#soft moments after all the HELLS nesta went through today

[f1ameheir]

– @moondevoured get's a starter !

the way the sun set over the mountain expanse behind the kingdom's heart , illuminating the city within , that never failed to calm whichever raging thought plagued aelin in that moment.      the world she had promised , one that would not just be better than the last , but a haven to those lost in the darkness.      a kingdom built as one she once wished she had.      it was why she brought nesta with her that evening.      a friend from another world that felt , at times , as if they were merely two souls from the same womb separated by fates.     ❛   i know your home is prythian   . . .  ❜      eyes of blue encasing gold turn to meet the others gray.      ❛   but you also have a home here.      for however long or short you need it.   ❜      it’s then does aelin’s smile grow to a smirk at the outer croppings of her lips.      ❛   besides , if this book is as steamy as you say , i will need the next.   ❜

[thelov3lybookworm]

I have a request!

Can you write something where Cassian is tasked with “babysitting” Azriel’s very pregnant mate? Like she can’t be alone for medical reasons and Rhys really needs Azriel for something and Cass is the only one not busy? I just think it would be hilarious. 😂

Babysitting

Summary: Cassian's day doesn't go as planned.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: this was so funny my baby anon 😭💀i love it so much❣️

•○🌑○•

Rhys's pov.

"I can't leave her here alone Rhys! You know how moody and clingy she's become these past few weeks. She has also become extremely excited. She can't sit still for more than an hour or so. She can't stay alone." Azriel ran a hand through his hair, tugging slightly as his anxiety built. "Hell, can you believe I found her trying to climb into our closet because she wanted to clean it the other day?"

"I know brother, and I wouldn't have asked you to come unless it was absolutely necessary. Keir is once again planning something, you know it. Your presence is needed."

Azriel sighed heavily, settling into one of the chairs in his brother's office. "Tell me again why I'm needed?"

"I want you to snoop around hewn city while I distract the court."

Azriel cursed. "And no one can stay with her? Because she will not be going to hewn city, no matter what."

Rhys contemplated for some time. He wished he didn't have to do this. He didn't want his brother to worry too much about his mate. But this trip to the hewn city was also important.

Mor was visiting Miryam and Drakon. She was not in Velaris. She was out of the question for taking care of Y/n.

Feyre and Amren would be coming along to hewn city. They couldn't help either.

Nesta had training with the Valkyries.

Rhys sighed. Nuala and Cerridwen would be spying g along with Azriel. Elain was on her trip across Prythian.

Just when Rhys was about to give up, the door to his office burst open and in stumbled Cassian. He grinned when he found both his brothers staring at him as he tried to regain some semblance of balance.

Rhys glanced at Azriel, a smile crawling onto his face.

Azriel's brows furrowed, and then his eyes widened with understanding. "No. No. Absolutely not."

Rhys's grin turned feline. "Come on brother, there's no other option."

"What are we talking about?" Cassian questioned as he dropped into the chair next to Azriel, the chair wobbling for a moment.

"Nothing much brother. Just discussing the oncoming trip to hewn city."

"Oh?"

The next few moments went with Rhys explaining why they were going and who all were coming along.

Cassian heaved a relieved sigh when he realised that he was not accompanying them.

"Don't get too happy brother. Because you are free on that day, we were hoping you could stay with Y/n. Look after her.take care of her. She is nearing her delivery date and Az here is a little concerned."

"You want me to babysit her? That's alright! She is after all like my little sister. I can take care of her."

Azriel looked skeptical, but a little more persuasion was all that was needed for him to agree.

Now all they had to do was wait for the day.

•○🌑○•

Cassian's pov.

Y/n's lip quivered as she watched her mate get ready for his trip to hewn city. Cassian felt bad as he watched her. He wished he could comfort her, but didn't know how.

Azriel stood from where he was tying his boots while sitting on the couch, giving Y/n a soft smile. He walked up to her, cupping her face in both hands. "I'll be back soon, hmm?"

Y/n nodded, tears forming in her eyes. Azriel pulled her in for a hug, rubbing her back. Azriel glanced at Cassian, who simply stood there awkwardly, trying not to intrude. He grinned before pulling away from Y/n.

After Azriel was gone, Y/n turned to Cassian. He smiled at her.

"What do you want to do today sister?"

"I was hoping you'd bake with me."

Cassian blinked at her. "What?"

"You always say you have good skills in the kitchen. Bake with me."

Cassian, dumbfounded, simply nodded. He followed her into the kitchen, staring as she pulled out whatever was needed. "I'm thinking we can make cookies. What do you say?"

"Alright."

Y/n was quiet for a moment, then she pulled out a small stool from nearby and began climbing onto it. A panic gripped Cassian as he jolted into action. "What are you doing?! Get down!"

Y/n glanced at Cassian, confused. "I need to get the flour. It's up there."

"I'll get it for you." He gently tugged her down, his heart beating in his throat. "Cauldron, you scared me."

He reached up for the container, but he didn't realise how light it would be. He pulled it out, thinking it would be heavy, but it was lighter than expected. The container jerked in his hands, and then the lid flipped open.

Before he knew what happened, Cassian was covered in flour. He turned to a laughing Y/n, clutching at her swollen stomach and leaning against the counter nearby.

A Shadow floated next to her head, and she grinned at it. That was what made Cassian suspicious.

"Why was the lid open? Was it even open?" He questioned, shaking his head to try and get rid of the flour.

Y/n grinned. "Come on Cass. Can a female not have some fun with her brother?" She again glanced at the shadow. Cassian sighed.

"Is there anything else needed?"

"Eggs."

"Where is it?"

She grinned, a twinkle in her eyes. "Above you."

Cassian was a second too late as he tried to step away. The egg cracked over his head, running down his face.

Cassian groaned. "Y/n. Please stop. This is not funny."

"It's funny to me." She laughed.

"Get out. I'll make the cookies. Go sit on the couch over there."

Y/n pouted, but at Cassian's glare, she sulked away.

Cassian sighed and set to cleaning.

•○🌑○•

When he walked out of the kitchen, he nearly dropped dead because of the fright he recieved.

There, near the fireplace, standing on a chair, was Y/n, dusting a shelf.

"Y/n. Can you please get down." He mumbled softly, trying not to scream in case he frightened her and she lost her balance.

She turned to him, a pleasant smile on her face. That smile faltered when she saw the expression on his face. "What is it?"

"Get down Y/n."

She grumbled but climbed down slowly.

"What is wrong with you?!" He burst out the moment she was on the ground.

Her lower lip wobbled, and Cassian immediately felt guilty. "What is wrong with you?"

Cassian dragged a hand down his face. "I'm sorry. You just scared me. You know it's not safe for you to be climbing on things around the house, right?"

"The chair isn't that high. And the house needs cleaning. Azzie hasn't been letting me do anything since I got pregnant. It's been irritating me."

Cassian pulled her in for a hug, cradling her head gently. "I know sister. But let's wait until after the babe's here to clean the house, yeah?"

She nodded, sniffing.

"I'm bored." She suddenly murmured, looking at him.

Cassian blinked. "Um... is there nothing you can do? We can play something. While sitting." He gave her a look, and she nodded innocently.

"We can play cards."

"Fine."

•○🌑○•

Cassian was on the verge of tears.

The two of them had played cards until the cookies were ready to eat, and after that Y/n had insisted he read to her. Apparently, Azriel always read to her when she was bored.

And Cassian, being the arrogant little prick he was, had wondered how hard it could be. Surely, a warrior who had conquered battlegrounds and men far stronger, one who was one of the best warrior prythian had seen in centuries, could read a book to his brothers wife?

Wrong. He could not read the book without wanting to crawl into a hole and never show his face again.

Y/n had insisted that he read the book she picked.

She sat munching and nibbling on the cookies he made as he struggled to get even one of the filthy words out of his mouth. Sure, he had done these things with Nesta, but reading of them in front of his someone... it felt like his soul was leaving his body.

All the while she remained oblivious to his plight.

Finally, when she took pity on him and told him to stop reading.

"I want to take a nap. Then we can cook dinner."

Cassian had never gotten rid of something in his hands faster.

She settled down on the couch, her head in his lap. He smiled softly when a sigh left her.

Then he asked her the question buzzing in his head. "Where did you get the book from?"

He phrased it casually, and thank the cauldron, she answered him without even a hint of suspicion.

"Oh, Nesta lent it to me."

Cassian's eyes practically bulged out of his head. "That's great."

Y/n hummed, already drifting off.

Cassian shook his head, smiling.

•○🌑○•

Azriel's pov.

He opened the door carefully, trying not to make any noise.

As he stepped in through the threshold, he found the home to be pitch black. His brows furrowed in confusion. Had Y/n not lit the faelights?

As he turned them on, his heart melted.

There on the couch, his brother and wife slept.

She was stretched out on the couch, her face relaxed. Her mouth was sightly parted.

Cassian was sprawled out on the armchair near the fireplace, his arms wrapped across his chest. His legs were stretched out, and he looked like he would slip off the couch any moment now.

Azriel slightly shook Cassian's shoulder, causing him to jerk awake.

He blearily blinked at Azriel, a crease between his brows. Then his eyes widened in relief, and he scrambled to stand.

"Thank the mother you are back." Cassian whispered, finally stable on his feet.

"Why?"

"Oh my. This female made me wonder if i needed more training. I'm so fucking tired." Cassian suddenly clutched at his back, groaning.

"What happened?" Azriel questioned, concerned.

"Don't ask, brother. Don't ask."

"Okay." Azriel made to turn away, and Cassian gaped ay him. With a small smile, Azriel turned back toward him.

"She took a nap in the afternoon. And then she was unstoppable. Creating trouble left and right. More so than Nyx."

Azriel chuckled. He glanced at his wife and mate. She looked so peaceful. Like she was the calmest person in prythian.

"I'll take my leave now." Cassian mumbled, stretching.

Azriel nodded. "I owe you one."

"Don't worry about it."

Cassian walked to Y/n, bending to press a kiss to her forehead before he left.

Azriel smiled. As much as Cassian complained, everyone knew he would do anything to make his family happy.

He was nice like that.

Y/n blinked her pretty eyes open, looking up at him through her lashes. "Hello Azzie."

"Hello my love. Let's get you to bed."

Y/n nodded, holding her arms out to him. "I think we should make a cake or something to thank Cassian for keeping me company today."

"That's a great idea." He spoke as he helped her stand.

"Tomorrow then?"

Azriel smiled at his mate. "Tomorrow."

•○🌑○•

General Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @lizziesfirstwife

Azriel taglist: @darthdumbasss @foreverrandomwritings

[utterlyotterlyx]

New Pages

Part Two

Modern!Az x Fem!Reader

Summary - After giving Azriel a chance to build your friendship, you find yourself needing more of him.

Warnings - none really, lots of fluff, some pining

Part One

The shock on everyone's faces was palpable when Azriel had stepped into the sorority house that calm summer afternoon, the windows were open and the curtains floated in the warm summer breeze that Feyre questioned was actually cooling them down at all, and the fans whirred, throwing out cool gusts of air as they turned about the room.

They were all sweaty, thin layers of it coated their brows and they all lay wearing as little clothing as possible without seeming indecent, the guys had their shirts wrapped around their necks, and the girls were clad in vest tops and shorts, all begging for some kind of release from the heat that had risen from the depths of hell to torture them.

Nesta thought the heat had finally infiltrated her ice cold soul, she actually thought she was dreaming when she peered up from her place splayed on the wooden floor with Cassian's arm draped over her midriff to see Azriel looking down on them dressed in dark denim shorts and a loose tank top wearing a smirk, "Am I seeing things or are you actually stood in our house?"

The sound of Nesta's voice made the rest of the room stir all turning their heads in unison to find Azriel stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets and hair falling over his face. Feyre sat up despite Rhys' groans of protest, wafting her face with her handheld foldable fan that possessed a swirl of ornate colour, of pale blues and greys, with birds sketched onto the surface, "I thought you were busy today?"

Azriel shrugged, "I am," then the padding of feet sounded from the hallway above, toppling down the stairs until you appeared at the bottom of the them, frowning at the sight of your friends cascaded about the living room.

Mor went to say something, something along the lines of what the fuck, but Rhys jabbed his heel into her shin and she instead hissed at the force, throwing Rhys a sidelong glance which he returned with a knowing smirk and raised eyebrow.

"You okay, Mor?" Mor hummed, forcing a smile and nodding at you, her eyes drifted over your figure, from your perfectly curled hair that hadn't dropped from the humid heat, to the pale yellow sundress with frilled shoulders, to the beige sandals that snaked up your calves, you had your usual leather satchel pressed to your side no doubt homing your sketchbook and pencils, and your makeup was simple and made your face shimmer in the rich sunlight.

"Peachy," Mor strained, rubbing her fingers against the throbbing patch of skin that Rhys had booted moments before, "Where are two off to?"

"Oh, I mentioned that I needed to stop by the book store for more supplies and Azriel asked to come with," they knew the bookshop that you spoke of, the one you went into every time you had an early morning class, it was a bookshop that had a section of art supplies and a little café in the back corner which was the place they'd always find you if you weren't answering your phone, usually finding you curled up into the comfort of a deep seated armchair, reading away mindlessly. You nudged Azriel with your shoulder, a soft sparkle in your eyes, "He needs more film for his camera."

Azriel was an art major but specialised in photography, he was always the one on road trips who would take the most breath-taking photos, of them or the landscape, his portfolio was incredible to sift through. He was really talented.

Azriel cleared his throat, "I have a project coming up, Muses of the Universe, need to make sure I'm stocked up," adjusted the long strap of his camera on his shoulder and smiled thinly at them, "Shall we go?"

Rhys was dumbfounded, he knew that you two had quashed the angst between you, but he never expected his brother to turn up at your house to pick you up for a day of what, shopping? "Are you wearing sunscreen?!" Nesta shouted after your retreating form, propping herself up on her elbows and scowling at the idea that you may not be.

A giggle floated through the hallway, around the open door and to their ears, "Yes, mum."

Then the door closed and the silence that flooded the room was confused, it was intense, "I'm sorry but since when?" Amren's eyes were wide below her dipped brows, her gaze flickering across the space to each of their faces.

Mor met her with the same incredulous glare, "Right?!" Mor kicked Rhys' chair, "You must know something."

Rhys' held his hands up in feigned surrender, "I really don't. Az hasn't said anything to us," he motioned between himself and Cassian, pushing his hair back away from his face and sighing.

"He crashed her book club," Elain entered the room holding a translucent water bottle in her manicured fingers, her hair was neatly tied to the back of her head, and she was wearing a loose pink blouse that was tucked into the waist of her flared white shorts. On her way out to see Lucien no doubt.

"Tell us everything," Feyre grabbed Elain by the wrist and pulled her down to the sofa, she scoffed at the action and ordered Feyre not to touch her with those sweaty hands again before relenting.

"All I know is that he turned up to her book club and recited one of her favourite passages, they've been fine ever since," Elain grimaced at the sweat that coated them all and stood from the seat, turning the bracelet on her wrist so that the diamond pendent lay visible against her skin, "Don't be a meddler," Elain poked Feyre's cheek playfully before chiming her goodbye and leaving the house.

Another warm gust floated through the window and they all groaned, internally cursing you and Elain who weren't bothered by the searing heatwave that had descended upon the borough as you pranced about the town and soaked up the sunshine.

The basket was full to the brim with books, some classics that had been released with new covers, and new additions to the plethora of series you had been reading, and finished, awaiting for the next to drop from the skies and into your hands.

Thank the Mother for aircon.

The bookshop was busy, possibly because it was one of the few places that offered shelter from the sweltering heat, and Azriel had watched you say hello to your classmates and the shop workers, he watched you ask about their days and if any of the things you had ordered had arrived yet.

Azriel had insisted holding your basket as you scoured the shelves, plucking books from their perches and reading the reverse, frowning in concentration as you tried to decide whether or not to add it to the pack waiting to return home with you.

Your eyes had spied something on the top shelf, and Azriel cocked his head to the side slightly as you tried to reach upward, your fingers barely brushing against the ledge of the shelf as you strained yourself, groaning softly as your heels touched the floor again.

Then a shadow cast itself over you, and you peered through your lashes to see Azriel stood behind you, arm outstretched and effortlessly taking the book from the shelf. Cedar and rain kissed your lungs and you shivered in delight as your fingers brushed against his to take the book he had offered to you, "Thank you."

Azriel smiled down on you, "Don't mention it," you didn't even look at the back before popping in on top of the pile in the basket, "Are you not going to make sure you want it?"

You hummed in reply, leading you both to the checkout, "Don't need to," you paid for the books and collected your art supplies, waiting to the side for Azriel to pay for his film, and once he did, he made his way over to you and removed one of the bags from your fingers, not accepting your protests as he walked into the café.

Oat chai latte, with cinnamon. You always had to have the cinnamon. You thanked him as he slid the beverage onto the glass surface of the table with the wicker legs, he sat down opposite you, running his hand through his hair and relaxing into his seat as he stirred his black americano with a dash of hot milk. A drink of tortured artist.

"Are you going to book club this week?"

Azriel's ears perked up at your question, the hope in your eyes told him that you wanted him there, "What's the book?"

"Little Women. Have you read it before?"

Azriel sipped the strong black beverage and cleared his throat, "There are many Beths in the world, shy and quiet, sitting in corners till needed, and living for others so cheerfully that no one sees the sacrifices till the little cricket on the hearth stops chirping, and the sweet, sunshiny presence vanishes, leaving silence and shadow behind."

"You just keep on surprising me, Shadowsinger," your smile was bright and your soul soft and relaxed, your eyes held a sparkle within them that he would die for just to have them be the sky of his afterlife.

Before Azriel could reply, someone had called out your last name, the one he desperately wanted to change to his own one day. Ruhn scraped a free chair across the floor and sat with his chest against the back beside you, "I've been texting you," he grinned politely at Azriel, rife with confusion but polite nonetheless.

"Sorry, I left my phone at home," I didn't want to be distracted, you seemed to say and Azriel's heart skipped a beat, "What's up?"

"There's a football match tonight, thought you'd like to join us? Eris and Ithan are playing, they always do better when you're in the stands," Ruhn spoke knowingly and Azriel cringed at the mention of Eris' name, the guy who had made it very clear how much he liked you and still persisted, like Ruhn, to gain your attention. Not like Azriel could blame either of them at all for their desires, you truly were one in seven billion.

"Sure," you turned to Azriel, "Do you want to come?"

Azriel could feel Ruhn's fury at your question, but not toward you, toward him who held your gaze and nodded, "I'd love to."

"Great," you chimed, turning back to Ruhn, "We'll see you there," it was a polite dismissal, one that Ruhn despised but respected as he told you the time you'd be meeting before placing the chair back at the table he'd taken it from and walking back out into the sun, his golden skin glistening under its eye.

"So," he whistled, "Eris?"

"What about him?" You smoothed down the skirt of your dress and took a sip of your latte, sighing as the sweetness poured down your throat.

It was no secret that the eldest of the Vanserra clan pined after you, taking every opportunity possible to bask in your glow, "Has anything ever happened between you?"

A laugh fell from your lips and you shook your head, "Never. Eris isn't my type," you waved the idea away, "I like the romantic types, the gentle souls full of surprises. I want someone who tells me that they love me everyday, who makes me feel like I'm living in a novel. I don't think Eris is that guy."

Azriel saw your eyes glaze over, getting lost in the sentiment of old fashioned love, and he knew that he was the one to make those pure dreams come true.

Author's Note

Part 3??

[theladyofbloodshed]

Who We Could Have Been - A Mor & Nesta friendship

A little one-shot set during the first week when Nesta is in Velaris after entering the Cauldron. It shows the Mor that I wished we saw, the care that I wished Nesta received, and a friendship that was never allowed to grow <3

It scratched at the windowsill, a never ending scrape-scrape. Nesta pulled the pillow over her head, wishing the bird would make the dive from its nest and splatter below rather than having to endure another moment of it thrashing and cheeping from the nest. Even the feathers in the pillow were too loud to her ears, the scrunch of the sheets too much. She took a respite in the bathroom, glad for the cool water that she splashed on her face and neck.

