still trade of course- proft made and shared- but Summer needed someone willing to do some destroying out on the sea.

Twelve years after the war, Nesta Archeron became a privateer under the Summer flag, pearls in her hair and a true smile on her lips.

Things grew, as all things do. Feyre wrestled herself the reins of government, stymied by the councils Nesta and Azriel set up as much as she often was by Azriel himself out of truly petulant action. Morrigan remained second, golden blades bright as her gowns within reach. Cassian became a sort of seneschal, reigning over Illyria in Feyre's name cold and alone as the wind through the mountains.

(Feyre thought he might never get over the war, but Azriel knew the truth.)

Elain took herself wherever the future led, a sort of mediator and councilor, walking in all Courts- but always back to home, that isolated green, green cove, where Nesta would land.

When war came again, there was no great Lordly alliance, no cut-throat summit. There was a fleet of ships whose sails where edged in purple, whose announcement across the water was silver fire, whose accompaniment were monsters of old.

Violence did not touch Prythians human shore, because Nesta Archeron did not let it.

She was death on the tide, and she remembered what shores had borne her.

She had a home in Summer, a place in Day, her family across the continent- she had her ships, full of faeries from every walk of life, who wanted as she did the freedom as much as the profit, the endless, endless blue, where sea meets sky.

It was eternity, and the Archeron sisters, free, had made it their own.

#i'm sorry this is literally a novel #but!!!#this is my dream plot actually #all about legacy and complicated feelings #the total failure of cassian as a partner #of rhys as a ruler #of feyre as a sister!!#there's so much love in the end but its not easy love #and they do have to fight for it #Nesta Archeron has always been exactly who she is and that shouldn't have to change #Elain has never GOTTEN to be who she is and that should change #Feyre standing alone is all i want yall #a true overturning of the patriarchy actually #yes this a luzreil universe #Elain...mhmm.... definitely just has a string a very romantic love affairs #marriage as a prospect caused her so much pain #she's done #I feel like Mor comes off almost too badly in this #but like #she would??#she's SO possessive of her people #and totally weird about Feyre's sister's from the start #Nesta having power?#Nesta having Azriel's backing?#NESTA BEING CASSIAN'S MATE?#its never going to go well

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heniareth · 3 years

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Here's that ask I promised :D Some more questions for the OC ask meme <3

What is your character's biggest realtionship flaw? Has that flaw ever destroyed relationships for them before?

Companion they are closest to and why?

Thoughts on the Dalish?

What biases does your character have? (This can be in favor or against)

How does your OC react in stressful situations?

What do they like to ridicule and/or what do they find stupid?

Does your OC have recurring themes in their dreams?

What is your OCs proudest moment?

Did you create the OC to be like yourself, did they end up being like yourself, or are they very different from you?

(These are a lot again, it is so hard to hold back xD So take your time and no pressure as always :) Just excited to get to know more about your Astala <3)

Thank you for the ask!! I had this sitting for forever, life has kept me busy, but I'm so excited to give this a go XD And to delve into some aspects of Astala that I haven't given much thought yet, so that's exciting.

What is your character's biggest realtionship flaw? Has that flaw ever destroyed relationships for them before?

Astala's biggest flaw when it comes to relationships is her inability to let go of people. On a positive note, this trait manifests as a very strong loyalty. On the negative side, it will lead her to cry after relationships that have ended and pour over them to try and find out what went wrong. It can also put her or other people she cares about in danger; especially in her position as the de facto leader of the companions, this could quickly lead to the loss of a whole unit (aka the three companions you can take with you on missions + the Warden). Luckily, she has Morrigan and Alistair (and Sten and Zevran) who can and will point out when a course of action is likely to put them in more danger than they already are.

Companion they are closest to and why?

Ooof, this is a tough one. Ironically, the romanceable four. Alistair is practically second-in-command, even though I imagine he’d protest at the title. They work closely together and are therefore quite close. Astala admires and respects Morrigan, even when her opinions and advice goes against most things Astala believes in. She’s the kind of friend you know would hide a body for you. Leliana is a friend in the more “common” sense. She and Astala both have a thing for nice clothing, their morals are similarly aligned, and they just get along in general. And then of course there’s Zevran, who’s Astala’s love interest. Funnily enough, they both started off annoying the hell out of each other over various petty reasons, and it takes them some time to really see each other for who they are. And from that point on there’s no turning back and they fall hard.

Thoughts on the Dalish?

The Dalish are an interesting subject. Astala hadn't met any previous to the Blight (although her cousin Shianni imagined her dad, who she never knew, to be a strong Dalish warrior). So to see them live these relatively normal lives when she encountered Zathrian's clan was... odd. But on the other hand, their lives were everything but normal because they spoke elvish, worshipped the Creators, had halla and could go wherever they wanted. So the first thing Astala did when she got there was ask a metric ton of questions about everything. On the other hand, the way some of the Dalish talk about the city elves makes her sad. They have a point , the city elves would probably treat one of the Dalish similarly, and she understands the distrust in anything that so much as smells of humans; but she still finds the divide tragic. She also thinks the Dalish are a bit too proud for their own good; but then again, how else are you going to defend yourself against a world that threw an Exalted March against your forebears' homeland?

What biases does your character have? (This can be in favor or against)

Astala is generally biased in favour of elves, and in favour of whoever she percieves to be the underdog in a given situation. This can lead her to get duped (it hasn’t yet in my current playthrough, but it probably will at some point).

How does your OC react in stressful situations?

When in stressful situations, Astala generally tries to remain in control of it. To do so, she relies heavily on whatever companions she has at the moment and the resources available, both in the environment and on her person. She tends to try and talk things out, but also to make rash judgements, which uuuuuh can backfire (she's quick to draw her blades, for instance, and that does not exactly help to deescalate situations). She also has a tendency to just seize control. She also will give orders and will expect others to follow them. The companions look to her as a leader, so that works out fine. In Redcliffe, however, she did find that the militia men would listen to the mayor, and not to her. That was frustrating for both parties.

What do they like to ridicule and/or what do they find stupid?

Human nobles. Just the whole package. From their fondness of dogs and their dainty dances (which her father, who was a bann's servant, would describe to her and her cousins) to their pointy-ended shoes and their petty grievances (because when you have enough money to boss other people around, all your grievances are petty, right?). A surefire way to keep the younger kids entertained was to pretend to be a noble, let them play servants, and have them wreak havoc upon you as they got orders wrong on purpose and "stole" the "noble's" belongings. Afyer the Blight, that fondness to ridicule sadly wanes away and leaves mostly frustration in its wake.

Does your OC have recurring themes in their dreams?

Astala is a terribly heavy sleeper. If she dreams, she doesn't remember it come morning. She can therefore sadly not report any recurrent themes in her dreams as of now.

What is your OCs proudest moment?

Apart from the power trip in the Fade (she walked out smiling and continued to smile until Uldred turned into a pride demon), it was probably when she got her first job. She was 14 at the time and overheard some boys talking about how a merchant was expecting a big shipment and looking for new help. Up until then, she had been trying to get a job as a servant like her father, to no avail. On a whim she followed the boys, and lined up with the other hopeful candidates in front of the merchant's warehouses for a try-out (a selection process entailing an unpaid day of work). She proved herself to be strong enough to lift and carry crates, small and nimble enough to climb to where others couldn't reach, and above all she got extremely lucky. She was called back, first for one month, then for a trimester, then for one year and for another. And while Cyrion would have liked his daughter to have an easier and less dangerous job, he was proud right alongside her when she brought the first coins she had earned home.

Did you create the OC to be like yourself, did they end up being like yourself, or are they very different from you?

I created Astala's first version (which I mentioned in this post) based on a character that was very much an ideal; strong, kind, and above all, brave and adventurous. That first heroic version then got put through all the trials and tribulations of the story, and I was very much going with my gut instinct and not with a predetermined idea of the character when I tokk her decisions. So basically, this first versions had a good chunk of my morals and priorities. After the Deep Roads, that first version started getting depth; she reacted very strongly to having to shoulder the responsability of chosing a new king for Orzammar, for Ferelden, and defeating the Archdemon. From that point on, I started exploring why that reaction might have been so strong. Astala as she is now is the product of that exploration (during which she acquired some fears and pain points she shares with me. Examples are the fear of messing up, the sometimes blind loyalty or the need to shoulder all the responsability). Bottom line: she definitely has parts that are mine, some of which she acquired over time, but she's her own person. She's not me.

---

That was a lot of fun!! Thank you so much for the ask and sorry for the delay >.< But I'm very happy I finally came around to it, I always love answering these

#astala tabris #dao #dragon age #warden tabris #dragon age origins #dragon age: origins #da:o #da: o #da: origins #the warden #the hero of ferelden

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bookstantrash · 3 years

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A/N: Huge shoutout to the lovely @perseusannabeth who obsess over Pride & Prejudice as much as me. After very politely threatening asking me to write more of Nessian as P&P (I’m so glad Sarah made it canon that Nessian’s relationship is Darcy and Lizzie’s) she told me about THE lake scene in the BBC version. I watched all six episodes and fell in love, so I highly suggest you all watch it too.

Also, huge shoutout to @firebirdofscythia (I stole your Azriel line lmao) and the rest of the gc for being so supportive!! Enjoy

Pemberley’s Lake

Cassian was so tired it was a wonder he had not fallen from his horse, which made him realise that Azriel may have been partially right in telling him to take a break and go back to his state to rest.

Although he suspected that Azriel kicking him out of his office and practically throwing him in a carriage to Pemberley had more to do with the fact that Azriel had gotten sick of his mopey mood more than anything else.

“I shall never show my face in society again” Cassian had told a bored looking Azriel one afternoon, laying on his office’s floor as if it was the end of the world “I shall work until my eyes grow tired and my beard and hair are so long they reach the ground.”

“Stop with the theatrics brother. It is not becoming of you.” Azriel had answered as he shuffled a deck of cards.

“Theatrics!! Azriel for Cauldron’ sake I have no idea how I can keep on living after that refusal” he sighed from his place on the carpeted floor “There is not another woman alive who could hold my heart. It's lost forever. And now I shall live in regret and shame of not being enough for her.”

