#nesta fan fiction

[shallyne]

The Sun and the Moon

Words: 500

“Do you think the moon and the sun are friends?” Feyre asked and with that question, she climbed on Nesta's bed without invitation, wriggling her too short legs until she fully managed to climb up.

“No,” Nesta simply replied, turning a page in her book. She didn't pay Feyre much mind, her little sister always asked endless questions, if they made sense or not. Today it seemed to not make any sense, except maybe in Feyre's curious mind.

Feyre slumped down right beside her, her childish gaze boring into Nesta as she asked, “Why not?”

Rolling her eyes, Nesta put a bookmark between the yellowed pages of her book and closed it. “They are polar opposites, they can't be friends.”

That seemed to make Feyre think, her small finger tapping against her chin until her focus was back on Nesta. “But why can't they be friends? Maybe it's the difference that makes them friends! They might complete each other, like two puzzle pieces.”

Fully annoyed now by Feyre's antics, Nesta stood and ushered her little sister to the door. “Shouldn't you be playing with your dolls instead of musing like a poet?”

“What dolls?”

Not even further contemplating what Feyre said, Nesta grabbed an old doll of hers and pushed it into Feyre's hands. Her door was closed before her little sister could utter another word.

Nesta opened Feyre's drawer of their old dresser, the one she had painted with the night sky. In hindsight, she was always meant to end up in the Night Court, ruling at Rhysand's side.

It's been over a year since Nesta went back to their little cottage that they had cramped in when they lost their fortune and it was hard, to say the least. All the memories, more bad than good, seem to press on her. Everything in here was as just as they left it, but more overgrown. There was also a hole in the roof now, making the ground underneath her feet brittle.

All of Feyre's clothes were still in her drawer, just as she left it before the beast, Tamlin, took her what felt like a lifetime ago. She didn't know why she pushed the few clothes to the side, maybe it was some kind of instinct to what she found there in the farthest corner, cramped far into the back.

A doll. Not just a doll, the doll Nesta has given her sister to leave. She didn't know that Feyre haf kept this doll, thought she had thrown it into some corner after returning to her room.

“What dolls?” echoed in Nesta's mind, in her sister's baby voice. Looking back, she never saw Feyre with any kind of dolls, or toys in general. She always made do with stuff she found outside, rocks, sticks, dirt. And just then it dawned on her that Nesta's doll was the only real toy Feyre ever had, before the circumstances took their childhood. And still Feyre had taken the doll with her.

Footsteps sounded behind Nesta and she looked back, finding Cassian in the doorway. He was so big that the cottage seemed even smaller around them, especially with the wings.

Pressing the doll to her chest, Nesta asked him, “Do you think the moon and the sun are friends?”

Confusion was written all over Cassian’s stupidly handsome face but he replied nonetheless, “I like to believe they are.”

[wildlyglittering]

Illyrian Comfort Pie

I shared a post with some Christmas OTP prompts and asked if anyone wanted any for Nessian and @dustjacketmusings chose:

"Every country has different traditions for Christmas when it comes to food: trying something new when they have always eaten the same dishes for the holidays feels wrong at first. But when it’s cooked with love by their favourite person, it can sure taste like new traditions."

I don't know if this entirely fills the prompt and it's a lot rougher than I'd like but please enjoy!

Illyrian Comfort Pie

“Fuck you, Morrigan.” Nesta wiped her bare arm across her brow, spices and herbs transferring straight from her forehead onto her forearm, the little green and orange specks dusting her skin. “And fuck you Rhys come to that.”

The alarm on her phone screamed and Nesta whirled around in her small kitchen space. She’d put the device down earlier, stabbing at the timer with a flour covered fingertip whilst trying to shove her pie into the oven.

Where the hell had she put the damn thing?

On the counter stood an open cookbook entitled ‘Recipes from the Heartland of Illyria,’ a bottle of wine which doubled as a rolling pin and cooking motivation, and Nesta’s pathetic pastry attempts one, two, and three – each one slightly less gloopy than the last - until she finally made semi-successful attempt number four.

No phone.  

Nesta let out a noise halfway between a screech and a yell, her hands reaching either side of her head, ignoring whatever food stuff would end up in her hair.

“Shit!” At least she managed to remember what the phone alarm was for, swivelling behind her and yanking down the oven door, reaching for the mitts as she ducked a plume of smoke.

This one didn’t smell too bad. Nesta grabbed the pie and shoved it onto the trivet on the counter. The crust was a little singed on one side but, if she was careful, she’d be able to scrape that off.

Her movements jostled a reem of paper towels and as they fell to their side, they revealed the object of Nesta’s irritation. One phone.

“Thank you,” she muttered, her eyes drifting upwards to the ceiling as she turned off the alarm. Her thanks was to whatever cookery god was willing to listen and half to the smoke alarm not going off.

Three notifications waited for her. She took a breath in and hit open on the first one.

Hahaha. You agreed to what?! Even *I* run from making that dish. Pretty sure my *grandmother* ran from making that dish and she used to be a baker. Anyway, are you coming Thursday?

Emerie. Not providing the answers Nesta was so desperately hoping for, instead reminding Nesta she had yet to confirm drinks with her and Gwyn. Nesta typed out a quick response.

Yes to Thursday. Any chance your grandmother would attempt making this again if I paid her?

Sent. Nesta moved onto notification number two - Feyre.

Did you want me to see if the Illyrian restaurant down Sidra Street will do a delivery? If you put it in the oven for a bit and burn the edges no one will know.

Nesta raised an eyebrow. The audacity of her sister to assume Nesta would need assistance and that she’d burn the pie. She had burnt the pie but still, the audacity.

She chose not to respond to that one and instead moved to the final notification. Cassian. Nesta took a deep breath and hit open.

Are you having as much fun as I am? Thinking I could do this as a side hustle.

There was a photo attached. Cassian had taken a selfie of himself standing in front of his obnoxiously large quartz kitchen counter. His dark hair was tied in a messy bun and he winked into the camera. He wore an apron Nesta had never seen before, deep red with candy cane striped ties and in Christmas style writing was embroidered ‘Kiss the Chef’ underneath a sprig of mistletoe.

Nesta squinted at the image, zooming past Cassian himself to the dishes behind him slightly out of frame. Was that a bowl of perfectly glazed parsnips? A tray of immaculate shortbreads?

She let out another noise and flung the phone back onto the counter so she could press her palms into her eyes. At this point she was covered in flour, meat juice, and soggy pastry pieces. Sweat gathered under her breasts and trickled down her back from the constant heat of the oven.

Nesta had been baking for over six hours now and though there was a small part of her which wanted to cry, she refused. Although she’d cursed Morrigan and Rhys the biggest ‘fuck you’ should have been delivered to Nesta herself.

She’d agreed to this when she should have declined, and now her pride would cause her to take a fall.

There had been five of them for drinks at Rita’s. Should have been two – only Nesta and Cassian for their quiet post theatre drinks, but Morrigan had been there with other friends who she swiftly abandoned as soon as she saw Cassian arrive.