Velaris was a hell. Being fae was a nightmare. Her body was alien to her, the movements foreign and lumbering like a newborn lamb. Nesta moved quicker now as evidenced by the number of times she’d overbalanced with her steps. It was not only speed. Her body was stronger. The soaked nightgown that she’d been brought here in had ripped in two when she tried to pull it off her body, so she’d been left naked and crying in the bedroom whilst searching for the promised robes that were within.

Maybe another might be glad for the speed and strength, but Nesta hated it. Her senses were amplified; the colours brighter, her hearing tuning in to every slight sound, she could smell when one of them was cooking at the other end of the house – and that always had a far richer taste than she was used to. For the first couple of days, all Nesta could stomach was dry toast. It was all too rich, too heavy for her new-found palette.

A soft knock at the door came as it did every morning around this time. The others left them alone, which Nesta was glad for. Hopefully, the blonde one would get the hint soon enough.

Morrigan never did.

The key in the door was useless because she used her magic to turn it back around, so Nesta had to wonder why they even bothered with locks in Prythian if people came and went as they pleased.

‘Good morning. How do you feel today?’

Nesta pressed her hands to her temples, the noise shooting through her.

‘Do you have a headache again?’ Mor took a step forwards. She tilted her head so blonde hair cascaded across her face. ‘Shall I send for Madja?’

‘I do not want that woman anywhere near me,’ declared Nesta.

That rotten healer had smiled at her and said everything was perfect. It was not perfect. It was far from perfect. It was long limbs and pointed ears and everything too damn loud.

She clutched her head, voice rising, ‘Will that bird leap to its death or leave me the hell alone?’

Morrigan’s eyes widened then she held up a finger. ‘One moment.’

While she departed, Nesta perched on a sliver of the mattress. Buried beneath layers of blankets, despite the warm spring morning, Elain slept soundly. She reminded Nesta of a girl from a story who pricked her finger and slept for a thousand years. To the fae, that was probably nothing. A blink of an eye and they welcomed a new millennium. She ran a hand against Elain’s face then shivered at the sound of her hair sliding over itself.

‘Ta-da!’

Mor held out a mass of fluffy, white fur.

‘What am I meant to do with that?’

The woman had no bearings on propriety. She crowded Nesta’s space as she placed the two balls of fur against her ears. Her fingers were warm on the points of Nesta’s ears, but she still felt revulsed by somebody touching them. They were a reminder of what she was.

When Morrigan stepped away, it was… better. The sound was muffled. Less intense.

‘Ear muffs! I forgot to give them back to Viviane last time I visited her, but if they work then they work.’

Nesta could finally breathe. The brightness and taste, she could manage. The bombardment of sound had been a constant battle that had been wearing her down.

‘Does that feel better, Nesta?’

She didn’t know why but she felt heat building in her face as tears prickled her eyes. ‘Yes.’

Mor touched her hand. ‘This is new ground for us too. We don’t know the ways in which you’re struggling so I’ll need you to be vocal.’ Her fingers slipped into Nesta’s. ‘You're not a burden for telling us what you need. I know it’s scary. I can’t imagine how you feel. But I’m here. We are all here for you – and Elain – for as long as it takes.’

The final portion of the dam collapsed and a flood of tears broke through. She was not one for weeping or embraces. Tears were to be briefly shed alone then forgotten about. Servants were forbidden from coddling them – and her mother was not the sort to do it either. Yet, when Mor instinctively moved forwards and wrapped her arms around Nesta, she was so grateful for that touch. To not be the one having to hold it all together. To have a moment where she didn’t need to worry about Elain.

‘Let’s go for a chat,’ the woman said against her cheek.

‘Elain,’ began Nesta.

‘Elain is asleep. We won’t be far.’

It was against her better judgement, but Nesta followed. In the week since they had been taken from their beds, Nesta had barely seen beyond the four walls of the bedroom. She’d cloistered herself in there, unable to take any more change.  It was a prison. A prison to fester.

‘We’re quite high up in the house, so we won’t winnow yet if the noise is too much. Velaris can be… loud,’ she said, smiling brightly. ‘Do you paint like Feyre?’

‘No.’

‘A shame,’ said Mor as they walked through a red-walled corridor with brightly coloured rugs strewn about haphazardly as if they had too many that they didn’t know what to do with them. ‘Velaris is known for its artists’ quarter. We’ve got lots of markets too if you’re a food lover.’

Disappointment grew in her. ‘Not particularly.’

‘No matter. What do you like to do, Nesta?’

Upset my sisters. Ruin my future.

‘Read.’

Could nothing dim Morrigan’s cheery disposition? Her eyes had blown wide with delight. ‘Oh, do I have the perfect place. Wait. Maybe not today,’ she pondered aloud. ‘Lots of priestesses. Lots of noise. But,’ Mor took her by the hand like she was a child’s plaything. ‘Yes! Let’s go.’

Nesta tried not to frown as she was tugged along the corridor then down a set of steps. Something sweet was baking in the oven, the smell wafting towards them. But it was not the kitchen that Mor towed her towards. They reached a set of double doors where Mor gave her a knowing look.

‘Behold,’ she whispered, pushing open a door.

Rows and rows of books filled her vision. It was a library. A personal library stacked with shelves, each one begging Nesta to run her eyes along it and choose a title.

She moved to take a step then held herself back.

‘It’s okay,’ Mor reassured her, touching her arm. ‘Go in. Have a look. Take as much time as you need. I need to get something – unless you want me to stay?’

‘I can be alone,’ Nesta replied.

The library was warm with wedges of sunlight pouring in through the tall windows. The books in its path had spines damaged by sunlight so the leather was fading. Nesta stood in the light, letting it soak into her bones. Her finger trailed along one shelf, tracking each book and wondering which to read. There were sections on the arts, history, geography, poetry, foreign books – and even a whole section dedicated to fiction. Father always said it was a waste of time. Nothing could be learnt from a story. Mother despised reading entirely.

Why must your head be filled with words? A husband will not take to being outwitted by his wife.  

Their scoldings could never staunch her desire. Nesta had read in secret, had stolen books from father’s collection at night and returned them in the morning. She’d begged the housekeeper to buy her them and she’d find the money from somewhere.

When Nesta was already a chapter deep into a heavy, ancient book about the history of the Night Court, Morrigan returned.

‘I bring snacks,’ she announced.

A handful of cakes had been artfully arranged on a plate, their icing colourful and appetising.

Mor caught her gazing at them. ‘Take one. I brought them for you.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Yes, you can.’

Why did it feel like a weakness to admit the ways in which she was struggling? It wasn’t Nesta’s fault that she was in this life. Not her fault that it was new and scary.

‘Everything tastes so strong.’

Morrigan gave a murmur of understanding. ‘Feyre suffered with that. She just had to push through and get used to it, I think. I wish she was here. She’d be a better help.’ Mor just shrugged, letting the words roll away. ‘What about tea? Can you manage that?’

One of the strange women appeared from the shadows, as if she had always been there.  Nesta was sure that sometimes she blurred at the edges as though not quite real.

‘Is that alright, Cerridwen?’

The woman nodded then vanished again.

Mor leaned forwards and rested her chin on a closed fist. ‘What are you reading?’

‘A history of this court.’ Nesta swallowed. This woman was trying to make conversation, trying to help. Being prickly would only push away the help. ‘All I’ve ever been told is that faeries cannot lie and they will enjoy hurting us. I don’t know anything. I don’t know how long you live, who are your enemies – if you can lie.’

‘We can lie. We can touch iron. We can step across a circle.’

‘What a list of talents you have,’ came a drawling man’s voice.

Oh. It was him.

As Cassian approached, carrying a tray of tea, Nesta’s body coiled tight like a snake ready to strike if he came too close.

Mor gave a sarcastic laugh. ‘I’m helping Nesta to understand how fantastic we are.’

‘Oh, you’re a historian? When did I miss that?’ Cassian came around the back of Nesta’s chair, taking a deliberately longer route to get to the space on the table, before putting down the tray.

‘And you’re a waiter now?’

Cassian threw Mor a wink as he poured the tea for the two of them. ‘A male of many talents.’

His eyes slid to Nesta, cataloguing all of the changes in her. She’d not seen him since he was bleeding out on the floor in Hybern’s castle. She remembered the twitch of his fingers, the jerk of his bloody wings.

‘Your wings have healed,’ she stated.

Cassian slowly – ever so slowly – dipped his chin like he was in disbelief that she’d noticed they were not ruined ribbons hanging behind him. ‘They’re not as they were. I need to practise flying. I’ll, uh, be flying here often to strengthen them.’

His eyes dipped to her lips as she brought the scalding cup to her lips only to have something to do with her hands.

Those words hung there. An offer if she wanted to take it. He’d come here again if she wanted to see him?

‘Shoo,’ said Mor. ‘I have an in-depth history of the Hewn City to tell Nesta and I won't have you spoiling it with stories of how amazing you are.’

Cassian held up his hands. ‘Nes, if you want to know about brave warriors, I’m waiting.’

Long after Cassian departed, Nesta was still on a cloud somewhere. Mor’s words hardly registered although at any other time, Nesta would have been riveted with the history of Morrigan’s family. Her mind was caught on a pair of hazel eyes and a teasing grin. Cassian hadn’t commented on the ear muffs she wore or that she was even out of the bedroom.

For hours they talked, conversation swirling from serious discussions about the political alignment of the Night Court to the best boutiques for clothing and embarrassing stories about Cassian – of which Morrigan had plenty. When Nesta finally gave in to the squirming guilt that encouraged her to check in on Elain and be with her, Mor insisted she take a few library books with her and also insisted that Nuala and Cerridwen would be happy to make her whatever food she wanted as long as she asked them.

‘I’m really glad you came out of the room,’ said Mor, linking her arm with Nesta’s on the walk back. ‘Same again tomorrow?’

Tomorrow. Tomorrow meant a future. It meant no longer hiding. It meant accepting that this was her life.

Nesta offered a short smile. ‘I can do tomorrow.’

[c-e-d-dreamer]

For AU Day for @nessianweek I thought I’d test out this College AU that’s been bouncing around my brain because I’m College AU trash that I’m considering writing a proper/chaptered fic for. Hope you enjoy! :) 

Most days, University of Prythian feels like every other public college. All brooding brick buildings and precisely placed green spaces and students loudly milling about in droves. A group of frat boys throwing around a frisbee on the common. A group of girls in bikinis tops taking advantage of the late August sun. Shouts of “oh my god, hey” and “how was your summer” just barely drowning out crying parents dropping their kids off. It’s migraine inducing. 

Nesta throws the car into park, the old Chevy only groaning slightly as it settles after the trek up to campus. She hears the doors open and close, but she just grips the wheel and closes her eyes, taking in three steadying breaths and hoping the oxygen can find a way to calm her spiking blood. In through the nose, out through the mouth. It’s a new year. After everything that happened last year, technically up should be the only direction. She hopes. Once Nesta feels like she has a hold of her frayed nerves, she slides out of the driver’s seat to find Feyre already excitedly pulling her bags from the trunk, settling them on the pavement next to the car. Elain comes up beside their youngest sister, pulling her own suitcases out. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drop you off closer to your dorm, Elain?” 

“I’m in Oakwood this year. It’s not that far a walk.” 

Nesta nods, grabbing the last of Feyre’s bags and closing the trunk. Before Elain can wheel off with her bags, Feyre’s wrapping an arm around each of her sisters’ shoulders, a wide smile plastered across her face under her U of P baseball cap. 

“The Archeron sisters are back together again!” 

“Well, until Nesta graduates,” Elain reminds Feyre. 

“Maybe she’ll do a fifth year, just for us.” 

Nesta just raises an eyebrow at her sisters’ antics. A fifth year? Impossible. Not only because she takes her studies very seriously, keeping her GPA well above the average, but because the idea of spending an extra, unnecessary year in this place sounds like her own personal circle of hell. The sooner she can finish her degree and get on with the rest of her life, the better. 

“Alright,” Feyre concedes. “Bad suggestion.” 

With a wave and a promise to meet up for dinner later, Elain is off towards Oakwood Hall. Nesta hoists one of Feyre’s duffle bags onto her shoulder, following her youngest sister toward her own dorm hall. As she steps up onto the sidewalk, though, her shoulder collides with a firm body, Feyre’s bag almost falling out of her grip. 

“Hey! Watch where you’re going,” Nesta seethes. 

“Sorry, sweetheart,” a voice calls in return, already swallowed up by the groups of students moving in and out of the dorm hall. 

Nesta rolls her eyes at the saccharine nickname, resettling the duffle on her shoulder and catching up to Feyre. Her sister’s dorm reminds Nesta of her own freshmen dorm from back in the day, simple and small, all white walls and plain wood furniture. Despite the things already in the room, Feyre’s roommate is nowhere to be seen. 

“Do you need help with anything else?” Nesta asks, dropping the bag she had been holding onto Feyre’s bed. 

“I should be good. Orientation starts in a few hours.” 

A moment passes as the two sisters stare at one another. They aren’t exactly the most affectionate of families, hugging and that sort of thing. So with a small nod and smile, Nesta is on her way, back out of the dorm hall and to her car. 

Luckily, the off campus apartment she’s staying in this year isn’t that long a drive, and when she walks through the door, Emerie is already inside, leaning against their kitchen counter, a fork poised between her fingers and what looks like a slice of chocolate cake perched on a plate. 

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Emerie drawls, but the smile tugging at the corner of her lips gives away the teasing nature. 

“Hope you brought enough to share,” Nesta replies, eying up Emerie’s plate. 

“Do I look like I’m made of money? Go to the dining hall and get your own.” 

“When’s Gwyn meant to get in?” 

“Not until later this week. I’m surprised you’re on campus this early.” 

“Feyre has orientation this week. Plus I need to hit up the bookstore. I have Williams this semester.” 

“That man seriously needs to get that stick out of his ass when it comes to having the “right edition” for his class.” 

“Tell me about it,” Nesta sighs, sneaking her hand into the utensils drawer and then snagging a bite of Emerie’s cake before the female has a chance to react. 

“Hey!” Emerie calls after Nesta as she retreats to her room. “You’re lucky I like you, Nesta Archeron!” 

~ * * * ~

The campus bookstore is mostly filled with parents and baby-faced freshmen trying to decide which University of Prythian gear to spend all their money on, but once Nesta pushes back to where the shelves of textbooks live, the throngs of bodies thin out. She can’t help but run her finger along the spines of the books, all lined perfectly along the shelves. Each spine is a different color, a different texture, bold or curvy font declaring its title to the world, and while many are textbooks, that feel under her fingers is still a comfort. Like a heartbeat lives between the soft linen pages and beats in time with her own. 

A turn around the corner and Nesta finds the section of books she needs. She scans the different titles, and when her eyes finally land on the one she needs, she can’t help the long sigh that looses from her lungs. Of course, it’s on the very top shelf. Nesta reaches her arm up, stretching up onto her tip-toes until the pads of her fingers just brush the spine of the book, trying to inch the book closer to the edge where she could get it down. 

“Need some help, sweetheart?”

Nesta falls back on her heels in surprise, the voice and nickname snagging on her memory. She whips her head around to find a guy leaning against the shelf, arms crossed casually across his chest and a smug smile plastered across his face. He’s tall with broad shoulders, dark curls pulled into a bun at the back of his head. Nesta’s eyes can’t help but snag on the lines of ink dancing across the skin of his arms and peeking out of the open cuts of his bro-tank. When her eyes dance back to his face, his hazel eyes are alight like he had clocked and was delighted in what she had been doing. It makes her brain crash back into action, a scowl settling easily across her features. 

“You were the one who bumped into me earlier. Outside of Somerset Hall.” 

“That was you?” the guy asks, not even being subtle as he checks Nesta out. “My apologies. Let me make it up to you by taking you out to dinner.” 

Nesta doesn’t even deen that with a response. With a scoff, she turns back toward the front of the bookstore. She can come back later for the book she needs, ideally when this insufferable man with his cocky grins and overconfidence is nowhere to be seen. As she weaves her way through the shelves and toward the exit, she pointedly ignores the heavy set of footsteps she can hear trailing behind her. 

“At least tell me your name.” 

“No.” 

“No? Well that’s definitely an interesting name. My name’s Cassian by the way.” 

“I don’t recall asking.” 

“You didn’t have to. Your eyes were asking for you.” 

That has Nesta halting in her steps. She whirls around and clearly her sudden stop has this Cassian thrown off, his own steps stumbling. Good. She likes having the upperhand. 

“Does that line actually work for you?” 

“Actually, I usually have to use less words. My ruggedly handsome looks do all the talking.” 

“Rugged? Sure. But handsome?” Nesta pointedly rakes her eyes down his figure, and when they meet back with hazel, Cassian’s cock-sure grin slips the barest hint at the corner. “I don’t think so. You looked like you crawled out of a dumpster.” 

Nesta expects his smile to fall fully at the jab, and she hopes it’s enough for him to leave her alone, but instead that smile is still stubbornly there. Even worse, it twists and shifts into a smirk, like this is all some kind of fun game. It makes Nesta’s heart give an extra kick in her chest, and before she can even think about dwelling on what that means, she turns on her heel. 

“Goodbye, Cassian.” 

“Goodbye, sweetheart.” 

~ * * * ~

On Thursday, Nesta finds herself at the dining hall. It’s a little late for breakfast and too early for lunch, so luckily the place is blessedly not too crowded, just a few pockets of students talking and laughing at various tables. She’s standing in front of the pastry display when her phone starts buzzing incessantly, and she slides it out of her pocket to find Feyre going off in their sister group chat. 

I just met the most attractive man I have ever seen

I’m not fucking around. HIS FACE 

And he called me darling

He asked me to drinks tomorrow night!

“I personally prefer the blueberry muffins.” 

Nesta snaps her attention to her left to find Cassian standing there, that same wide and cocky grin from the bookstore settled across his face. His hair is down today, soft curls framing his face and brushing against his cotton tee covered shoulders. 

“You again,” Nesta sighs. 

“Isn’t it funny how we keep meeting?” 

“Funny isn’t the word I would use.”

“It’s almost like the Universe keeps pushing us together.”

“Or you’re stalking me.” 

“Maybe you’re stalking me,” Cassian says, tossing a wink Nesta’s way. 

“And why would I do that?” 

“I thought we already established the fact I’m ruggedly handsome?” 

“Pretty sure the only thing we’ve established is that you’re full of yourself.” 

Nesta turns and snags one of the wrapped chocolate chip muffins out of the display case, fully prepared to end this conversation and enjoy her snack in peace. 

“You forgot something the other day, you know.” 

Nesta looks back toward Cassian where he has an outstretched hand between them. There, clutched between his fingers, is the book she went to the campus bookstore to pick up. She blinks a few times at the wide script proclaiming Art Through the Ages, the cogs in her brain tripping over one another and trying to comprehend the sight before her. Her hand begins to reach out to take the book before she snaps it back to her side, her eyes locking back on Cassian’s face. 

“You got the book I needed?” 

“The perfect excuse to find and talk to you again.” 

“Well, I can’t accept it.” 

“Then you can Venmo me,” Cassian says, leaning into Nesta’s space and pressing the book into her hands. “And your Venmo will have your name, won’t it? So it’s a win-win.” 

This close up, Nesta can see all the green vines and gold flecks that make up his hazel eyes. The way his nose sits just off kilter like it’s been broken and set not quite right and the stubble pushing through along his jawline. She can feel the warmth that seems to radiate off his person in rolling waves. It’s a bit overwhelming. 

“It’s Nesta,” she offers, taking a step back. 

“Nesta,” Cassian says, like he’s testing the weight of her name on his tongue. “Well, Nesta, how about that dinner? The offer still stands. Or we could skip straight to dessert.” 

Nesta lets out a snort at the comment. She’s sure the sound isn’t particularly attractive, but she can’t help it. The audacity of this man. 

“Only in your dreams,” Nesta quips, turning on her heel and heading toward the register to pay for her muffin. 

“Is that a promise?”

She pretends she doesn’t hear him as she swipes her meal card and makes for the dining hall exit. She can feel Cassian’s eyes tracking her the whole way. 

Later, when Nesta gets back to her room and is thumbing through Art Through the Ages, she finds a note folded up between the pages. She opens up the paper to find an unfamiliar scrawl, simple black lines spelling out ‘Cassian’ and ten digits. She hesitates for only a moment before crumbling it up and tossing it in the trash. 