Azriel rolled his eyes so hard at his brother’s words it was a wonder they did not stay permanently like that.

“I shall grow old and drown my sorrows in the finest beers and wines, turning fat and bald. And after I have passed, my cursed ghost shall roam our country crying in despair over my terrible life”

That had been enough to make Azriel pack Cassian’s belongings and get his brother the fastest horse available.

“If it were not for the laws of this land” Azriel had mumbled after he had bid his brother farewell, wishing a good trip and forbidding him to appear in his office again until he had fixed that mood of his.

Breathing in the clear and fresh air of his home, Cassian was able to momentarily forget his troubled heart. But one look at the blue sky and he was reminded of the gray-blue eyes belonging to the lady who had made him, General Commander of the British Army, who had enough condecorations to fill his whole coat and who had made enemies tremble in fear when faced against him, wallow in self pity and misery.

Lady Nesta Archeron.

Her name alone was enough to make his chest tighten in longing.

Feyre’s oldest and most notorious sister, if not by her breathtaking beauty and intellect but by her ruthless and dismissive regard to the oposite sex. Whereas Feyre had surprised society by marrying before her older sisters — and securing herself the best of matches of the season at that with his brother Rhysand, which was nothing but a Duke — and Elain had enough suitors to fill a ballroom, the oldest Archeron did not seem inclined to marry at all. Oh she did catch the eyes of more than one gentleman — Cassian could vaguely reckon that she had had a long courting with Sir Thomas Mandray, although it had ended rather abruptly — but no one had been able to snare her heart.

That had been what had initially peaked his interest. He had briefly seen her at Rhysand’s wedding, attempting some small talk that was easily and diplomatically dismissed by her. He had then relentlessly engaged in conversation with her in any opportunity he could find, being it from the few occasions in which she frequented Feyre’ small reunions over tea or when he coincidentally met her during her daily walks around town to visit Lady Emerie, a modice whose popularity was raising tremendously after Feyre’s bridal trousseau and wedding dress were all designed by her.

It was not until Feyre’s first official gathering as Duchess that Cassian realised the depths of his feelings for the sharp eyed lady.

He had been watching the ballroom from the sidelines, trying to escape the mob of scary mamas who wanted to throw their daughters at him, a glass of champagne in his hand.

Rhysand and Feyre had already danced the opening song, so the floor was now free to hold more partners. Both Cassian and Azriel had danced once with Morrigan — Rhysand’s cousin and a dear friend of theirs — and Elain had enough names on her card that they’d have to wait a fortnight to dance with her. Nesta on the other hand…. she had refused all invitations, although one could not help but wonder why by the way she seemed to glow whenever a new song was played.

“Lady Archeron” Cassian had greeted, bowing deeply and throwing at her his best smile, one that usually had young ladies fainting and old ones blushing.

But not Nesta Archeron. No, she had only deigned to make a polite bow and look ahead.

“I could not help but take notice of how entranced by the music you appear to be, my Lady” he had offered her his hand “Would you do me the honour of allowing one dance?”

That had caught Nesta’s attention, and she turned towards him, her gray-blue eyes finally meeting his hazel ones.

“I do not think why I should. I am perfectly satisfied to watch from the sidelines” she raised a perfect manicured eyebrow, glancing in the corner where the mamas and their daughters were “I am sure many other young ladies would rather have my place”

Cassian knew she was lying. Knew she desperately wanted to dance, but something was holding her back.

“It is said that dancing is the best way to encourage affection. Even if one’s partner is barely tolerable” he had nonchalantly said

“I beg your pardon” Nesta had exclaimed

“The lady has nothing to fear. I will not let you suffer ridicule because of your poor dancing” he had said in a patronizing tone, if only to see that fire in her eyes ignite.

And to see her accepting his offer with a murderous intent.

They had moved to the center of the ballroom, shocked faces all around them, both from the fact that Nesta was joining the dance floor and her partner being him of all gentlemen.

Cassian had never been proved more wrong once the first string from the violin was drawn and Nesta moved. He had been sure she knew how to dance, had only said those words to get a rise from her. But to see Nesta Archeron actually dancing… it was something straight out of a dream.

Cassian knew the waltz. His mother had insisted that all three sons have the same education, even though only Rhysand was set to inherit the duchy.

However, when paired with Nesta Archeron one could not be called nothing but a simple object to display her talents. Even the most notorious dancer would pale in comparison to her.

And Cauldron, she knew that. Nesta knew she was Terpsikhore, greek Muse of music, song and dance.

What a fool he had been, what a complete and utter fool he had made of himself. His only consolation was that some good had come out of his childish behaviour.

Nesta Archeron was dancing, and when she danced she threatened to bring empires to their knees, for her beauty got inhumanly enhanced, her delighted smile sending an arrow straight to his chest.

Cassian realised he had fallen hopelessly in love with Nesta Archeron. If he was to be true with himself, he had been for quite some time, since their first exchange of words when she had all but dismissed him as a pesky bug.

And as the last note was drawn, as the whole ballroom breathlessly took in Nesta, in complete awe of her, Cassian decided he was going to marry her.

Was going to propose to Nesta Archeron right at that moment.

Using the excuse of getting some fresh air after the tiring dance, he walked them to Rhysand’s extensive and well lit garden, quiet enough that they would not be interrupted but not so isolated as to risk her reputation.

They had walked only a few minutes in the garden when Cassian declared his feelings. He all but tripped with his words, hoping Nesta could see past his fool’s act.

She had not.

She had refused his hand in the most brutal way, her words so articulately poisoned that Cassian felt himself a young boy again, desperately trying to achieve perfection so his father would dare to spare him more than a passing glance. Would not regret having adopted him into his household and given him a home.

He had uttered an apology, saying how sorry he was that his feelings had caused her such pain and disgust, reigning his temper enough to walk her back to the ballroom.

Cassian left town the same night, and had stayed in his office and headquarters training the new milicia since then, burying himself with work until Azriel grew tired of his awful mood.

Sighing, Cassian brushed his horse’s neck, eyeing the lake.

Maybe a dive in the cold waters of Pemperley would help clear his mind.

~•~

Pemberley was, in Nesta’s opinion, the most beautiful state she had ever seen. Even more than her newly married sister’s dukedom.

“However this house’s lady is, she sure is happy” Emerie commented as the head maid showed them to the music room.

“As if someone could be unhappy with this much money” Gwyn whispered back, eyeing the grand piano.

Nesta was inclined to agree, even more after having seen the library. She could not help but envy the lady. Her husband must be a very cultured gentleman.

“May I show you the external grounds? I am sure the gentleman will find it quite delightful” the head maid said, looking at Balthazar, the only men among their group of four.

“I am most grateful for your hospitality” he answered, and they promptly moved outdoors.

Their party of four had been travelling through the countryside for almost two weeks. It was as much as a vacation for Emerie and Balthazar — with Emerie’s shop the season’s current sensation and Balthazar being her current business partner — as a time out from the ton, which Gwyn — the most required opera singer of the season — had announced to be in desperately need of a vacation from.

As for Nesta, she had always wanted to travel, but as a single woman of marriageable age without a male relative to escort her, it would have been a nearly impossible feat to accomplish.

When Balthazar had offered to escort both her and her friends Nesta had wanted to shout in delight.

Secretly, she also wished to avoid a certain gentleman, one whose heart she had mercilessly and regretfully broken.

Nesta shook her head as she walked through the garden, distancing herself from her party to think and remember.

Remember how she had enjoyed dancing with Lord Cassian.

How her body had sung and heated where his skin touched hers.

How she had found herself smiling and agreeing to take a stroll with him, using the excuse of feeling overwhelmed in the crowded ballroom.

How his smile had faded once she tore at him, throwing every hateful word his way to refuse his proposal.

Nesta had not seen Cassian since her sister’s ball, but she did not want to risk an encounter.

That trip could not have been more well timed.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she did not notice her hair getting caught in a low tree branch, ruining her intricate updo.

“No one is around” she muttered to herself as she took off the pins holding it in place “A few minutes with my hair down will not hurt”

So Nesta took each pin off, massaging her scalp as she walked in the direction of the state’s lake, the sun shining over its clear waters.

And that is when she spotted him.

Cassian.

Cassian was at the lake.

Cassian was shirtless, dripping wet by the lake’ shore.

Nesta knew she should turn around and forget what she was currently seeing.

But she could not take her eyes off of him.

Seeing a shirtless man in person was indeed a far cry from what her imagination conjured when reading romance novels.

Especially the way the water was running down Cassian’s tanned and hard torso, all the way down his pecs and stomach — was that a six pack or were her eyes playing tricks on her? — until it collided with his pants, which were hanging so low on his hips that Nesta could not help but feel a weird sensation low in her stomach.

Her legs stopped obeying her, and she swore her knees got weak when Cassian noticed he had company.

“Lady Archeron?” he exclaimed, as if he could not believe his eyes.

“Sir!” was all she could say, feeling her cheeks warming.

Cauldron what was wrong with her? It was just a body. A very nice, very wet muscled body and—

“What may you be doing here?” Nesta quickly inquired, cutting her errand thoughts.

“I am the owner” he simply answered

“Of the lake?”

She wanted to smack herself. How could have she blurted such a stupid and rude question?

“Yes, of the lake. And of Pemberley” he answered, amusement lacing his words.

“I didn’t know. The head maid said all the family was not home— we should not have presumed—”

“I returned without prior notice”

“Excuse me, are you and your sisters in good health?” Cassian added, and Nesta dared to think that he sounded a bit nervous.

“Yes. Yes they are. Thank you, sir” she managed to answer, her eyes firmly placed upon his face and not anywhere else.

“I am glad to hear that” he licked his lips and Nesta could not help but wonder if they would be cold due to the lake’s water or if Cassian’s unbothered face meant he was not cold at all.

Was she really inquiring of how his lips would feel against hers? Against her skin? If kissing Cassian would feel as dreamily as her novel's kiss appeared to be?

Nesta hated him.

Did she not?

“I had never seen you with your hair down”

Cassian’s words took her out of her reverie, and Nesta suddenly felt self conscious.

