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hrizantemy · 25 days ago

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Her name was Taryn.

Nesta had learned that much, though she hadn’t bothered to ask at first. It had just come to her one night, somewhere between the second drink and the steady hum of the music in the background. Taryn had introduced herself easily, but that was about all she gave. There were no stories, no explanations, just a quiet presence that seemed to stretch out into the space around them.

And Nesta hadn’t pressed. Not for details, not for more than what was offered. She wasn’t one to pry, especially into someone who had mastered the art of silence the way Taryn had. They didn’t need words to fill the gaps. The tavern’s music spoke enough for both of them, and in the stillness between their conversations, Nesta found an unspoken understanding.

Taryn didn’t talk much about herself either, and in that silence, Nesta had come to appreciate it. They both had their walls, their secrets. Neither of them seemed inclined to tear them down. Sometimes, when Nesta would glance over at Taryn, she would catch that glint of something behind her eyes—something old and knowing. But Taryn didn’t press either. She had her own past, a quiet one that Nesta had no interest in unraveling.

It was an odd sort of companionship, the two of them sharing the space without the need for constant conversation. Neither of them asked questions they weren’t prepared to answer, and in that, there was a strange comfort. They shared the same unspoken understanding: there were things you didn’t need to explain, not when you were already carrying so much.

So, they sat in silence often, watching the night unfold with the music as the only conversation between them. Neither of them bothered to ask why the other was there. Neither of them needed to.

Nesta had long since assumed that Taryn came to the tavern for one of two reasons: to drink or to go home with someone. It was what most people did, after all. The tavern was full of people seeking fleeting comfort, whether it came in the form of a drink or a companion for the night. Yet, Taryn didn’t fit into either of those molds.

She barely drank, always nursing her glass instead of downing it, a contrast to the usual faces that crowded the bar. Her movements were measured, calm, as though she had no real need to escape or forget, unlike many of the others who came to drown their troubles. Taryn’s consumption was almost ritualistic—an occasional sip, a slow swirl of the liquid in her glass, but never enough to abandon control. She was deliberate, thoughtful, as though she had no desire to lose herself in the haze that so many others craved.

And when the night ended, when the music faded and the crowd began to thin, Taryn always left alone. Nesta had watched this countless times—the quiet exit, her back straight and her steps sure, as if she was already on her way to something far more important than whatever was happening inside the tavern.

It was strange to Nesta, the way Taryn moved through the world with such purpose, yet seemed so… untethered. She had expected to see her approach someone, to watch her flirt with a stranger or get lost in a conversation that led to a bed. But it never happened. Taryn didn’t leave with anyone. She just went home by herself, night after night, no strings attached, no attempts at distraction.

Nesta didn’t quite understand it, not at first. It felt unnatural—everyone came to places like this for some kind of escape, didn’t they?

Nesta had long since figured out that Taryn preferred the company of women. It wasn’t something that had come to her immediately—it wasn’t like Taryn wore it on her sleeve—but as time passed, certain things became clear. The way her gaze lingered on women more than on men, the subtle shifts in her demeanor when a woman entered the tavern. It wasn’t overt, but Nesta could sense it, a quiet energy that surrounded Taryn when she spoke to them, an ease that never quite appeared with men. It was something that Nesta had noticed, and, after a while, she couldn’t deny it.

One night, after enough drinks had dulled the sharp edges of her thoughts, Nesta found herself asking the question that had been sitting on the tip of her tongue for weeks. Her words slurred a little, but there was a certain curiosity behind them that couldn’t be ignored. She asked, almost without thinking, “You prefer women, don’t you?”

Taryn had raised an eyebrow at the question, but there was no hesitation in her response. She simply nodded, her lips curling into a small, knowing smile. “I do,” she said, her voice low and unbothered.

Nesta expected something—an uncomfortable pause, maybe, a feeling of rejection or some sort of judgment, but nothing came. There was no judgment in Taryn’s eyes, no moment of awkwardness that made Nesta feel small. It was just… a fact. Something simple, and Nesta had found herself surprisingly unaffected.

She thought she would be offended, that some part of her would react as if Taryn’s admission was something that needed to be dissected or questioned. But it wasn’t. There was no anger, no surprise, just a strange calmness that settled over her, as though Taryn’s truth didn’t change anything between them. It didn’t matter. Taryn didn’t owe her an explanation, and for once, Nesta didn’t feel the need to dissect every detail of it.

After Nesta had figured it out, something began to stir in her thoughts. Night after night, when the tavern was quiet and the music had faded into the background, her mind would return to Taryn and what she had said. Taryn preferred women.

It wasn’t something that Nesta had ever really thought about before, at least not with any depth. She hadn’t been around women like that, not in the way Taryn was. It wasn’t that she disapproved, or even felt disgusted—it was just… foreign to her. Nesta didn’t really understand how someone could love a woman the way Taryn loved them. She couldn’t grasp the feelings, the pull that must have existed there.

She had known attraction—men, their rough hands and demanding gazes—but women? It wasn’t something she had ever considered. How did it feel to want another woman the way she had wanted men, to feel that same fire, that same need? The question lingered in her mind like a dull ache, but Nesta didn’t know how to answer it. She hadn’t experienced it herself, hadn’t felt that longing for someone of the same sex. It made her wonder if there was something wrong with her, or if she was just missing some piece of the puzzle that Taryn had seemed to find so easily.

The confusion would wash over her in waves, late at night when she was alone with her thoughts and the empty glass in her hand. She didn’t understand it. How could someone fall for someone of the same sex, when everything in her had always told her it was supposed to be a man who sparked that desire?

But still, there was no judgment—just curiosity. She wasn’t offended by Taryn’s preferences, but a strange kind of distance remained. It was as though she were on the outside of something, unable to fully comprehend it, even though she wanted to.

Some part of her, deep inside, was disgusted—not with Taryn, but with herself. It wasn’t something she could admit, not even to herself at first, but it gnawed at her. The confusion, the curiosity, the questions—it all circled back to something darker, something deeper.

There was a part of her that felt a strange shame, not for Taryn’s preferences, but for her own inability to understand them. It made her feel… small, as if there was something wrong with her for not being able to accept this part of the world so easily. She wasn’t repulsed by Taryn, not at all. No, it was the way Taryn’s reality highlighted a flaw in her own. A flaw that she wasn’t ready to face.