Within minutes Morrigan had called Feyre and then before Nesta knew it, she was being squished into a booth, Cassian to her left and Feyre to her right, while she sipped her chilled white wine and counted the minutes until it was socially acceptable to say her goodbyes.

“Oh my god,” Morrigan had been saying. “That was the best dish I think I’d ever eaten. Do you remember it Rhys? The caramelised onions and gravy? What was it called again Cass?”

Cassian groaned and lolled his head back. “Illyrian Comfort Pie. My favourite.” He took a sip of his beer. “The Illyrian army did a version with off-cuts, almost ruined a perfect dish.”

“What’s this pie?” Feyre asked.

“Only the best pie in the world,” Cassian replied, his eyes misting over. “Imagine thick tender beef soaked in its own juices for hours, drowned in rich gravy and embedded with caramelised onions all under a cover of hot crust pastry.”

“You need a room, Cass?” Rhys laughed.

Cassian raised his middle finger to Rhys but joined him in the laughter.

“Cassian’s ex made the best version,” Morrigan said, her eyes sliding to Nesta. “Honestly no one would be able to top it. Bri wasn’t even Illyrian but it was spot on.” She took a long sip from her own glass of red wine. “I guess it doesn’t need to be your own tradition if you care enough to put in the effort.”

There was a heavy silence which would have lingered if not for the clearing of Feyre’s throat. “Who’s got who for Secret Santa?”

“Oh, I’m sure if Nesta put in the effort it would be just as good. Right?” Nesta looked up and met Rhys’ eyes as he ignored Feyre’s question. He smirked as he finished speaking, cocking his own beer bottle to his mouth.

Three more pairs of eyes looked her way. Nesta felt the slight, almost imperceptible tensing from Cassian but it was Feyre’s eyes which widened the most. There was a kick against Nesta’s shin under the table.

“I’m sure it would,” Nesta said, “if I had the time.”

“Cassian was telling us at the bar you’re now on vacation. All your gifts already wrapped and under the tree. Sounds like you have time.”

“Rhys...” Feyre began but Morrigan jumped in.

“I think that would be a lovely Christmas present for Cass. You can start your own tradition now you’re official. Illyrian food is so hearty.”

There was a part of Nesta which was too stubborn for her own good. Rhys’ smirk and Morrigan’s too-wide grin opposite her, the meeting of the cousin’s eyes like this was some in-joke they had just started. Feyre kept kicking her under the table, the jostling movement irritating Nesta further.

The flash of irritation was the problem. That, and the second glass of wine she’d drunk on a half empty stomach fuelling it. Her temperature rose and her skin prickled and instead of counting to twenty like she’d been practicing in her apartment Nesta opened her mouth.

“Fine,” she said, “this whole thing sounds great. One Illyrian Comfort Pie it is. When do you want it? Day after next?” Nesta quickly grabbed her glass to take a swig of her drink before she agreed to anything else.

Cassian’s eyebrows shot up but she didn’t want to meet his eyes, he was probably thinking how Nesta wasn’t implementing those ‘take a moment’ techniques. But his hand reached down to clasp her free one under the table, giving it a squeeze.

“You know what?” he said, looking at the group. “I want in on this. New traditions sound great. You’re making mine so how about yours. What’s the Archeron family dish of choice?” He asked this looking at Nesta but she still had the wine glass clamped to her lips. No longer drinking, just holding it there to feel the cold.

“Ooh,” Feyre said, clapping her hands and jiggling a little on her seat. “Roasted venison, but that’s quite tricky. We haven’t eaten that since Elain went vegetarian. We also had roast potatoes and honey glazed parsnips. Green beans. There was a cheesy mash and – oh, oh, the shortbread biscuits with a chocolate drizzle and the Prythian Pavlova. That’s Nesta’s favourite.”

Cassian laughed. “You want to take a breath there, Feyre?”

In response, Feyre’s stomach grumbled. “No, but I think I need some dinner.”

Aside from Nesta, the table laughed. Her wine glass was now empty and back on the table, her fingers toying with the stem, her mind too preoccupied with the thought of this pie and how the hell she’d even find the recipe.

As the chatter resumed, now about where Rhys and Feyre were going for dinner, Cassian’s weight shifted against her, his arm casually slinging around her shoulders.

“You ok?”

She glanced up at him, plastering a smile on her face. “Absolutely fine.”

“Hmm. Is that genuine fine or Nesta fine?”

Cassian was staring at her intently, concern swimming in his dark eyes. She knew if she immediately conceded he’d let it go, their friendship group knew Nesta wasn’t known for her domestic pursuits and Cassian could whip up a mean dish filled with flavour.

If she really wanted to, Nesta could cheat her way out of this. Getting Elain to bake the pie for her would have once been a consideration until Elain and Lucien’s diet change. No meat, no dairy, no sugar.

No flavour, Lucien had added, ignoring Elain’s frown.

Still, there was something else shining in Cassian’s eyes. Excitement. He was pleased she’d agreed, he relished competition in all its forms and he seemed eager to do this with her.

Nesta’s smile melted in a more genuine one and she squeezed his hand back. “Honestly, it’s good. Dare I say I may even find it fun?”

That was two days ago. Two long days.

“Ha!” She now shouted to her cramped kitchen. “Two drink Nesta has no concept of what the fuck fun is.”

Everything was a mess, even the edges of the cookbook were singed and Nesta cringed at the sight. Gwyn had managed to track down the edition on her behalf and Nesta hated to see a book suffer.

She looked at the clock. Two hours to go – plenty of time to shower, dress up and cart the pie to Cassian’s where they would have a grand unveiling in front of their friends. Her phone pinged and Nesta glanced down to see a reply from Emerie.

She says no chance.

“That’s not a problem,” Nesta said, wiping her hands on her thighs and staining her jeans further. “Because I now have a half decent pie.” She picked up the sharp knife. “Just scrape some of the black bits off and we are good to go.”

The knife slid through the crust and Nesta lifted some of the burnt pastry off using the blade. Odd. What was a deep and crispy brown on the surface seemed pale and soft underneath. Almost as though the pastry hadn’t fully cooked all the way through.

“It’s just this bit,” Nesta told herself. “I’m sure the rest is just fine.” But as she gently lifted the pie-top she could see the same pale colour underneath. Worse was the distinct lack of steam rising from the filling. “No, no, no, no. You’ve been in the oven for almost two hours.”

Grabbing a fork, she stuck it into the dish and scooped out a lump of meat. Juice, which looked far too oily for her liking, dripped off the prongs. Nesta placed the meat on the counter and cut through it with a knife.

She was met with resistance. The beef was still cold. A noise left her throat unbidden, something akin to a half sob. Nesta had researched the best meat cuts for the pie, she’d made sure to go to the best butcher and spent no less than forty-five minutes asking the rather exasperated man behind the counter questions from her list.

Her eyes flew up to the clock. Less than two hours to go. The time she’d budgeted to get ready and go to Cassian’s now shrivelled up. Just like my hopes for this pie.

She peered into the dish, the caramelized onions bobbing in the gravy like some apple bobbing contest gone wrong. “You’re mocking me,” she said and then groaned. They wouldn’t be the only ones.  