“Do excuse me for showing myself in front of you with such an unsightly appearance” she felt mortified. To have Cassian of all people seeing her like that, hair in complete disarray….

Nesta quickly turned around, fumbling with the hair pins in a vain and desperately attempt of redoing her hair.

“It’s beautiful” she heard Cassian saying in a breathless voice, and thanked the Cauldron her back was turned so he would not see how her face warmed considerably, a small smile gracing her lips.

“Let me help you” he quietly added, and she gasped at the proximity of wet, shirtless Cassian, who touched her hair softly.

“How come a gentleman such as you knows how to hairstyle a lady’s hair?” Nesta asked, feeling his warmth on her back, a tingly sensation between her legs when his fingers brushed her neck.

“I frequently helped my younger sister, Georgiana, fix her own hair in the occasions she played a little too far from what would be deemed proper for a young lady” she felt his hot breath against her neck as Cassian laughed “She favours outdoors activities such as horseback riding, although she’s quite accomplished in arts and music.”

“Your sister sounds lovely” Nesta said, turning to face him once she felt he was done fixing her hair.

“She is my brothers’ and mine whole world. There’s nothing we would not do for Georgiana”

Nesta felt her heart warming at his words, at his devotion and love towards his family. She wondered if he would do the same with his wife.

If he would have acted the same way towards her had she accepted his proposal.

Unbeknown to her, Cassian was imagining the same thing.

He was picturing how he could have helped her every morning with her hair if she had agreed to marry him. Instead, he would have to live with this one memory forever.

He was lost in her eyes, their bodies so close they were sharing breaths and Cassian was holding back by a sliver thread of self control to not hold her against him.

If it were not for the appearance of three people — Cassian supposed them to be Nesta’s companions — he very well could have done that.

“Excuse me” Cassian abruptly said, bowing deeply and leaving Nesta alone.

Although soon her friends joined her, Gywn and Emerie bombarding her with questions seeing her ruffled state.

Their party was getting ready to depart when Cassian appeared again, having ran inside to get changed and appropriate.

“Lady Nesta!” he called before she could get inside the carriage “Please allow me to apologise for not receiving you properly just now. You are not leaving?”

“We were, sir. We have already imposed too much” she said, spine straight and looking every bit the regal queen she was.

What he did not know was that was her way of maintaining a cool exterior and not blush remembering his naked figure.

“You are not displeased with Pemberley, are you?” Cassian asked, anxiously brushing his hair back.

“No. Not at all”

“And you approve of it?”

“Very much” Nesta said softly, a dreamy smile on her face as she remembered the library “A few would not approve”

“But your good opinion is rarely bestowed and therefore more worth earning” he said, and his smile was enough to make Nesta’s heart skip a beat.

Why was she feeling in such a way, she wondered. Why did her body feel hot and strange all over whenever Cassian was involved?

“Thank you. That is very kind of you”

“I shall not hold you back any longer” he said, helping her in the carriage, his calloused hand a stark contrast against her soft one “I will call on you and I hope you can introduce me to your companions. Perhaps we may go fishing tomorrow? My property is blessed with an abundance of them”

“We would be delighted to. Thank you, sir’

After the farewells were bid and Nesta’s carriage was only a distant dot in the horizon, Cassian got inside, smiling broadly at his head maid and butler.

“You are very chipper, sir'' the old woman said with a knowing smile, the butler agreeing with her. Their lord had been mopey for quite some time now, so it brought joy to their hearts to see his mood so high.

“I had a very good evening Mrs.Pots” he declared, thinking about how he should swim more frequently in the lake.

A few miles from Pemberley, Nesta stared at the scenery lost in thought, Cassian’s touch lingering in her hand all the way back to the inn.

•

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#nessian #cassian x nesta #nesta archeron #cassian #pride and prejudice AU #BBC version lake scene #sarah j maas #sjmaas #sjm books #sjm fanfic

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hoochieblues · 3 years

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Six Line Last Sentence WIP Whenever… Whatever

Wauugh. Still catching up a bit, so here is some messy chaos. I’ve been tagged a lot over the past couple of weeks, including when my tumblr was down, so apologies if I miss anyone, but thanks to @aria-i-adagio, @cleverblackcat, @oxygenforthewicked, @roguelioness, @rosella-writes.... I think that's everyone, sorry if I missed you. Life has been kicking my butt a bit (again) but here’s a brief rundown of the things:

The Bird That Fears the Cage (Feasting on Dreams #1)

Some of the girls kissed Soris on the cheek, flirted with him more than he’d probably ever been flirted with before today—something about last flings and forbidden fruit, even if they didn’t mean it—and he flushed a bright enough red to clash even worse with his colourful attire. Meri laughed at him until her chest seemed to squeeze shut on a knot of affection… and cherished the distraction.

Justice in Surrender

Anders stripped off his coat and trousers, pulled on the comfortable warmth of a heavy old overshirt and bundled up under his blanket. Nights got cold and, back here in his little scrape, he didn’t get the benefit of the fire. It was worth it for the privacy, though. He was so damn tired, and yet sleep didn’t want to be a friend.

The Deep Roads kept surfacing in his mind, ugly and insistent. The memories of monsters in the darkness, the genlock spear that had pierced his belly, damn near run him through… first time he’d done any real healing on himself, the kind to stand between living and dying. Rough and ready battlefield medicine with no niceties. You didn’t forget that type of pain. Hurt worse than the wound itself had, but then consequences were always the bad part of anything.

The Thing with Feathers

“Thanks, Sparkles,” she said, kissing his cheek before she straightened up to lace her shirt. “I like you.”

“Good.” Anders wasn’t sure what words were anymore, much less how to make them happen. He drained the last of the brandy onto his parched, abused tongue, and looked mournfully at the empty bottle. “You’re in-credible.”

Isabela just grinned. “I bet you say that to everyone.”

He shook his head, but she’d turned away and was adjusting her belt. He was pretty certain he saw her slip a knife between her breasts, too, but that seemed both unlikely and impractical, although…. No. He was too tired to speculate. At least not for another hour or so.

Random DADWC fill that appears to be growing legs

He winced, feeling blindly in the bedroll, shivering against the chill from outside. Shirt, pants… nah, fuck pants. Some things superseded pants in importance. He tugged the patched cloth over his head and stole out of the tent. New moon tonight, dark as fuck but for the dim glow of the firelight behind the tents. He glanced over his shoulder. Morrigan was keeping watch. She didn’t acknowledge him, though she’d noticed he was there; Alistair’s dog, Barkspawn, had been resting his head in her lap for ear rubs, but they’d moved away from each other, both pretending any hint of affection was nothing more than an illusion. Nik grinned at her anyway. She continued to ignore him.

tagging forward.... anyone who wants it, but nothing specific because as ever I am a day late and a dollar short, please + thank <3

#da fanfic #last line written #dragon age

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sasskarian · 3 years

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First Line Meme

I was tagged by @asaara-writes. Thank you, my dearest! <3

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

My Heart and I -

If there’s one thing about Evelyn Swann that the entire Commonwealth knows by now, it is her love of music. Silence does not mark Evelyn’s arrival anywhere— instead, the soft tones of Billie Holiday do, crooning about mountains moved for love. Or the sultry voice of Lady Day herself, Ella Fitzgerald, floating around her and the companions like a bubble of the past, dreaming on into the future. Heavy footsteps beat out a tempo contrasting Butcher Pete and his big old ‘knife’ and everywhere she goes, she trails ribbons of jazz and cheer.

Like Afterimages -

The settlers call her a survivor. Sanctuary calls her a savior. Codsworth cries when she returns from the wastelands, dragging in another minute— heh— victory for the Minutemen, or another rescued synth she doesn’t tell anyone about. But Mama Murphy just calls her a ghost.

That’s what she is, after all. Just a two hundred year old ghost. Like a mirage, superimposed on the darkness, burned into immortality by nuclear fallout and tragedy. Evelyn is only sometimes here, those dark gray eyes a pair of rain clouds on the distant horizon, drifting on invisible fronts. The thunder is inside of her, too, a raging storm swirling in her chest, beating fists made of babies crying and gunshots rimmed in frost ringing out against her ribs.

The Thrill of Your Hand -

Danse has been a soldier too long to be a deep sleeper.

That’s the first thing the Brotherhood trains you out of. The indoctrination comes later, because only a good soldier can be indoctrinated, and a good soldier has to wake up at the first hint of danger. So when he hears the first whimper from across the room, his eyes snap open.

Paladin’s Bubble -

The Commonwealth is quiet tonight.

It’s not silent, by any stretch: Evie can hear the hounds in the distance, their mutated throats sending their boofs echoing through the streets of Boston even from a long distance, and somewhere— a mile or more— the whoop of a raiding party rises over the station’s lookout, too far away to do anything but pity the poor prey they’ve caught. Dogmeat grunts, his paws pushing against her armored thigh as he stretches. His ears are perked, though, so he’s just catching some rest while he can. Even the thwomp-and-hiss of her partner’s power armor is missing from the darkness, the red light of his scope the only thing highlighting his face in their little bubble of quiet.

After the Glitter Fades -

“If there is a future to be had,” Fenris murmured, his lips hovering near Hawke’s, “I will walk into it gladly at your side.”

His gorgeous green eyes were fixed on hers and Hawke fumbled for a moment, a half-smile playing across her mouth as her fingers played with the crumbling stone behind her. Silly, but part of her almost wanted to believe him. With the smallest sound, Fenris leaned in, his gauntleted fingers sliding through her hair as he kissed her— it started out soft, a chaste brush of warm lips and warmer breath, but within a couple of heartbeats, it deepened into something that promised wildness and fire.

Glitter: Marginalia - (E)

She can’t remember what dragged her awake— only that it left a sour, desperate taste in her mouth like old coppers and the cheapest bottle of whatever would get her drunk enough to sleep.