Nesta had always prided herself on understanding things—on having a handle on what was right, what was wrong, what made sense. She had always known the rules, the roles, the expectations. But this? This was different. It made her feel as if she were somehow behind, unable to catch up with the rest of the world. There was nothing wrong with Taryn, but there was something wrong with her for not immediately understanding it. She hated that she couldn’t just accept it without questioning everything, without feeling like there was something missing inside her.

It wasn’t just confusion. It was shame, like she wasn’t enough—like she was the one who didn’t fit, who couldn’t keep up with what felt like an endless flow of new realities and experiences. She didn’t know if this was something that was wrong with her, or if she simply didn’t belong in this world where there were so many shades of gray she couldn’t even begin to color in.

And the worst part? She couldn’t bring herself to admit it. Not to anyone. Not even to herself in full honesty. So, she buried it, just as she buried so many other things. But it was there, lurking beneath the surface, and every time she saw Taryn, every time she thought of how easily Taryn moved through the world, it stung a little more.

Nesta found herself at the bar again, seated beside Taryn, a drink in hand. She wasn’t sure what brought her here this time. Maybe it was the music, maybe it was the feeling of drowning in the chaos of her thoughts, or maybe it was something about Taryn that made her feel a bit safer, even when her mind was a tangle of contradictions.

The drink was strong, just like the last time, and as it burned down her throat, something in her cracked open. The questions that had been bubbling inside her for weeks, the confusion, the shame, the disgust—everything that had been building up inside her suddenly felt like too much to keep quiet. She couldn’t stop it. It tumbled out before she could even stop herself.

“How… how do you like women?” The words came out blunt, unrefined, as if she didn’t even care how they sounded. The alcohol had loosened her tongue, and now the question hung in the air between them, raw and uncomfortable.

Taryn turned to her slowly, her gaze steady. There was no judgment in her eyes, just a quiet kind of understanding, something that made Nesta feel exposed. She could feel the heat rising to her face, the vulnerability settling into her bones. She hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but now that it was out there, she couldn’t take it back.

Taryn didn’t immediately answer. She took a sip of her drink, her expression unreadable. Then, after a long pause, she spoke, her voice soft, almost gentle.

“It’s not something that’s easy to explain,” Taryn said, her tone thoughtful. “It’s not about how you like someone, it’s just about who you’re drawn to. It’s not about logic or reason… it just is. And that’s enough.”

Nesta swallowed hard, feeling the weight of Taryn’s words settle deep inside her. It didn’t quite answer her question. It didn’t give her the clarity she had been hoping for. But there was something about the simplicity of it that made her feel… lighter.

Taryn’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, and then she gave a soft, almost imperceptible shrug. “It’s not about having to explain it to anyone else, either. It’s about what feels right for you.”

Nesta took another drink, trying to process the words.

Nesta stared into her glass, swirling the drink as the silence stretched between them. The music in the background seemed to blur into a distant hum, and her thoughts ran wild, chaotic as always, trying to piece together what she couldn’t understand. There was still something gnawing at her, some question that had lingered in her mind ever since she had asked Taryn how she could like women. The question, so simple but so tangled, wouldn’t leave her.

She glanced at Taryn, her lips pressed into a thin line as the words formed in her mind. It wasn’t a question she’d ever thought she’d ask, but the weight of it was too heavy to ignore.

“Have you… ever wanted men?” The words slipped from her mouth before she could stop them. She didn’t know why she was asking. She didn’t know if she was prepared for the answer, but it was there, and she couldn’t push it back down.

Taryn didn’t flinch, didn’t even seem surprised. She just regarded Nesta with those steady green eyes, as if she had been expecting this question all along. Her fingers rested on the edge of her glass, her thumb tracing a pattern absentmindedly.

“Once,” Taryn said quietly, the word soft but lingering in the air. “A long time ago. But it was never the same, never what it should have been. I thought it was, but I was just trying to convince myself.” She paused, the briefest shadow crossing her face before her expression smoothed again. “It wasn’t real. Not for me.”

Nesta didn’t know how to respond to that. Part of her felt relief, but another part of her, the part that had been taught to look for logic, for reason, felt unsettled. How could it have been so clear to Taryn? How could she know so fully? Nesta hadn’t even started to figure herself out, let alone something like that. She couldn’t understand what it felt like to desire something different from the world she knew, from the expectations she had been raised with.

Nesta’s thoughts drifted back to the human lands, to the world she had come from. The world of strict rules, of things expected of her, of the roles she was supposed to fill, the people she was supposed to be. She thought of her mother, of the old traditions, of the whispers that ran through the halls of their estate. The idea of deviating from what was “right” had never really been a possibility for her—until now.

It wasn’t even about wanting to understand it. There was a part of her, deep down, that wanted to push it all away, to close her mind and shut off the curiosity. She couldn’t even explain why. The idea of being with another woman—the thought felt foreign, as if her mind recoiled at it instinctively, as if the concept itself was something wrong, something forbidden. It was so deeply ingrained in her, this fear of being different from what society expected, from what she had grown up knowing.

In the human lands, they had rules—rules that told you who to love, who to marry, who you were allowed to be. Her mother had made sure she understood that. “A woman’s place is with a man,” her mother had said, a reminder as harsh as the walls that had caged Nesta into her place, into the role she was supposed to fit. Her mother had always tried to push her toward the ideal match, toward the right kind of man, the one who would give her a future she didn’t even want. And the thought of anything else—anything different—had always been wrong.

Nesta’s chest tightened as she thought about it. It wasn’t about Taryn. It wasn’t about her at all. It was the world she had come from, the world that had shaped her. The idea that something other than a man could be right, could be enough, felt like betrayal. The weight of that shame pressed on her, and she found herself questioning: Was something wrong with her for even thinking about it?

The very thought made her feel small, like she was doing something dirty, something shameful. She didn’t want to admit it. She didn’t want to acknowledge that there was a part of her—hidden, deeply buried—that felt that way, that recoiled against the idea of being with a woman. Her heart raced as if the very thought would tear apart everything she had ever known about herself.

She swallowed hard, trying to push the feelings away. She could never have said it aloud—not even to Taryn. It was too much. Too foreign, too uncomfortable. It felt like it would unravel her, like it would expose something broken in her, something twisted that shouldn’t exist.

Nesta’s mind spiraled back to her mother—the woman who had molded her, who had carved out her place in the world for her, a place that always involved a man. Her mother’s teachings, her expectations, had been so clear, so concrete. There had never been room for anything else. Nesta had been raised to believe that her worth, her purpose, lay in pleasing the men around her—whether it was her father, the suitors she’d been pushed toward, or, later, Cassian.