~ * * * ~

Classes start up on Monday, and Nesta is ready to throw herself back into her books, notes, and work. She has a jammed packed schedule this semester, knocking out the rest of her general education credit requirements needed to graduate on time. The perfect distraction to keep her mind busy. At least, she was able to squeeze in enough classes that actually interest her, including a course on Early Women Writers. 

On Tuesday, she walks into the science building and her chemistry class. She finds a lab table a few spots back from the front, settling onto one of the stools. She pulls her textbook and laptop from her bag and is just typing in her laptop password when she feels a presence behind her. 

“I guess I should thank you for coming through on your promise. The best dreams I’ve ever had.” 

Nesta can’t stop the pained sigh that pulls its way out her lungs. She rubs a hand down her face before turning to the right, just in time to find Cassian sliding into the stool beside her. He has another cotton tee on, his hair once again pulled up into a bun style. 

“Please don’t tell me you’re taking this class.” 

Cassian reaches into his backpack and pulls out his own chemistry textbook, holding it up as some sort of proof. 

“The Universe strikes again.” 

“So you keep saying, but clearly the Universe has bad taste.” 

Cassian throws his head back and laughs at the comment, surprising Nesta with his reaction and earning them a few curious looks from the rest of the class. The sound is deep and warm, seeming to radiate from deep within his chest. His shoulders shake like his large frame isn’t enough to contain the sound, and Nesta finds herself staring at the crinkles that appear beside his eyes. 

“Alright, class. Welcome to chemistry.” 

A hush falls over the whole room as the professor strides in the door and to the front of the room. She hands a small stack of syllabus sheets to each person sitting at the front to be passed back and a blank seating chart to fill in is passed between the tables. The professor goes through the syllabus for much of the allotted class time, and Nesta makes notes in the margins of hers about the grading system and circles the important deadlines she’ll need to remember. 

“I hope you’re comfortable with where you’re sitting and who you’re sitting with,” the professor addresses the class an hour later. “They’ll be your lab partner for the rest of the semester.” 

Nesta wants to groan as she buries her face in her hands. How did this become her life? As if simply seeing Cassian’s insufferable face three times a week for this class isn’t enough, now they actually have to interact and work with one another. If Cassian’s theory about this being the Universe's doing is correct, Nesta is pretty sure the Universe is just laughing in her face now. 

“Well, would you look at that, Nes,” Cassian drawls from beside her. “Another point for the Universe.” 

“I’m going to murder you in your sleep,” Nesta mutters from between her fingers. 

“As long as we get to cuddle a little beforehand.” 

“Cute,” Nesta says, putting as much dry sarcasm as she can behind the single word. 

“You know, lab partner,” Cassian offers while he stands up and slings his backpack across his shoulders. “I think it’s going to be a great semester.”

[meher-sumedha]

gwyn and az go to see a movie (any genre)

Gwynriel Modern AU Headcanon : Movie

@aelingalathyniusrailme I have an exam tomorrow but this is more important. Also Fluff and Banter! And sexual tension, a lot of it. Also Azriel totally being in love with Gwyn.

"Azriel!",Gwyn shouted from outside his door. Gwyn banged on the door a few times, "Az what the hell is taking you so long!" ,Gwyn was about to bang on the door again when Azriel opened the door, and Gwyn stopped her hand midair.

Gwyn just froze for a moment, and Azriel smirked. "Like what you see Gwyneth?" Azriel asked and Gwyn cleared her throat and rolled her eyes, she then said, "Why the hell are you wearing a fucking suit to a movie?" And turned around to stop staring at him.

She then went to the kitchen and knew Azriel followed her. She took out a bottle of water and drank from it, waiting for Azriel to answer, "Well I was hoping to woo some girls" And Gwyn choked on her water and Azriel grinned evilly.

Gods she hated him and his damn pride. His pride was so big that it could probably feed all the poor people in the world. "Woo some girls? Who even uses that phrase anymore. And besides, don't u have like a ton of right swipes on your tinder account?" Gwyn asked, trying to not sound bitter.

"Well I do but still. One to one action is always the best, ", "Well won't a bar be better for that?" And Azriel stilled. He then tried to cover up his nervousness by saying, "Well I know the girl I wanna woo will be at the movies, " "Wow, stalk much?"

"Oh please, that's how Cassian and Nesta got married. If Cassian hadn't stalked Nesta all those years, then they probably wouldn't be together right now." Gwyn considered that for a moment before saying, "Hmm Alright. But then we don't match. I'll change into something more 'exciting."

And Gwyn went into her room. Azriel finally let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Gods he hoped Gwyn didn't think of him as a fucking whore. He was doing all this to impress her anyway. This suit, the smirking, he'd hoped it was enough to impress her. Cause impressing a 'medical' girl, wasn't nearly as easy as he'd thought.

He couldn't just flash his smile to get her to swoon at him. No, she was wayy to smart for his own good. And wayy out of his league too. But he knew he'd fallen in love with her since the day he'd seen her in the white lab coat cutting open a frog.

Cassian and Nesta only made it easier for him, as they'd simply exchanged places when Cassian got together with Nesta. Gwyn took Azriel's old room (she went into Cassian's room and even she couldn't handle the smell of it) and Azriel had taken Cassian's room while Cassian moved in with Nesta in her dorm.

And he was already studying law at Harvard so it was pretty hard for them to spend time together. But they always took out at least one day in a month as a day off without any studying and hung out together.

And now Azriel was hoping he'd impressed her and- WHOAAA, Azriel almost fell over when he saw Gwyn walk out of her room with a glittery top and a black skirt.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He should have never tried this.

Azriel was regretting his entire life right now. He shouldn't have worn a suit cause now Fucking Gwyneth is wearing that damn dress that has made blood rush to his cock and he Fucking hoped that Gwyn hadn't noticed. Fuck. The way Gwyn smirked, he knew that she knew exactly what that dress did to him, and what it could do to boys.

Azriel was no boy. He was a man. But seeing Gwyn in that damn dress had made all the hormones in his body go crazy. "Ready Shadowsinger?" Gwyn asked, referring to his surname and gods the way it rolled on her tongue made Azriel nervous even more.

"Yea- Yeah" Azriel managed to choke out before following Gwyn out the door.

And even as Gwyn was going to the parking lot, all the eyes were on her, and her backless top. Azriel saw some perverts staring at her, so he immediately put a hand behind her lower back, and gave those pervs a deathly glare.

And then they entered the car, while Gwyn put on her 'Sour' playlist. And Gwyn sang along to all the songs, the lyrics already memorized. And it was like someone possessed her whenever the song, 'brutal' came on. Gwyn was shaking her head, banging the head board and having the time of her life, while Azriel slowly giggled. God he loved that weirdo.

ALL I DID WAS TRY MY BEST

THIS THE KIND OF THANKS I GET

UNRELENTLESSLY UPSET

THEY SAY THESE ARE THE GOLDEN YEARS

BUT I WISH I COULD DISAPPEAR

EGO CRUSH IS SO SEVERE

GOD! IT'S BRUTAL OUT HERE!

wait a minute, no no no no, you don't love her, GET A GRIP YOU DON'T LOVE HER! Azriel tried to remind himself but then he noticed he was smiling while thinking that and fuck.

And now that the playlist was finished, Gwyn noticed his little smile and asked cheekily, "What's got you smiling like a little boy?" Azriel realized that and immediately got back into his cool demeanor, "Noth- nothing" He said, trying to play it off. Gwyn just smiled and then looked forward, and then suddenly started playing with Azriel's hair.

He knew she was staring at him while doing so, but he didn't move his head towards her, just let her play with his hair, massage it, it felt good, it felt nice.

And then he stopped the car, as they hd reached. He finally looked at her, to find that she was still staring at him. Everything was silent now, "You have really nice hair." She whispered and Azriel swore that he felt himself blush a little. Correction - a lot.

Gwyn just smiled at that and said, "I love making you blush." And Azriel was immediately more nervous now. She then forced his gaze to look at her.

He noticed they were so close now. That if they just moved a teeny bit closer, they'd kiss. And then Azriel suddenly blurted out, "We're here" Which caused Gwyn to move back and groan. Fuck. You could've kissed her! Why the hell didn't you? And the dumbass of the year award goes to Azriel, azriel thought. Azriel mentally kicked himself before moving out of the car.

Gwyn followed and Azriel locked his car. They both decided to see a movie known as, They Fault in Our Stars, as Gwyn had a thing for Romantic, and also because she'd already read the book and loved it.

Azriel just rolled his eyes but smiled while doing so at her obvious choice. They went inside the theatre and fuck was it cold. Azriel was surprised that after 5 whole minutes of being in the theatre, Gwyn asked, or commanded, "Give me your jacket.", "What?" Azriel pretended not to listen and he could feel Gwyn roll her eyes even in the dark.

"Azriel I swear to god if you don't give me your jacket right now I will literally burn all your clothes." And Azriel tried to stop himself from laughing, but failed miserably, "What's the magic word Gwyn?", "Give me your jacket", Gwyn said in a deadly calm.

Azriel scoffed and Gwyn was still shivering, "Magic word Gwyneth" And Gwyn huffed but finally said it through gritted teeth, "Please give me your jacket".

And Azriel smiled at her and finally gave her his jacket. He remembered the way their fingers touched and how soft her skin- GET A GRIP AZRIEL, he mentally reminded himself.

They then watched the movie in silence. Well Gwyn did, Azriel mainly watched Gwyn. The movie ended and they both walked out of the movie theatre. The ride back home was silent, Gwyn was slightly smiling and looked like she was in deep thought, and Azriel asked, "Did you like the movie?" He looked at her to see that she was simply looking forward at the road.

"Mhmm", "Did it live up to the book?" And after a moment of silence, Gwyn replied, "I think it did."

And the ride back home was silent. It was around 11pm right now, and they were simply walking around, Azriel staring at the way how oversized his coat looked on Gwyn. "I'm keeping your coat." Gwyn announced while kicking a stone. "Are you even asking or telling?" Azriel asked with a grin and Gwyn stopped and acted like she was hurt, "Do you even need to ask that Azriel?"

And Azriel smiled at her. Suddenly out of the blue Gwyn asked, "Do you like me?" And Azriel froze in his spot, "Why- why do you ask?", "I don't know, I think you do, " Oh, oh. Was it that obvious, he thought.

"Well do you like me?" Azriel asked, not confessing as he really didn't want to be rejected today. And then Gwyn came up to him. And kissed him.

She took his shirt in her hands, and pulled him down to her level. The kiss was soft but rushed. Her lips were soft yet fast. He couldn't think about anything else except her lips on his. Except the way her body felt pressed against his. It was pure ecstacy, and it was an indescribable phenomenon, an unearthly experience.

He knew she was inexperienced, and then he realized that this was her first kiss. Wedding bells started going off in the distance, oh fuck.

Gwyn then broke the kiss, tried to smirk but Azriel could see the bright red blush on her cheeks as red as her hair, "I hope that answers your question." And then they walked in silence, but Azriel, he intertwined their fingers, he couldn't tell her that he liked her. He literally couldn't, it's like his mouth froze at that.

But he hoped, that this small action let her knew, that he liked her too. And by the way Gwyn was smiling, he knew it did.

[desertofsnowflakes]

Incorrect Order Chapter 4 (Nessian AU)

A/N: I know I haven't been able to update as fast as you'd want me to but I'll try to fix that. Your comments and feedbacks are very much appreciated. Do inform me if you wanna be added/removed from the taglist! If you happen to find my storyline similar to another fic or one of yours, I'm extremely sorry, I might've just not known. All characters belong to the author Sarah J. Mass. Enjoy!

Summary: Don't first impressions always affect the way you see someone? Well, what more with the Nesta Archeron? Nesta meets Cassian at few unexpected places and to say it didn't go well was a major understatement. Certain circumstances make them become enemies to tolerable company to friends to lovers.

Trigger Warnings: None really

1652words | Incorrect Order Masterlist | Read on AO3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The best way to keep whatever problems one has out of their mind was to do something they liked. That was the only way Cassian kept from spiraling. Since sending the woman to her own house, Cassian had more than a few moments when he wanted to repeatedly slam his head against a wall. That’s why he spent most of his time sparring with Azriel. He won’t admit he was simping for that woman in his free time too. Or maybe that was always.

Now, sprawled on a couch in front of the TV, with nothing to do but stare at a blank screen, Cassian led his thoughts to the box he kept all unwanted thoughts locked in. He thought about Tomas, her ex-boyfriend. Funny, he thought. I know her ex's name but not hers.

It took him a little too long the other day to realise they didn't exchange names. Again. He once thought that maybe she was purposely not giving him her name. That maybe, for her, he was just a random stranger who happened to save her life. He snorted. Surely anyone would know the name of the person they saved or was saved by— stranger or not. He supposed he'll have to make do with pronouns for now.

After she left his home, it took every scrap of self-restraint not to beat this Tomas dude to pulp and let him rot in the same alley he had the misfortune of meeting him in. He may or may not have been the cause for some extra injuries. Cassian appreciated the woman’s attempt at mercy. He, however, didn’t trust Tomas at all. He was dubious about just handing him over to the police. Who’s to know he won’t frame him and the woman for absurd things? Anyway, he left a note in Tomas’s house saying something like “Step out of line, lose your favourite part of anatomy. Name it and have it for your meal.” He made sure he printed so that no one would recognise his writing. Yet, all this didn’t calm his nerves one bit. He presumed he’ll have to stay on guard for some time now.

Now, back to the girl. He sighed. He didn’t dare change the sheets in his guest bedroom. He didn’t even let Mor use the room when she came over last weekend— which he could bet created suspicion. No, that room was only open when he craved her scent. He even realised one of his shirts was missing. He shrugged it off thinking he would've left it somewhere and just couldn't find it. Once she came to his house, he was constantly thinking about her. So much that now he started pinching himself often. It was the only way he could stop thinking about her— by creating physical pain.

Cassian glanced at the clock on the wall. 2.30 in the afternoon. He walked to the refrigerator and checked his freezer compartment. Huh. No ice-cream. He sighed, grabbed his jacket and keys and headed to the mall to get an ice-cream with a pout. He’ll have to leave for Rhys and Feyre’s first anniversary only around 5.30 to prepare everything. He has enough time to get an ice-cream and probably hang out for some time. Good enough to stop thinking about her. Or so he thought.

***

Nesta wasn’t sore anymore. Her headache was gone almost a week after the incident. Her nose didn’t hurt anymore. Okay, maybe a little bit. It didn’t hurt unless she bumped her nose against something. Today, her nose was dully throbbing because she hit her nose against a pillow yesterday. A very, very soft pillow and yet it hurt this much.

The man’s first-aid and medicines were really helpful.

It really wasn’t fair that he excelled at basic first aid too. It wasn’t fair that he looked so good. With black tattoos swirling over generously muscled arms and shoulder-length dark hair curling at the edges and gloriously tanned skin and hazel eyes with minute flecks of green and brown when taken a closer look at and dimples and—

A quiet “Who is it?” snapped Nesta out of her moping. She looked up to see Gwyn walking to her.

“Who is what?” she asked, feigning nonchalance. Gwyn's pursed lips and glare conveyed that her act wasn't enough.

“Who are you thinking about?” Gwyn clarified.

“What makes you think I'm thinking about someone?” Nesta retorted.

Gwyn sat on the chair next to her and started assisting with classifying the unceremonious heap of books on the table to be kept back in its correct positions on its own rack.

“Nesta,” Gwyn sighed, “Clotho assigned you this stack almost an hour ago. And you've barely finished a third of the stack. Normally, you'd finish stacks bigger than this in an hour. So there's clearly something.”

“It wasn't anyone,” Nesta mumbled.

As usual, Gwyn saw through her lie. “You were twirling your hair,” she said flatly.

Heat inched up her neck. “I was not!”

Gwyn murmured a “uh-huh” and they lapsed into an easy silence till they were almost over.

Gwyn's eyes lit up as it normally did whenever she got an idea. “Is it him? The guy you came with that day?”

Nesta scowled, “How do you know…” she broke off when she realised which 'that day' Gwyn was talking about. Nesta fought back a blush. “No, no, this isn't about him. We don't know each other. Much. Like, we've seen each other a number of times? That's it. Nothing else.” Cauldron, the first part was a complete lie. But at least the rest are true. Will Gwyn happen to know his name? Maybe I ought to ask her. Or maybe I shouldn't.

She should, she decided. She cleared her throat. “Uh, Gwyn? Do you happen to know his name?”

Gwyn frowned and asked, “He hasn't told you yet?”

Nesta shook her head and answered, “No, we, uh, forgot. I guess. We haven't really exchanged names.”

Gwyn nodded and smiled. “Well, he is—”

“Gwyn!” a voice called. “You can't expect me to come over to you and beg for you to help me. Help me only if you want to or don't work under me.”

Gwyn’s eyes widened. She abruptly stood up and mouthed, “Merrill. I gotta go. I’m so sorry.” She all but ran to Merrill, the very strict librarian Gwyn was working under.

Nesta sighed and continued her work. There wasn’t much left so she was able to finish fast. She picked her things and left the library with a word to Clotho, heading to the mall.

***

The best way to keep whatever problems one has out of their mind was to also eat something they liked. So, ice-cream it was. After having his ice-cream, Cassian was aimlessly walking around the mall. Here, not more than a month ago, he met her for the first time. Almost a month ago. He huffed out a breath. The fact that he was pining for her this long blew his mind off. He—

“This is your fault— not mine. I’m not taking the blame for this,” he told her. They bumped into each other. Again.

Her lips quirked up. “It is kind of my fault. But blame this—,” she poked his chest, “— for making my nose hurt again.”

Just like that, his mood sobered. “How are you?” he asked.

She pointed at the cafe to her left. “Coffee?”

He nodded. Who was he to say no to her?

So they ordered coffee and talked about everything and nothing. He grinned and she laughed. He laughed and she smirked. He wouldn’t say he knew her well but he’d never seen her so carefree. Her laugh was like nectar for a starving man. Her eyes bright and welling up with tears from laughing.

“I don’t think I’ve laughed this much,” she said.

Cassian put a hand on his heart dramatically and said, “I know, I know. I’m very funny.”

Her lips kicked up a notch. She straightened as if she just realised something. He was about to ask when she drawled, “So I just realised that we still haven’t exchanged names.”

Oh. Right. Of course. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Usually, when people meet, they start with introductions but in our case we’ve literally bumped into each other three times and still we don’t know each other.” He shook his head and extended his hand. “Well, hello there. I’m—”

His phone rang in his pocket. Fuck. He was going to kill whoever was calling him now. He was so close to knowing her name. He pulled out his phone to see an incoming call from Azriel. He apologetically looked up at her and said, “I’m sorry. I wish I could choose not to take this call and instead kill this idiot but I can’t. Just give me a moment, okay?”

She nodded and he picked up his call.

“What do you want?” he hissed.

“It’s 5.30 already, you idiot. We’ve got to get the things ready for the party. Mor already went to get the cake and you’re not even at home. Where on all earth and hell are you?” came Az’s faint voice.

“15 minutes only? Mother above, I’m coming.” he said.

Az’s “make it fast” was the last thing he heard before hanging up. “I wish we could stay here and talk forever,” he said to her, “but I have something up in a short while and I totally didn’t realise time was passing this fast. I’m so sorry. It was nice talking to you. Really. And I wish we could meet again. Though without the bumping part.”

He grinned when she smiled and said, “Bye. Have a nice day.”

“You too,” he called back. He didn’t want to think he imagined the subtle look of disappointment on her face because hell, he was a walking epitome of disappointment right now.

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[cupcakey00]

It’s Just Instinct, Pt. 2

hello, everyone! here’s part 2 of “It’s Just Instinct,” a super short Nessian fic! there will indeed be a part 3. Highkey don’t like this part nearlyyyyy as much as I did part 1, but still, I hope you enjoy :)

part 1

words: 3,321

warning: there is some foul language.