Waking up with nightmares is nothing new. The Amell curse, as most of the Kirkwall film crews call it, has yet to hit Hawke directly, but it had taken her father (a stunt gone wrong) and her mother and uncle (an unlucky intruder)– had struck Carver, too. She and Garrett and Bethie are safe, so far, but it's only a matter of time until it circles back around. The curse is a generations-long predator, still and patient, and it will hunt them down one at a time if it has to

Ah, Kirkwall, she thinks, some blend of annoyance and fondness and adrenaline mixing uneasily in her heart. You fuck with us again and again and still, here we are.

He Might Like That -

“So. Let me get this straight.” Greef lifts his bad knee with a groan, settling it over his other leg so he can sprawl a little more indolently. Din’s HUD focuses in, shows the elevated temperature in the joint in a dark red, and he turns it off with a flicker of his eye. Greef lifts his glass again, takes a sip, and gestures with it before continuing. “You two. Not together?”

Where I Can’t Follow -

The day Geralt of Rivia dies, he hears the whistle of the sword which almost kills him. There’s a series of tiny holes stamped along the spine of the blade, keeping weight down and adding a sinister shrill hiss through the air on each pass. The raiding party - if it can be dignified with such language - are nearly all armed with similar steel, with hunting horns, rattling chime-spangled shields, and bullroarer slings wailing and droning like an oncoming swarm of giant wasps. The effect is deafening, overpowering all efforts to coordinate the various companies on this mission.

Malicious Compliance - (M)

So this is how it feels to have a galaxy tremble at your feet.

Not just the galaxy, though— millions of lives shuddering under the weight of your boot on their necks cannot compare to the half-lidded gray-blue eyes drinking you in like you’re his salvation and damnation both. No, there is power in this, in these stolen moments with him, that rivals nothing else you’ve found anywhere among the stars.

He’s a brave man, your Captain.

Counting the Days (since Exegol) -

“That’s good, Finn.”

Rey smiles, feeling the Force ebb and flow around Finn as he manages to lift himself a few inches off the ground-- along with the meditation mat, two glasses of water, and the plate of snacks they keep for anyone who comes to visit. Finn cracks an eye open, smiles back at her, and lands with a thump. For half a moment, she almost expects him to be disappointed that his training is progressing slowly: hyper-competency is a Stormtrooper trait he’ll never outgrow.

Star by Star -

The galaxy looks different now.

It’s not just the cautious celebrations still happening, weeks later. And it’s not just the way people step back from her now, too much reverence in them for her comfort. It’s in the way she looks at the sky and sees the color of Luke’s eyes, and the gentle wind that feels so much like Leia’s hand, she cries. The way that Poe’s back straightens at the podium, broadcasting Republic news to everyone, and Finn’s hand clutching his under the table, their life forces bright and right in her senses.

Stardust and Memory (and a little bit of romance) -

“Wow.”

Jaal chuckled against her ear, hands firmly on her waist; a good thing, probably, or she’d be on her face on the floor. “It is… a lot, I know.”

“No!” Sara protested, only wilting when Jaal tilted his head at her. “...okay, maybe a little. There’s just— a lot of them?”

Scars and Holes and Broken Things -

Whispers follow him wherever he goes.

What’s left of the crew whispers in the halls, the mess, on the bridge, and conversations trail off when his ghost walks through, haunting the only place that's ever felt like home. Whatever they’re saying doesn’t matter, though—he doesn’t care. He’s too tired to care. He hasn’t slept more than his body demands in weeks. Tali’s immune system has already begun to destroy itself, and even though the Normandy is stocked with more dextro rations than it’s ever carried before—

Almost like Shepard knew. Always prepared, that’s my girl.

Heart of the Woods - (E)

You left the Templars, but do you trust mages? Can you think of me as anything more?

Less than a fortnight of sweet words, gentle touches, and stolen kisses are the only weapons she could levy against the trauma that shaped a man’s youth. And for a moment in time, Isera hoped.

Common Ground (isn’t so hard to find) -

“Skkut! Ryder!”

“Sorry, Enroh— oh!” Sara tried to stop, bounced into a low bench, and crashed into a pile of bruised, groaning Pathfinder on the other side. At least this time, she remembered to shield her head as she skidded to rest against the wall. Lexi would be pleased. Another concussion would get her put back under the scanner and that just ruined everyone’s day. “...ow.”

A Language Reserved for Lovers - (M)

The first time you touch him, his skin flushes red; the first time he touches you back, he trembles. Interesting, since if there is a word to describe him, it is steadfast. But there is more beneath the easy surface, beneath the deadly grace and unflagging stamina. He is loyal, and good, and so fascinating under the burden of his name. But nineteen is a young age, even if you're only a little older, and he seemed so young at first, unsure and innocent— then he gave you that crooked little grin, and stole your heart with it.

Every Beautiful Thing -

I would prefer to be Mary Shelley. She died a widow.

Despite a foolhardy counter, thrown in indifference and pride, Edith never really thought she would be a widow. Despite her foolish quip so many years ago, she is no Mary Shelley. And despite moderate success as an author and teller of stories, the only thing she and Shelley have in common is a belief in a world outside of the everyday, and widowhood.

Yesterdays -

He’s always thought she was invincible.

Sure, Morrigan told them the truth of the Archdemon’s death, an account more grisly and heartbreaking than the one Riordan gave; just the sort of tale that might ensnare a young boy’s heart, give him delusions of grandeur, while an older man might look upon it with resignation. But the truth doesn’t sink in until now.

If You Ever did Believe -

“There are people dying,” Isera repeated slowly, as if she could make her advisers understand what she'd seen. As if giving her memories voice might lift some of their weight in her heart. “We couldn’t even get to Redcliffe because of the fighting.”

Three days of being stuck on a horse, only to have to turn around after three skirmishes— their first mission to the Hinterlands had been a remarkable experiment in failure. Isera had learned her skills at the hands of the best of her clan, had fought alone for years, and yet the shock of tripping over Varric and accidentally hitting Cassandra with a ball of ice had made their first fight a near loss.

Some saviors, Varric had laughed afterward, staggering around like baby nugs.

Glitter: Velvet over Veridium -

If anyone had ever accused Marian Hawke of being a reasonable adult human being, she might have laughed at them. No, she'd have pointed and then laughed at them. But under all her bluster, and all her immature jokes, her dirty one-liners and cheesy pick-up lines, there was an adult hidden in there somewhere.

Okay, maybe I put more than one opening line, but I have a thing for context, dammit!

This got so long -- mobile users, I’m sorry omg.

Forwarding the tag (no pressure as always!) to @mayihavethisdanse @athreehundredthirtythree @thebisexualmandalorian @natsora @loquaciousquark @valdomarx @theggning @cullywullycurlywurly @systlin and @third-rail-vip

#dragon age #mass effect #star wars #cullavellan #fenhawke #fallout 4 #the witcher #shakarios #danse x sole survivor #geraskier #lavellan x fairbanks #ZevWarden #wardistair #rydaal #long post #my fic #i did the thing #do the thing

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starbornvalkyrie · 3 years

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of love and pearls

Okay so I actually don’t know what Amren’s inner voice would sound like but I wanted to write this little Vamren piece for my bb Nyka, @theoceanfaewriter. Happy birthday, my Amren loving Canadian friend!!! I hope you have the most wonderful day <3

For all the indifference and lack of warmth she shows on a daily basis, Amren really does love her people and her family. They’ve been through the wringer and back--literally, if she stops to think about it. Amren would have never guessed she would be able to feel love, but now that she has , she was sure she had no space left in her heart to give away.

But then she met Varian.

The affections from the Summer Court prince came to Amren as a bit of a surprise. Although, if she was being quite honest with herself, Amren was attracted to him from the very beginning.

Usually, when people first met her, they would shy away from her gaze or pay more attention to the High Lord she’s most likely accompanying. Those who did focus on her generally did so out of fear, out of wariness for the chance she might erupt--or whatever it was that made people so afraid of her.

Varian was different. Year after year, century after century, Amren had never met anyone who had seen her as just Amren. Not Second in Command to the High Lord of the Night Court, not one of the most powerful beings not of their world. Just--Amren. And she fell for him even harder for it.

She kept falling even after Varian’s High Lord issued a blood feud against Amren, Feyre, and Rhysand. Though she would never admit it, Amren was worried what the feud with the Summer Court would do to her budding relationship with Varian. But Varian showed her she needn’t worry by sending her a necklace made of diamonds and rubies. And even when his own Court was under attack by Hybern, he made an effort to warn Amren to ready the Night Court’s defenses.

Needless to say, not that she ever would, Amren is completely smitten with the High Fae male, and there’s no coming back from it.

That night, she was dressed to the nines, ready for a night out on the town in Velaris. Varian had arrived early that morning but had been in a meeting with Feyre and Rhysand all day. She loves her High Lord and High Lady unconditionally, but she needs to see Varian before he heads back to the Summer Court.

As she donned the diamond and ruby necklace Varian gifted her, there was a knock at the door. Opening it revealed the faces of Nesta, Cassian, and Morrigan, and all of them seemed a little too excited for a night at Rita’s.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, Cassian’s fidgeting feet giving him away.

Nesta was the one to answer with a roll of her eyes and an elbow jab to Cassian’s side. “Why do you assume something is wrong? Cassian had literal ants in his pants earlier today and swears he can still feel one. Idiot.”

Amren looked to Cassian who only shrugged as though to say It’s true. She sighed, “Whatever, let’s go.”

The four of them made their way along the Sidra, Amren next to Nesta as Cassian and Mor whispered behind them. It sounded like they were arguing, which wasn’t new, so Amren paid them no mind and instead asked how the Illyrian camps with Cassian have been.

Nesta smiled and said, “It’s been great. We’ve finally been able to get more females out to train with us. It helps that I beat Cassian in the ring three out of five times now.”

Amren was about to express how happy she was to hear that when she saw Cassian and Mor in front of them, wide grins on their faces and a giant box wrapped in gold paper between them. How she hadn’t noticed Mor winnow the two of them ahead, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she needed to know what was in the box.

Nesta sped up to meet them, and before she knew it, they had winnowed away, leaving someone else in their place.

Varian.

He stood there before her dressed in high Night Court fashion and a smile so wide it took up most of his face. He leaned against the giant box and greeted her, “Hello, Amren.”