Nesta sank down onto her floor, ignoring the drip of gravy she sat on and put her head on her knees. She could imagine it all now; Feyre, Rhys, and Morrigan all dressed up, swanning around Cassian’s apartment waiting to be served their multiple courses.

Feyre’s eyes would go wide at Nesta’s attempt but she’d try and make Nesta feel better and yet somehow by trying, she’d only make Nesta feel worse. Cassian would likely tuck the monstrosity – if she even bothered bringing it – behind some extravaganza he’d made and perform an elaborate distraction.

Rhys and Morrigan would probably just snigger behind their drinks and tell her that ‘at least she tried.’ Patronising fuckers.

A tear dripped from the corner of her eye down her chin.

Nesta had tried. Had really tried. She’d memorised the recipe from back to front before she even started, she’d gone out into Velaris Market with a clipboard, she’d called Elain early for pastry tips ignoring Lucien joining the call to ask Nesta if she could describe what real food tasted like because the memory of butter was fading fast.

She wiped her eyes with her fingers, knowing she must look even more of a state than before. But wait – there was an option open to her. Hope flared yet.

Nesta grabbed her phone from the counter. What had Feyre said? The Illyrian restaurant down Sidra Street might be able to deliver. If anyone served an Illyrian Comfort Pie, it would be them. She scrolled through her favourites for the number. Her and Cassian had eaten there so often, she practically had them on speed dial.

The phone answered after the second ring.

“Hello? Hi. I know it’s late notice but I’m in a bit of a bind and hoping you could help.”

She explained the situation, confirming that yes, her pie request was for that Cassian, the one with the tattoos and arms.

“I mean, I don’t know,” Nesta said, eyeing up the clock and tapping her foot against the cupboard. “I’ll ask him. Some kind of protein shake, I think. Yeah, it’s really glossy hair. I’ll ask him that too. Anyway – the pie?”

They were regretful. Truly. Nesta could almost feel their sorrow down the phone. They didn’t have any pies pre-baked and they wouldn’t have one ready for the time she needed it by. They offered Nesta and Cassian a discount on their next visit and Nesta thanked them before hanging up.

“Well. Shit.”

Her eyes itched and she wanted to cry again but this wasn’t the Archeron way. She shook her shoulders and cleared her throat. There would be no pie but Nesta would be damned if she turned up without bringing anything and looking like a chaotic mess.

The kitchen horror show was a problem for future her, but in less than an hour, she had showered, dressed herself in her most confidence boosting little black dress and practiced her affirmations in front of the hallway mirror.

“You are a calm, confident, capable woman. You did not achieve the pie. Others have probably not achieved the pie. You have achieved other things. Like your best friends, two degrees, and this awesome looking pavlova.”

Nesta held the covered bowl to the mirror as though to show her reflection the cream and meringue evidence. Her lipstick red smile shook a little but the taxi driver was calling to say he was downstairs so there was no time for doubt to creep in.

On a usual night it took too long to get to Cassian’s. The drive was less than fifteen minutes from one end of the small city where Nesta lived to Cassian’s address and every second stretched out painfully slow.

Tonight, it was as though all roads had cleared especially for her just to say ‘look, you can get to your ritual humiliation even earlier.’

“It’s not like I’ve ever seen Rhys or Morrigan cook,” she mumbled to herself as she exited the cab and entered Cassian’s building. The porter nodded and buzzed her in and then Nesta was counting the too-quick numbers on the elevator.

Cassian’s apartment was one of two at the top of the building and though the sound-proofing was excellent, which they could attest to personally, Nesta was surprised at the distinct lack of any festivities sounding from behind his door when she approached.

He answered after one knock, hair freshly washed and dried. His white dress shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and the top buttons were undone, swathes of black swirling tattoos on display.

Cassian let out a low whistle and grinned like a wolf when he saw her. “Well, if it isn’t my favourite lady, in my favourite dress of hers, with my favourite dish.”

He leant in to kiss her and Nesta winced at the mention of food. Cassian’s lips met hers in a chaste kiss but he must have noticed her response as he was frowning when he pulled away.

“Come in,” he said with a light tone. “Let me take that.” He held his hands out for the bowl she was carrying but she clutched it tighter to her body.

“That’s ok, let me find a space to put it.”

“Sure.”

Nesta stepped further into the apartment. Everything was chrome, quartz, or wood but Cassian couldn’t help himself when it came to Christmas. What was once an interior designers dream for a ‘bachelor living’ magazine spread was now a grotto fit for the dreams of any eight-year-old girl.

A smile lifted the corner of her lips. She’d never begrudge him this. Foster care and ten endless churn of care homes hadn’t left Cassian with any sense of home and the orphanage tried their best but lacked the funds.

Cassian had told her that his best Christmas eventually came in the Illyrian military and all that involved was eating dry turkey from paper plates and reading stupid jokes from cheap crackers. But he was with people that felt like family and that’s what mattered the most.

Now, garlands hung from the oversized windows, a tree larger than Cassian himself stood by the fireplace decked with shining ornaments. A range of presents piled up under the tree to the point where they spilled across his floor.

Stockings on the mantel, rugs everywhere, gingerbread houses which increased in number each time Nesta was over. Candles on every surface.

“Wine?” Cassian asked as Nesta slid the bowl onto his counter. She nodded while taking a breath in. Ham and apricot, honey, a distinct scent of rich chocolate. All the food laid out but under coverings to keep them fresh.

Her stomach stank. She’d failed him so miserably.

Her face must have painted a picture because Cassian moved beside her. “Hey, what’s up.” His fingers tucked under her chin, tilting her face to his. Those deep eyes of his, again swimming in concern.

She hoped the best Christmas present she could get him was honesty.

“I fucked it.”

He blinked. “Sorry?”

“The pie, I completely fucked it up.”

His confused blank expression immediately melted and he laughed, his head thrown back and the column of his throat on display. His face in laughter was a delight, he was young and happy and in love with life. “Well, that makes a lot more sense.”

“There is no pie. I botched it.”

He looked down at her, his expression softening, his smile gentle. “I’d be surprised if you didn’t. That pie is an art only the devil knows how to get right. Did you know Emerie’s grandmother won’t even make one and she won Illyrian baker of the year for fifteen years?”

Nesta coughed and reached for the wine poured out for her. “No, I didn’t know that.”

Cassian moved round the counter to Nesta’s dish. “So, what did you bring?”

“The only thing that didn’t involve my oven. The meringue isn’t even home-made. I’m such a sellout.”

He peeked under the covering and exhaled. “Oh, thank the Mother.” He stepped back, his hand over his heart. “I fucked it.”

Now, Nesta blinked at him. “Sorry?”

“The meringue for the Prythian Pavlova. It was the one thing I wanted to get perfect but do you know how hard meringue is to make? I couldn’t even make it to the store.”

He shook his head, grabbing his own glass of wine. “I even rang Elain to ask her for tips but Lucien answered and begged me to tell him in great detail how the filo wrapped parcels were smelling. He said, and I quote ‘go low and take your time’. I’m not sure how comfortable I am having them over for New Year.”