She thought of Cassian then. His strong, comforting presence, the way he seemed to always be there, as though he were the anchor to her storm. She’d felt something for him, or maybe it was just the relief of finally having someone who didn’t look at her with disdain. He’d taken her by force, claimed her as his own in every sense of the word, and for a long time, Nesta had convinced herself that that—him, his touch, his dominance—was the only thing that mattered. It wasn’t love, not really, but it was what she had come to expect. It was what she knew.

She thought about her mother’s words, about the unspoken pressure to marry, to produce heirs, to keep the line intact. Men, men, men. It was all men. Every lesson, every expectation. That’s what she had been raised to understand: that women were supposed to belong to men, to be shaped by them, molded by them, loved by them. But when Nesta thought about it now, all she could feel was the tightness in her chest, the frustration, the resentment. She wasn’t sure if it was the men or herself she hated more, because somehow she felt complicit in it all. She let them define her, let them use her, let them claim her, even when it made her feel empty inside.

And now, she sat here, with Taryn, who was the opposite of all those expectations, who didn’t want a man at all. It made Nesta’s mind spin. How could someone—someone like her—be different? How could a woman choose to love another woman? It felt like an intrusion on everything she had been taught, like a rejection of her very existence. The very idea of it, of choosing a woman, felt so foreign and wrong, even if Nesta knew in her heart that Taryn wasn’t broken, wasn’t flawed.

It was her mother’s voice in her head, the disapproving glare she’d have if she knew. It was the legacy of generations of women who had never been given a choice, whose only purpose was to serve men.

As the silence stretched between them, Nesta couldn’t shake the feeling that Taryn might be able to see right through her, to the ugly thoughts lurking beneath the surface. She felt a cold knot twist in her stomach. What if Taryn knew? What if she could somehow read Nesta’s mind, understand the internalized disgust, the way her brain rejected this idea of women loving women?

Would Taryn hate her for it? For the part of her that recoiled at the thought? For the way she had been taught to see things in such narrow, rigid lines—men, women, roles, rules? The part of her that had tried to bury everything she thought she knew about herself, to keep it locked away so no one could see just how deeply confused she was by this new world she was stumbling into.

The thought gnawed at her. Taryn had never pushed, never tried to make Nesta feel anything other than comfortable, but Nesta couldn’t help but wonder if Taryn would look at her differently if she knew what was really running through her mind. Could she still see her as someone worthy of her company, or would she see the disgust, the shame?

The last thing Nesta wanted was to lose the only person who hadn’t looked at her like she was broken—who hadn’t looked at her like she was someone to be fixed, or worse, to be discarded. Taryn had made no judgment, offered no expectations. But now, Nesta felt like a fraud. Was it even possible to be around someone like Taryn without being honest with herself? Would Taryn hate her for thinking she wasn’t even capable of understanding who she truly was?

The weight of it all settled in her chest, the fear and the shame wrapping around her, tightening with each passing moment. She had come here, night after night, trying to numb herself, to forget. But now, she had no choice but to wonder if, deep down, Taryn could see her for what she truly was: a woman who didn’t even know herself enough to trust her own thoughts, a woman scared of everything she felt, of everything she was.

The night she’d run, it had felt like everything had collapsed on her. She had been suffocating under the weight of her own thoughts, the fear, the shame, the uncertainty. The silence that had stretched between her and Taryn had felt suffocating, and for the first time in a long while, Nesta had wanted to scream, to lash out at something, at someone. But instead, she had done what she always did when things felt too much—she ran.

Her feet had carried her out of the tavern before she even knew what she was doing. She hadn’t said a word to Taryn, not a single syllable, even as she saw the confusion in her gaze. She had just turned and fled, not caring where she went, just needing to escape. Escape from herself, from the thoughts she couldn’t stop, from the feelings she couldn’t control.

After that night, she hadn’t returned. Not once. The thought of walking through the door again, of facing Taryn, of facing herself, had felt impossible. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—let herself go back there. What if Taryn saw the truth? What if she knew how broken, how lost Nesta really was? What if she saw how much she hated herself, how much she despised everything she had come to believe about herself, her desires, her place in the world? It was easier to just avoid it all, to pretend she had never gone to the tavern in the first place.

So she ran. It was the only thing she knew how to do. When things got too hard, when the weight of it all became too heavy, she ran. She ran from the pain, from the thoughts she couldn’t escape, from the guilt that seemed to follow her everywhere. She ran from herself, because it was easier than facing the truth.

Each night, she found herself staying away from the places that once felt like a refuge, from the people who might see through her carefully constructed facade. The tavern had been a place of escape, a place where she could lose herself in drink and company, but now it was just another reminder of how far she had fallen, how much she was drowning in her own mind.

And so, Nesta kept running. From everything. From the woman who had never asked her for anything more than to be herself. From the very thing she was too scared to understand. And, most of all, from the person she might become if she ever stopped long enough to look.

One night, after weeks of running, Nesta had found herself standing at the edge of a decision. She had tried to convince herself it was time to stop hiding, to stop running. The pull of the tavern had been too strong, and there, amidst the warmth and the laughter, she had found herself looking at a woman, someone who seemed to gaze at her with an openness that stirred something deep inside her—a feeling she couldn’t name, something that felt raw and unguarded. It was tempting, too tempting to push away.

She had approached, hesitant but curious, the sharp edge of her emotions still cutting through her resolve. The woman had smiled, and they had shared a drink. The conversation had flowed easily, and Nesta felt a strange, fleeting connection. She had told herself it was just a drink, just a conversation, that it didn’t have to mean anything. But in the back of her mind, she knew it was more. She wanted it to be more.

When the woman leaned in, her breath warm against Nesta’s skin, she didn’t pull away. It had felt so easy, so natural in the moment, and she had thought for a second—just a second—that maybe, just maybe, this was how it could feel.

But when the woman’s hands had touched her skin, when their lips had met, everything had shattered.

It wasn’t the woman’s fault. It wasn’t even her fault. But as the kiss deepened, as the heat of her touch spread through Nesta, a wave of discomfort hit her, too strong to ignore. The hands on her body felt wrong—too familiar, too foreign at the same time. The lips, the warmth, the taste—it all blurred together into something unnatural. Her stomach twisted, her chest tightened, and her mind screamed for her to stop.