“Varian,” she says, cool and collected, even though all she wants to do is run into his arms. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

His smile softened, and Amren melted as he motioned for her to join him by the box. He took her hands in his and began. “I know you absolutely loathe when people beat around the bush, so here it is. Amren, I love you. I have loved you from the moment you came to the Summer Court and stole from us, and I kept falling every moment after.” Amren was sure she wasn’t crying--she doesn’t cry--but Varian keeps going. “Knowing that I almost lost you for good still keeps me up at night. I don’t know where the next hundred years will take us, but I do know that I want to spend those years with you. Will you marry me?”

Amren decided she could let herself be vulnerable in this moment, let herself be soft and warm instead of cold and hard. She threw her arms around this tall, dark male that had stolen her heart and said Yes on a sob. She kissed him senseless as though they were the only people in Velaris, in the world.

When they finally broke apart, breaths heavy, lips swollen, she remembered to ask, “So, what’s in the box?”

Varian’s face-splitting smile returned and he gestured for her to open it. Amren didn’t hesitate and gasped when she saw what was inside. It was a giant jewelry box made of glass to show off everything inside. The best part, however, was that it was lined with pearls. There were pearls everywhere, and Amren thought she might die again from the sheer beauty of it.

Varian told her to open it, and, for once, she obeyed to find a smaller box, also lined with pearls. The ring inside took her breath away. It had a simple silver band but was adorned with the largest pearl she had ever seen with tiny drops of diamonds and rubies surrounding it. Amren looked to Varian, expecting to find a smug look on his face for knowing he picked the perfect ring, but found nothing except pure love and adoration.

Silently, Varian took the ring from the box and slid it on to Amren’s finger. A perfect fit.

She looked from the ring to Varian, and with all the love she never knew she could feel, she said, “I can’t wait to spend the rest of eternity with you.”

---

my full masterlist

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Thanks for reading! If you’d like to be added to/taken off my general SJM tag list just send me an ask! i’m very good at losing them in the comments. love y’all!

@maddymelv || @lucy617 || @tillyrubes10 || @faerie-queen-fireheart || @tottenhamboys20 || @the-third-me || @superspiritfestival || @rolltide7 || @courtofjurdan || @sleeping-and-books || @aelinchocolatelover || @julemmaes || @sorrehnotsorryy || @courtofjurdan || @acourtofaelinbryceandfeyre || @darlinminds || @lucieisabooknerd || @queen-of-glass || @jlinez || @abookishfreak || @stardelia || @ladywitchling || @rockgirl321 || @sjmships || @thewayshedreamed || @mamakramer || @meowsekai || @illyrianwitchling || @sanakapoor || @ireallyshouldsleeprn || @over300books || @sevenfreckles-for-sevenloves || @silentquartz || @theoceanfaewriter

#a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfiction #amren #varian #vamren #HAPPY BIRTHDAY NYKA #theoceanfaewriter #nyka tag #sfq meg writes

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zmwrites · 3 years

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tag: 20 first lines

I was tagged by @teasenpaiwrites! Thank you!

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20 stories just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favourite opening line. Then tag others!

I was tagged in a similar game LITERALLY forever ago by @scmalarky PRE-BLOG MOVE, which makes it the oldest tag game sitting my drafts. It came with the following rules:

Rules: list the first lines of your last ten published stories. note if there are any patterns yourself and see if anyone else notices any! tag ten friends!

I put it off bc to date I’ve only published two stories over on Wattpad. So doing the first lines from the last twenty projects is somehow...easier? I suppose?

I’ll be putting the opening paragraph or so of each piece, and will only be using WIPs that I actually started at the beginning. Anything that doesn’t start at the actual beginning will be skipped.

Anyways, this is going under a cut bc I know it’s going to be ridiculously long. In order of ‘last modified by me’ as per Google Docs:

Remnants

Radka had been a seamstress in a previous life. Trained from childhood on the most delicate stitches, the most intricate embellishments. She had worked for royalty, sewing crystals and spun gold into skirts for the biggest social events of the year. Her steady hand and attention to detail had earned her a job in the palace by fourteen, and a spot on the queen’s personal seamstress team by fifteen. But that was years in the past. The girl she had been then, demure and innocent, wouldn’t recognize the woman she had grown up to be.

Open Seas

Theresia Bowen sat in the back of one of her family carriages, forehead pressed against the window as she watched the countryside fly past. The sky stretched on forever above her, interrupted only by the occasional wispy white clouds, and the spring sun had melted the snow from the hills to her left. The grass was still struggling to grow but was scattered in patches across the mud. To her right, the sea rolled and waved to the horizon. Ships dotted the deep blue, their sails bright and full with wind. Most were trading ships, a few navy, and the smallest of them all were pleasure ships. It was how she knew they were close to her destination.

Indigo Wars

Violet Colby sat cross-legged on her narrow bed in the room she shared with her two sisters at Osbrick Estate. The name was a holdover from the property’s previous life as a stately home, though not much else had carried over. The walled compound was nestled in the eastern sands of Edristan, less than two kilometres west of the capital city, with sun-bleached buildings that housed several dozen orphans and foundlings.

Pine Hollow

It was a miserable Monday morning, with dark, heavy clouds masking the rising sun and a steady rain pounding the town of Pine Hollow and the surrounding area. The dirt trails through the dense forest were slick with mud, the tire ruts becoming puddles and the puddles becoming proper ponds. It was as far from ideal body hunting conditions as possible without snow, but Virginia Crane had a job to do and she wasn’t about to let some adverse weather stop her.

Rochester WIP

The wedding was supposed to begin in five minutes and the bride was nowhere to be found.

Evelyn Rochester, for her part, was not surprised. Her sister Dorothea had claimed a headache a week earlier to get out of a family outing and had been gone by the time they’d returned. A small chest and a collection of her clothing had been gone as well. Their parents had made inquiries to some family friends but no one had seen Dottie, and at twenty-six she was allowed to do as she pleased, so they’d been left to wait to see if she’d return.

Just Jane

Jane rolled over in the narrow bed, pressing her face into the pillow as though it would make it any easier to sleep. Even as she breathed in the warm, sweet scent of the bed owner’s favourite perfume—myrrh, rose, styrax, and marjoram—a new sound made her ears prick to attention.

UNSS Spectre

The spacecraft glided through the void, following its prey silently. It was using its minimum operating power, leaving the two inside to perform their duties without overhead or emergency lighting. Only the glow of their instruments illuminated the interior of the craft.

“Cloaking device operating as normal,” Ensign Graecyn Ramsey said. She didn’t need to provide verbal updates since Captain Mezei could see everything that she could see and there was no one else aboard the tiny stealth class craft, but it was habit and she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

Fissures

Katherine Delacroix was seething. It was hard enough trying to get a gaggle of thirteen to eighteen year old girls to focus under normal circumstances but having the #1 most eligible bachelor of the school just hanging out at the back of the auditorium was making it nearly impossible. To make matters worse, the attention paid to the blond was bruising the egos of the boys in the group and she was painfully aware of how desperately the musical needed them not to quit. They already had a female Cogsworth and Le Fou; they didn't have enough girls with deep voices to play Gaston or Lumiere or, god forbid, Beast.

Snapshots

“Are you still looking for a roommate?” Misha asked, voice muffled slightly by whatever she was doing on the opposite end of the phone.

“You mean since you stole my last one? Yes,” Micah replied. He was stuck in traffic on his commute home from work, something his twin sister Misha knew, which was why she’d called when he had no excuse not to talk to her. It wasn’t that he didn’t like talking to her, he just wasn’t much of a talker.

“You’re gonna have to get over that,” she said.

The Tournament

The coin spun in lazy circles on the table, defying every law of physics. Izora Graham watched it with one hand held in a claw-like position over it. She didn't need to but it made it easier to cover the coin should anyone watch it too closely. The bar was still fairly empty so early in the evening and she was tucked away in the back booth away from the few early birds sitting at the counter, however any displays of magic would bring unwanted attention. Especially something that could be useful to any of the Upper Houses like her telekinesis.

Noyama Contest

Earthens had spread across dozens of galaxies once they’d perfected faster-than-light travel, and hundreds of solar systems within those galaxies. PT-759 was one of the galaxies they’d colonized only to find that it was already inhabited. It had ended up working out alright though, as the native species had radically different planetary needs and also happened to find Earthens downright adorable.

Naetov was a smaller planet at the edge of Federation-controlled space in PT-759. It had a few key cities where government funding was funneled to keep them perfect for non-Earthen tourists. Those cities were clean and friendly, open spaces and carefully maintained flora making up the downtown cores, streamlined designs and shiny surfaces giving the impression of a planet on the cusp of significance.

Gossamer Girl

It was the first day of winter and things were already looking bad. Even though the cold weather had held off for an extra two weeks, the harvest had been poor. A mold had festered in their southern field during the wet spring and had spread quickly. They’d razed the infected sections as soon as the fungus had been discovered but it had already destroyed a large swath of plants. They’d lost nearly a quarter of their usual yield and the troubles had only spiralled from there.

Knotted Strings

The room was just a bit too cold to be comfortable. The walls were wood panelled with some sort of reddish wood that matched the flooring. Rows of chairs with collapsible desks filled most of the lecture hall, with the front of the room dominated by a whiteboard and a table. The professor, hawkish in appearance, was perched on a bar stool facing the students and overlooking the table.

Tess lounged in her seat at the table at the front of the room, notebook open on the table in front of her and pen moving deftly across the page. She watched her competition critically as he spoke. His argument was solid enough to cast reasonable doubt on her case, or it would have been had he bothered to address a small piece of evidence she found to be damning. He finished his conclusion to a spatter of applause and returned to his seat across from her.

“Well done, Mr. Wynn. Miss Kinney, would you like a few moments to prepare your rebuttal?” the professor asked.

“No, I’m good,” Tess replied. She sat up, scribbled a note in her book, and then pushed the book across the table.