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Cassian couldn’t let go of Nesta no matter how hard he’d tried, couldn’t keep his hands off her. Not while she was injured. It was but a shallow cut, one a child’s mother would kiss and bandage before sending them off to continue playing, and yet he couldn’t stop the quiver in his hands as his fingertips traced the raised skin around the minor wound, his touch a sorrowful prayer against her skin, one that Cassian couldn’t begin to understand why Nesta would let him do after he’d failed her once again.

They sat in silence, Nesta atop the counter in their bathroom, Cassian standing between her legs. Nesta knew he needed time to think, to process his emotions before they could discuss. She was the same way. How she longed to speak with him, wished he’d let her in, but still she waited. She waited and she watched as he applied a healing salve and bandage to it as though her life was on the line, emotions turbulent across his face, with lips pursed one moment but not the next, eyebrows furrowed for one instant then smooth, eyes hard and then…well, Nesta couldn’t tell.

That was worrisome.

He finished dressing her wound, his hands resting in her lap, and still they were silent. Cassian could have burned holes through the bandage he was staring at from how angry he was, as though the bandages themselves caused her hurt, wronging her.

Breathing shakily, he let his hands trail gently to her hips up her sides, handling her with the sincerity one might cradle a porcelain doll, halting once he reached her waist. Nesta was expecting him to pick her up, so she leaned forward into his body, but Cassian tensed for a split second before returning what he thought was going to be an embrace.

Nesta could have wept from the gentleness in his movements, as though he was too afraid to breathe. She could feel his heart racing through his leathers, and still he hadn’t dared draw her too close.

In the past, Nesta would have been insulted by his actions. “I’m not a child,” she’d have snapped. “I’m not made of glass, Cassian,” she’d have said.

But over time, she gleaned that some days, he simply needed to hold her, needed her to stay close. She didn’t know why, but she knew that one day, he’d be ready to tell her, and when he was, he would. Eventually, Cassian would be able to tell her there were moments he wasn’t sure if this was real, or if he was living a dream where Nesta was a figment of his imagination. Sometimes he had to remind himself the war was over, not because it hurt him so personally, but because he couldn’t be sure Nesta was really alive, that she had truly made it out, or if his mind had conjured up her memory to keep him sane. There were periods where he couldn’t be sure if he was alive, or if he was in the hell he knew he was destined to go, that in some 300, or 400, or 5,000 years down the line, whatever cruel god traversed the underworld would reveal it all to be a lie, that he and Nesta had never really had that time at all. That the king of Hybern had killed them that day; that the ruler of Hell wanted not only to rip Cassian’s only true joy from him, but give him a sliver of the pain he’d caused thousands through bloodshed and loss over his 500-year lifetime.

Sometimes, Cassian didn’t know if that was the common sense speaking, or the guilt.

Maybe it was both.

Cassian knew he couldn’t go on like that forever, but still he could not say anything. He didn’t know how. Some days he was a bit quieter, a bit more reserved, and, when he’d hold her close, more tightly than usual, his eyes would burn with the need to blink, something he’d refrain from doing for fear he’d give in and she’d be gone, having never been there at all.

Nesta couldn’t take the pain and fear she felt through the bond. He held her there, head tucked into her neck, inhaling her scent, breathing soft whisps of air onto her skin. With his right hand splayed across her back, left hand in her hair keeping her head resting next to his, and her body pressed against him, her beating heart was a tattoo on Cassian’s chest. She was Cassian’s lifeline.

Nesta didn’t know what was wrong, but she felt deep within her soul that Cassian was barely holding on. He was suffocating although there was air, drowning despite not being submerged, dying without any wounds, and no longer could she wait. For this, for Cassian, she’d have to push, no matter how hard it’d hurt either of them.

She reached around, drawing his body even closer to her, and as she tightened her arms a bit more than usual, she felt him release a shaky breath, body relaxing but arms unrelenting.

She didn’t know that with this one action, she convinced Cassian this moment was real.

Nesta turned her head, peppering kisses to his temple until she felt his heart rate slow from its panicked staccato and his erratic breathing calm to the whisper of a baby’s breath. It could have been two minutes or 20 years, and still she would have held him. They had all the time in the world.

Eventually, Nesta drew her hands across his back up to his face, lifting his head. When he looked into her eyes, she leaned forward and kissed him sweetly, slowly, savoring the feeling of home.

“Cassian,” she started. “It’s more than just the mating bond, isn’t it?”

She was jumping right into it, Cassian realized with a jolt. No preamble, no introduction, nothing. His eyes widened and his breath held, the moment between them gone. He couldn’t maintain eye contact, so he stepped back and looked to the doorway.

Wordlessly, Nesta hopped from the counter and interlaced their fingers, leading the way to the den. She opted for their couch instead of the armchair, sitting next to him and released a shiver at the cold feel of the fabric on her skin. Cassian stood immediately and approached the fireplace to their left, a small part of him happy for the delay igniting the fire brought. Even though they had worked through Nesta’s trigger, he was still cautious about monitoring her body language. Trauma wasn’t always consistent, nor did it have to make sense. He knew that well enough.

Fire roaring next to them, Nesta’s body tensed such a minuscule amount that Cassian really shouldn’t have noticed, yet he did. He wanted to put it out, but he knew that’d only upset her. Instead he looked to her, facing the fire with her spine straight and chin lifted, eyes hardened as though she was in a battle of wits with her most formidable enemy.

“Scoot over,” Cassian forced out; he was tense. She did, making more room for him. He sat down and removed his boots, swinging one leg between the couch and Nesta so he could lean back, tugging her body to his chest, his arms around her, hands resting atop hers on her stomach. They lay together, fire going behind them, making the only sound in the room.

Nesta turned so her chest was touching his abdomen, laying the side of her head over his beating heart. She closed her eyes once Cassian’s hands began playing with a lock of the hair she let down once they reached home, reducing her to mush. She almost forgot why they were there.

“Cass,” she started, same as before. “We need to talk about this.”

Cassian’s hands stilled for a few seconds before resuming, going up to her scalp and massaging.

“I know.”

“It’s not just your instincts, is it?” She already knew the answer.

Cassian gulped. “Not always. Not– today. Sometimes it’s– it’s more. It’s worse. A lot of things.”

Nesta waited for him to continue. She was already pushing him as is. He wasn’t used to opening up. Cassian was the friend you went to when you needed advice, and not the other way around.

“You have to understand that my instincts, Nesta, they’re– they’re probably a bit worse than the average mated male’s. There’s the mating bond, but I’m also a warrior. Fighting is in my blood. I am the best living warrior in all of Prythian.” There was no pride in voice, he was simply stating a fact.

“I think that makes it worse. I’m not used to having rein myself in; the only time I’ve ever been even close to snapping is right before a battle, when my instincts are homing in for a fight. Add in the mating bond? Fuck, Nesta, some days I think it’d be better to lock us both in here than have to go outside.” Cassian couldn’t help wincing, but honestly, Nesta was surprised. She’d never thought about it, but it made sense. Fighting was his language, perhaps the one he knew best. To have to fight against it when for over 500 years it was a part of him? He was, perhaps quite literally, fighting a losing battle.

“And I’m working on it, I swear. I’m trying. You deserve better, you deserve someone who can not only treat you right, but protect you while respecting your autonomy, but fuck, Nesta, sometimes it’s just so fucking hard. I can’t fucking stand seeing you get hurt, and I can’t stand seeing the males or females look at you with that interest they’ve developed once they figured out you’d have killed them by now if you wanted to.” He was scowling, and sometime during his admission, his strong hands left her hair and formed fists. His knuckles were turning white.

Nesta couldn’t believe she was mated to a male like Cassian. With Tomas, the only other semi-serious relationship she’d had, he tried taking from her what she wouldn’t give, injuring her in the process until she’d managed to escape. She’d burned the torn dress to forget. Cassian, on the other hand, was killing himself inside to keep from overstepping, even when he felt she was in danger. Truly polar opposites. She was glad.

“Cassian, you’ve been doing well,” she said as she took hold of his hands, undoing the fists. “I know it’s been nearly impossible, but you’ve been doing it. Eventually, it’ll get easier. You’ll get accustomed to it.”

She didn’t understand, not really. “It’s not just– it’s not just that, Sweetheart. It’s the whole past. It’s the fact that I tried keeping you safe multiple times, and multiple times I failed. I failed to keep you from the Cauldron, I failed to keep you safe from the King of Hybern, Hell I almost lost you to Bryaxis. I have constantly failed you, Nesta. And I’m scared that one day, my failures will come to their final fruition and that’ll be it, you’ll be gone. Dead. Because I can’t keep you safe.”

She opened her mouth to speak but paused, feeling his trepidation through the bond. There was more. He hadn’t even gotten to the worst part yet. Instead, she rubbed across his knuckles, back and forth, feeling the ridges of each one, the dips that separated them.

“Sometimes I can’t tell if this is real.”

Nesta’s heart dropped.

“I can’t– I can’t tell if we made it out of the war. I can’t tell if you did, or if you’re a figment of my imagination that everyone goes along with or else the Commander of the Illyrian armies will go insane. They may hate me, but none can deny my skill. They need me.

“Sometimes I wait for the rug to be pulled beneath me, to find out I’m actually dead and that neither of us lived through the war with Hybern. That some cruel being in the Underworld wanted to give me a taste of what could have been before ripping it from me, leaving me mourning memories I never had – memories with you.”

Tears pricked Nesta’s eyes, and at the scent of their salt, Cassian lifted Nesta’s head so her chin was resting on his chest, staring deeply into his eyes. Nesta hadn’t seen so much sorrow in them since that moment on the battlefield before he’d kissed her, ready to die in each other’s arms.

“Sometimes I wait to wake up from what I can only describe as a dream.”

His voice wavered.

“My biggest fear, Nesta, is not that I can’t keep you safe. My biggest fear is that you never made it out alive for me to keep you safe to begin with.”

Finally her tears fell, throat constricted so tight it hurt. She couldn’t speak. Of all the things he could have said, this felt like the worst. It was one thing to fear for her safety, to war with his instincts to protect at whatever cost.

It was another to not know if these instincts were in vain.

“And I– I know it makes no sense. If you were a figment of my imagination, there’s no way everyone would go along with it, to act like you were alive, nor do I think Rhysand or Azriel would let me live my life like that. And it– it feels too real to be a dream. But sometimes I just can’t tell. I can’t tell if it’s a dream, or if it’s Hell. I don’t think the heavens would welcome me.”

Nesta didn’t know if she should be sad or angry. There was a lot to unpack.

“So when you get hurt, and I’m ready to maim and kill, that’s instinct. That’s instinct, that’s love, that’s being a warrior. But back in there, in the bathroom, it was more. It was my failure to protect you. It’s that I always seem to fail, and I wonder if my failure on the battlefield left you dead for a second, more permanent time. The Cauldron killed you once, and sometimes I’m not sure if the King of Hybern then did too. Do you hear what they say about me, Nesta? They think me similar to Enalius. What utter fools. They don’t even realize they insult him by comparing us.”

“Cassian,” Nesta spoke with resolve. Now she really was angry, although her eyes were rimmed with red. “You haven’t failed me, you big oaf.” Cassian frowned at that.

“You did everything you could. You risked your life, your wings to lead the King of Hybern away from me, and you did. It’s not your fault we almost died. You saved me. I would’ve been dead at the hands of Hybern if you hadn’t stepped in.”

He was unconvinced.

“Cassian,” she now whispered imploringly, “you are enough. I love you, and you are worthy.” Her voice rose, symphonious preaching to Cassian or the heavens, he couldn’t tell.

“You deserve peace and love and happiness; you deserve a life where you don’t blame yourself for things that were out of your control. You tried your hardest, and Love I know it hurts but you need to let go.” She grasped his hands tightly as his eyes shone with tears.

“Forgive yourself. Stop regretting the past. There’s nothing you can do to change it. All you can do is enjoy the present and dream about the future.”

She rested her forehead against his, eyes closed as she spoke impassionedly, hands caressing his cheeks. She couldn’t see Cassian’s wide eyes, flooded with childlike wonder at the goddess who knelt before him.

“If you won’t forgive yourself for your sake,” she whispered, “then forgive yourself for mine, because I love you and I want you to be happy. You make me happy, Cassian. After all the Cauldron put me through, it was worth it, because it gave me you. It gave us time that we’d never have without it. We have eternity together, Cassian. I can’t convince you that it’s real, but I ask that even if you think it’s not, you enjoy it.” Though her voice was nearly inaudible, he heard every word, could see the tears threatening to spill from her closed eyes. Their lips grazed as she spoke. She was so close.

“If you can’t yet accept this isn’t a dream, then in the meantime, let it be the best one you’ve ever had. Let yourself enjoy these moments together, because if you don’t, one day you’ll realize all of this is real, and you’ll regret having held yourself back.”

Her eyes opened and immediately narrowed.

“Now what the fuck was that about going to Hell?”

Cassian threw his head back and burst out laughing.

He couldn’t help it; it was so unexpected. One second she was praising him, blessing him with the reassurance he seemed to need more often than not but wouldn’t deign to ask for, and the next she was chastising him.

“Sweetheart,” he began, “you don’t kill the amount I have and get welcomed by the gods with open arms,” he admitted. She rolled her eyes and huffed. Clearly she lacked the patience for his stupidity.

“Cassian, you have a fucking warrior-god. Do you think Enalius is in Hell right now?”

…Cassian supposed not.

“And there are literally death gods. Are they in Hell right now?”

“Sweetheart, no matter what you say in bed, you can’t keep comparing me to gods right now. That’s borderline blasphemous.” The cheeky bastard. Never mind that none of them could be completely sure he wasn’t descended from Enalius after all.

Now she just glared.

Cassian cleared his throat, “Point taken.”

She scowled for a moment longer before her eyes softened.

“I know that we’ve been over this before. That you are enough, you are worthy, but Cassian, you need to tell me when you’re feeling less than. You need to talk to me.” A hand reached up to stroke his cheek again as she straddled him.

“You’ve helped me so much, Cass. I don’t think I’d be here right now if it wasn’t for you.” At this, he flinched. He couldn’t imagine a life without Nesta, couldn’t imagine the pain she’d been through after the war. By the time they mated, she was healthier, happy. Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure he could’ve lived if he felt the pain his Nesta had gone through.

But, like a phoenix, she arose from her ashes, silver flames licking her skin, her fingertips, her hair. Over the past few months she spent with him in Illyria, she became one with herself. Cassian didn’t think he knew anyone stronger.

The gods had nothing on Nesta. That, Cassian did know.

“Cass, I’m not going to lie to you, nor do I want you to lie to yourself. You’ve caused people pain, that you know, but neither of us are innocent. Both of us have hurt people, have hurt ourselves. Both of us have been held prisoners of our minds for far too long.”

She had an impossibly gentle aura around her, so at ease.

“All we can do is accept it and promise not to let the bad days win.”

Cassian didn’t think it was possible to love someone so fucking much.

Never daring to break eye contact, he grasped one of her hands in his, interlacing their fingers, while using his other to grab her free one, leaving a soft kiss atop each knuckle.

Then he opened her palm and sucked on the tip of her index finger.

“Cassian!” she admonished, blush flushing to the swell of her breasts.

He could only laugh.

Drawing her in for a kiss, one hand on her waist, the other fisted in her hair, he knew he wasn’t fine yet. Neither of them were, but eventually, they’d get there.

Together.

______________________________________________________________

AAAAAAH I hope you enjoyed!!! I made myself cry while writing this LMAOOOO. I’m excited for part 3!! we’ll finally see what really happens when Cassian can’t hold back...

tag list: @arinbelle @letstakethedawn @queenofbloodshed @thewayshedreamed @bookstantrash @allilal @illyrianshadowhunter @rainbowcheetah512 @skychild29

[duskandstarlight]

Embers & Light (Chapter 22)

Notes: Apologies for any major errors. I'm going to edit this again in the morning, but I wanted to keep to my promise and give you something today!

And also, I'm sorry... this is an eventful chapter...

EDIT: Now hopefully free of typos and grammatical errors...

Chapter Twenty Two Nesta

Despite the fact that it was only an hour past dawn, the camp was already bustling the next morning as Nesta made her way through the back end of the mountain pass. Cassian was scheduled to visit Swallow’s Ridge at midday, so Nesta had risen early and eaten breakfast alone before walking to meet him in their usual training spot.

It was a bleak, grey sort of day, the sky kissed with the promise of snow and the air so cold Nesta’s breath clouded thick in front of her as she approached the sparring rings. 

The training grounds were not the same as those carved into the rock towards the front of the mountain pass. Instead, an area had been felled of pine trees that was just large enough to construct three large training areas, which were partitioned off by wooden fencing. Unlike the punishing crystalline rock, the ground was soft and open to the elements, a mixture of stone and compact earth that had frozen solid in the cold weather.

Nesta counted twenty girls in the ring as she drew closer — the most Cassian had ever had, he’d informed her over dinner a few nights prior — and whilst some of them looked like they hated every second of it, Nesta noticed Durkhanai and some of the other orphans frowning in concentration as Cassian took them through the guard swings.

At the entrance of the ring, with his arms crossed firmly across his hard and unyielding chest, was Lord Devlon. He was wearing a stern expression, but apart from the odd clipped order he allowed Cassian to lead the session rather than stepping in himself. This did not seem to bother Cassian, who appeared wholly focussed as he walked up and down the training ground, correcting handgrips and stances with a voice that was still General but kinder than when Nesta had heard him barked instructions at the males.

Unlike when Nesta trained, no males had stopped to watch the girls in the ring. Instead, they appeared to avoid the training ground altogether, as if they were purposefully keeping their distance. Nesta was sure there was some pathetic reason for it, but she cast the sneering males to the back of her mind as she deliberately drew to a halt beside the pine fencing a metre from Devlon.

The positioning was purposeful; Nesta was not going to be intimidated by a half-wit bat with a stick up his ass. If Devlon wanted to believe she was a witch, she’d damn well let him.

So drawing up tall, Nesta surveyed Cassian walking up and down the line of girls as they practiced guard swings with wooden swords, and ignored Devlon with blatant disinterest.

The girls attention wavered as they clocked her arrival, and even Cassian stopped correcting a young female’s grip, his wings and nostrils flaring slightly as he scented her on the breeze.

Cassian’s head started to turn but Nesta didn’t have time to meet his gaze, as Devlon cast his dark, cold eyes to rest upon her. 

“Here for training are you,” he grunted. He eyed her hands warily as if he expected mist to be seeping from them.

Nesta twitched her fingers in the hope that he might squirm — just for her satisfaction — and a small, cruel smile twisting her lips upwards. “Yes.”

A begrudging nod. Not a snarl or a sneer. Only, “Mind where you blast that fire.”

Nesta opened her mouth to reply, but then Cassian was in front of her on the other side of the fence. His hair was even more tangled than usual. “I’m nearly finished,” he told Nesta, even though his eyes remained fiercely trained on Devlon. His expression was hard and a muscle in his jaw was already twitching. “Start warming up. Ten laps around the ring.”

Shrugging, Nesta started to jog around the training ground as the girls began to put away their wooden training swords. Durkhanai’s eyes widened as she spotted Nesta, a shy smile flitting across her face.

Nesta saw the orphan most days. Together they helped bathe, dress and feed the younglings to relieve the widows who needed to get down the mountain for work. Durkhanai was quiet but lovely, and after a week of working silently side by side, she started to speak to Nesta, telling her of the death of her mother during the brutal winter last year and her journey to the widows camp, the only place that would take her in. In turn, Nesta had shared a part of herself: her starvation as a human and the death of her own mother.

She did not speak about how she had been Made or about her father’s death. That was something Nesta was still not ready to discuss, let alone face herself.

Sometimes, late at night, Nesta would wake with her face wet with tears, having dreamt of those ships sailing into the midst of battle. How her father had stood at the helm of Nesta, as he looked towards the coastline and his daughters. In that moment, he looked forever young; his hair golden brown rather than grey, his face alight with purpose, his posture tall. The father he had been before their mother died, when Nesta had been his favourite and Feyre had not been forced to the woods so they did not starve.

Feyre. The sister who Nesta might potentially see today, if she willed it.

Originally, Nesta had not even contemplated meeting her sister. Had imagined Feyre standing at the top of the mountain in the freezing cold as she waited for a sister who would not come. But slowly, as three weeks passed, Nesta found herself torn between unbridled fury and curiosity.