And then the voices came. The voices she’d tried so hard to push down, to ignore. You were never meant for this, they whispered, cold and harsh. This is wrong. You’re not supposed to want this. You’re not supposed to be like them. Her mind, once so clouded by drink, now seemed crystal clear, every word sharp, every fear magnified. She heard her mother’s voice, distant but unmistakable—You are a disappointment. A failure. Do you really think they’ll accept you? The voices of men from her past, from her childhood, echoed next—You were made for a man. You’ll never be enough for anything else.

Her chest tightened painfully as she shoved the woman away, her hands trembling as she backed off, unable to breathe through the storm of thoughts and shame that overtook her. She felt trapped in her own skin, like every part of her was screaming at her, telling her she had done something unforgivable. That she had crossed a line she couldn’t uncross.

Nesta didn’t even say anything. She just turned and ran.

She couldn’t explain it, not even to herself. The kiss hadn’t been bad—it wasn’t the woman’s fault. It was her own mind that had betrayed her. She could still feel the heat of the woman’s skin against hers, but all she could hear were the horrible things in her head, the accusations and judgment she had spent so long trying to bury.

The guilt felt suffocating, the rejection of herself complete. She had wanted to give in, to let herself feel something different, something that was hers. But the moment it became real, her mind spiraled into chaos. The whispers of everything she had been taught, of everything she was supposed to be, consumed her.

Nesta had retreated into the dark confines of her apartment, the world outside fading into a blur she no longer wanted to confront. She barely left anymore, choosing to stay in the silence of her own misery. Each day bled into the next, a cycle of self-loathing and numbness. She had stopped even pretending to care about the world beyond her door. It was easier this way. Easier to hide from everyone, from everything, from the part of herself she didn’t understand and feared.

The apartment had become her refuge, but also her prison. The walls closed in on her, suffocating, but it didn’t matter. It felt like the only place she belonged now, the only place she could hide from herself. She spent her days numbing the pain—drinking, sleeping, avoiding. It was a hollow existence, but it was all she had.

Some nights, as the darkness crept in, Nesta found herself wishing she could disappear entirely. If she stayed here long enough, isolated and buried under her own guilt, maybe the world would forget about her. Maybe the whispers in her head would finally fade.

She had no real desire to live anymore. The constant weight of everything—the shame, the confusion, the fear—felt too heavy to bear. If she was lucky, maybe she’d wake up one day and find that it was over. That she had disappeared without a trace, like she had never existed at all.

But she didn’t die. Not yet. So she kept hiding, kept suffocating in the quiet, hoping for something—anything—to end it. The thought of dying seemed almost comforting. It would be easy to slip away, to not have to feel anymore, to not have to face the parts of herself that made her want to run and hide.

The knock at the door came suddenly, breaking the silence that had swallowed her whole. Nesta froze for a moment, sitting on the edge of her couch, eyes fixed on the door. For a heartbeat, she convinced herself it was Cassian. Maybe he was finally here to tell her how horrible she looked—how pathetic she had become. He would taunt her with some sharp, sarcastic comment, maybe even drop some well-meaning remark about how Feyre had been concerned, about how her family was worried for her. He might mock her for staying holed up in her apartment, running away from everything, expecting a comeback from her, some biting response to make him feel justified in his judgment.

It would be just like him.

Her heart pounded in her chest, not from fear but from the dread of facing him—of hearing him look down on her again. The thought of seeing his face made her stomach churn. What did it matter if he came? He wouldn’t understand. He never did.

But then the knock came again, louder this time, pulling her from her spiral. She gritted her teeth and stood, her legs shaky as she walked toward the door. Her breath hitched in her throat, and for a moment, she considered ignoring it. Let whoever it was think she wasn’t home. Let them go away.

But the knock persisted, and against her better judgment, she turned the handle.

When the door creaked open, it wasn’t Cassian standing there.

It was Taryn.

Nesta tensed, every muscle in her body tightening as she stood in the doorway, staring at Taryn. Her mind screamed at her to close the door, to retreat back into the safety of her isolation. She didn’t need this. She didn’t need anyone seeing the mess she had become, seeing how far she had fallen. But for some reason, her feet didn’t move, and she found herself staring into Taryn’s calm, unwavering gaze.

“What do you want?” Nesta asked, her voice harsher than she intended. Her stomach twisted with unease, but Taryn didn’t flinch.

Taryn tilted her head slightly, a faint, knowing smile pulling at the corners of her lips. “Company,” she said simply. “I thought I’d come by, see how you’re doing.” She paused for a moment, as though weighing her words carefully. “If you don’t mind.”

Nesta’s heart pounded in her chest. She felt the walls of her apartment pressing in, felt the weight of every empty bottle, every wasted night, all of it hanging heavy in the air. She wanted to slam the door in Taryn’s face, tell her to leave, but she couldn’t. Something held her there.

Taryn didn’t look disgusted or appalled by the mess—she didn’t even flinch when her eyes scanned the room. Her expression remained the same: calm, open, unbothered. Nesta almost wished she would say something—anything—that would make this easier. But instead, she just waited, quiet and patient.

Nesta swallowed, her voice coming out almost a whisper. “How did you know where I lived?”

Taryn didn’t seem surprised by the question. She simply shrugged, her eyes never leaving Nesta’s. “You’re not as hard to find as you think,” she said, her tone light, teasing. “I pay attention.”

The words hung in the air, and Nesta felt a strange, uncomfortable shiver run down her spine. She couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was that made her so hesitant, so conflicted. Was it the fact that Taryn had found her so easily? Or was it the way she made Nesta feel—like someone cared, like someone was actually willing to step into her mess without turning away in disgust?

Nesta didn’t answer right away, her thoughts a tangle of confusion and something she couldn’t quite name. She should send Taryn away. She should shut the door, lock it, and forget this ever happened.

But then she felt herself step aside, the door opening just enough for Taryn to slip past her. A part of Nesta wanted to stop her, but she didn’t. She couldn’t.

“Fine,” Nesta muttered under her breath, almost to herself. “You can come in.”

Taryn gave a quiet nod, stepping into the dingy apartment with a grace that almost made it feel less suffocating. She didn’t comment on the state of the place, didn’t judge Nesta as she thought she would. Instead, she simply walked in, her presence calm, her eyes taking in the room without speaking. It was as though she had seen it all before.

Nesta closed the door behind them, the weight of the decision settling heavily in her chest, but she didn’t regret it. Not yet.

Taryn’s voice was soft but certain as she glanced around the cramped apartment, her eyes landing on Nesta. “Are you hungry?”