Oh, Ophelia

Alexis lounged in the shade next to the pool, sipping a daiquiri and considering her next move. She’d been using the same identity for nearly fifteen years and the neighbours were starting to get suspicious. With all the new beauty products and surgeries available to people of her wealth it was easier to convince people she was nearing forty when she was in the body of a twenty-three year old, but now she had to deal with people asking for her skincare routines and her doctors and the identity wasn’t worth all of the research she was having to do. She was getting sick of Malibu anyways, what with the yearly forest fires that got closer each year. She missed the deep-rooted history of Europe, the memories she had in all of the major cities, the people like her who were still living in their castles and manors pretending like the world hadn’t left them behind.

Bloodlines

Ten of Wands. The Tower. Two of Swords.

Morrigan Keeling sat on the floor of her bedroom, chewing the end of a pen and staring intently at the tarot cards spread in front of her. It was a simple three card spread to indicate how her day was going to go: a card to describe herself, one to indicate what was going to greet her, and another to show the outcome of the situation. She’d gotten into the habit of doing it every day while living at home, and even five years after moving out she found it a relaxing routine to start the day.

The day’s cards, however, were not very relaxing.

PerDeA

The backseat of the car was dark, only illuminated for short intervals by the orange glow of the streetlights. Two figures sat across from each other in the shifting light. In the backwards-facing seat on the driver’s side was PerDeA. Her dark hair was pulled tightly into a ponytail, lips slightly parted as she stared unblinking out the back window. Shoulders square, back straight, chin up, hands folded neatly in her lap, her breathing perfectly rhythmic; she would have looked human if not for the faintly glowing cybernetic blue rings superimposed over her black eyes.

Westhaven

Her eyes were open but she couldn’t see anything. There were mechanical sounds ‒ beeping, whirring ‒ all around her, and voices too far away for her to understand. The sharp smell of antiseptic and the softer detergent scent beneath it.

“Initiate optical system,” a muted female voice instructed. Between one breath and the next she started processing visual information: bright white lights above her, the featureless ceiling beyond, her own nose and eyelashes. She couldn’t move her head to see much else. Walls that matched the ceiling so well it was hard to tell where one became the other, bits of the bed she was on with its bleachable white sheets and side rails.

“Increase tactile responsivity by fifty percent and disengage the motion inhibitors.”

Pro Patria Mori

She sat on the narrow bed with her packed suitcase next to her. Her blonde hair was pinned back, her blue eyes fixed on a spot next to the door, her hands folded neatly in her lap. The winter chill clung like burrs to the house, helped by the heavy spring rain that beat against the window in a staccato rhythm. Outside, trees bowed under the charcoal sky. The old house creaked and groaned around her, the wind whistling and wailing as the storm continued to batter the country estate. She waited.

At any moment there would be a knock on the main door of the house. Godfrey, the aged and shuffling butler, would answer. Standing on the other side would be some men in crisp uniforms, holding up her picture and asking if he knew her. She had seen them in town the evening before, and it wouldn’t take more than a day before someone pointed them in the right direction. They looked like military men but there was something different in their manner, something sharper. Godfrey would lead them up, and up, and up, until they reached her third floor apartment. The butler would introduce them, she would smile politely, and she would leave with them without a fight.

The Clocktower

Astra hated Capperham. The way it sprawled its squalor from border to border, from the sea in the west to the battlements in the other three directions. The harbour reeked of dead fish and unwashed human, the slums of sickness and stale beer. Even the neighbourhoods of rich merchants and factory owners lay under the thick smog of black soot the mines and mills spat out day and night. The grit and dirt was part of everything, so deeply ingrained that even the most rigorous scrubbing couldn’t make something clean.

Stars Incline Us

The Christmas gala was in full swing. The entire ballroom was full of people Pippa didn’t know, all wearing fancy clothes that probably cost more than her rent. Her own dress was aubergine and a simple V-neck, form-fitting enough to be attractive but loose enough to not draw too much attention.

She and another girl who didn’t seem to know anyone at the event were chatting with Antero and Mr. Rabinoff near the edge of the dance floor. Antero was already antsy to leave despite the dinner having just ended, but Mr. Rabinoff had trapped him in a debate he was too proud to back down from. The other girl was from legal and either found them hilarious or had had a little too much to drink because she kept giggling, leaving Pippa no choice but to laugh along while adding the occasional remark to the back and forth between the men.

That brings us all the way back to October 2016. Which tells me that I need to start at the beginning of more stories haha. If anyone has questions about any of these, please feel free to ask. Also, if you read all of that, you are a saint and a hero and have my eternal friendship.

I tag @the-writing-avocado, @radiowrites, @pigeon-hold, @sleepyowlwrites, @akindofmagictoo, and anyone else who wants to share their projects!! As always, no pressure (to play or to read this whole post lmao).

#tag games #about me

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5lazarus · 3 years

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Last Line Monday

Dream Time Adventures with Solas and Friends “Why are you all so fascinated with my sex life?” Solas asks, exasperated. “Surely you have more interesting things to discuss.” The Lightning-Struck Tower Leandra squeezes his hand. He feels parchment scratch at his skin. “Thank you,” she says. “I do love embarrassing my children. I’ll get right to it.” The Hit A motley crew of ex-templars and Tranquil assemble, led by Samson. Anders has food to fee them; better than that, he has lyrium, and Justice won’t let him take more. The Sand Ship “I don’t doubt you,” Anders says seriously, and the two men smolder so much Isabela shifts. Something had happened between them a few years ago, during one of the dockworker strikes, before everything went to the Blight. Perhaps if she blows on the embers she can get it to ignite. Nexus, Plexus Isabela flips onto her stomach and looks at him curiously. “I mean, you know—I was sold, too. Marriage certificate a property claim. That’s why I like to fuck. Means my body’s my own. Every three days, I’m my only constant. No one else claims me. The Tamassrans taught me that.” Coffee Story “If he blames us for the line,” she tells Merrill, “tell your partner to tell him to fuck himself.”

Merrill says, “Oh, but that’s mean. Even if it’s true. And he should.” What Pride Has Wrought “And she will not answer,” Lavellan says. “She will frown and turn away when you ask why she has abandoned her people. She will tell you that you were not your people anymore, and give her secrets to human thieves, who sell the last bits we’ve kept from Arlathan, from Halamshiral back to Celene.” She picks up her glass with her real hand and studies the dying foam. “I found your mirror in a storeroom in the Winter Palace. Morrigan stole it. But at Mythal’s heir, it’s more hers than ours now.”

Merril says, “No.” Queen Takes Queen Besides Anora is confident in one thing: Teagan will not betray his King to Orlais. So she keeps him close, and lets him sneer at the Orlesian ambassadors, and enjoys the scenes he makes. He makes her look dignified by comparison. She is dignified, of course, but one needs all the advantages one can to confront a woman who almost succeeded in stealing her husband. Her father sent her the letters. She keeps them with her, in case she needs to drive a wedge between Teagan and Eamon. He at least would not betray Fereldan to Orlais, not even for a pretty blonde little thing that would let him push her around in bed.

Anora has been told that Celene has brought Isolde’s family with her. That is a mistake. Hackers “Yeah, you would know,” Dorian says. He closes his eyes. His head throbs violently, and pain stabs once-twice-three times behind his right eye. The earth seems to drift underneath his feet: but of course, it actually is.

“Vhenan, he’s ill again.”

Briala says, “We need to get this done. Before he comes back, and reroutes the matrix again. I’m tired of him playing with us.” Fen'Harel’s Teeth: Fire in the Empire Imladris says, “There is no Elvhenan. But I’ll look into it.”

Before they can go to the Emprise they must first settle the Graves; one cannot take a territory without provisions, and provisions do not come when the roads are not secure. She sends her with a promise that the Freemen of the Dales, led by one Corporal Fairbanks, will be conciliatory, if not friendly. Imladris knows to trust her. Briala has never led her wrong overtly—misled her, yes, and occasionally lied, but always with the best of intentions. Lately, though, she has found herself surrounded by people claiming that—that their intentions for Thedas are the best. Stray Dog “Just get it all out, honey,” the waterbender with the water arms says. “Puke it out so you won’t cry about him later.” Dispatches from the Homo-Sexual Underground There is a sudden, vicious part of Judit that wants to chime, “And playing pinball,” but she restrains it. She has always had those impulses, to shock and hurt after being underestimated for so long. Uncomfortable with herself now, she looks out of the window. The two of them finish the drive in an awkward silence.

The corpse sits in a windowless studio in a tall block of apartments, built during the disco age. Whose Side Are You On? Odo growls, “Quark. Dr. Bashir. Garak.”

Garak tightens his face into a smile. “Constable. We were just talking about the union drive.”

Odo scoffs. “Ha. Well, anything to help keep you busy.” He grins down at Quark, who scowls. Disjointed Lenara’s ship docks at Deep Space Nine at 1400 hours, and Ezri is not there to greet her. A ship’s counsellor does not need to attend meetings of scientific diplomacy, especially when they are between Bajor and Trill, rather than arbitrated by the Federation. Ezri, hyperconscious that she is there, takes Jake, Ziyal, and Nog to the holosuites. Lactaid Acid Sisko, frustrated, says, “Well, I can’t argue with your health, Mr. Worf. You are dismissed, but I expect you at Ops early with me, to discuss the particulars of the meetings.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Worf nods, and after a quick debrief, the meeting adjourns.

Bashir stops Kira on the way towards the replimat. First Canvass Ro does not want to be left alone with a pregnant woman, especially not one so ready to pop. Blankly she says, “I’m certain something can be arranged,” and chews her tongue until her raktajino and her makapa bread arrives.

Kira and Dax launch into the day’s business. There are several Federation freighters headed to Cardassian space with aid that need to be manually checked for sabotage. Ro is surprised she’s trusted to do it, but Kira clarifies that she’ll be with her the whole time. Then there will be a diplomatic meeting with three representatives newly elected to the Vedek Assembly, all from the Rakantha Province. The Runaround Kasidy senses the tension. She says, “My momma runs a botanical garden out on Cestus III. I’ll talk to her about what I’ll need.”