Nesta laughed, shaking her own head, glancing around the apartment. It had taken her long enough but something finally dawned on her. “Am I early? When are the others arriving?”

Cassian paused, swirling his glass. “Yeah, about that... I thought ‘fuck ‘em.’”

Nesta’s eyes bulged. “I think I’m missing something.”

Cassian put his glass down and leant back against the far counter.

“You know Bri’s pie wasn’t all that great. Mor was being...” he trailed off, scratching his eyebrow the way he did when he was uncomfortable. “Mor was being difficult and it was unfair. Rhys too. But I liked the idea of you and I doing our own holiday tradition so I guess I thought I’d see where we ended up.”

He gestured to his apartment and the dishes before them. “So, we ended up here. Just you and I, a bottle of wine, lots of delicious food and a very comfy rug we’re fucking on after dinner.”

“Is that right?” Nesta said, putting her glass down. She walked over to him. “Have you seen what you’ve made? We are not fucking after dinner.” She placed her hand on his chest, his heart beating a rhythm against her palm as she ignored his disappointed face. “We’re fucking before dinner.”

That wolf grin was back on his face and he leant forward to kiss her but Nesta stopped him. “I feel bad, everything here is an Archeron dish. You didn’t get your pie.”

“Oh, I’ll get to eat my pie.”

“Cassian!”

He laughed again, his broad arms wrapping around her body. “The fact that you tried means everything. I promise. This is a great start to our forever tradition.”

Nesta looked up at him; the hours of failed baking, the constant smoke alarms, the mess she had to clear up tomorrow. Worth it. All of it. “Forever you say?”

“Forever.”

[stargirlfeyre]

@wingsdippedingold since we already know you’re stalking me and my comment section, instead of creating scenerios to victimize yourself can we please talk about this and how before this post you haven’t spoken about Palestine or the genocide not once? I guess the death of innocent people is only relevant to you when it can be used to put your favorite characters on a pedestal.

So serious when I say stop trying to make it seem as if people are “just being hostile” to little ole you over fictional characters when in reality you are genuinely a disgusting person. Crying about how you don’t want this to keep being brought up whilst you continuously make post after post about me. Babe this is going to be my response to every post you make just so everyone knows how much of a ignorant person you are and why I’m not wasting my time writing essays in response to you. This screenshot speaks for itself.

[rosenecklaces]

See and then if I ever said I find weird he had never even asked for help nor mentioned wanting to get his mom out of basically house-prison, and how that perfectly correlates to his textual defend of bringing a woman's back to being abused and locked I would be called an asshole but oop 😬 no no Lucien has suffered so much in the hands of those bitch ass angry sluts- ummmmmm uh- i mean women! who he trust and loves so so soooo much whose he'll never want to cause pain! (again)

[olive-main]

Masterlist

A/N: I FINALLY updated my masterlist - I won’t be listing specific characters since most of them have so many. Of course, I write for the more popular/well-known characters but if you’re unsure don’t be afraid to ask :) As always my DMs are open. (Not just for requests, but to talk about anything related to the fandoms listed!)

Requests: Sometimes I may take a while to answer or post requests. I’m a college student, and work full time. So please bare with me…😔

Key: Fluff (🧸) Smut (💋) Angst (🪦)

☆———————————————☆——————————————☆

ACOTAR (SJM Universe)

Azriel -

To Love and Let Go (🪦)

Eris Vanserra -

Treasured Yearning (🪦, 🧸)

Fourth Wing:

Xaden Riorson -

Healing Through Hurt (🪦, 🧸)

Baldurs Gate 3

Marvel Cinematic Universe

Bucky Barnes -

Two Heads of Hydra (🪦?)

Scars and All (🪦, 🧸)

☆———————————————☆——————————————☆

Any toxicity or hate towards characters will result in being blocked. Criticism and discussions are welcome, disrespect is not. They’re fictional, and everyone is entitled to their own opinion.

[addicted-to-nothing]

you ever see a take so bad you insta block a suggested account?

cool, me too

[pinkrasberryfish]

Added two more chapters to my cozy acotar au ballet fic! The Pointe of Love - Nessian & Elriel <3 Enjoy! xoxo

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43076520/chapters/109331214#workskin

[nestaismommy]

Y’all I’m so upset. I was reading a fan fic on here and now I can’t find it. I don’t remember the title. But all I remember is Rhysand telling Nesta to shut the fuck up (I hate him) then he dumped her in the mountains near the day court, and then Cassian finds out and brings her back, they cuddle for a few days, and then Feyre visits and tells them to show up for a gathering or meeting or something, and Nesta doesn’t want to but they go anyway, and when they go, Nesta wants wine but then Rhysand is like “no you know how she is” and shit like this (I ducking hate him) and yeah basically i explained enough. Help me find the author please. I desperately want to know what happens next. I also very much want Nesta to smack Rhysand

[arson-09]

one of the many issues i find with sjms writing (and subsequently her fans) is that a character has to be perfect to be loved (this is acotar specific) hear me out ((apologies in advance for the somewhat rambling and nonsensical bits. its late lmao)

Just about everything Feyre and Rhysand do is justified. Rhysands entire list of evil actions from acotar is retconned. Him murdering those winter court children was suddenly by an unnamed daemati whos never brought up again, his sexual assault of feyre was “for her protection”, and in general the way he treated her UtM is okayed (sa is never justifiable, even in fictional media) and him keeping very important information about Feyres body from her is fine because he was doing it to spare her feelings (also never ok to keep information of ones body from the individual)

Feyre is allowed to destroy the spring court. No matter how you feel about Tamlins character the actions she took were extreme, petty, and useless. She collectively punished the citizens of the spring court because of her relationship with Tamlin and she believed him to be allying with Hybern. Which was hinted to her to be false and she could have read his mind at any point. Feyre also is a unreliable narrator but her word is taken as truth. When she has magical outbursts its nothing, she can treat her supposed friends like shit but shes still the better friend.

Together they constantly spout how perfect the other is. Especially Feyre about Rhysand, maybe its the mating bond but the bond is how sjm communicates her feelings about the characters (which i feel is evident in the Nessian bond) Feyre says rhysand is Good and Justified in everything he does, so you the reader must believe it too, right?

The rest of the Inner Circle also falls into this. Mor is allowed to unfairly treat Nesta like shit, Cassian is unquestioned when it comes to his mistreatment of his mate, azriel is a background tapestry, and amren is a whole different issue tbh.

Nesta is the outlier. She is not perfect and we know it because of how mistreated she is by the people that surround her. Cassian is a horrible partner, letting rhysand do and say what he wants to her, restricting her food and being very neglectful of Nestas mental health. Nesta is a flawed character but shes not an antagonist. Her flaws does not call for this sort of treatment. It is disgusting how sjm portrays Nestas character and her “healing arc”. Sjm says she loves nesta, but her treatment says otherwise.

Tamlin receives the brunt of this treatment. He is a flawed character but is not evil. Hes not even a real antagonist, just because he is not friends or on good terms with Feyre and Rhysand does not make him such. His allying with Hybern is used as reasoning for his mistreatment when its clear as day hes a double agent. Tamlin, while he struggles with emotional regulation, anger issues and communication is a very good high lord and his personal relationship with a character does not change that. His actions towards feyre are often called abusive but sjms writing fails to bring this observation to fruition. She fails to actually make him abusive and antagonistic because she accidentally writes her own outs by justifying similar behaviors from other characters.