Nesta almost wanted to laugh at the question. Hunger felt like an impossible thing to focus on—so distant, so unimportant compared to everything else swirling in her head. She shook her head, her voice dismissive as she replied, “No.”

But as soon as the word left her mouth, her stomach growled—loud, unrelenting, betraying her in a way that made her wish she could disappear into the floor. She flushed, embarrassed, but tried to hide it by crossing her arms tightly over her chest, looking away.

Taryn didn’t miss it. Her gaze softened, a small, knowing smile curling at the corners of her lips. “Alright then,” she said, as though it were no surprise. “I’ll make something. You look like you could use it.”

Nesta wanted to protest, wanted to tell her she didn’t need anything, but Taryn had already turned toward the kitchen before she could voice another word. Nesta stood frozen for a moment, watching her. She didn’t know why Taryn had decided to stay, why she seemed so determined to take care of her when Nesta had been doing nothing but pushing everyone away. The kitchen was barely big enough to be called a kitchen, just a small counter and a stove with cabinets that had seen better days. Nesta knew there wasn’t much in the cupboards. A few cans of vegetables, some dried pasta, maybe a bottle of sauce if she was lucky. She hadn’t made much of an effort to restock lately.

She rubbed her face, feeling the weight of exhaustion settling on her shoulders. Why does she care?

Taryn, though, didn’t seem bothered by the small, threadbare apartment. She walked over to the counter with a calm, purposeful air, and as she started pulling out ingredients, her movements were fluid, practiced—like someone who had done this countless times before. It made Nesta feel awkward in contrast, as if her own existence in this space wasn’t enough. She had no idea why Taryn would want to be here, but a part of her was too tired to question it.

Nesta moved toward the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe as she watched Taryn work. Her mouth felt dry, her stomach protesting as the scent of something delicious began to fill the air. It wasn’t much, just a simple meal, but the warmth of it felt like something she hadn’t experienced in far too long.

Taryn turned to Nesta, her hands steady and sure as she set a plate in front of her. The dish was simple—scrambled eggs with soft, buttery potatoes and a side of fresh herbs sprinkled over the top. There was something rustic about it, nothing extravagant, but the way the steam rose from the plate and the rich smell of the food made Nesta’s stomach growl again.

She looked at the plate, unsure how to react. It wasn’t much, but it was the kind of thing that someone would make for you because they cared, not because they were obligated. The warm yellow of the eggs, the golden crisp of the potatoes, and the fresh green herbs dotted on top—it all seemed so foreign to her now. She hadn’t felt like she deserved something like this in ages.

Taryn stood back, watching Nesta’s expression carefully, her eyes calm but knowing. “Eat,” she said quietly, her voice soft but firm. “You need it.”

Nesta hesitated for a moment, still unsure of what to make of it. She didn’t want to accept kindness. She didn’t want to let anyone see her weakness. But as she sat there, the hunger that had been gnawing at her for days surged forward, her body demanding attention. She slowly picked up the fork, her fingers trembling slightly as she brought a bite to her mouth.

The food was simple, yes, but the warmth of it was like a balm to the raw, hollow ache inside her. It was comforting, in a way she hadn’t realized she needed, and despite herself, she found herself taking another bite.

Taryn, who had sat across from her with her own plate in hand, simply watched her with a quiet understanding. There was no judgment in her gaze, only something that felt like patience, like she knew this was just a small step.

But it felt bigger to Nesta—like a crack in the wall she’d built around herself.

As Nesta set the fork down, her stomach full but still tight with an uncomfortable mix of hunger and unease, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. The silence between them stretched for a moment, and just as she thought she might breathe easier, Taryn’s voice broke through it, soft but unyielding.

“I know what happened,” she said, her gaze unwavering, eyes steady on Nesta.

The words hit her like a blow to the chest, and immediately, Nesta’s stomach twisted. Her breath caught in her throat, the sudden rush of nausea threatening to push everything she’d just eaten right back up. She couldn’t swallow. She couldn’t breathe. Her pulse raced, her skin feeling too tight, too warm.

The last thing she wanted was to talk about it. She didn’t want to relive it, didn’t want anyone to know the ugly things she’d buried in her past, things she hadn’t even let herself acknowledge until now. She should have seen it coming—Taryn was perceptive, too observant for her own good. But hearing those words from her lips was like standing on the edge of a cliff, with the wind howling in her ears, ready to push her over.

Her hands shook as she gripped the edge of the table, trying to steady herself. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nesta forced out, her voice strained, cracking under the weight of the lie.

But Taryn didn’t push her. Instead, she sat back in her chair, quiet, waiting for Nesta to meet her gaze, her expression calm, almost unreadable. The silence stretched, and Nesta felt her chest tighten, her heart pounding painfully. She couldn’t even look at her—couldn’t stand the thought of being seen so completely, so raw.

She wanted to run. She wanted to hide. She wanted to disappear. Instead, all she could do was breathe, shallow and quick, as the room seemed to close in around her.

“I’m not going to force you to talk,” Taryn said softly, her voice gentle but firm, like she knew Nesta needed that space.

Taryn’s voice was quiet, almost a whisper, but it felt like a lifeline in the thick, suffocating silence. “It’s okay,” she said, her tone steady and warm. “You don’t have to be okay right now.”

And then something cracked inside Nesta.

The words weren’t anything special—they didn’t offer a solution or make any promises. But the way Taryn said them, with such quiet understanding and no expectation, it was enough. It was enough to tear away the facade Nesta had been holding together for so long, enough to let the tears fall. She wasn’t ready for it, didn’t even know why it was happening, but suddenly there was no stopping it.

Her breath hitched, the dam inside her breaking, and before she could even think, the tears spilled over. She didn’t make a sound at first, just blinked rapidly, trying to suppress the feeling of weakness, of being so exposed. But it didn’t help. The tears kept coming, faster now, like a storm she couldn’t control.

And still, Taryn didn’t say anything more. She didn’t reach for Nesta or try to comfort her in some grand, overbearing way. She just sat there, still and patient, letting Nesta cry, letting her feel what she’d been holding inside for far too long. There was no judgment in her eyes, no pity. Just a quiet acceptance, like she understood, like she knew that sometimes, it wasn’t about fixing things—it was just about being there.

Nesta wiped at her eyes roughly, but the tears didn’t stop. She felt embarrassed, humiliated even, but something in her—some part that had been broken for so long—was unraveling. She hadn’t expected it, hadn’t known she needed it, but the simple act of letting someone in, letting someone see the cracks, felt like a release. It felt like freedom.