Keiko beams. “Great! I’m here every morning, so, if you need me before you ship out—just let me know!” She thinks, that’s a sapling saved. None of my babies are going on the long haul just to choke from lack of care. The Apotheosis of Julia Augusta Clammy sweat beads on Riley’s neck and trickles down their back. They cannot be heading to anywhere but Capri. The idea is ridiculous. They pull out their ticket to check, heart pounding. The ticket reads DA SORRENTO A CAPRI. They stare at their ticket, then at the lady, smiling fixedly. The ferry continues to rock inevitably through the waves, sailing towards Capri. It would be beautiful if they did not feel so sick. He Rises Magda had never had much luck, anyway. She drank and laughed to herself.

“Listen,” she said, slamming the glass down. Chaim signaled the bartender, who quietly assembled a bowl of mixed nuts to take the edge off the two beers.

“Hey, boychik,” Chaim said, “slow it down a little.”

#last line monday #not much to add #but one taken away #writing #wip #to-do

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joysbell · 4 years

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The One with the Snowstorm: Part II

Go back: PART I

# # #

I remember when I lost my mind. I had thrown it into the Sidra and there it remained.

The rage that had filled me at the dismissal Nesta had bestowed. The refusal of my gift. I had followed her home, nostrils flaring like a bull about to charge. I could not breathe, I could not think, my only instinct was to be near her. It did not matter that she fled from me. The feeling—a steel chain—plagued me with every link as I hovered above her ramshackle apartment. It pulled me, practically wrested me to the ground.

From a rooftop I watched as she undid four locks, her slender fingers working, touching cold metal. I could hear her every breathe, feel the contact she made, the push of her door—and then she was inside. Gone.

Raw power had burst from the siphons on my hands, beams of red shooting into the air, straight up like tunnels to heaven. My whole body shook, I convulsed in the sky. It took everything I had to stay standing on the roof.

That was the moment I knew. Nesta was my mate.

When the uncontrollable event subsided, I wondered how much time had passed. What was probably only a minute had felt like hours.

I could not leave until I saw faelight. Not until I knew she was cloistered and safe in that horrible dwelling.

+ + +

Cassian was a good cook. After all, he had a lot of practice. Living on his own, camping with Illyrian armies, drunken nights, and hangovers in the morning…

Mostly he made stew. Whatever you had on hand could go in, and it always tasted good. It always filled you up.

Food was fuel. An army, a warrior, was nothing without food. Food won wars.

But Nesta would not eat. And that was a war Cassian was currently losing.

If he had to guess, maybe she reluctantly ate a few pieces of bread and butter a day to keep her going. That was the only food missing when he visited. Whatever else he brought went to the waste bin. Nesta had tried to hide that uneaten food under other things, as if he would not notice.

From the cabinet Cassian grabbed potatoes and vegetables. Hearty ingredients he loosely chopped up with an Illyrian blade that had been strapped against his thigh. While he worked, he stole glances at Nesta who still read, curled up on that disgusting couch.

She was not really reading, he knew. Nesta used all her senses to monitor him as a hawk would to a mouse it saw in a valley down below. Cassian was prey.

Once upon a time, before the war, Nesta had been afraid of the warrior. He had scented that fear on her as he had pushed her against a mantle, his tongue caressing her neck. Now she was his equal, possessing power he could not begin to imagine.

When Cassian’s stew was set to boil, he leaned back against the counter. Over the last few months, he had gotten used to her silent treatment, but he missed her voice. The cool sharpness with which she spoke, and that sarcasm that made him feel feral.

Cassian still thought about her in ways that made him lose himself, even though she was a slip of a woman now. Sometimes he felt ashamed because he knew she was depressed, but that did not always kill his lust. When he daydreamed about her body, Cassian remembered what she had once been, and hoped she would be again. He had sought release too many times to count, as he pictured her, writhing under him, her body on display while she moaned his name.

But more than anything, he missed the woman he barely had the chance to get to compassionately know. Now there was time, like he had promised. And part of him felt like he was completely failing her. The other part of him knew Nesta did not need or want a hero.

What could he do? Besides make her soup. Whether out this storm. And wait.

“The stew will be ready soon,” Cassian said, pushing off the counter to make his way toward the fire. “I know you can hardly wait.”

Nesta only looked up at him to roll her eyes. He chuckled, sitting beside the hearth. Pushing the coals with the poker, he asked, “Do you like rabbit? It has always bothered me—eating something so cute—but there is so many of them around camp… Nothing stops them from fucking. Not the cold, or the snow, or the fear of larger predators.”

Nesta slowly rose from her book to glare at Cassian.

There she is.

He grinned at his ability to irk her. To make her fingers twitch in annoyance. Keep talking, teasing her, testing her, make her feel something…

“High fae are always comparing themselves to animals. Lions, wolves, bats… But if you ask me”— she didn’t—“I would definitely say fae are most like rabbits.” Watching, he waited for her to respond.

Nesta snapped her book shut. And? She raised an eyebrow.

“Would you like bread with dinner?” He asked, grinning.

In an instant she had thrown her book directly at his face, but he had put his hands out to grab it. Nesta would have to be quicker than that. He whistled, slowly, before setting the book back down beside him. Now she was not going to get it back. “Careful, now, sweetheart,” he said deeply. Inside, Cassian could hardly contain the excitement at sensing that fire, her flames slowly rising to lick him.

Nesta simply pushed herself off the couch and went to stand above him, hand outstretched. The nerve to demand her book back.

Tsk tsk.

“As far as I’m concerned, this was a gift,” he said. “How polite. My thanks.” Cassian sketched a bow with the upper part of his body, then patted a spot next to where he sat. “But we can read it together, if you would like.”

Her look said she would rather walk out into the snow and stay there.

“That’s fine. I need to set the table, anyway.” He tucked the book away in his bag, completely aware he had taken away her crutch, hoping she would lean on him instead.

While Cassian set the table Nesta used the restroom, taking her time. When she returned, he already had dinner on the table, complete with bread. The gentlemanly thing to do would have been to wait for her to sit and push in her chair, but he did not want to risk his balls tonight.

Leaning forward, Cassian ripped a piece of bread for himself as Nesta took a seat. The bread was fresh, made today in camp, the aroma of it being pulled apart was practically orgasmic. He swore he would never get tired of this simple staple.

Nesta touched nothing, initially, but Cassian did not push. Not yet, at least… There was something he had wanted to discuss anyway. Across the table, Nesta crossed her arms and looked like she was about to brace herself for some lewd joke. But then a piece of golden-brown hair fell out of the crown atop her head, and she quickly pinned it back into place. For a moment he found himself staring.

After a mouthful, Cassian took a deep breath. “Nesta,” he said, quieter than usual, “I wanted to talk to you about coming here, to Illyria…” She was not talking, so she would not be interrupting. “I’m sorry,” he said, to start, “I’m really sorry.” The spark of shock in her eyes hit him. “Feyre was wrong, Rhys was wrong,” he said, even more softly, as if speaking this was treason against his High Lord and High Lady. “They should not have asked you to leave Velaris—not that I do not want you here, I am happy to have you here—but it should have been your choice. I did not tell you at the outset, but I had no part in it. The decision. Forcing you… People make mistakes, they made a mistake,” and perhaps he was making excuses for his friends, when he should have been supporting the woman before him. “And I did too.”

Silver lined Nesta’s eyes. Her body still, frozen.

“I did agree to watch you, though,” he admitted, “I thought you would prefer me to Mor or Az.” This was harder than he thought, a lot harder than he thought… Say something Nesta, say something…

Cassian had been waiting to say this since the day Rhys and Feyre had told him of their plans. Plans they had purposefully left him out of, until they had needed him, needed him to go pick her up and deposit her at the river estate. But Cassian had always been loyal to his court, he prided himself on his fidelity. Choosing between his closest friends and Nesta was a nightmare but realizing he had made the wrong choice was nothing short of a hellish reality.

The woman across the table did nothing, said nothing. She was a statue that only stared at him. Was the pain so blatant on his face? Her tears welled, but Nesta refused to release them.

Say something, Nes, he pleaded. There was a chance she could hear him, after all.

“I do,” she said, her voice cracking as if she had not had water in a week.

“What?” Cassian practically jumped out of his seat and braced his hands on either side of him. Nesta spoke. For the first time in months.

“I do. Prefer you—to Morrigan and Azriel,” she added, in case he was confused.

“Oh.” Cassian sat for a few seconds, and then let out a bellow. Nesta could have said she hated his face; it did not matter. Her voice, her voice…

Shockingly, Cassian was speechless, but he had no trouble smiling. The only thing that bothered him was the lingering wetness brimming Nesta’s eyes.

Cassian picked up his fork to take a bite as the snow fell heavily outside, hoping maybe Nesta would do the same.

+ + +

Tags: @ thebluemartini @ hizqueen4life

Hi! The Nessian Book got a title today AND I AM ECSTATIC!

#acotar #acowar #acomaf #acofas #acourtofsilverflames #nessian #nessian fanfic #nessian fanfiction #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #cassian

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ladyofmaidensandwine · 4 years

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Seven Devils

Part Five of the All’s Not Fair in Love and War Series

Characters: Dean Winchester, Fem! Reader, Sam Winchester, Charlie, John Winchester, Fem! Reader, Rowena, Crowley

Wordcount: 2,317

A/N- You’ve waited long enough. enjoy, luvs!

Summary: Y/N finally reveals herself, her mission, but everything could be put in jeopardy when the unexpected forces her to make a choice.

Warnings- Implied sexual assault, very briefly mentioned. Death by gallows.

“Y/N. Y/N MacLeod.” The silence that followed the words was deafening, Crowley staring agape. “You’re bloody jesting.” He denied instantly. You smirked, shaking your head. “No. You came to my home, to Innisfree, and you slaughtered almost the entire royal family. All except one, the youngest princess, who disguised herself as a peasant and spent many years serving the man that destroyed her life. She was beautiful, and caught your eye. You stole her away to your chambers, and then forgot about her. Then I was born. My mother died in childbirth, but I carry her legacy, and her title.” You said darkly. “Impossible!” Crowley snapped. “Oh, but it is the truth, Fergus, and now, I will be the one to burn your kingdom to ash.” You smiled, a hunger for revenge alight in your eyes. “I should kill you here and now, and be done with it,” you mused, stepping closer with an assessing gaze, “but that would be merciful. No, you’ll live, and when I reclaim my throne and wash my hands in the blood of your subjects and soldiers, you will watch, watch as your own daughter dismantles all that you hold dear.” Crowley paled considerably, scowling and struggling in his bonds. “So, for now, I leave you to your cell. I am truly so glad we were able to talk, father.” You spat. You turned on your heel, ignoring Crowley’s enraged threats and the insults he hurled at you.