If you have spent anytime on the majority side of the fandom you have seen the Feyre and Rhysand vs Nesta and Tamlin mentality. Nesta and Tamlin are hated while Feysand are treasured and its because sjm makes a perfect character for you to love so why would you root for the flawed characters hated by the narrative? Nesta and Tamlin are far more nuanced and interesting due to their imperfections, dislike by the narrative, and hatred from the majority fandom. (To note, Nesta and Tamlins characters are different ((although they have some striking similarities)) but their treatment is very equal. Which is why i, and many other people in the fandom compare and combine them so much)

Feyre and Rhysand through the narrative and fans are perfect and can do no wrong. Tamlin and Nesta are frankly evil and undeserving of love. Its intriguing to see this behavior and its almost unique to the acotar and booktok fandom. Which is why i find myself so focused on Tamlin and subsequently the fandom. its so odd and something i havent seen before that it gets stuck in my little adhd brain.

[highlordofkrypton]

Bad writing?

I don't usually participate in ACOTAR critical discussions, but I do wanna jump in on the discussion of bad writing. This was inspired by another post about Nesta & bad writing, but I didn't feel like my response was on topic enough to reply -- but here it is.

Authors have every right to go in a different direction with their character development, but the difference between good and bad writing is how do the characters change.

In my experience, and my personal enjoyment of reading:

A bad writer will simply start writing the character differently with no rhyme or reason.

A good writer will set the character up to experience situations, interactions or anything else that will set the character on a path of growth (whether that is good or bad). Usually, a large characterization shift will contribute to the plot/narrative.

A bad writer will contradict their own established canon. Mind you, they created their canon, these are their own rules. They're allowed to break them, but there should be some kind of reasoning for it.

A good writer will establish why their previous statements are no longer valid so that the reader can actively choose to move with or against the development they're proposing for the character.

A bad writer will tell you that you're wrong in your beliefs of this character.

A good writer will lead you towards different paths of thinking about the character, but ultimately, the reader should feel comfortable in making their own decisions about the character based on what was shown to them.

I'm all for the belief that there are no right or wrongs in writing, especially in fan fiction, but if you're writing for a wide audience (or for an audience that is paying for your work), there should be some kind of consideration for your readers.

Many readers want to know what's going on; they want to join your characters on their journey.

Many readers prefer not to be treated like all their beliefs were wrong without a foundation for changes. I hate using this word, but it makes people feel gaslighted and not in a cool, narrative, plot-twisty way.

Additionally, my biggest personal 'bar' for debating whether a writing is good or bad is if the writing shatters my immersion in the book. If I spend more time thinking to myself how this is wrong for the character without thinking that something is happening for the plot, then yeah, for me it's bad writing.

I do wonder, though, if the entire ACOTAR series is just because Feyre is an unreliable narrator. Since it's written in the first person, and we all know how our hearts and minds can play tricks on us, maybe it's just that.

I haven't read past ACOWAR, nor have I read any of SJM's other series.

Those who have read CC and TOG, thoughts?

[wildlyglittering]

Silver In Her Eyes - Part 4

Happy Saturday!

Silver In Her Eyes part 4 is up on Ao3 here and also below the cut!

Please show it some love ❤❤❤

Lucien appeared well.

His long, russet hair flowed to his waist and he smiled more, laughed more. Rhys had interrupted raucous noise when he entered the drawing room, Lucien and his new friends throwing grapes into each other’s mouths.

Rhys' visit was unexpected but also apparently unwelcome. Jurian and Vassa excused themselves to the garden while Lucien stood and watched them leave. When he turned to face his guest his eyes, both the good and the golden, pierced straight through as though he could see Rhys’ very soul.

Rhys turned his agitation into resentment.

Resentment that Lucien was well while Amren made herself ill, resentment that Lucien greeted him as cooly as Varian now did. Resentment that Lucien found delight in the world when Feyre bloomed and grew like a rose before the sharp snap of winter claimed her.

There was the looming issue of allies. Varian’s growing coolness might influence Tarquin and Kallias was fretting like some old crone. Rumours persisted that Keir was whispering promises in Tamlin’s ear and Eris seemed extremely displeased at the lack of negotiated terms between himself and Night.

Even Helion had spoken to Rhys. About how worried he was over Rhys, how Rhys wasn't himself. Rhys had gritted his teeth. Now Helion thought him weak and it just wouldn’t do.

Rhys knew if he secured Lucien, Helion would remain an ally and Lucien could be used to convince Eris to drop his request regarding Nesta and potentially get Tamlin to choose Night. The trick was to secure Lucien in the right way.

Rhys joined Lucien by the window as Jurian and Vassa now lounged on the grass continuing their game. Vassa laughed when one grape missed and hit her in the eye.

“Is this what you were doing before I arrived?” Rhys asked. “How...puerile.”

Lucien scoffed as he moved away to lean against a bookcase. “We were having fun. It’s what friends do with each other. You’d know if you had any left.”

Rhys snarled, more beast than High Lord. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I have friends.”

The golden eye whirred as an eyebrow raised. Lucien crossed his arms over his chest and looked away. Detached, disinterested, bored.

“If you think you’re intimidating, you’re not.” Lucien looked back to Rhys. “You forget I lived with Tamlin for centuries and stood in front of Amarantha myself.” He gestured to the very gold eye Rhys was glaring into. “For my troubles.”

Rhys took a breath. This was not securing Lucien the right way. Rhys wouldn't benefit in losing his temper and giving Lucien a reason to slam the door in his face – not until Rhys had dangled his carrot.

“Apologies. I am... tense. Keir is making a power grab. He seems to think now is his chance to strike. He’s wrong of course but he has some invested parties and I’m now forced to try and find the same.”

“I’ve heard.” Lucien paused, his face falling into a frown. “What I don’t understand is why now? When Feyre is having your son, doesn’t that weaken his position?”

Rhys closed his eyes. He’d been able to contain the truth to the Inner Circle and Madja. Keir was an unfortunate slip up, one that wouldn’t be repeated once Azriel found the fae who shared that piece of information.

“Who knows what Keir is thinking,” Rhys said, opening his eyes, “but you can probably guess why I’m here.”

“Influence Tamlin? Beron?”

“No, not him.”

Lucien tilted his head and Rhys decided honesty would be the approach.

“Eris has promised to ally to me in exchange for certain conditions. One of those is that he marries an Archeron. For his sins, he’s chosen Nesta.”

A wry smile emerged on Lucien’s face.

“I have to dissuade Eris. Cassian and Nesta are together. I’m hoping you can appeal to Eris’ better nature as his brother, his love for you means you’d have his ear. I’d so hate for mates to be torn apart. Wouldn’t you?”

Half honesty then. Lucien didn’t need to know about the blades Nesta Made.

Lucien exhaled, facing towards the window, his pulse thundering in his neck before he relaxed as though something swept in and whisked his upset away.