Even now, Nesta did not know how to feel. Did not know whether she would face her sister or not. Did not know if she could.

So when she and Cassian trained, Nesta went hard. She ignored the few girls that had stayed behind to watch and Devlon’s beady eyes from his spot at the gates. Instead, Nesta slipped into the rhythm of hand-to-hand combat with an ease that had not come before, her fists and body a blur against the grey landscape.

When she finished her fifth round, a bead of sweat trickled down Cassian’s brow. “Good,” he praised between breaths, and Nesta knew it was deserved. “I felt that kick to the side, sweetheart.”

“Good,” she mirrored, and Cassian barked a laugh. “Maybe you’ll stop going easy on me.”

“I didn’t,” Cassian promised.

A dismissive snort. “You could have pinned me after that upper cut.”

Hazel eyes glowed bright. “I don’t fancy being blasted with silver fire this early in the morning,” Cassian said, even though they both knew why he hadn't pinned her. He stalked to the weapons rack and threw her a longsword, which she effortlessly caught by the handle. “Guards and then combat. Let’s see if you can strike me twice today.”

After their training session, Cassian loitered around the bungalow for longer than he should have. He had bathed first, so Nesta raised an eyebrow at him in surprise as she came out of the bathroom to find him in the living room.

“I thought you were going to Swallow’s Ridge,” Nesta said, her chin lifted as if daring for him to comment that she was wearing nothing but a towel.

The Nesta riddled with alcohol and completely numb would have had no qualms about baring her skin for all the world to see, if only to discover whether it would make her bitter heart feel. But with the potential meeting of her sister on the horizon, Nesta felt splintered and raw.

After failing to illicit comments from Cassian the day of Mor’s visit, Nesta also no longer felt as body confident as she had been. Her failure to draw his attention had only confirmed what she had not wanted to admit: that whilst she had put on weight, the knots in her spine were still too prominent and her thighs were far thinner than they should be, bowing at the tops rather than meeting in the middle. And whilst it wasn’t as if Cassian hadn’t seen more of Nesta’s skin before, today she wasn’t in a place where she could relish in it. If she had known he were still around the house, she would have changed into fresh clothes in the bathroom rather than her room.

Cassian’s nostrils flared and his eyes gleamed for such a short moment that Nesta wondered if it had merely been the fire dancing in his irises. “I might stay and oversee the foot soldiers instead.”

Raising an eyebrow, Nesta tightened the towel around her body. “Why,” she asked shortly. Too shortly. They both knew what today could be, depending on Nesta’s decision. It had been an omen hanging over them that morning as they trained. Cassian had not dared bring it up, and Nesta, who was still too conflicted over her sister’s impending visit, had only set her mouth in thin determination and wielded the longsword after he had thrown it at her, as if it were an extension of herself.

To Cassian’s delight, she had struck him twice. When they had ended, Cassian had vowed that he would start training her with the bow the following day at Spearhead.

Loosing a shrug, Cassian replied, “The rite is in three months. The Windhaven soldiers need as much training as they can get.”

A casual response, but Nesta was not fooled.

She reset her posture, her eyes narrowing in a way that usually had other’s running. “Do it tomorrow.”

Cassian cocked his head and those hazel eyes tunnelled into her with such intensity that Nesta wanted to look away. She didn’t let herself give in to the temptation, staring him down with the sort of unveiled threat that promised she’d make his life hell if he dared defy her.

Eventually, Cassian just shrugged, his broad wings shifting with the movement. He ruffled them, spreading them quickly before tucking them back in. It was a signature move of his when he was uncomfortable. “I’ll be back at dusk. I’ll see you for dinner?”

A careful question designed to ensure that Nesta didn’t intend to retreat into herself should she meet with Feyre. Cassian was worried, Nesta realised, fiercely so, the sensation escaping the walls he had constructed after Kamanam and lining her stomach with the scent of pine and musk and untamed air.

It had been a while since Nesta had been left feeling fully numb. It was a feat that hadn’t escaped her. Clearly, it hadn’t escaped Cassian either, and he wanted the reassurance that meeting with her sister wasn’t going to make her suffer, even though they both knew it didn’t work that way.

For once though, Nesta did hope that the numbness wouldn’t take a hold of her. The sensation felt odd — hope — but it was there, a flicker in the dark. And the thought of coming back to the bungalow later to eat in the kitchen with Cassian… the image was warm and inviting. Nesta could see the orange glow of faelight around the kitchen window, could imagine her feet crunching on snow and ice as she trekked her way back, could taste the spices on her tongue as she bit into the food he would prepare for her…

So Nesta said, “That depends on what you’re making.”

Cassian barked a laugh. “What would you like, sweetheart?”

Nesta shrugged, as if she were wholly uncaring, even as it felt as if someone had clenched a fist in her chest. “Dosas,” she said, tossing the word over her shoulder as she turned on her heel to head into the bedroom.

A low chuckle made her stomach twist and flip, but she did not look back at him, even though she knew his eyes had darkened and flared simultaneously.

Despite the distance, Nesta felt Cassian’s laugh rumble through her, like a flame licking down to her core. “Dosas it is.”

***  

Once she had dressed, Nesta left her bedroom with the intention of making her way to the widows camp. To her fury, she found that Cassian had still not left. He was waiting by the door, her headband in his outstretched hand. Her coat remained hanging from its hook, as if he had anticipated that she would emerge in clean leathers rather than an Illyrian dress.

When he informed her that he planned to walk her to the bottom of the mountain, Nesta snatched the headband from his hands and stormed out of the door with a furious hiss that had him grinning.

Yet... Nesta allowed him to follow her. Knew his cocky grin was just for show. Knew that he wouldn’t voice what they both knew: that somehow his presence had a calming effect on her, smoothing over the gravitas of what could or couldn’t happen in a few hours time.

Cassian opened his mouth a number of times during the walk, but eventually he chose to remain silent. Only when they arrived at the base of the mountain did he surprise her, conversing quickly with the guards in sharp Illyrian before stepping onto the treacherous path with her, rather than shooting into the skies.

Nesta’s scathing look did nothing to stop him in his tracks, and it was only when they made the first brutal turn that he spoke. “You don’t have to see your sister today if you don’t want to.”

Nesta scowled, angry at Cassian for bringing up Feyre when she had intended to cast her to the back of her mind whilst she still could. Her entire body stiffened but she did not turn to him, knowing somehow, that he wanted eye contact from her — hazel on blue.

She kept on walking; one foot in front of the other, her fur-lined boots crunching loose rock beneath her feet. “I am fully aware of what I can and cannot do.”

Her delivery was pointed enough to wound, but Cassian did not flinch. He stopped, reaching for her, his fingers closing around her wrist. “I meant what I said to you the other day, Nesta. You shouldn’t see your sister if you don’t think it’s best for you right now.”

Silence followed as heat licked through Nesta’s veins, her power slithering like a serpent through a dark tunnel.

When Cassian spoke next, his voice was low — a confession, “I fucked up before. I was so angry at you for ignoring me that I didn’t try to see things from your perspective. So I’m going to tell you again what I think you need to hear: only do this for you. Don’t do this for Feyre. If it feels right to meet your sister, meet her. If your gut tells you it is wrong, follow that feeling.”

Nesta nearly snorted in dismissal, but she quashed the sound before it could escape, remembering the look on Cassian’s face that night of Solstice, when she had treated him as if he weren’t worthy enough to even reject.

Instead, she said frostily, “I don’t need your support.”

Something flickered behind Cassian’s eyes. “I know,” he admitted, “but I want you to know that you have it, if you do want it.” His grip tightened around her wrist, his touch warm and too packed with meaning. “Sometimes we need distance to figure out what we need, Nesta.”

His gaze was too intense, so Nesta threw his words back at him as she scrabbled to keep her expression neutral. “And what do you need.”

A shake of the head had Cassian’s wind-snarled hair moving. “I don’t need anything from you," he confessed. "Recently there’s a spark of life in you that wasn’t there before. I don’t want to see it go out.”

Nesta’s windpipe tightened and she sucked in a breath as she purposefully slid her eyes away from him to the frost-kissed landscape; to the snow-capped pine trees, the canvas tents and the shadowed blurs of leather and steel.

“I’m not the same girl who was forced into the Cauldron,” Nesta said.

It was true. Nesta was not who she had been. The Cauldron and the war had remoulded her body and self until she was recognisably different: harder around the edges, broken in the middle. A jumble of revenge and anger and grief and hatred. Emotions that she tried in vein to trap in ice to stop herself from self-combusting.

As if he could tell what she was thinking, Cassian’s fingers moved from her wrist to squeeze her fingers.

“No,” Cassian agreed softly, “but I like who you have become, all the same.” With his other hand, he reached up to brush his thumb lightly over the arch of her cheekbone.

The initiated contact surprised Nesta so much that she did not have the time to order herself to flinch.

“I’ll see you later,” Cassian said, after he had stared into her eyes for a little too long. “If you need me, get one of the guards to send a messenger to Swallow’s Ridge. I’ll come back.”

They both knew Nesta would not ask for him, but she nodded to indicate that she had heard before he shot into the sky. Nesta watched him until he faded into the clouds, his dark wings merging with grey…

A flash of ruby flared like lightning, and then he was gone.

The weather was moody — Nesta’s favourite — and the rolling white and smoke clouds made her emotions spark in a way that she found comforting as she continued up the path. Despite her initial hesitancy, Nesta had learnt that for the most part, it was better to feel than to feel nothing at all. And now… all she could feel was where Cassian’s calloused thumb had brushed over her skin. She wondered if the bastard had done it on purpose to distract her — to make her feel when now was a time when she’d usually retreat into herself.

It irritated her beyond belief that it worked, but it irked her more that she wanted him to do it again.

Females dipped their heads at Nesta in greeting as she submerged herself into the bustling widows camp. Nesta nodded back at them, and when she found the least battered tent at the East side of the camp, Nesta rapped her knuckled on the canvas to alert Mas to her arrival before she ducked quickly inside. The housekeeper’s face lit up at the sight of her. Mas had been winding a thick scarf around Roksana’s neck, but she stopped the task to take Nesta’s face in her hands and plant two quick kisses on each cheek before she hurried off to help the other females in the makeshift kitchens.

“Tiya, sunt tibi beni?” Nesta asked Roksana when they were alone, smoothing a hand over the girl’s tangled hair before she continued to wind the scarf around the youngling.

Roksana did not reply, she only wrapped her arms around Nesta’s legs in a hug that warmed Nesta’s blood.

It was a recent development that Nesta had taken to greeting Roksana in Illyrian, hoping to coax out some words in her in her native tongue. It hadn’t worked yet, but the way in which Roksana’s eyes had lit up the first time Nesta had tried to sound out the language, had left Nesta determined to persist, even if she continued to come up empty.

The chores in the widows camp were never-ending. Tuesdays were many of the females day off and so the camp was far busier than usual. Nesta helped to feed and clothe the orphans with Durkhanai at the Eastern side of the camp, before urging the younglings to warm their wings and frozen limbs by the campfire.

Some of the older widows, including Mas, had come to settle by the fire as well, in order to keep an eye on the younglings whilst they weaved beautiful fabric together with needle and thread. Braving the fire, Nesta settled with Roksana against her side and recounted a few stories, until the spitting became too much and the sun was high in the sky.

Then, without thinking, Nesta stood. She ran a hand over Roksana’s hair and bid Mas goodbye, before heading to the path that traversed up the mountain to the summit at the Western point of the camp. She ignored the way in which Mas had watched her go, her expression concerned to the point of troubled. There was no way in which Mas could know what Nesta was about to do — Nesta had not told anyone about her potential meeting with her sister — but Mas had come to learn her moods just as Cassian had.

If Nesta was more forthcoming about herself, she might have asked Mas’s advice, but instead Nesta continued to move on instinct — on the pull that was drawing her legs to climb up, up, up until the path flattened out.

She saw Feyre as soon as she reached the peak. It was not hard to spot her. She was standing at the precipice, staring down at the widows camp below. Despite the long braid that had woven her sister’s golden brown hair into three strands, the fierce wind carried it behind her, highlighting the sharp angles of her cheekbones and the slight upwards slant to her eyes. Her long, elegant figure was swept up in the finest fur-lined leathers, as if she too had unwittingly dressed to expect a battle. Or, Nesta thought grimly, the clothing that her mate had insisted she wear, knowing that her sister was not only braving the Illyrian weather but her thorny, quarrelsome sister.

Nesta had just noted the sword strapped to her spine, when Feyre turned and noticed her.

There was a pregnant pause as eyes near identical to her own took in Nesta’s figure: her frost-kissed skin rather than sunken cheeks; the loose braid rather than the tight crown; the figure-hugging leathers rather than the drab, over-sized dresses. A far cry to when Feyre had seen her last, Nesta could admit that much.

“You came,” Feyre said eventually.

Nesta angled her chin, ready to spar.

“I come here every morning,” she replied coldly. “I’d assume that’s why you were advised to suggest here as a meeting point.”

There was no added insult for Cassian. No bat, no bastard, no scathing him. Even so, Nesta couldn’t bring herself to say his name. It felt too intimate — too much of a giveaway that she no longer hated him with such raging intensity she wanted to shatter things.

That was not to say that Cassian did not make her want to break things now… He did, but it was rarely from anger. Rather, it was in the way that he would look at her — in the way that no one else dared — as if she were wholly unbreakable and he had no qualms about closing the distance and pinning her between a wall and the muscled cords of his body.

The tension was rising between them — it had been for a while — and it hung thick and heavy in the air, so much so that at times Nesta found it hard to breathe.

And the worst thing was that Nesta felt herself giving in; melting into the temptation and scent of him, even when she knew that every sensation he pulled from her was a veiled disguise. An illusion. Not of choice but of a decision already made, whereby they were both playing out what was destined for them.

Yet, despite that knowledge, Nesta couldn’t deny that the thought of Cassian speaking of her to the Inner Circle opened the fetid wound that had been falsely healing inside of her. It seeped ruby through the cracks in her wall of ice, like blood tainting the purest snow.

In Nesta’s mouth, she tasted copper.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come,” Feyre repeated, her voice disbelieving as she shook her head.

“I can leave as quickly as I came,” Nesta threatened, her face stony and impenetrable.

To her surprise, Feyre didn’t retaliate or sigh. She only looked down at the view in the fearless way anyone with wings could on a deadly precipice.

“That rock looks like a tombstone,” Feyre observed.

Nesta did not move from her position at the top of the path. Instead, she remained rooted to the spot in case she decided to make a quick exit. Nesta suspected that moment might come sooner than later. Already she felt rubbed raw, her hackles raised, her body primed to fight, yet she kept her face impassive as she followed her sister’s gaze.

Far above them, three warriors flew across the sky. Their bodies were black dots against the grey backdrop, and Nesta watched silver glint off one of them as a gap between the clouds exposed the sun’s rays. Nesta wished she was with them rather than here. Maybe Cassian was right, she was not ready for this. She was not ready to face the ghosts that haunted her… the ghosts that Feyre unwittingly brought with her.

“It’s the widows camp,” Nesta told Feyre coldly, trying to swallow down the urge to run.

Feyre cut a sideways glance at her. “You were there this morning?”

Nesta rose her chin. “Are you asking me that because you’ve been spying on me or because your faithful informant has been telling you how I spend my day?”

Feyre blew out a breath that Nesta dissected as a method of steadying the rising temper they both shared. “I arrived early. Cassian doesn’t like to speak of you to me.”

Surprise flared inside of Nesta so sharp that for a second she couldn’t breathe. She had always thought Cassian loyal to Feyre first and foremost. Had always thought he would choose his High Lady over her lowly, cruel sister, despite the things he had said that had insinuated otherwise.

But Nesta kept her expression blank as she asked, “And I suppose that makes you angry?”

The way Feyre shook her head was tormented. “No, he — it has made me realise some truths — of how I have failed you, Nesta.”

The concession was not packaged how Nesta had been expecting it, so she did not speak. Feyre had turned to look at her. Her irises were the exact same as Nesta’s own, yet not half as steely. Out of the three of them, she and Feyre were the most similar; both in looks and personality.

Nobody was as lovely as Elain, she and Feyre had learnt that long ago.

Just once, Feyre rang her hands before they fell uselessly at her sides. It betrayed her as nervous.

“I don’t know if I ever told you the full story of what happened to me Under the Mountain,” Feyre started. She tore her gaze from Nesta’s to stare out at the sky. “Afterwards, I… things were very difficult. I had nightmares every night of those I had killed and I couldn’t keep any food down. I barely slept and I felt heavy all of the time, as if I were wading through mud. I hated being confined so much so that when Tamlin locked me in the house the Night Court saved me because I threw the entirety of it into darkness. Even once I was in Velaris, there was no light, only dark, and I could barely feel… Sometimes I went days of feeling nothing and I had this... power inside of me that I didn’t know how to use.”

Feyre turned back to look at Nesta. Her expression was grave, as if she were tunnelling too far into herself, into a part of her that she did not like to bring back to the surface.

Nesta had seen the look many times before, in the reflection of Cassian and Mas’s eyes, as they stared concernedly at her.

“I’m not telling you this with the intention of making you feel sorry for me,” Feyre said quietly. She had stepped closer to Nesta without realising. Nesta had been too preoccupied with that haunted look. “The reason I’m telling you this is because despite everything I went through and the people who helped me, I didn’t truly stop to realise that you were going through something similar after the war. I should have seen what was happening with you, Nesta, and tried to truly understand what you needed, but I didn’t. I could try to better myself by saying that everything was so busy during and after the war that I was too distracted, but really that’s just an excuse for my behaviour. I thought Illyria would give you a change of scenery away from…everything.”

Nesta’s snort was harsh. “You thought to throw me into a war camp so I could escape the memory of what happened in the war?”

Feyre’s wince was visible and Nesta watched her sister pinch the bridge of her nose. “I didn’t—” Feyre started, but then she trailed off with a shake of her head, as if she wished to start again. “Nesta, I’m sorry for sending you here. I was so worried that you would destroy yourself and so I did something drastic—”

“I am not yours to control,” Nesta snarled. “You summoned me like I was dirt on the bottom of your shoe. You banished me in front of half of your precious Inner Circle with no regard to how I was suffering. You humiliated me not as my sister but as High Lady and that is unforgivable.”

Fire raged inside of Nesta at the memory, so bright that she knew mist was seeping threateningly from her fingers. Feyre cast an alarmed look to her hands as Nesta stepped closer, as if she were expecting her sister to blast her off the mountain.

“You say you don’t like small spaces,” Nesta continued with quiet fervour. “Have you considered what it is like for me? To be banished somewhere where I cannot fly away? Have you considered that I too was trapped when I was kidnapped and thrown into a Cauldron to be remade against my will? And when I told you I could not bare to sit in the tub — when I gave you a piece of myself — you did not truly listen. Instead you trapped me into another life that has been chosen for me.”

Another step forwards, so close that Nesta could feel the warmth coming from her sister’s skin. “I am sorry for what you endured Under the Mountain. I am sorry for making your life miserable when we were younger, but I am not sorry for how I chose to deal with my trauma.”

Feyre’s skin turned so pale her freckles looked like they had been painted on with the tip of a paintbrush. “Nesta—”

But Nesta was not finished. Now she had started, she couldn’t stop. The words poured forth as easily as fire wanted to flow from her fingertips. “Have you considered that I have never had control over any aspect of my life — that I have always been told what to do and how to behave?”

That fateful finger was out now, stabbing the air between them. Feyre took a step backwards as if Nesta had prodded her in the chest. Silver sparked in the air between them, a promise of what would undoubtedly come.

“I fought in the war,” Nesta continued with quiet fury. “I killed the King and changed the course of history. I tried to show you that I was sorry for how I had treated you through my actions. I tried to earn forgiveness, to try and make up for what I had done wrong. Yet you and your mate did not see my actions as worthy. And when I told you I did not want to be controlled by you, you banished me somewhere with somebody I could not stand to be around, as if I wasn’t your sister but a troublesome subject.”

Taking that final step, Nesta closed the distance between she and Feyre. Feyre did not back away again. Instead, Nesta watched a tear roll down Feyre’s cheek with a chilled sort of fury, and with quiet fervour, said, “Well, I have news for you, sister. I am untameable and I do not answer to anybody but myself.”