You were ready, already stealing away to a hidden exit in the building, prepared to make your escape, when a loud commotion made you pause. The king’s guard were all rushing in one direction, and echoing through the halls was the sound of metal clashing on metal, the air suddenly charged with tension. Crowley’s people had come to free him, and they would cut through every living soul for fun. “Sam, you must go, and take Jessica!” An all-too familiar voice shouted, your heart racing. Dean. Of course, he had to be the hero every time. You had a mission, a vital task that your entire kingdom depended on you for. If you turned around, you knew well that you would never be able to leave. But if you left, knowing the odds were so stacked against Dean, you didn’t think you could forgive yourself. The shouts and sound of battle grew louder and louder, and for a moment, everything became clear, and you knew what you had to do.

“Stop! Touch him and I swear I shall kill you!” You snarled viciously, a sword you’d stolen from the body of a dead soldier in your hand. The man that had been holding a knife to Dean’s throat hesitated as he saw the death promise blazing in your eyes, the unrestrained fury and hatred burning there. “Why should I take such an order from you?” The man spat. “For one, because I will not hesitate to slay you where you stand, and you would be dead before your wretched companions could so much as move,” you started, eyes narrowed, “and for another, because I have command of you and your legions by birthright.” No one moved, Dean’s shocked green eyes snapping to you. “What?” “By your law and custom, you are bound to the ruling of the MacLeod bloodline, and thus, to me. I am Y/N MacLeod, Queen of Innisfree, The Morrigan, The Assassin, and Queen of you, especially since Crowley is otherwise indisposed.” You said. You had played the only card you had left, but the cost weighed heavily, and you met Dean’s eyes finding nothing but betrayal in them. The demon slowly removed the knife, the others exchanging glances, but following the example, especially as your sword remained poised to strike. They knelt, and your expression remained hard, swallowing the guilt down. “Return to your own stronghold, and if a single one of you is found within five kilometres of this land, I shall make an exceptionally gruesome example of you of what happens when I am disobeyed.” You ordered. When no one moved, you stepped closer, sword pressed against the first demon’s chest. “I don’t believe I hesitated.” You growled. They scrambled to leave, not daring to challenge you, knowing well your reputation.

“Y/N, please tell me you lied.” Dean begged, your eyes closing. “I am so sorry, Dean. I never- I never wanted for this to happen, I-” He shook his head, backing away from you. “This entire time, everything was a lie, all of it part of your plan. I trusted you!” Dean shouted accusingly. “I hope you can understand in time that I did what I had to. I have a kingdom to protect, Dean. This burden was mine, and I had to carry it. Forgive me. I have to go.” You said, voice wobbling with tears building in your eyes. “I understand. But I must protect my kingdom, too, Y/N.” Dean said, your brows furrowing in confusion. “I wish it did not have to be this way.” He sighed heavily. “Dean, I do not understand-” and then you felt it. The presence of someone behind you. John Winchester and his personal guard. You didn’t have the time to run before you were knocked unconscious.

You woke in a place that was familiar, immediate terror stealing away the air from your lungs. Stone walls, darkness, and absolute silence. The tomb-like prison you had been incarcerated in before. “No, no, no, no...” You gasped, scrambling to your feet. Through the bars, you saw Dean staring at you. “Dean, please, don’t do this.” You pleaded, thoughts spiraling further into despair. “You betrayed me. You betrayed my people.” “I saved your life!” “And how long would it be before your army came here to lay siege to my palace, Y/N?!” Dean shot back, marching up to the cell. “I would never have hurt you, Dean.” You said, shocked. “How can I believe you? How can I believe a single word you say, when everything, everything you have ever said to me, has been a lie!” He roared, slamming a fist against the wall and immediately regretting it. You flinched at the anger and anguish in his voice. “I told you I was here for my people, Dean! I have been more honest with you than I have been with anyone else in my entire life!” You argued desperately. “I would have helped you, if you had told me. I could have been there for you. Instead you kept it a secret, and I don’t know how many other secrets you have.” Dean swallowed. “The worst part of it is you made me believe you cared for me. Well, if that was your intention, congratulations, Y/N, you made me care for you, too.” He said bitterly, your eyes going wide. “I do care for you. No matter how I cherish you, I cannot let myself stray from my mission. I wanted to, so many times.” You admitted in a whisper. “Please, don’t leave me here. If you truly care for me, don’t leave me here-” “Don’t! Do not attempt to manipulate me, not any longer.” Dean said lowly. “You are to be tried, and sentenced come dawn.” “And if I am sentenced to death?” You asked boldly. “Then I will not be mourning.” He replied. You moved fast, snatching his sword from his side, and held it, but the blade was against your own throat. “Then go ahead, Dean. I would rather die than be trapped here, so if you truly would not mourn, kill me now.” You said, staring into his eyes defiantly, his hand on the hilt of the sword. He shook his head, sheathing the weapon and backing away. “You will be tried for your crimes as is just.” He said. “Crowley is my enemy as well as yours! I can stop him, I can trap he and his men forever! Why will you not help me?” You demanded. “I am to be King one day, Y/N, and my father has told me there are many difficult choices to make. I am commanding my troops and we will take Innisfree under Lebanon’s name, as it is clearly a hostile kingdom and dangerous.” Dean said, not meeting your eyes. You couldn’t breathe. “No, you can’t! My people are innocent, Dean, please! Don’t do this!” You begged, now near sobbing. “I have to. You forced my hand, and with Crowley freed, there is no other way.” He said, turning away with his back to you. “I am not the one who is the traitor, Dean. I was wrong about you. You are exactly like your father.” You choked out, sinking to your knees. He swallowed hard, glad you couldn’t see the agony on his face. He walked out, and you collapsed into your grief.

The King and his council, as well as both princes, sat in a line at the raised podium as you were led to the middle of the floor, manacled and clad in irons and chains with multiple armed guards flanking you. The people loudly shouted insults and threats at you, but you remained stoic, the grey light of dawn matching your somber mood. Dean looked everywhere but at you, and as John stood to begin the proceedings of the trial, you kept your gaze steady on him.

“The jury has come to a unanimous decision. The accused, Y/N MacLeod, is found guilty of treason, murder, espionage, theft, and being part of a dangerous rebellion. The accused is sentenced to...” John paused for dramatic effect, the audience hushed. “Death by the gallows.” John declared. You lifted your chin, as regal as any Queen, the audience cheering. Dean finally met your eyes, looking conflicted. You were led immediately to the gallows, a hooded man already waiting to pull the lever that would seal your fate.

“As is tradition, you are permitted last words.” John said. “My death will not be in vain! No matter what you accuse me of, I die knowing I fought with honour against tyrants like you for the freedom of my people!” You said proudly. You met Dean’s eyes, and couldn’t find it in you to hate him. “And no matter the outcome, I would make the same choices all over again.” You said, hoping Dean understood what you meant. The pain in the end was worth the beauty of falling in love for a moment. You turned to John with a satisfied smirk. “I shall see you in Hell.” You promised. He turned red in fury, and you closed your eyes as he turned to the executioner. “Do it-” “Wait!”

Your eyes snapped open, staring at Dean in confusion. He’d stood from his seat, John and Sam gaping at him while the public watched on. The obedient son, heir to the throne, opposing his father’s orders. And for the thief and assassin condemned to hanging. Dean took several quick and long strides to the gallows, meeting your eyes ashamedly.

“Wait.” Dean repeated, fists clenched and jaw tight. “She is not the enemy, father, at least not as of now.” “Son, I would advise you to return to your seat-” John gritted his teeth but Dean wasn’t finished pleading his case. “No, father, listen to me. She is the enemy of Crowley, and thus our ally. Her alliance with Crowley’s forces is purely to overthrow the occupants of Innisfree. She is a powerful person to have on our side in this war, father.” Dean said, tone steady but hard and uncompromising. “You can’t mean to say you would side with her.” John said incredulously. “That is precisely what I mean.” Dean didn’t wait for his father’s permission, drawing his sword and cutting through the rope around your neck, making you cough at the sudden intake of air. He met his father’s eyes challengingly as he offered you his hand, John’s gaze flickering between you both in shock. “My son,” John began loudly, “has decided to take full responsibility for the crimes and charges against this murderer. He has sworn that she will be our ally, until the war against Fergus MacLeod ends, or she is met with an untimely death.” John said, cutting a glare your way. “Furthermore, should either of them break the terms, both shall be permanently exiled from these lands on pain of death.” John decreed. Dean’s grip tightened, but he showed no other outward signs of the shock he must’ve felt, while Sam was standing, ready to argue for his brother’s sake. “Is that understood?” John asked. “Perfectly, father. If you would excuse us. The guards are not necessary.” Dean said, bowing mockingly, and leading you away.

“What are you thinking?!” You demanded as Dean entered his room. “A thank you would suffice, Y/N.” He responded. “For what?! Risking both of our lives?! Do you realize your title is now at risk of being forfeit?” “I won’t have a title if Crowley takes over my kingdom. I was selfish, and I acted on impulse out of hurt, and for that, I truly apologize. I should never have let you be locked away. I am still hurt, and I don’t know if I can trust you,” he frowned, meeting your eyes, “but I cannot pretend what I feel for you has vanished.” “Dean, think about this. I still have a mission I must fulfill.” You said quietly. “I know. None of it matters, not right now. All I need to know is that you and I are on the same side. The rest of it can come later.” He said, eyes warm as he regarded you. “Are we? On the same side?” Dean asked. “Of course we are.” You said, smiling slightly. “Good. Now, we rest, and then we devise a plan.” “You truly think this can work?” “I don’t know. But I would like to hope so.” He said with a smile. You considered him for a long moment, nodding slowly. You believed him.

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