“Ah yes,” he said, “the glory of Eris’ brotherly love. If Nesta hasn’t chosen him in return, why not tell him no? She doesn’t seem the type to be shy on how she feels.”

Rhys narrowed his eyes. No. This reluctance of Lucien to be involved wouldn’t do.

Rhys conjured images, of Eris turning his head from the eldest Archeron to the one that tended the thorns. He constructed an image of Elain amongst her roses, being swept up by Eris and dragged to the Forest House where she walked the hallways, wailing like she did now.

Rhys fluttered them across to Lucien’s mind like butterflies where they should have landed so delicately that Lucien wouldn’t have realised they were not his own fears.

Instead, they caught on a torrent in the outer reaches of Lucien’s mind and tore into pieces, their fragile wings shredded and gone. Rhys kept his face neutral as his heart raced. Power had built within Lucien, the natural resistance of a High Lord against a High Lord but without trying, without even knowing.

The second approach then. Rhys’ back up plan. He snapped his fingers behind his back, a cry of surprise echoed out from the garden beyond.

“Elain’s here,” Rhys said, inspecting his fingernails. “I’ve winnowed her into the grounds. Take a look.”

Lucien’s face snapped to Rhys’ but he lifted himself from where he leant against the bookcase to move nearer to the window, Rhys joining him.

Elain now stood in the garden, glancing about her at the trees in confusion as a shocked Vassa and Jurian went to greet her. Rhys had promised her a visit to the Mortal Lands, a great garden for her to view and she seemed eager to accept the invitation.

Her fingers curled into the pale pink fabric of her dress, colour blooming to her cheeks which Rhys had yet to see in Night.

Lucien drank her in like he’d been deprived of water for years.

“It is a tragedy, isn’t it? When mates are torn apart,” Rhys said by Lucien’s shoulder. Some small guilt spun down Rhys’ web, knowing he dangled a mate in front of a male when Rhys himself was on the precipice of losing his own.

But it wasn’t the same. Elain and Lucien were nothing in comparison to he and Feyre.

“She looks well enough,” Lucien said, “but she’s sad, lonely. All the pieces of her life are falling away.”

“Night is good for her,” Rhys said, noting how Lucien placed a hand against the pane of the glass. “I think it would do her good to remain. I don’t know how she would fare though if she lost Nesta to Autumn. Another piece taken away I suppose.”

She’d fare fine, Rhys thought. Considering as the sisters could scarcely exist in the same space.

Lucien blinked, his palm dropping from the window and he turned to face Rhys, their bodies too close for his comfort. That damned golden eye whirred again.

“Rhysand, you speak of Eris wanting to marry Nesta to ally with you, of your concern over Cassian and their bond, of Elain’s wellbeing. Surely you can tell Eris no and be done with it. Or perhaps ask Nesta what she wants. That isn’t what you think of those under your protection is it? That they are merely pieces of furniture in your Court without will of their own.”

Rhys’ teeth pressed together. An impulse to dash out that damned eye rose within him, an impulse he quashed. Instead, he turned towards the window where Vassa was now offering Elain grapes but Elain was ignoring her, instead staring through the window back at Rhys, her brown eyes watchful.

“Of course not,” Rhys said, and with a click of his fingers, Elain was gone.

***

Rhys had been fouler than usual.

Where others saw confidence, Nesta saw arrogance. Where they saw charm, she saw manipulation. She never had love in her heart for him and though she tried to find a slither of affection for Feyre’s sake and Cassian’s, Nesta felt that she had always been looking at a different person.

She knew he’d travelled to the Mortal Lands to visit Lucien and had taken Elain with him. She’d not learnt that from Elain but from Feyre, the only sister still willing to speak with her. A simple note landing on her desk; Feyre was busy planning the nursery, the baby was kicking and keeping her awake, Elain had gone to the Mortal Lands.

Nesta guessed that Rhys’ interaction with Lucien had been far from pleasant based on the way Rhys stormed into the House of Wind.

She hid her smile behind her hand, a smile which didn’t linger long as Rhys checked over the blades she forged, chastising her for producing less.

“Three,” he said, a dark mist swirling around his feet. “Last week, the number was five.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes. “I’m tired,” she told him. “These three are what you get.”

He’d slammed the door on his way out while Nesta rolled her eyes at his retreating back.

It was no lie. She was exhausted. The time it took for her to forge a single blade had increased. Her back hurt and her head throbbed, her fingers slipped when she held the tools and she’d almost dropped a dagger on her foot.

The clash of hammer on metal was still a song but now each blade joined a screaming chorus in the room and Nesta couldn’t recall when there had last been silence.

She loved the blades but she knew, as she had always known, these were not ordinary. That she had poured a part of herself into their being.

The pile was growing but it wasn’t enough and deciding that Rhys would never be happy if she produced two or twenty, Nesta left the House, the hood of her cape pulled over her face and she stepped out into the fresh Velaris air.

Her desperate, clandestine walk along the cobbled fae-lit streets was not to meet a lover but the two friends she had made on her own. The café was small and squashed between two shabby buildings that would be overlooked by any of the Inner Circle if they tried to find her.

Hours were spent tucked in an alcove, the three of them; Nesta, Emerie and Gwyn, so close Nesta had to push down the pang of sadness at remembering when she, Feyre and Elain had to share the same bed.

This time there was nothing but joy. They consumed cups of hot tea and thick slabs of cake with chocolate so rich Nesta smelt it as it left the kitchen. All she wanted was this. A home, friends, someone who loved her.

Nesta returned to the House drunk on excitement. When she approached the first steps, she considered turning and fleeing into the darkness of the wilderness. Yes, the House gave her everything she required but a gilded cage was still a cage.

That excitement soon died when she reached the top. At first Nesta thought exhaustion had overtaken the adrenaline but she realised what she was hearing – or rather what she wasn’t.

Silence.

The blades that spent their time calling to her no longer did. Her stomach squirmed as she ran, her heart racing.

The door to the blacksmith was open, the blades gone. Only Rhys stood in the darkness, the moonlight highlighting his form.

“Did I give you permission to leave?”

“Am I a prisoner?”

He ignored her. “I thought you were tired, Nesta. Isn’t that why only three blades were made this week?”

Her laugh was brittle. “Have you not heard of rest? I asked if I was a prisoner but let me re-phrase; I am not a prisoner. Nor am I your slave. It seems the fae struggle to let old habits die out.”

The growl was low and strong that Nesta first thought it was thunder. But Rhys’ eyes were now blacker rather than violet, the mists swimming about his fingers.

Ice grew within her, her bones hardening, her blood freezing. Nesta’s teeth chattered together as her skin turned grey. He’d freeze her from inside out and then she’d shatter into pieces on the ground.

“You are worthless,” he said. “Letting your baby sister risk her life to keep you fed and clothed, allowing her to come close to starvation. Even the first blow against Hybern wasn’t yours. You benefit from the success of others while doing nothing of note. Your family doesn’t want to see you and Cassian is with you because he has to be. You are no one’s choice, Nesta, no one’s. I am gracious enough to give you a gift to make you more than useless and this is how you repay me.”