Taryn didn’t rush her, didn’t try to say anything else. She just stayed silent, her gaze soft but unwavering, like she was giving Nesta the time she needed, even if Nesta didn’t know how much time that would be.

She just let her cry.

And Nesta didn’t stop.

Tag list: @litnerdwrites

#anti acosf #anti acotar #anti feysand #anti inner circle #anti rhysand #nesta archeron deserves better #pro nesta #anti azriel #anti cassian #anti amren #anti night court #anti morrigan #anti nessian #sapphic nesta #crying into eggs core

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gwandas · 9 months ago

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N*ssian stans acting like it’s unreasonable to expect an "I love you" in a romance novel is kinda hilarious honestly.

#mad copium #you are 100% entitled to your opinion but be serious for a second #that's NOT a crazy expectation #anti nessian #anti cassian #nesta archeron deserves better #acotar #the thing is I fully believe Cassian DOES love her but when your FMC's core struggle is self-hatred... maybe... she needs to hear the words #700+ pages you could've fit three more words in there Sarah Janet

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andorshitdaily · 1 year ago

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tell me in the tags who I missed!

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feyres-divorce-lawyer · 1 year ago

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sjm really named feyre, princess of carrion, cassian, lord of bloodshed, nesta, lady death, and rhysand, death incarnate, then said yeah let me pair feysand and nessian…..

#miss janet failing to to understand her own characters -_-#common sjm L #feyre and cassian who are fighters at their core #nesta and rhys who are scholars at their core #look me in the eye and tell me they’re not perfect matches #feyssian #rhysta #anti feysand #anti nessian

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sizzlingstarlightsky · 4 months ago

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Bat Boys Core

#you got #dreamy #spooky #and #goofy #bat boys core #moodboard #bat boys #rhysand #azriel #cassian #acotar #a court of thorns and roses

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lady-of-tearshed · 10 months ago

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Ephemeral

Cassian x Reader

A/N: This fic is really angsty. There are two alternative endings, click on the one you want once you're done reading that first part.

Summary : Cassian asks to be paired with you on a mission. One of his not-so-funny jokes turns into a real nightmare...

Warnings: angst, blood, injuries, (First ending alternative: death, dismemberment)

“Alright. We’re setting camp here for the night.”

You furrow your brows, a look of confusion plastered on your face as you look over the map, spotting the emplacement Cass was currently setting camp at. Lorarey. Lorarey… Your eyes scan over the Illyrian mountain region on the map, the name of the city echoing through your mind. A brief memory crosses your mind, you hum, spinning around to where Cassian was starting to set up the tent, your eyes still fixed onto the map you were holding. “Cass… Didn’t Azriel warn us about this region? The name sounds strangely familiar…”

You trace your finger on the map, as if trying to remember if, and what Azriel mentioned anything about Lorarey. You sit on the ground, scratching your temple as your mind runs to remember any important information, because obviously Cassian wouldn’t have been the one to remember any kind of information Azriel would’ve told him, too excited to be paired up with you on this mission.

Rhysand had sent you and Cassian to the Illyrians mountains with the goal of reporting every region advancements on the rules he had newly set for them. Cassian had insisted that you were the one that needed to come with him, so the Illyrian generals would have a better idea of how womens and mens could work as a team, as equals. You hadn’t thought much of Cassian insisting on the fact, almost begging Rhys, that it should be you that went with him. It could’ve been Feyre, Amren, Morrigan, anyone really. But Cassian had asked for you. You start to drift from your previous worry, and now all you can concentrate about is why Cassian could possibly have wanted to be paired on this mission with you, out of anyone else?

Wait…The silence was unusual, you were never able to think or concentrate in peace with Cassian around. He would’ve made a joke about how the way you frown makes you look old…You lift your eyes from the map, and scan your surroundings. Cassian. Where was Cassian? You jump onto your legs, your chest heaves rapidly, your shaking hands reach down to your thigh, unsheathing your dagger, your knuckles white from the tight grip around it, and tears start forming into your eyes. No… No no no no no… This can not be happening… Not when you’ve never told him that-

A pair of large hands pins your arms to your side, making your dagger fall off your hand.Your back is quickly pinned against a broad chest, you wiggle, trying to free yourself from the man’s grip, until you feel soft lips brush against the shell of your ear and whisper. “Boo.” You free yourself of the grip and spin around, your face and ears red and boiling hot. “Not funny at all, Cassian.” You angrily pick up the dagger you dropped and stomp away from this dumb, annoying Illyrian brute. Cassian just bends in half, holding his stomach as his deep, rich laughter resonates. A huge contrast of the heavy silence of the Illyrian mountains. You proceed to pick up some wood, ignoring Cassian teasing restlessly about how he almost made me shit my pants, telling me how I shouldn’t have let down my guards by looking at the map.

You grumble, starting to assemble the wood in a pile so that you can start trying to light a fire. Cassian clasp his hands together, a proud grin lifting the corners of his lips as he finishes to assemble the tent for tonight. You hear his heavy boots walking towards you, crouching down to where you were trying to make the flame catch onto the wood. “Hey…” He whispers, gently nudging your side. “I’m sorry.” He chuckles, his large gloved hands ruffling your hair, trying to make you laugh. “Well, I’m still pissed.” You answer dryly, not even caring to look at him at this moment. You were mad at him, but even more so at yourself. He was right, you shouldn’t have been distracted by the map. What if someone would’ve captured him for real because of your inattentiveness? What if he would’ve been tortured because of you? What if…

Cassian’s body stills beside yours, and you lift your eyes from the fire, scanning your surroundings. Your Fae ears were perked, twitching at every sound. “Cass-” Your voice was low, shaking. He quickly puts his hand over your mouth, eyebrows frowned. “Not a sound…” He wasn’t joking, his face and tone was clearly indicating to you that he was deadly serious right now. Before you can process anything, a hissing sound snaps through the silence, and Cassian shields your body with his, his wings wrapped protectively around you. A grunt falls from his lips as something pierce into his back, his leathers ripped open, and the smell of an open wound filling up your nostrils. His eyes widen, roll at the back of his head before his body collapses down onto yours. Your head bumps on a log on your fall down to the ground, causing you to fall unconscious.