Horror coursed through Nesta’s insides, the sensation interwoven with the scent of lilac and pear. Feyre’s hands came to cover her face and a sob coursed through the mountain landscape, so sharp it was as if it were her sister’s last breath. “I didn’t want you to die. I thought you were going to drink yourself to death, Nesta. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Seeing her sister cry hurt, but being understood hurt more. So Nesta ploughed on; the words escaping as if they had been scrabbling to get out for a long, long time, “You once asked me why I pushed everyone away but Elain — why I pushed you away. Well, here’s your answer High Lady: you never needed me. I lost you long ago, as soon as mother told you that I was unsuitable to look out for my younger sisters and that you were the only one up for the task.”

Nesta hadn’t thought it possible for Feyre to turn paler, but she had. Her skin looked as if it had been leeched of life. As Nesta said the words, she knew they were unfair. Her younger self had projected anger onto Feyre rather than taint the dying mother who Nesta had always tried so hard to please.

A silence stretched out between them that was so taut and angry, Nesta had to resist the urge to throw her hands to the sky until it was burning mercury. Instead, she kept her power inside, wanting to feel the ferocious thrum of it in her blood, at the pulse in her neck which was hammering as if it were trying to escape.

“Is that why—” Feyre started, but a sound had Nesta throwing up a finger to stop her, because she had heard something on the wind which had made her blood freeze.

For a moment… nothing. Then on the wind came familiar, high pitched laughter that sent chills down Nesta’s spine. It was a sound that she had hoped to never hear again, yet it was unmistakable — clear as day.

“No,” Nesta breathed, whirling round to stare down the mountain path. Through the misty clouds, Nesta could make out nothing but the dark shape of the tombstone, but she knew that sound. She would never forget that sound, not as long as she lived.

“What is it?” Feyre demanded.

“Be quiet,” Nesta snapped.

Laughter came again. It skittered up the craggy rock, followed by snarling and snapping teeth.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Nesta moaned, running to ledge that Feyre had been standing at previously, which gave an unhindered view of the widows camp. And through the foggy clouds, Nesta saw them. Sloping four-legged figures on the western perimeter of the widows camp, slinking through the shadows. Too many of them. Nesta had no idea how they had gotten there, why they would have ventured somewhere so populated…

“What is it?” Feyre demanded again, running to Nesta’s side so she too could look over the mountain. “Oh Gods,” Feyre breathed. “The females. The children. Nesta, what are they—”

But Nesta was not listening. She was running before she had time to think, her feet digging into the stone as she tore her way to the mountain path that zagged its way down to the widows camp.

“Move,” she barked over her shoulder. The command was biting but Feyre did not hesitate, tearing after her sister as if it were second nature.

Nesta had only reached the first bend with Feyre hot on her heels when the first scream pierced through the clouds. Power leapt within Nesta, and then her mind went loose as it went taut… as Nesta reached within herself, into her veins where that magic hummed hello… ready. And Nesta did not push it away. Instead, she brushed against it in greeting, just as she had done when she had worn Cassian’s siphon, in the moment before she bended it to her will. And then her fingers were curling around the pommel of a longsword made entirely of breathing, silver flame.

She clutched on to it, the weapon so much an extension of herself that she did not have to worry about it falling from her grasp. The rest of the descent passed in a blur of moving rock, as she and Feyre skidded on loose stone and slushy ice, and the screams… they kept coming. Again and again. Panic and terror so palpable they pierced through Nesta’s emotional shields, each agonised sound stabbing through her, her power leaping to meet it, pushing beneath her skin, desperate to get out…

Together, she and Feyre plunged into the fray. Crowds of female were stampeding towards them, desperate to get to safety, to reach the only path that led down to the safety of the main camp.

And amongst them… kerits. So many of them chittering and snarling, their long, pointed teeth snapping and tearing as they leapt at the defenceless females with the intent of feasting on their flesh. Nesta slashed at them with her sword, fire sizzling through fur and flesh, her body moving independently of her brain as it fell into a killing dance.

Feyre had not drawn her sword from her back, instead she wielded ice from her palms, and spears of it wove their way through the air like arrowheads, plunging themselves into moving bodies of spotted fur. Nesta just had time to see the body of a kerit slump to the floor, its body impaled by ice, to reveal a female cowering against the canvas of her tent. The female’s face was ashen and disbelieving as she stared at the sloping bodies that had fallen before her at the will of Feyre’s magic. At the trail of limbs and guts scattered around her, belonging to the female who they had not been in time to save… But then another kerit was leaping at Nesta, and Nesta did not have time to think, only react as she plunged her sword into it’s belly. It fell by her feet with a sharp cry, black blood spilling on the rocky ground. Nesta did not pause to consider the bloodshed or how her feet slipped in it as she continued to run, she only raised her free hand to the sky again, desperately blazing silver into the clouds, hoping that it would be enough to alert the camp below of the attack.

Already Nesta knew that there were too many kerits for she and Feyre to fight off themselves… Already there had been casualties. And still, the orphans were huddled at the Eastern-point of the camp with nobody to protect them…

It was that thought that had Nesta pressing on. Kerits leapt at she and Feyre before they realised that they had chosen the wrong pray, and Nesta sliced and jabbed with her fire-breathing steel, relishing in the beasts dying screams and savouring the sobs of the widows, which brought solace in the knowledge that they were alive and momentarily safe.

All went eerily quiet as Nesta and Feyre reached the towering tomb of rock and the makeshift canteen surrounding it. The stampede of females had petered out, and Nesta hoped it was because most of them had managed to escape down the mountain pass, rather than because they had fallen victims to the kerits. Her gut twisted at the thought… as she thought of Mas, Roksana and the other orphans who had been tucked away against the mountain wall at the Eastern side of the camp… a dead end.

If the kerits had managed to corner them… it would be a massacre.

Another lurch of her stomach as Nesta surveyed the benches and tables that had been strewn across the stone floor. Beside one of the upturned benches lay the twisted body of the elderly cook with crooked teeth — the female who insisted on feeding Nesta each morning, even when Nesta told her that she had already eaten breakfast. The cook’s tan skin was covered in claw and tooth marks, her body bloody and brutalised in such a horrific way that Nesta knew there was not a glimmer of life left in the female.

It must have been a horrible way to die.

Biting back a sob, Nesta closed her fingers around her sister’s arm, needing Feyre to understand that in this moment, she did not care if she died; she only cared that she could protect the defenceless females before she fell.

“The orphans,” Nesta urged to Feyre, pointing towards the Eastern side of the camp and the screams that were being tossed away on the wind. “They’re at the East side of the camp. There’s no way out.”

Nesta did not dare say the name Roksana or Mas. Could not voice what she was terrified of… That something could have already happened to the Illyrian’s she had come to care for so deeply.

Nesta tried to push away the thought of how Roksana had clung to her that morning… of how her small fingers had grabbed onto her legs in a clumsy hug. Nesta tried not to think about how Mas had kissed her in greeting; her weathered palm patting lightly against Nesta’s cheek in that motherly way of hers that always made her feel unconditionally accepted and loved.

The boom of wings sounded across the mountain pass, and then different coloured lights started to flash as siphons were willed into action, warriors finally landing in the camp to fight off the beasts. Nesta spotted Ragar and his friends, Devlon, guards on patrol, but then Feyre’s hands came to rest on her arms, pulling her attention away.

Nesta stared at her sister — at the white face streaked with blood which was set in grim determination, even as they heard the rising screams.

“Let’s go,” Feyre said, those two words sparking more respect in Nesta than any of their tense exchange at the top of the mountain.

And then they were running again, both of them throwing magic from their palms, taking out a gang of kerits who had leapt between the tents. Nesta swung her longsword of silver fire with her left-hand just as a kerit jumped in front of Feyre, attacking from seemed like nowhere.

Black blood streaked hot across Nesta’s face as her sword sizzled through muscle and sinew, but she ignored the wailing screams of the dying beast, turning only to make sure her sister was alive and unharmed.

Feyre’s eyes were wide, her heartbeat as frantic as a hummingbird in Nesta’s ears. “Thanks,” Feyre breathed, panting desperately for breath. Then she pointed to the direction they had been heading — to the Eastern-most point where Nesta had left Roksana and Mas that morning. “There are lots of warriors up ahead.”

Together they dodged the crowds and beams of coloured light. To Nesta’s relief, the huddled figures on the floor seemed to mainly consist of spotted fur, the Illyrian males clearly having arrived in time to prevent a massacre. But still Nesta ran, not realising how her lungs were heaving for breath or the burn in her thighs as she weaved through lifeless bodies and crying females, heading towards the smoke that wafted up from the dying camp fire — the place she had left Roksana and Mas what felt like mere minutes ago.

It was not how she had left it.

In front of her, metres before the campfire, lay Durkhanai’s bloody body. Her eyes were open and unseeing, her pupils green and mesmerising even in death… her spirit already well departed from the world. And a foot away from her…

“No.”

The sound that tore from Nesta was agony. It ripped from her chest — from deep, deep inside that locked cage as it cracked.

Nesta’s boots slipped through guts and gore, but she did not care. In her periphery, Nesta saw limbs and the unseeing eyes of the females who had flung themselves in the paths of the beasts, as if they had willingly lay themselves on the pyre to put the lives of the orphans before themselves.

Nesta did not feel the blinding pain that should have splintered through her as she fell to her knees on the grey rock. Because in front of her was Mas. She was lying on the floor and her wings — her scarred and battered wings — were in tatters. Her stomach was oozing with blood, deep claw marks raked through raw flesh.

And beside her was Roksana, her face and clothes covered in bright scarlet blood. Her small, precious hands buried deep in Mas’s gut, holding in the punctured intestines that were trailing out of her body; as if they had been dragged out by long, pointed teeth…

The little girl stared up at Nesta, her dark eyes blown wide in shock. Around them, the anguished cries and screams of agony went quiet, Nesta’s ears drowning out all noise but the croak that came from the youngling’s mouth. “Help,” she said, those little hands sliding on intestines and blood as it leaked through her fingers. “Help.”

“No,” Nesta repeated again, the word cracking out of her as she surveyed the damage that was too severe for an Illyrian to remedy. “No, no, no.”

Her hands slipped in hot blood as she pressed her own palms over Mas’s gaping wounds. The housekeeper’s breath rattled, the sound terrible and wringing with what Nesta knew was unimaginable pain. Mas’s face was grey — as if already it had been drained of life; as if the end had been written and there was no avoiding it.

Fingers grasped at Nesta’s but the Illyrian’s eyes did not open, even as her eyelids flickered — the movement asking too much of her body. They slipped against Nesta’s as they moved through her own ruby blood.

“You will not die,” Nesta told Mas fiercely, her eyesight blinded by tears. A silver tear rolled down Nesta’s cheek and fell onto their clasped hands… into the open, gaping wound. “You will not. Do you hear me?”

Only silence answered as Mas’s body went slack. Her chest rattling one last time before it stopped moving all together.

When the housekeeper’s fingers fell away from Nesta’s own, everything went still.

“Nesta.”

A hand was on her shoulder — Feyre — but Nesta did not feel or care for it. Someone had pulled Roksana away into the safety of their arms — away from the dead body with its departing soul. Deep inside of Nesta, the scent of roasted chestnuts and wood shavings began to fade, as if it had been caught in the wind and was about to be tossed away.

“No.”

That same word again, but this time it came with weight behind it. Defiance. Anger. Heartbreak. All her own, and yet piling on top of that, layer by layer, was every painful emotion and memory of loss that had been imprinted on the stone over the years, from the widows that had come before and had suffered unimaginably.

Something turned inside of Nesta, her magic flipping as if someone had turned a key in a lock to reveal not silver but white… A pure, snow white light that seeped from her fingertips, singing with gentle promise rather than destruction.

“No,” Nesta said.

That word again, but this time deadly calm.

Still.

Who do you want to be, Nesta?

Cassian’s words from the day before sounded in her head. At the time she had not known the answer, but now, her path had never been clearer.

Raising her steady blood-stained hands to hover over Mas’s wounds, Nesta let that icy wall protecting her emotions fall away inside of her. It crashed down around her like a dam whose gates had been opened, her emotions running like rampant and wild rapids, rushing into her blood and down strands of interwoven rope. Her power vibrated with a controlled energy and then that white light glowed, shining from her palms.

It was so bright that Nesta had to close her eyes to protect herself from the sheer brilliance of her power as it poured forth.

She did not need to look at Mas’s body to bear witness to her healing. Did not need to watch the housekeeper’s wounds knit themselves back together, as if someone were turning back time in slow motion.

She just knew.

And in that moment, Nesta also knew exactly who she was supposed to be, even as her body started to hurt.

Two weaving components, bound together as surely as a rope plaited with two complementing strands.

Protector.

Healer.

That was who Nesta was.

Tags (let me know if you want to be added/removed): @arin1030-blog @superspiritfestival @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @mylittlebigplanet @biggestwingspan-az @bellsqueen @ekaterinakostrova @bookstantrash @prophecyerised @rainbowcheetah512 @awesomelena555 @wannawriteyouabook @iammissstark @hatemecozuaintme @lovelynesta @heymelphs @nestable @darkshadowqueensrule @nestalytical @laylaameer01 @a-trifling-matter @grouchycritic7794​ @thalia-2-rose @swankii-art-teacher

[mmvalentine]

Home is Where You Are pt 3 | Feysand

Girl next door AU. CW: abusive relationships. Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

The next time Rhys saw Feyre was at the wake.

Back in his apartment, Rhys tried to settle into his normal routine. But the idea of having Feyre back in his life was intoxicating, after having imagined it for so long. He tried to concentrate hard on his work in order to prevent him from texting her everyday. Especially because it turned out that in the city, the did not live far from each other at all.

A few days later, Rhys put on a black suit and went to Feyre and Tamlin's apartment. She looked so tired, with black circles under her lovely eyes and a slight tremor in her hands. The fluttery feeling he had had in anticipation of seeing her again was replaced by a solemn concern.

Feyre met him at the door. She smiled at him, and clasped his arms. Rhys searched her eyes, questioningly. "I'm okay," she said quietly. "Don't spend too long with just one person," Tamlin said to her. "Make sure to greet all the guests." Rhys rolled his eyes. "Do whatever the hell you want," he whispered, once Tamlin had walked away.

After the service, through which Nesta and Elain did very little and everything seemed to fall to Feyre, the people fanned out through the small apartment. Rhys found Feyre sitting in the walk-in pantry.

He had gone looking for a glass for get some water, and now shut the door behind him before sitting down next to her.

"Okay?" he asked. "Yeah. Just tired." Feyre leaned her head back against a shelf. "Have you eaten today?" "Not much appetite." "Do you want me to tell you stories about your dad?" Feyre smiled. "Yes." "Okay. I haven't told anyone this before, and it's a sort of heavy story. But did you know my dad used to keep a baseball bat by the door. Self-defence, he said, in case of home invaders.

"Well, this one time he was going off at me, you know, really laying into me. And your dad, every so often, when my old man was just shouting the whole house down, would knock on the front door at an opportune moment. Sometimes it would just break his rhythm, and that was enough to stop the screaming. And usually your dad would make up some excuse and then leave again.

"Anyway this particular time, my dad had the bat in his hands when your dad knocked. He opens the door, and spits what in your dad's face. I remember so clearly, your dad's going from my dad's face, to the bat, to me behind him. And then he says, 'You know I think there were some teenagers scrabbling around my porch last night. And I've been thinking I should get myself some protection.' And my dad says, 'that's the problem with you lot, you're soft and they know it.' 'well,' says your dad, 'I've got four women in the house and they suddenly feel unprotected. Do you think you could give me a hand?' and next thing I know, my dad's handing over the baseball bat. 'Hold onto this for now,' he says, 'then get yourself a decent rifle.' Then your dad left and he had to whack me with a newspaper roll instead.

"The point is, I'm pretty sure on more than one occasion your dad saved my ass. And I'll always be grateful."

Feyre stared at him. "I didn't know he used to go over there," she said. "Not sure I'd be here if he didn't," Rhys responded. "At least, I wouldn't be nearly this pretty." He grinned at her, and Feyre laughed. The sound of it released some of the tension in Rhys' stomach, and he leaned over and kissed Feyre on the cheek.

A few weeks later, Feyre came around to Rhys' neighbourhood. She had agreed to design something for a campaign Rhys was working on, and they decided to meet at his place to discuss the brief. Over the past fortnight, it had been the perfect excuse to be able to talk to her.

What are you making at the moment? he had texted her. Ugh, nothing, she replied. I've had no inspiration since my last show ended. Maybe you just need some better source material, Rhys wrote. You could always paint me, if you like. Har har, Feyre wrote back. Don't flirt with an almost married woman. Sorry, Rhys texted back. I do it with no hope or agenda. But seriously, if you like working toward things, my company is looking for an artist for an upcoming project, I could throw your name in if you'd like. I'm not in charge of who they pick but I think they'd love you. That would be amazing! Feyre said.

And then they had loved her, not surprising Rhys at all after years of following her on social media. So he picked up the brief and invited her over.

Rhys had torn around his place all evening, trying to get it to look the right balance of homely and inviting, and immaculate. Ridculous, he told himself, trying to impress an engaged woman. Still, even if she wasn't interested in him romantically, he still cared about her opinion.

Finally there was a knock at his door, and Rhys tried not to throw it open too enthusiastically. But when he saw her, the smile fell from his face.

"Feyre," he said. "I... come in." He stood aside, and Feyre smiled. She looked awful. The bags under her eyes that Rhys had attributed to her father's funeral were somehow worse, and she had definitely lost weight.

"Thanks," Feyre said. "How are you?" "I'm... good, how are you? Are you okay?" "Yeah, I'm fine." "Okay, you look..." he trailed off. "Are you sure you're okay?" Feyre brushed him off with a laugh. "Yes mother hen, I'm good. So tell me about this project."

Rhys led her to the couch, and looked sidelong at her. If she didn't want to talk about it, he didn't want to push her. "I was going to order some food first, what do you feel like for dinner?" he said. But Feyre shook her head. "Nothing for me. Tamlin has me on this cleanse, says it's good for stress." She pulled out a bottle of green-brown liquid and took a long drink. Rhys watched her, and held his tongue.

"Okay," he said. "Well I'm going to get some pizza and if you decide you're hungry you can have some." "Sure, whatever," Feyre said. "Now tell me about this project! I'm so excited, when they reached out to me they only gave me this really vague outline."

So they sat and talked about work, and even though her face was gaunt and her skin a little sallow, the way her eyes lit up when she spoke about her ideas made Rhys' heart squeeze. If he could just make her a tiny bit happy, that'd be enough.

Over the next couple of months they exchanged texts and emails, mostly about work, but sometimes about life, too.

Nesta's a pain in my ass, she wrote once. Nesta's a pain in everyone's ass, Rhys replied. Hadn't seen the woman in a decade and when I asked her how she was at the funeral she said 'oh you're back' and then walked away.

Rhys I'm giving up on this project, I quit, she sent another time. Tamlin says what I've made won't resonate with the modern audience, but I don't have any other ideas and I can't bear to start again. We didn't pick Tamlin out of twenty applying artists, we picked you, Rhys wrote back. And personally, I fucking love it as it is. If you change it you're fired.

And then one day, The house sold. I can't believe it's really happening. Congratulations, Rhys said. That's great news. It went for more than I expected, Feyre said. Then, I guess I'll have to go back down and get all that stuff out before the new owners move in. Want company? Very much.

This time, Rhys drove. He picked Feyre up at her place, and his knuckles went white on the steering wheel with effort not to comment on how she had lost even more weight, and her beautiful honey hair looked dull and lank around her face.

"Hello, Feyre darling," he said as she climbed into the car. "How have you been?" "Just fine Rhys dear, and you?" "Good," Rhys said carefully. "That Tamlin treating you okay?" Feyre made a face. "He's pretty stressed out lately. He finds it difficult to work with new people, so I've been modelling for some of his advertising stuff. You know how it is, running your own business." "Sure..." Rhys said. "And... is there a certain... aesthetic they stick to?" Feyre frowned. "Of course, he's a personal trainer." "Okay..." "So are we going to drive or are you going to ask weird questions all day?" "Sorry ma'am, right away ma'am," Rhys said, flicking his sunglasses onto his face and pulling out of his driveway. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Feyre. She was slumped in her seat, and had started to chew on the nails of her left hand.