The heat she’d felt before burned in her, the flames licking the inside of her skin. A voice spoke into her ear. Do not let him see. Stay as you are, as hard as it may be.

Nesta shivered and she pushed her tongue to the roof of her mouth lest her teeth bite through it.

“You leave this House without permission again and I won’t be so forgiving. Agree to it. Agree.”

Nesta’s words were forced. “Agree.”

He moved away, dropping his power as he did, walking past her without a backward glance as Nesta sagged on the floor like a puppet whose master had cut the strings.

She didn’t cry. She couldn’t cry. The effort of pushing down whatever rose within her had exhausted her and the fire which burned inside her had turned any tears to steam.

Nesta made it to her room. She was alone in the House again, no Cassian, no Azriel. She knew she wasn’t the only one who had demands held against them but unlike the others, she wasn’t acting through love.

Her arms and legs were heavy as she crawled into bed, barely removing her cape, not even removing her dress. An ache started in her chest and she pushed her hand against it. This wasn’t an ache for Cassian, it was for something else.

“Where are you?” she said aloud. She could never reach Ataraxia although she knew where the sword was housed. She thought of Betrayer who had been mounted in the blacksmiths, of the other swords surrounding it.

Nothing. But she was starting too large - she was weak and unpractised so why did she think calling to a broad sword would gain an answer.

Nesta thought of the small, unassuming dagger which had been sheathed in the corner, its snake like handle twisting into an open jaw, sharp fangs protruding. That had been a blade which called to her with clarity, an image of Nesta slicing through Rhys’ cheek to draw first blood.

Viper. She spoke its name. This time not aloud but inside her mind, imagining the colours of the metal, the shimmer of subtle green along the metal, the sting of its point.

Nesta envisioned pulling; her teeth grinding, sweat dripping down her neck and back. A reverse birthing. No expulsion of life but a calling of it back. She dug her heels into her bed and pressed down, grabbed at the sheets with her fists tearing into the cloth.

Then the pull snapped and her eyes opened. There it was, lying on her stomach, blade pointing towards her heart, as though an invisible midwife had lain it upon her.

Nesta sobbed, even if she couldn’t form tears, sitting up and grasping Viper in her hands. Somehow it was warm and cold to the touch, shivering with anticipation, overjoyed to be back with Nesta.

Rhys had the blades hidden someplace Nesta couldn't reach but for now she had this one, her one. Viper.

It whispered to her, soft and slow, a much-wanted breeze on a too hot day. Mother.

***

“I will not forge.”

Cassian’s presence at the House was a rarity these days and she was loathe to spend their time together in any state of argument. After their fight regarding children, they hadn’t spoken before he’d once again left for Illyria.

Now he was home and while their old argument was cast aside, they were on the precipice of a new one. But this was one she meant.

Cassian had paused by the bed redressing, shirt half on, expanses of tattooed skin still on display while Nesta stood in front of the fireplace. The flames flickered across the wood but she’d been long adept at making them soundless. All that existed was the heat.

She refused to continue forging, not until she learnt what the blades could do or who they were for - or who they would be used against. She also didn’t want Rhys to lay claim to any more, not like he’d done with her first three and the rest he’d stolen since.

Cassian’s shirt rustled as he continued dressing, movement finally returned to his body but she noted his fingers were stiff, fumbling as he worked the buttons.

“Have you said this to Rhys?”

“Not yet.”

Cassian stared at her and Nesta braced herself for the onslaught of his irritation, the protestations of how could Nesta do this to Rhys, his most beloved High Lord and friend.

Instead, he walked to her, placing large, warm hands on her shoulders as his eyes searched her face. A war waged within him; guilt, shame, worry. No, not worry, something stronger and with a more potent flavour – fear.

“Don’t tell him,” Cassian said, “let me be the one to speak to him.”

“Why? I’m not afraid of him.” Furious yes, but not fearful.

“Because he’ll say no to you. He might not say no to me.”

Nesta clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms. “Do you hear yourself? I don’t care if he says no. He doesn’t get to make that choice. I want to stop, so I am stopping.”

Heat flooded her hands, fuelled by the pit of rage stoking in her belly, and rushed up her arms and over her chest. For a moment Nesta felt like her face was on fire, that her eyes were burning.

Cassian reared back, dropping his hands from her shoulders and stepped away, his palms singed.

“Nesta-” he begun

“I don’t know what that was,” she said, stepping backwards herself, groping at the wall behind her. “I don’t-”

“Tell no one,” Cassian said, the smoke already dissipating from his hands as he held them up, imploring her. “And don’t speak to Rhys.”

“Fine,” she said, pressing a shaking finger against her newly pounding temple. "Speak to him yourself if you think that will sweeten the blow but I will not sit in that room for him anymore.”

Cassian’s chest rose and fell, his eyes wide, his hand now rubbing his brow. A stab of sadness hit Nesta’s chest and she felt his confusion, his torn allegiance.

Part of him remained a little boy, a child forced to be a soldier rather than play at one. He wanted comfort, a mother to hold him, a mate to love him. Cassian had stood for centuries; fighting and commanding, garnering respect and loyalty, dragging numbers of creatures into a prison and here he was, subservient and scared.

The ice-cold shimmer of his fear was not directed at her but towards the male he called brother.

She walked towards him, pulling his hand from his face, before tilting his face down so she could press a kiss, sweet and chaste, upon his cheek.

Even as she did, Cassian leaning towards her, his chin on the crown of her head, pulling her tighter into his embrace she knew part of him was too far away.

[lovemyromance]

You know what’s really funny? These so-called Gwyn stans going feral when someone says “I don’t know who Gwyn is” and claiming we’re all toxic and misogynistic for that alone.

Like, no, babe. People genuinely do not even remember who she is, and it has nothing to do with a certain bat boy.

When I was first reading ACOTAR at the behest of my friend, I did cheat a little and look up fan art before I finished the series. I saw Gwynriel fan art and asked my friend who is this redhead, and she literally said “honestly, no idea.” And I can assure you, my friend is way, WAY too busy to have a secret agenda against a fictional character so she genuinely forgot all about Gwyn. And before you even start, she doesn’t even ship Elriel, she hardcore ships Elucien.

Gwyn is very much a side character. Her purpose was to be Nesta’s friend, to be a part of Nesta’s healing journey. Nobody really remembers her outside of that.

ACOTAR is not TOG, nor is it CC. People keep bringing up Lidia from CC, and are forgetting CC has 3 books, and Lidia showed up as a main character in book 2. She got a POV in HOFAS, and the way CC was set up was always multiple POVs of many, many characters.

ACOTAR is not like that. We follow Feyre for 3 books (with some Rhys POV here and there), then get one novella of multiple POVs, then we follow dual POV of Nesta & Cassian.

Where in that story format do you see space for a background character to get an entire book?

Gwyn literally did not exist until book 5/7(?) of ACOTAR. She has not had a POV. She has not been mentioned outside of Nesta. She has no story, no plot, outside of Nesta. She does not exist outside of Nesta.

Nobody has an issue with Gwyn. Nobody is “anti-Gwyn”. Nobody’s out to get her.