—--

Cold… The first thought that came to your mind when your heavy eyelids fluttered open was how cold this place was. How dark… You tried to lift your aching limbs from the ground, begging your eyes to quickly adjust to the pitch-black darkness. The second your body is sat on the ground you feel the world around you start spinning. A qualm rushes through your body, your body shudders as bile rises up in your esophagus. Your body bends over, your shaking hands keeping you from falling into the waves of vomit that were expelled from your body. Breathe, You needed to breath, to ground yourself just like Cassian had thought you multiples of times in training. Your brain needs oxygen to think clearly. Breathing is the key. A distant memory of his advice echoes through your head, and you fight the urge to tear up.

Cassian… where was Cassian? Breathe… His voice resonates once more through the incessant pounding of your head. Inhale… Exhale… Inhale… Exhale… You repeat the action for a few minutes, your eyes starting to slowly adjust to the darkness in the meanwhile. Once you start to feel grounded, you start to pat your body, self-examining any potential injuries. Your legs were roughly scraped, there was a nasty bump at the back of your head, and your ankles and wrist were aching from the tight leather restraints. Leather restraints… Lorarey… You try to process the information, when suddenly everything clicks into place. Lorarey ; that was the Illyrian region Azriel had warned you about. He had warned you that a group of Illyrian rebels had been spotted around here recently. A group of barbare Illyrian, who were still stubbornly stuck with their ancient gory culture. They were merciless, and it was impossible to communicate with them, since they were only speaking an old Illyrian dialect. Not that they would have listened to anyone anyway.

Your heart skips a beat at the rustle of wings coming from your left. Your eyes squint, your nostrils flare, taking in the familiar scent. “Cassian…” You whisper, crawling as close as you can to the limp body sprawled on the cave’s freezing floor. Your hands couldn’t reach his body, the leather restraints wrapped around your ankles and wrist stretched to the maximum. You stretch your neck, your cheek barely reaching his hand. You gently tug at his pinky with your teeth, dragging his hand as close to you as possible. You rest your cheek on the pulse point of his wrist, sighing in relief at the soft thumping of it against your skin.

A tear of slight relief rolls down onto your cheek as you nestle your head into the large palm of his hand, begging the Mother to give you a way to get out of here. Both of you. Or at least Cassian. He was the most valuable one of you two. He was the Lord of Bloodshed, for fuck sake. He couldn’t just… perish in a cold cave because his idiotic mission partner couldn’t protect him. Prythian needed him, his brothers needed him, Mor and Amren too needed him… You needed him. You sniffle, burying your cheek deeper into the palm of his hand, ignoring the burning of the tensed leather on your skin.

Rhysand was too far away for you to reach, and you couldn’t risk lowering your shields in case the enemy had daemati powers. You thought about screaming for help, but the idea quickly vanished at the idea of the enemy risking to kill you both if you didn’t stay silent.You hear Cassian groan silently, his body slightly shivering. “Cass..?” You call for him again silently, internally begging for him to wake up, to fight. He had always been the strong one in these kinds of situations. Cassian would’ve known what to do, how to free the both of you, you would probably already be free and out of this cave if he was conscious at the moment. You bite your lip. You needed- no, you will stay strong for him. Fight. Think. But for now, your body felt heavy, and your head was too cloudy to think, so the only thing you could do was to seek comfort in the touch of his hand against your cheek. “I’m not mad anymore… I’m sorry.” You whisper, your body too weak to stay conscious anymore.

—--

Help… Help… Help…

You move your shields up and down, begging for Rhysand to hear you. To come or send someone, anyone, to your rescue. Cassian’s body was shivering with fever, your cheek moist from his sweaty hand. He hadn’t woken up once since you had been captured and dragged into this cave. You were nibbling at the leather shackles on your ankle, pain burning the muscles of your back at the unnatural contortion. The smell of copper filled the air of the dark cave, the metallic taste lingering in your mouth combined with the ache of your gums made you want to give up. But you couldn’t. For Cass, you needed to fight. If no one was coming to save the both of you, you would.

You felt as if you were losing your mind. How long has it been? Minutes? Hours? Days? You couldn’t tell. The pitch-black darkness of the cave made it impossible to stay oriented. No one had come into the cave, not to your knowledge. Was it their plan, to make you go mad until you perish? At this point, you would’ve probably preferred to be physically tortured, you thought. Cassian’s ragged breathing was the only thing that held the last bit of sanity left in you. Your anchor… He had always been, and you were so fucking stupid to never have told him. You should’ve told him, you shouldn’t have relied on your practically immortal life as a Fae. Life, even as an immortal, could be taken away from you at any given moment. There was no guarantee about anything, even as a Fae, you now realized.

Alternative endings:

They both die

They both live

#acotar #fiction #acosaf #x reader #my fic #angsty to the core #angst #angsty #cassian x you #cassian acotar #cassian acomaf #cassian x reader #cassian #cassian acosf #lord of bloodshed

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cassiandefenseattorney · 3 months ago

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"And the taste of him, like snow-kissed wind and crackling embers-" Acosf, chapter 19

#cassian #cassian acotar #lord of bloodshed #pro cassian #nesta's excellent taste #cassian acosf #cassian's taste #snow-kissed wind #crackling embers #cassian core #cassian aesthetic #I feel so relaxed #aestetically pleasing

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spiritedstars · 1 year ago

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I love their flirting your honor 😌

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #nessian core lmao #they’re so funny #gigi reads acosf

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flat-neines · 1 month ago

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Ok, I gotta elaborate on this.

As a fellow arospec person on this hellsite, I think that both Tamlin and Nesta being different gradients of aroace could be more compelling than the trash fire that's acosf and Tamlin getting a LI.

Acotar as a series is thematically supposed to be about love conquering all but fails to deliver on that theme on so many levels and different angles that you can't actually tell what you're supposed to be reading. (I've already made posts about how the series fails bc it wants to have its cake and eat it too. now isn't the time for that convo tho) And it's a damn shame that the series that insists on "make love not war" sucks at delivering the different forms and kinds of love that people can have and actively celebrate it. Like. This is a romantasy. It should be the bare minimum. (But alas)

On nesta:

So nesta being ace is kinda obvious to me because she, at her core, craves being seen and cared for who she is and not what she can do for others. It's probably one of the reasons why she reads romance novels most often in particular (instead of "I Am Totally Repressed And Horny And Can Only Think About How Horny I Am" bs) because seeing the heroines being saved or loved by the ML no matter how "difficult" they are is an escape from the reality she lived as a human and currently as a fae.