"Welcome to Archeron Airlines," Rhys said, in his best pilot voice. "My name is Rhys and I'l be your captain for the day, on behalf of us all here thank your for flying Archeron."

Feyre stared at him. "What are you doing?"

"It's a fine day for flying, the weather looks good and minimal turbulence is expected. We are cruising at an altitude of 0.75 feet, your expected fight time is four hours."

"It's six actually," Feyre corrected, the corner of her mouth pulling up. "I know," Rhys said, leaning toward her conspiratorially. "But I drive like a maniac."

Feyre laughed out loud then, and Rhys' heart glowed in his chest. He could do this. He could make her laugh all the way to Velaris St, and make those frown lines disappear. If only he could see her everyday, he thought. If only he could make sure she was okay.

Because she wasn't saying anything, but he was so sure this had something to do with Tamlin.

****

I was going to try keep this very separate from COD but also I want to get the heavy angst out of the way. Because you guys, I promise this one gets so sweet and fluffy if you can just stick with me a little longer.

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-babies @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira

[snelbz]

The Ranch {4}

An A Court of Thorns and Roses, Nesta x Cassian, Modern AU, fanfiction.

Collaboration: @tacmc x @throne-of-ashes-and-beauty

Cassian rode until the sun had gone down, and after he had everything put away and Daisy was in her stall to rest for the night, he was crashing into his cabin, still filled with frustration and anger. Beau jumped off the recliner and met Cassian by the door, tail wagging. 

After kicking off his muddy boots, Cassian grabbed the bottle of bourbon out of his fridge and slumped down into his recliner before putting the cool bottle to his lips. 

As he was out riding Daisy, he felt guilty, at first, for the things he had said to Nesta in the kitchen. He hadn’t been fair, and he knew it. He was pissed, and felt stupid for the entire ordeal, and as usual, he had let out those feelings by way of smartass comments in hopes to get a rise out of her.

It had worked, of course, but a little too well. She had threatened to fire him. He, who had dedicated almost a decade to this ranch, who had put his heart and soul into everything he had done over the last eight years. He loved working the ranch, and she wanted to fire him? Why? Because what they had done was inappropriate.

It was utter bullshit. 

They were both there that night, and she had wanted it every bit as much as he had. He remembered the fire, the longing, in her eyes, the soft whimpers escaping her lips as his tongue explored her body. He hadn’t imagined it. She wanted him, all of him, but then she left.

Inappropriate.

The word rang through him, repeated in his mind, like a fucking joke.

He grabbed his phone and called Azriel. It rang three times before his brother answered with a breathless, “Hello?”

Cassian gave a quick glance to the clock on the microwave, seeing it was 9:58 on a Saturday night. The one night that both Elain and Azriel are off work and together. And have given their families strict instructions not to call unless it was an emergency.

“Shit, fuck, it’s Saturday, y’all are- well, you know I know what you were doing, but I don’t want to say it because then I’ll think about it and-.”

“Cassian,” Azriel laughed, cutting him off. “I’m at the gym.” He laughed again as he heard Cass breath a sigh of relief, but explained before he could ask. “They needed El to work a double in the NICU today so she gets tomorrow off. So maybe don’t call tomorrow, yeah?”

He cleared his throat and scratched at the back of his neck. “Right, sorry about that. This would have been real awkward.”

Az snorted on the other end of the phone and the telltale echo Cass could hear in the background told him he’d made his way into the locker room. “Less awkward than that time you took a buckle bunny back to the room in Houston, didn’t tell me or Rhys, and we walked in right when you were about to-.”

“Okay, yes, less awkward than that,” Cass mumbled, all by himself, but still feeling the tips of his ears burn.

He could hear Azriel’s deep laughter on the other end of the phone and when he returned the phone to his ear, he asked, “So what’s got you so out of sorts that you called me on a Saturday night?”

Cassian debated on giving him a little bit of back story, but he’d seen how they were last night. Maybe Az could try and give him a little insight, since he had successfully figured out one of the Archeron sisters.

“I almost fucked Nesta last night.” There was absolute silence on the other end. Cassian pulled the phone from his ear to make sure he hadn't dropped the call somehow. “Az?”

“Rhys and I will be over in twenty.”

The line went dead and Cassian sighed, looking over at Beau. The pup ran over and licked Cassian’s outstretched hand as he said in a singsong voice, “Dad’s in trouble…”

Beau barked as if to say, Trust me, I know. And the pup’s following grin said, And I can’t wait to watch you get your ass handed to you.

Cassian sighed as he fell back in his recliner and waited - waited for his brothers to come give him hell.

Maybe he deserved hell.

He didn’t know.

He took another gulp from the bottle. 

Beau jumped up on Cassian’s lap and Cassian let out a long string of curses as he almost spilled his bourbon. Beau was a massive puppy and didn’t understand that he wasn’t a lap dog anymore. Cass didn’t have the heart to tell him either.

Beau was still sprawled across Cassian’s lap, getting his belly rubbed, twenty minutes later, when the cabin door was thrown open.

Azriel was still dressed in his sweaty gym clothes. Cassian assumed he had stopped by to pick up Rhys on the way, who was wearing old sweatpants and a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off. 

Beau hopped off Cassian, at last, to greet his uncles as Rhysand said, “Feyre says fuck you.”

Cassian blinked. “Wh- you told her?”

Rhysand shrugged, shutting the front door. “I had to let her know where I was going.”

Cassian groaned. “Couldn’t have said you were just coming over for a drink?”

Azriel chuckled as Rhysand said, “I could’ve, but then I couldn’t watch her kick your ass the next time she sees you.”

Cass leaned back in the recliner, covering his face with his hands. The words were muffled as he said, “She would have figured out a reason to anyways, she always does.”

He heard the couch next to him groan as one of his brothers sat down, but Rhys’ voice came from the kitchen when she replied. “Yeah, but now I don’t have to get my ass kicked when she finds out that I knew, and didn’t tell her.”

Cass moved his hands away to see Azriel shaking his head as he threw his sweaty tennis shoes across the room. Beau immediately chased them to the corner, but a whistle from Cassian had him begrudgingly trotting back to his place on the floor in front of the recliner. He flopped down with a huff.

Azriel, deciding to no longer beat around the bush, asked, “Dude, what the hell? You said you two couldn’t even be in the same room without wanting to scream at each other when you called me the day before yesterday.”

Cassian leaned forward and dropped his head into his hands. “I don’t know, I just- she just gets under my skin.”

“She’s Nesta Archeron,” Rhysand announced, finally appearing from the small kitchen. There was a bottle of cheap whiskey in one hand and three glasses in the other. “The Cauldron made her with the sole purpose of getting under people’s skin.”

“Rhys,” Azriel warned.

He placed the contents on the small table between the couch and recliner and held up his hands in surrender. “Now, Cassian, because you’ve chosen to make yet another stupid decision, and because the three of us chose to make that stupid pact at seventeen-years-old, we’re here to be miserable with you.” He cracked the seal and put the plastic bottle of liquor to his lips, the burn of the alcohol damn near painful. He handed the bottle to Cass and he blew out a harsh breath and shook his head.

He happily took it and chugged much more than most humans typically would. When he put the bottle down and opened his eyes, Azriel and Rhysand were watching him.

Azriel let out a low whistle. “You’re in worse shape than I thought.”

“I talked to her about it this afternoon, too,” Cassian said, head already feeling light. “It didn’t go well.”

“Did you….expect it to?” Rhysand asked, brows raised as they passed around the bottle.

Cassian didn’t reply. He didn’t have a good answer. Yes, he had, but he wasn’t sure why.

“Well,” Azriel went on, clearing his throat. “We’re here to take your mind off of it.”

“Drink,” Rhysand said, handing the bottle to Cassian, once more. He did, but not quite as deeply as the first. “And start at the beginning.”

Cassian handed the bottle back to him. “You both may want to start drinking, too,” he said, closing his eyes and reclining back in the chair.

Rhys did as he was told, but Azriel asked, “And why’s that?”

“Because it all started with me walking into the kitchen in the main house to find her perky, little ass up in the air, in the tightest pair of jeans shorts I've ever seen, and ended with her legs wrapped around my waist and her tits in my mouth, against that wall.” Cassian gestured towards the doorway, eyes still closed.

He heard two more heavy swallows.

“I assume something happened between those two moments,” Azriel muttered. 

Cassian kept his eyes closed as he said, “I blame the alcohol.”

“Bullshit,” Rhysand said, the couch creaking as he shifted his weight. “Your alcohol tolerance is impressive, to say the least.” 

“We did run into each other, literally, after our shower yesterday afternoon,” Cassian muttered. “That didn’t help.”

A pause, then Azriel said, “Our? As in...together?”

Cassian opened his eyes just to roll them. “No. She was getting ready in the main house, too, I didn’t know.”

Rhysand gave him a knowing look.

“I didn’t know,” Cassian repeated, words clipped. 

“Alright, alright,” Rhysand mumbled, laughing quietly as he took the bottle from Azriel. “Not to mention that you drove her to and from the bar last night.”

“We came back here, I invited her in,” he went on, taking the bottle from Rhysand and fiddling with the label. “We drank a little, got to know each other a little… She wanted it.”

“You think every woman wants to fuck you,” Rhysand said, as Cassian took a sip of whiskey.

He leaned forward, setting the bottle on the side table and rested his knees on his hands. “Yeah, well, when you’re playing Twenty Questions, and someone says ‘If given the chance, would you fuck me’, what the hell would you think?”

They were both quiet.

“She...asked you that?” Azriel asked, reaching across Rhys for the bottle.

“Swear on my mother’s grave.” Cassian stood up and began pacing in front of the television. “Gods, I tried to fucking not, too. I took the drink instead of answering the question and then I left her out here.” He ran a hand through his hair, pulling it free from the tie it’d been in all day. “I went back into my room and I was going to let her leave and give her some bullshit story about getting sick or something this morning whenever I saw her.” He paused and looked over at that empty recliner, looked at where she’d been sitting just a night ago. “But then I thought, what if I don’t get this chance again? This woman, she’s all that I’ve thought about for the last three days and I just…”

Cassian trailed off and Azriel, without looking away from his brother, nudged Rhys’ arm. “I think we might need that second bottle you left out in the truck.”

“Yeah,” Rhysand said, blinking, before hauling ass out of the cabin. He came back a minute later, with an unopened bottle, as Cassian continued to pace in his little living room.

“Okay,” Rhysand said, settling back into the couch and twisting open the bottle. “Continue.”

Cassian sighed, running a hand, frustratingly, through his hair. “It got a little out of control, for a while...things were getting heated….really fucking heated. Then, she heard my phone vibrate, thanks to you assholes, and I wasn’t going to get it, because, obviously, my phone was the last thing on my mind, but then she kept telling me to answer the fucking phone, so I did.” The words rushed out of him, and as he took another step, he swayed, then cursed. “I looked at the texts, quickly, then when I looked over my shoulder, the front door was open and she was gone.”

“Shit,” Azriel muttered, Rhysand nodded. “She didn’t say anything?”

Cass scooped the near empty bottle from the table and slumped back into the chair. Beau sat up and rested his head on Cassian’s knee. He scratched behind his ear and shook his head, putting his lips to the bottle. He drained the rest of it.

“Should I offer you this before I ask how this morning went?” Rhys asked, extending his hand.

Cassian again shook his head, but stood up and made his way to the kitchen, grabbing a few bottled waters. Didn’t matter if he got shitfaced drunk tonight, he’d still have to be up with the sun to start his day. He sat back down and handed the other two bottles to his brothers.

“It wasn’t this morning, it was about, oh,” he glanced at the clock again. “Three hours ago, give or take.” He took a swig from the cool bottle and set it down. “I gave her space, all day, so she could come up with whatever excuse she wanted, and then when I finally run into her, she’s in this extravagant fucking kitchen, cooking the most delicious looking damn steak I’ve ever seen, and the sun was lighting up her eyes and…” Cass reached for the whiskey again. “She said, it was inappropriate.”

“So she apologized?” Azriel asked, clearly confused.

“Fuck, no, us, what we did, that was inappropriate.” Cassian sighed and dragged a hand down his face. “She says since she’s ‘technically my boss’, we can’t.”

A look of understanding passed between them both.

“What?” Cass asked, noticing the two of them.

“Absolutely not,” was all Azriel said, when Rhys turned to look at him.

Rhys said, “If he’s getting into this thing, he needs to-.”

“Okay, but he’s clearly not getting into it, since Nesta shut him down. I don’t know about you, but I like my balls being-.”

“Oh, shut up, you aren’t even engaged yet, you think you’ll have it bad?”

“Hey!” Cassian said, loudly. They both looked at him. “Someone wanna tell me what the hell you’re talking about?”

Rhysand looked at Azriel. “You brought it up.”

“Fuck you,” he mumbled under his breath, but sighed and looked at Cass. “You didn’t hear this from us and if Elain or Feyre ask, you sure as shit didn’t hear this from us.” Cassian, eyebrows raised, nodded. Azriel looked at Rhys one more time and when he gestured for him to go on, Az sighed. “Nesta nearly got kicked out of the most prestigious culinary institute in France for having an affair with her instructor.”

Cassian stilled.

No one said a word as Cassian stared at Azriel. Even Beau could sense the tension, as he whined quietly, breaking the silence. 

“Sorry, what?” Cassian asked, at last. 

“Happened a few years ago, at the end of her final semester,” Azriel continued, slowly, cautiously. “She was of age, of course, and he was in his late-twenties. She was in love with him, apparently, but when the board found out...well, it didn’t go well. She had to beg and plead to be allowed to finish school and receive her diploma, and she obviously broke it off with the guy, too. And, considering you are technically under her employment…”

Cassian opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out. It suddenly all made sense - at least, it made more sense than it had hours before. 

And he had been a complete dick to her, then. 

“Fuck,” Rhysand breathed, “you look like you’re about to puke.”

Azriel slowly rose to his feet and hurried into the kitchen. He came back to the living room with the garbage can, and tentatively set it down in front of Cassian. 

Who still wasn’t saying a word.

“Dude, do you think you should-.”

The sound of retching is all that could be heard in the small cabin.

“Oh shit!” Rhys cried, jumping back into the seat Azriel had just vacated as Cassian emptied the contents of his stomach into the trash can.

He coughed, bracing his hands on the edges of the can. “I’m a piece of shit.”

Rhys mumbled, “Well…”

“Rhys, shut the fuck up.” Azriel said, and handed Cass his water bottle. “Cass, you’re not a piece of shit.”

He groaned, and fell down to the floor as he opened the water bottle and took slow sips.

He should go apologize to Nesta.

But he also knew he had no right to do so. Even if he tried, she probably wouldn’t give him the time of day. 

And he didn’t blame her.

His head was pounding, his stomaching rolling. He closed his eyes and put his face into his hands. 

“I need to go to bed,” he muttered, talking into his hands.

Azriel whistled for Beau, who was instantly by his side. He then walked to the front door and let the pup out for his last potty break of the night. 

“Go get cleaned up. I’ll let Beau in and lock the door behind us.” Azriel leaned beside the wall next to the door and smiled.

Cassian nodded and stood, stumbling back toward the bathroom. He flipped Rhys off as he went.

The second he flipped on the bathroom light he cringed. His eyes were glazed, his eyelids heavy. After grabbing a rag and drenching it in water, he wiped off his face then brushed his teeth. As soon as he walked out into the hall and into his bedroom, he was falling into his bed. He could hear Beau running through the living room, his tail was wagging as he jumped up next to Cassian on his mattress.

Azriel was scolding Rhysand as they walked out. The last thing Cassian heard him say before they shut the front door was, Way to be a prick, dickwad. 

Once Cassian was left alone in the silence, though, his guilt only worsened.

He laid there, listening to his ceiling fan rotate and running his hand down Beau’s belly, and he groaned.

He should text her, tell her that he was sorry for being a dick and-.

He didn’t even have her fucking number.

For a split second, he considered going to her house, apologizing, kissing her, he hadn’t decided yet. But then he realized what a stupid idea that was, and likely to get him fired.

So he laid there, room spinning around him as fast as the fan above him, and waited for the sunrise.

[illyrian-lover-flower]

My partner on four paws

Hi, @autophobiaxx - this is your second gift and honestly I am not quiet as happy with this one as with the first one. 

But I still had my fun writing it, sipmly because it was something entirly new to me. The end might seem a bit rushed though ... I still hope you enjoy it😘. 

Word count (note not included): 8. 382

“Sorry we are late. I had to call my other sister to give me a ride, because the one who actually wanted to drive me here is still stuck at the vet.”  introduced a woman herself as she walked up to our table. Another one, that looked almost like her, close at her heels. A sceptical look on her face with which she eyed our little round.  

Though most of her attention belonged to Rhys, who answered the kinder looking one with a blinding smile and sparkling violet eyes; “It’s fine Feyre, darling. We are just glad you and the lovely sister of yours have found the way to us.”  

The one with the sceptical look only scoffed at him and took up the seat between Cassian and Mor, right opposite of her younger sister I would guess - by the assessing look she gave Rhysand. His form shifting uneasily as he moved to pull the chair out for Feyre.  

Her storm grey eyes looked worriedly around between the group of people who sat at the long table. But those concerned eyes soon found peace as she saw Rhys violet ones. A calming gaze and a careful nod all she needed to feel safe and comfortable while the rest of us eyed her and her connection to our brother.  

Cassian looked at her a bit sceptical, though he was always able to hide that well behind a smile. Amren, next to her, was fully aware of the sharp look she gave her. Letting our guest squirmed under the pressure of her silver eyes while Morrigan’s kind brown, almost gold, ones rested calmy on her. An assessing kind smile on her red lips as she took in the one that was in the middle of Rhysand’s attention.  

I couldn’t really concentrate on her. On anything to be honest.  

Though I do have to admit she looked kind and seemed to have somewhat of a chemistry with our brother, so there is probably no reason to be worried about her. And if she is the one Rhysand rambled on about the entire day when I had called him, to ask when exactly we would meet up, then she would surely be the right one for him.  

His rambles honestly annoyed me at that point. The rambled apologies of a clumsy trainee still ringing in my ear when he started it too.  

Three people in a day that rambled at me. One I barely knew, but didn’t like. My brother and a woman that had ran into me today and tackled me to the ground.  

Those soft words she chose so clumsily still printed in my brain. The entire scene, from just two hours ago, replying itself over and over again in my head.  

This mushy brain of mine having memorized every little freckle on her pale skin. The warm colour play of brown in those soft orbs of hers still catching my breath if I only thought about them. Gold, hazelnut, caramel and gingerbread swirling and chasing around in her Irises. A cosy feeling having settled into my guts when I had seen them.  

“Good evening Ladies and Gentleman. What can I bring you for tonight?” suddenly called me out of my thoughts the waitress, that stood at our table. Luckily Mor was engaged in a lively conversation with the rest of the table that no one had time to look at the menu and pick something to eat, so we ordered our drinks in peace.  

The absence of my attention luckily fallen under the table as no one noticed it.  

‘This would become one hell of a long evening.’ I thought to myself, already rubbing tiredly at my eyes as I studied the menu. In the end I went with the same I always chose and let my mind wonder back out the window. My eyes seeing, but also not recognizing the heavy rain that poured outside on the street.  

Couples with no umbrellas hurrying to get back home from a date or simply a walk, while those people with umbrellas walked calmy among the sidewalks. Crossing the streets and the fallen leaves of fall with a light easiness. Enjoying the drum of the rain on the fabric that kept them dry.  

Red, blue, yellow, orange, dotted and striped umbrellas walking past the window of Rita’s.  

‘I wonder what she is doing.’ ‘If she managed to get back home dry?’ ‘Had her puppy escaped her again?’

I long knew that my thoughts were a tousled mess. A net full of thoughts that kept circling around a woman I didn’t even know the name of while I occasionally tried to listen to the conversation. Knowing now that those who sat at our table were Nesta and Feyre Archeron. The oldest and the youngest of three sisters, their middle sister still stuck somewhere. At the vet if I remembered Feyre’s introduction right.  