She has like 4 pages of page presence in ACOSF. Do you know how long this book is and how many things happen? Why of all things would I fixate on a minor character in the background?

That’s like if I finished reading ACOTAR and was like, “omg but tell me about Alis, I must have an entire book about her journey and trauma. She must be SO important.” (Even Alis, btw had more presence in the series than Gwyn)

It’s not a personal thing at all. I don’t hate Gwyn. I don’t have any opinions on her, really.

How can we hate a character we don’t even care to remember in the first place?

[hrizantemy]

The slut-shaming of Nesta Archeron “A Court of Thorns and Roses”

Nesta Archeron, a character from Sarah J. Maas’s A Court of Mist and Fury, faces a significant amount of slut-shaming, reflecting society’s toxic attitudes towards women and their sexuality. The criticism often stems from her unapologetic nature and her relationships, particularly her interactions with Cassian and her past.

It’s particularly disgusting that someone felt entitled to publicly shame her on platforms like TikTok, belittling her worth and character. Comments claiming she “wouldn’t get two coppers” for her actions or choices dehumanize her, reducing her to mere labels rather than acknowledging her complexity as a character.

The situation surrounding Nesta Archeron began as a TikTok trend, where certain users created videos mocking her character, often highlighting her more controversial choices and relationships. Initially, it seemed like just another social media fad, but it quickly escalated into a larger conversation about slut-shaming and the double standards faced by female characters in the A Court of Thorns and Roses series.

Anti-Nesta sentiment grew as these videos went viral, leading to an onslaught of derogatory comments and dismissive attitudes toward her. This backlash often seems disproportionate, particularly when compared to how other characters like Rhysand, Feyre, and Mor—who have also navigated their own sexual relationships—are treated. Critics of Nesta often ignore her complex backstory, including her trauma and struggles with mental health, opting instead to reduce her to simplistic labels.

While I can’t speak for all Nesta stans, many I’ve encountered are deeply empathetic toward her character and recognize the unfairness of the criticism she receives. These fans would never condone shaming other characters for their choices, particularly those like Rhysand or Feyre, who have also engaged in relationships that could be scrutinized.

It’s completely valid to have mixed feelings about a character like Nesta Archeron; characters are often designed to evoke strong reactions, and not everyone will resonate with her choices or personality. However, the line between critique and shaming is crucial, and crossing it can be harmful.

Shaming Nesta for her actions reflects a misogynistic double standard that often targets female characters for their sexuality, while male characters escape similar scrutiny. This kind of behavior perpetuates a toxic culture that punishes women for their desires and choices, branding them with derogatory labels rather than allowing for the complexity of their experiences.

Moreover, this type of shaming can reinforce harmful stereotypes about women in society, suggesting that they must adhere to strict moral codes regarding their sexuality. Such attitudes not only diminish the character’s depth but also contribute to a broader narrative that stigmatizes women for embracing their autonomy.

It’s important to remember that fictional characters can inspire meaningful discussions about morality, trauma, and personal growth without resorting to harmful insults. Critique should focus on character development and storytelling rather than reducing individuals to their sexual choices.

This behavior not only harms the character being targeted but also speaks volumes about the shamer’s values and priorities. It shows a willingness to judge others harshly without considering their complexities, struggles, or growth. Instead of fostering dialogue that could lead to a richer understanding of the character and their narrative arc, shaming reduces discussions to simplistic and often cruel judgments.

Moreover, such attitudes can create a toxic environment within fandoms, alienating those who resonate with the character’s experiences and struggles.

[saraannereads]

The most hilarious stuff about e/riels is how much they can whine, these guys are out here whining about how Gwyn is just a "minor side character", nothing else,

Why are you so insecure then? Why do you make content on her every single day, why were her powers hinted at but not elain's? why does she have a full name when some characters do not even have a first name? Why is she in a BC where the author scattered crumbs? Why does she have interactions highlighted the second most after nessian's,

Also calling her a minor side character is not the insult they think that it is, Feyre, Rhys, Nesta, Cassian, Elain, Azriel were all Side characters at some point. This is fan behavior at this point, they hate her but can't stop talking about her. Half their tag is anti gwyn/gwynriel, and honestly good for us for not just impacting people on our tags but on the tags of our haters as well.

Hi there! Good for you honestly for saying that with your whole chest and not hiding on an anon!

Also omg I’m so honored you made a secondary blog to yap at me. This blog is clearly not your main.

On that note, I’m not sure why you sent this to me. I’m not the Elriel fandom mom, and I’m not responsible for anyone’s behavior here but my own.

I’ve made it clear that I don’t argue with people about the ship war. And I rarely, if ever, post about Gwyn because I don’t need to prove that she’s irrelevant for Elriel to make sense. If I say she’s a minor side character, which I haven’t really said much anyway, that’s not meant as an insult. I don’t need to insult a fictional character for Elriel to make sense. Gwyn was a major character in ACOSF for Nesta’s journey. I think the Valkyries will be important in future books, so I imagine we will see Gwyn again for that among other reasons.

So your argument is irrelevant for me.

Don’t reach out again.

[1800naveen]

Not all...

Not all Rhysand stans but who's there at the scene of the crime?

Not all Feysand stans but who's there at the scene of the crime?

Not all inner circle stans but who's there at the scene of the crime?

"Nesta stans/Tamlin stans are abusive!" But who's there at the scene of the crime where someone is getting bullied and harassed? I'll give you a hint, it's not Nesta or Tamlin fans. The only time I see these guys acting like pricks is because y'all are provoking them about liking Nesta and Tamlin.

If an artist is getting hate, take a guess who's at the scene of the crime?

Some of y'all got some psychological issues because why are you acting like that? Please chill the fuck out.

I know people can get passionate about books and their characters but always remember, THIS IS FICTION.

IT IS NOT REAL AND NEVER WILL BE REAL. IT ALL CAME FROM SJM'S MIND.

Acting all toxic and for what? You want a cookie?

I act toxic too but you will never catch me taking my anger out on people who bring the entertainment by making art.

Instead, I take my anger out on the people who I'm talking about in this post. And Sarah herself (it's a love hate thing, 98% of it is hate)

I fight the toxic with toxic. I push back the haters by being a hater.

Also I saw that great post talking about under the mountain which includes fanart of the actual scenes and a Feysand meat gobbler got mad as they always do.

Their name is also batsboy cum dumpster...

I didn't even have to insult you, you do it to yourself.

Peace and love, y'all🫶🏾

[lifeisabiscuit]

Do people not see that hoping someone gets into an abusive relationship or saying they should be sa'd because they like a character you don't is also a form of abuse? So you hate a fictional character who is abusive so you're going to verbally abuse strangers on the internet?

This is just like Nesta antis who hate Nesta for being a bitch but then say 100x worse things to real people than Nesta has ever said to another fictional person.

I don't ship Elain with anyone and I usually dont subscribe to the idea that every fan of one ship is toxic but there's only one type of shipper I'm seeing all this hate from so if the shoe fits I guess.

I miss 2 days ago when the Tamlin tag was cute art and updates of stories I've been waiting for.