Her mother and grandmother groomed her to marry well for the reputation of the family her whole life and when that got torpedoed when they fell into poverty, she believed that being married off to Tomas Mandray and becoming his wife would ease her sister's burdens. There is no excitement like elain had for grayson. There's not even any sensuality or desire that could be pointed to. Marriage (and now mating) and all the things it entailed was expected of nesta. It was her job.

Also one of the few times that we see nesta express her dreams for the future, she says that she wants to travel the world and make a name for herself. There isn't any mention of settling down. Or falling in love. I'm not really sure if it immediately occurred to her.

Nesta, when not dealing with her poor mental health, often just seems very :/ about her own sexuality and is deeply uncomfortable with people wanting her to be hypersexual. You can attribute it a lot to her being a modest person (and her history with sa), but I find that a interesting facet of her personality and its notable that one of the core things that she does to cope (poorly) with her trauma is to become incredibly hypersexual.

She swings from two extremes, primarily because she has never been able to set boundaries in any of her relationships, and when faced with such an extreme violation (the cauldron), she goes the opposite way; possibly thinking that it would spare her more pain than whatever she's currently feeling.

(It is also weird that author lady straight up implies that nesta's (whose incredibly modest) one night benders are a form of sexual self-harm and then turn around to say "its not really a problem for nesta" with her characterization for bat boy smut. smh)

The intervention makes this worse. By the end of acosf, she never truly establishes any healthy relationships on her own terms (sans the valkyries, but that can be dubious) and internalizes the idea that her needs and wants are ultimately secondary to the ic's desires, and that she will (should) only be loved conditionally.

I do believe that if nesta was allowed to heal on her own, she'd be too apathetic the ideas of "one true love" and mating bonds for it to be used to control her. She would also be impossible to be used to seduce other characters, like eris, as she would just refuse to do it.

We never get nesta being introspective on her relationship to sexuality because author lady believed it was inconsequential to what she wanted to write despite it being a vital component to nesta's character arc (and cassian's to some extent)

And also obviously, it would've been more interesting that nesta's story was about her love for her sisters and friends; how much of a ride or die she is for her loved ones as she learns to love herself instead of having to earn the conditional affection of a man who doesn't even like her. We were robbed.

On tamlin:

He's a bit more complicated because I think I read him differently from most popular interpretations of his character and many of his relationships (as it has been said by others) with the cast reeks of repression and comphet at times.

I'm not a huge fan of mating bonds, and the way sjm writes about them, the relationships are strangled by the bond (feysand in particular) or magical eugenics at best, which is, uh, not good.

So tamlin getting a mate, even at the end of a potential hea feels off to me, especially considering how fucked up and skewed like 90% of his relationships are in general.

His parents (the initial blueprint any child sees for relationships) had an unhealthy relationship with each other, with his mother standing by as his father abused his sons and just the fact that he felt so unsafe that he decided that joining the spring court's roaming war bands was a better option. As much as I enjoy tamsand (sometimes), their relationship possibly has always been unbalanced; with rhysand being the older, more experienced one between the two of them and then the mutual loss of their respective families (starting with rhysand's mom+sister) , which rhysand blames tamlin for and makes it his life work to torment tam for as long as he lives for that transgression.

This spirals over to what goes down in the books, culminating in rhysand telling tamlin to kill himself despite tamlin ultimately being the bigger person and saving his life when he had every reason to leave him dead and buried.

(I do believe both tam and rice were the age of majority when they became friends, but rhysand more than likely was a good amount older than tamlin. Tamlin also might've learned about positive relationships while in the armies; which is something to think about)

Then there's aramantha and feyre.

Both relationships are also incredibly fraught for different but interconnected reasons. Aramantha, a known sadistic general of hybern (and a slaver) pursued him and then cursed him when her (predatory) advances were still rebuked, even after stealing the power of the high lords, becoming the queen under the mountain.

Over the next 50 years, he slowly loses his friends as they're either tortured or sacrificed for the sake of breaking the curse (something he did not want to do, they left willingly) and is put in the position of world's shittiest trolly problem: find and use a mortal woman to save his people (compromising his morals entirely to save his people) or give in (something that would not work, no matter what the strawman might say). This is exacerbated by rhysand, who uses his limited position to torture tamlin even more for the sake of vendetta (genius move there, riceman)

Because of these factors, feylin is a relationship haunted by the shadows of the mountain. They love each other, the curse couldn't have been broken if neither of them loved each other, but feyre also died for him because of aramantha. Immediately afterwards he also has to deal with rebuilding his court with little to no support system, the threat of hybern (to both the courts and to feyre) and once again rhysand trying to get his pound of flesh.

What he did to feyre was abusive, full stop; but by god, this guy was operating on negatives. There is nothing that could've happened that someone wouldn't get hurt at the time and it is a testament to his character that he realized what was wrong and not only apologized, but actively tried to rectify his mistakes.

This is a bit incoherent, but I wonder how much of the latter half of feylin is tamlin also going through the motions of what a romantic relationship is supposed. Pre mountain, he was a lot more carefree, but there was always the sword of the curse hanging over his head; and afterwards ianthe was also pressuring him to be more of a "proper" hl, leaving little space to even process... anything. How much of his romancing was because he thought he was supposed to do this? Did he want to go through with the wedding, with how miserable feyre was or did he do it to bring his citizens own morale up while protecting feyre ?(in a completely misguided sense) there are too many moving pieces that feylin operates in that discounting context when talking about canon but..... we don't really have his pov to confirm or deny anything, ugh.

Before I end up going off on tangents, I do think that similar to nesta, love (romantically) wasn't something that he wanted but an obligation and duty he had to fulfill as a hl. Any desires he had were ultimately secondary to his divinely ordained job and unessesary. He values his friends and citizens deeply and there's a strong case to be made that tamlin subconsciously doesn't make the same distinctions most allos make towards romance and platonic intimacy, further complicating any relationships he has.

Tl;Dr ace/aro hc's for characters fuck hard.

I think we as a collective are sleeping on ace!Nesta and aroace!tamlin headcanons

#i accidentally posted this before it was ready fuck #we've balling ig #pro nesta #pro tamlin #there's so many problems and issues that can be said abt the relationships in acotar #that an ace/aro read might not be canon #but it sure does make things more interesting #and highlights the core issues the “romances” have #i cannot see for the life of me cassian caring for nesta if she wasn't interested in having sex with him #and I have mixed feelings about tamlin mating bond theories #especially the aramantha one (as it doesn't make sense within the context of the series rules)#at the end of the day #this is still more just me messing around with hcs #fae briton (derogatory)#character thoughts #anti sjm #sjm critical

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