Who in their right mind is making an appointment with the vet at seven in the evening? Perhaps she was a business-oriented woman with little time - who knows. Feyre and Nesta, both, did not lose a word about her.  

No name, no age, no mention of their middle sister as the evening aged.  

Mor already all bubbly with Feyre as she admitted “I honestly had not thought that I would have the pleasure to one day meet my cousins Girlfriend.” she chuckled “Up until this point I had thought this one would die alone on his couch claiming ‘I have never met my soulmate!’”  

Feyre only coughed at that while Rhysand seemed to shift around on his chair. Nervous violet eyes looking everywhere but his cousin. For a moment, so it seemed, he searched for help in my hazel eyes. Pleading me silently to do something about it, but I barely had anything at the tip of my tongue when I had a good day. With this bad day lurking above my head, I couldn’t think of anything to get the attention off of him and bring it to me.  

The thought alone of all of their attention on me gave me the chills.  So, Rhys needed to pull through that one alone.  

A nervous gaze turned to Feyre capturing the attention of all of us. Even mine, if only for second.

“Feyre is actually my Fiancé...”  

At this point I was actually glad I paid attention to them, because otherwise the wet spray of cola and red wine, that erupted from Cassian and Amren, would have confused me. But I guess one of the things that will make me remember this evening even in a year, were Nesta and Morrigan.  

Both rising to their full hight, while Feyre and Rhysand seemed to wish for a hole that would swallow them whole. I luckily only had a quiet coughing fit in my silent corner. It was a fracture of seconds until the whole scenario escalated.  

Nesta standing opposite her sister, like the iceberg that caused the Titanic to sink, with crossed arms, while Morrigan was the whole opposite of her. Where Nesta waited for her prey to defend herself and let her dwell in coldness until she did so, did Morrigan leap across the table and pulled her cousin up by his collar.  

Her burning embers meeting slightly frightened violet eyes. “When the hell did you plan on telling us that?!” “Today.” he mumbled, slightly chocked by the collar his cousin had a death grip on.  

The steel eyes of Nesta wandered for a brief second to Rhysand before she turned back to Feyre. Tired of her quietness she asked a question each of us wondered about “How long have you been dating anyway?”  

“Will you let him go once I answer? Because, you know – I still would like to marry him soon.” Mor only scoffed at her cousin and shoved him back into his seat. Taking hers together with Nesta.  

Fire and ice having a weird play with the nerves of all of us.  

Though at this point I would say Feyre and Rhys had luck on their side, as Cassian still recovered from his coughing fit, else an embarrassing stream of questions would have flooded their way.  

Amren –who had moved to the seat opposite of me- occasionally coughed in her glass of wine as she tried to get as far away from the lovebirds as possible.  

“We have been dating sine one and a half year.” declared Feyre proudly. Earning herself a coughing fit from Cass again, who I started to smack on his back. Hoping it would go away sooner.  

While Mor only sighed, “Why hasn’t anyone of you said something earlier? Because, like it looked to me, your sister didn’t seem to know about your engagement too.”  

Nesta only chuckled humourless, answering Morrigan without her ever having asked a question to the steeled woman “When Feyre told me we would meet someone; I had been assuming it was her boyfriend. Not her Fiancé. She was fidgeting after all, so she gave herself away that it was someone important – though I hadn’t thought that important.”  

Feyre only blushed as she found out of her sisters' knowledge.  

‘I wonder, who is going to tell their other sister?’  

But no one seemed to mind that. The table falling back into a comfortable atmosphere once Nesta and Mor took a sip from their wine goblets. Though Amren couldn’t bring herself to swallow down a snappish comment “Do we need to know about another year and a half, in which you had been engaged?”  

“We are only engaged since yesterday!” yelled both quickly, easing the stiff rise of Nesta's and Morrigan's shoulders.  

“That’s why you had googled ‘Ways to propose to someone?’” Rhys spat out his water at Cassian, gaping at him from the front of the table. His beloved Fiancé trying to surpass her giggles, while Mor and Amren had absolutely no problem with bursting out into laughter.  

The dark and the bright one, of our group, turning their voices into a cackling symphony of laughter.

I myself not quite able to hide a quiet chuckle as I looked out of the window again.  Rhys yelled question “What the hell are you doing on my laptop?!” the last thing I heard before fully focusing on the scenery in front of me.

It was quiet a lively picture, despite the late hour. Perhaps it was eight now and yet there were still hundreds of cars, their bright headlights getting reflected by the rain that soaked the bussy streets as they drove all around of Velaris. Occasionally I could make out a man or a woman at the steering wheel, talking into a headset while they drove to work or home.  

‘I wonder as what she works?’  

I found myself wondering again. A humourless chuckle escaped me as Amren kicked my shin carefully ‘I should wander what her name is.’

“Are you alright, Shadow?” she only whispered the question. Well aware that our group of friends would turn their attention immediately to us once they heard her nickname for me.  

It symbolized them that something was very wrong and that I was about to become an empty shadow of who I actually am. Amren had found out about this pretty soon, though she never really pried.  

I still can’t tell if she did it to tell me my guard was too low or if she truly worried about me.  

A sigh was all I could give her as I rubbed at my temple. “You know, the usual hectic day at work. A broken-down printer, a trainee who spilled coffee over the few printed documents all the while I had my boss waiting in his office for an article that was due till yesterday.”  

“Need a glass of wine?”  

“No, I still got to walk home.” “I have to drive home.” she simply answered. Finishing her, perhaps, second glass of wine. Maybe it was already the third.  

If it would have been anybody else than Amren, I would not be that calm with her having to say ‘I am driving home.’. Simply because I knew she could handle her alcohol well. Amren might have been the shortest one of us, but she could drink each of us under the table and still walk straight out the front door.  

But she was a careful driver and I knew if she drank her second glass already, Varian would be on short call tonight.  

Shaking my head, with a chuckle on my lips, at the black-haired woman. A sudden ‘ping’ captured the attention of the entire table. All our eyes going to the oldest Archeron who rummaged through her little purse for her phone. Not batting an eyelash at each of us as the phone kept her attention.  

Cassian slowly leaned over her shoulder, to peer at the screen as a whistle escaped him and a sigh Nesta. She already wanted to put her phone away, when my other brother spoke up. “Why haven't you brought your kid with you?”  

Feyre chocked on her wine, while her sister looked at him as if he had grown another head.

Weird, somewhere I had seen this look before.  

“Excuse me?”  

He pointed to Nesta’s phone. Her screen saver still on the view for all of us and soon had us all awing. Just not me as I saw the little infant on the screen.  

Dressed in a red woollen dress with black woollen thighs and reindeer horns atop of her honey golden hair, she smiled into the camera. The chubby face of the infant all alight as red colour-that was once only placed on her nose- was smeared all across her face. A Golden Retriever standing proudly behind her, as it seemed to smile in the camera too.  

A phantom feeling suddenly lay itself over my cheek. Memories of far forgotten times coming hurriedly back to the front, like a thunderstorm, as I felt it again. The soft nuzzle of her nose into my hollow cheek and her reindeer horns pinching me in the eyes.  

My bandaged hands holding onto the little ball of sunshine. That gave a frightened six-year-old me, that hadn’t known of anything despite the basement of my father, something to hold onto.  

This little body of hers, that lived in freedom for the year or so which she jumped around on this world, an anchor for me. Who suddenly noticed, that the world was more than just a dark basement and that there were more emotions than anger and hate.  

Happiness seeming to wave off of her as she claimed me in a hug.

A hug.  

When I was little, I hadn’t even known something like that existed. Now as I thought back to my childhood, my mother had given me a hug only a few times, before she was let in the basement again the next week with bruises all over her body.  

It were three hugs I had gotten from her, before that little infant had stormed up to me.  

My heart binding tight to her little ones as I held her cradled into my weak arms. I wasn’t able to hold her very well, those numb hands of mine barely able to keep her up. But I didn’t want to let her go.  

Didn’t want for her to leave my side as she enveloped me in her sunshine.

A blinding sunray I held onto.  

Even now I found my heart wondering at times who she grew to be.  If she was still that little ball of sunshine, spreading happiness and love with every breath she took.  

Wondering if the world gave her what she deserved - a life full of happiness and love and laughter So, it was only clear that I hung on every word Nesta spilled over her little sister, who was displayed as her wallpaper. The hard voice of hers the softest I had heard it tonight.

“That’s my little sister Elain you idiot.” Cass looked sceptically back and forth between the screen and Nesta. As if he couldn’t quite believe that such a bright shining ball of sunshine could be related to this steeled woman.

“And why exactly are you having a picture of your little sister as your background and not your boyfriend ….  or a picture of all three of you?” he hurriedly added with a blush on his cheeks.

I wanted to groan at him for his painfully obvious question. But I couldn’t, my voice was stuck in the back of my throat as a tight feeling wound itself around my heart. The picture in front of me capturing my entire being.

‘Let her continue to talk! God damn it!’  

The oldest Archeron only rolled her eyes at him. Seeming to have a generous heart tonight she gave him the answer he hoped for. “I don’t have a boyfriend and you might not want to believe it, but this background safes hundreds of co-workers each day, from getting yelled at.”  

“May I ask why?” questioned Amren her now, her silver eyes fixed on the phone as she scanned over the chubby face that smiled at us from the screen. This stoned face of hers not showing any indication of what ran through her mind.  

Nesta only raised her eyebrows at her before she fully explained herself; “My sisters are the best human beings in my life. And even though I love both dearly – the cuter pictures exist from Elain. Sorry Feyre for that.”

But she only shook her head, looking with a bright smile at the screen on which one of her older sisters was shown “I am not even angry at you for that one. She looks so adorable! Where have you found it anyway?”

Nesta seemed to think about if for a moment, her eyes not able to stray from her cute sister as this bright smile of hers seemed to remind the steeled Archeron of where she found it “I had rummaged through a couple of old boxes in my apartment and this picture was among the many things I found there. I just had to scan it in and use it as my wallpaper!”  

All of us chuckled as we listened to the two sisters rambling on about their middle one. For the first time of the evening was the attention on the one that was not here with us now.  

But Mor’s  innocent curiosity had Nesta thinking, “How did Elain react when you showed her the picture?”  

The oldest Archeron furrowed her eyebrows together, deep in thought as she took a sip from her wine; “When I had shown Elain the picture, she didn’t precisely have the reaction I thought she would have.”  

“Which one did she have?” questioned Cassian again, remembering the oldest Archeron of his existence, so it seemed. As we were all drowned out of the conversation that erupted between the two sisters.  

“I don’t really know. She mumbled something about a boy she had met that day. Or rather something about soft hands that held her carefully. I am not fully aware what she meant with that.”  

Feyre only sighed at that. Rubbing her eyes tiredly only mumbling her next words “She sometimes has this.” “What, Feyre, darling?”  

Rhysand’s eyes searched the one of his Fiancé with a worried look for answers. Those tired blue eyes of hers lightening up the moment they locked on our brother. Cassian and Mor exchanged some knowing looks, as if they knew about something the two of them didn’t.  

Though there wasn’t really anything the two could know about at this moment. Their smirks fading as soon as Feyre’s heavy voice rang in our ears. It sounded so different than the voice we heard all evening, a cloak of sadness seeming to cover her. “Elain sometimes has these weird moments in which she sees …. things.” tried Feyre to explain.  

Nesta only nodded at her while she continued.  All of our confused gazes locked on Feyre’s slumped form “She - I don’t know how it works- sometimes sees these cryptic things she blabbers on about.  Trying to explain to us what these things might be. But in all honesty, I don’t think these ‘Visions’ are good for her.”  

“How so?” I found myself asking. The two Archeron sisters looking at me as if they hadn’t even known I sat at the table, who's atmosphere seemed to shift faster than the weather in April. Both of their blue eyes rested on my stiff body as they assessed if I had a right to ask this question.  

My brain well aware of every breath my body took, but this traitorous heart of mine also wanted to hide those crippled hands of mine. Those screams, which escaped my tiny lungs so many years ago, ringing in my ears along with Nesta's cold words, though the coldness of them wasn’t directed to anyone at our table.  

“Her ex-fiancé had left her, because of these visions.” A dry chuckled echoed over the table to us. Feyre meeting the eyes of her sister as a devilish smirk spread on her lips. Spreading this smile like a wildfire on Nesta’s as well.  

A look of pride whelming up in her eyes while the rest of the table was just quiet. Hanging onto every word they exchanged.  

“You mean he cheated on her, because of these visions. Elain was the one that broke off the engagement.”  

Nesta took in a sharp breath “Yeah, after she showed up in the middle of the night at my threshold. Half drunken!”  

Her younger sisters' eyebrows shoot into her hair line “She was what?!”  

“Half- drunken.” emphasized Nesta again.  “If she was only half-drunken, she clearly must have done something wrong.” mumbled Amren into her fourth wine glass. Earning herself a glare from the entire table.  

“Why have you never told me this?! I mean - I know how the rest of the story went, so this isn’t really the most shocking part, but still! I have a right to know when my older sister is drunk!”  

“I don’t think neither Elain or I know of the all the times you have been drunk.” was all her older sister deadpanned.  

Something wild and burning rising in Nesta’s steeled eyes as Cassian dragged the attention away from Feyre, carefully asking them “How exactly did this fateful night go?”  

The two sisters exchanged a short look with each other. Making all of us realize at this point, that if anyone was to harm their sister, they would break hell lose. Though it sounded as if Elain was capable of that all alone.  

The story of her broken off engagement truly something no one of us would hear another time.  

“Elain’s ex-fiancé, Graysen -” spat Nesta. The name alone wanting to make her throw up. “he had sent her into psychiatry for about two months. Neither Feyre or I had heard anything from her in those months. I guess it is unnecessary at this point to say that we were worried sick about her.”  

“Why was she there anyway? I mean like it sounded there was no higher force, like a judge, that sent her there.” stated Mor. Cass, Rhys and even Amren’s head nodding in agreement at the train of thoughts she took. Feyre’s hollow voice would have been answer enough for us, but she went a little bit into detail.  

“Elain truly loved Graysen and believed he was her one and only, so when he told her to check herself in for a psychiatry – she didn’t object at all.” “But doesn’t - “��It was a long-term ‘project’, yes.” interrupted Nesta the tiny woman, that looked mortified.  

Never in my life had I seen her look like that. Looking with wide silver eyes and in shock at the oldest Archeron - the red wine in her small hands long forgotten, while she hung on every word of hers.  

Smirking lips revealing to us all something we weren’t able to connect to the sweet little angle that was portrayed on the wallpaper.  

Those delighted warm eyes of hers drowning in tears how Nesta described it to us.  

“I still can’t tell if she was hurt or just furious – both I would guess- as I sat her in my car. She hadn’t spoken a word to me on the drive, only the next morning did she reveal where she had been and why she hadn’t reached out to one of us, she just got sent back home from psychiatry. Wanting to surprise her fiancé, who she thought would be incredibly happy about her return. She didn’t announce herself as she stepped into their apartment – the sounds of moans and grunts greeting her. She told me the first place she went to was a bar, not entirely sure if I, or Feyre ever wanted to see her again.”  

Nesta took a final deep breath, “I wasn’t up there with her when she confronted. I just drove her there and honestly – I regret that I wasn’t with her.”  

Mor paled as well as Cassian and I. Wild pictures ran through our minds that were clearly wrong. The pictures of an abused woman filling my mind, while she screamed for help. The other woman looking pleased down on her whenever her lover hit her.  

A shiver ran down my spine, no one deserved that.  

No one deserved to be cheated on and yet Elain was one of those who had rented bad luck in love for herself, though I don’t assume a cheater was what she wished would be her one and only.  

But while we were all stuck to the innocent picture laying on the table, we all underestimated her as Nesta went further into the description of the evening, the proud smile she wore spreading onto my very own lips as I listened into her tale with delight.  

“I was just able to see a bit. I had hoped she would throw his belongings out of the window. Though I already assumed Elain would hold him a speech about trust and loyalty that no one could understand as it was drowned out by her tears – she amazed me that night. There were no clothes thrown out of the window. She had cradled them in her arms and piled them on the grass in front of their apartment complex.  The pile of clothes and mother knows what growing and growing. As she walked out the last time of the door– she had a canister of gas with her.  

“Drowning everything in the smelly liquid as she threw a match on the whole pile. Watching from a faraway distance how his things got burned, like the future she imagined with him.”  

Feyre and Nesta had, both, quite pleased looks on their faces as they remembered the doing of their sister. Amren looked like the devil herself as she took sip for sip from her goblet, Morrigan smirked along with her.  

Rhysand was left speechless, something he rarely was, and Cass only whistled. Colour having drained from his face as Feyre picked up on the story again. “This isn’t even the best part yet.”  

“It’s not?” questioned Amren and Mor in one devilish voice.  

She only nodded. “After Elain had entered the apartment, she took Greysen’s hurriedly stripped off clothes and threw them at onto his sorry ass once she found him. Though she threw these weird leather shoes of his separately – letting them strike where she wanted them.”  

Nesta had a pride filled look on her face as she took a carful sip from her wine. Those burning eyes of hers seeing things no one of us really wanted to think about.  

“Feyre, darling, at what exactly did she throw them?” asked Rhys carefully. Sweat having started to coat him during their tale, probably growing well aware of the fact that if he ever was to hurt just one sister of the three – he was sure to lose some of his most precious belongings

I guess each of us had their own guess of where she threw his shoes, most of us tending to his groin, but Feyre and Nesta revealed something so entirely different, with such smugness that no one could surpass at least a little chuckle.  

“His face. The next time we saw him he had a blue eye and a broken nose.”  

It was well deserved I told myself as my mind strayed back out of the window. A proud smile displayed on my lips as I did so.  

I knew I shouldn’t have listened so carefully, shouldn’t have wanted to know of what the absent middle Archeron had done. It was also wrong to have even just a little smile on my lips while I listened.  

If she would have been here, it might have looked for her as if we were laughing about her while it was in truth the pain that was caused to this ‘Graysen’, that had us all smiling like devils.  

Each one of us already well aware of a crippled kind of love that could hurt us, wishing the ones who caused it worse than hell.  

A past lover of Rhysand having abused him while Morrigan forced herself to love men – not able to meet the blaming looks of her family. Letting herself wither each time a bit more when she brought a man home to her family.  

And while these two suffered from toxic lovers, the rest of us suffered differently.  

Amren having never experienced any kind of love before Varian as she was left on the streets – homeless and a crying infant in the middle of a park. Her mother, or perhaps both her parents, deciding for her to never know of their love. A nun had taken shelter on her, letting her stay as long as she wished. And even though this nun gave Amren everything she could – a home, food, warmth and a bit of love it was never what she would have gotten from her parents.  

Deep down she knew that, her heart having suffered for a long time under this knowledge.  

And while she had too less love, Cassian’s mother had gotten too much of it. Her lover having loved her with everything he had. This twisted mind of his wanting to lock the woman he loved, with his whole being, away from the world once he discovered she was pregnant.  

She had run away while she was in labour with Cass, not wanting this locked away life for him.  

No one of us could think of the pain she must have had as she gave birth to him in a park. Muffling her own screams from the strangers that walked past her hide-out. Rhysand’s mother had been one of them, she had heard those muffled screams and went to look for the one in pain.  

I don’t really know how Rhys mother must have felt like as she saw the woman sitting with wide spread legs on the grass. The soft leaves of it painted red as she tried to muffle her own screams with biting into her arm.  

Everything that followed on this incident was a blur, told me my mother ones. She said Cassian was thrusted into Cassandra’s arms. His mother had instructed her to go home and take him with her.  

Rhys mother had argumented long with her to take her with them, but the woman tried to push her away. Told her if she didn’t move now, no one would be safe and everything would turn worse.  

It was a heart-breaking story the newspapers soaked up, like a sponge water. They wanted to interview Rhys mother of what had happened, but she did not let a word slip. Though the salt was still pressed into this mental wound of hers. Her heart well aware of the fact that she couldn’t keep the last promise she made to the woman.  

Knowing well that she couldn’t keep it. She had promised Cassian’s mother to come back, that she would have tomorrow and the rest of her life to live. But she wasn’t even able to reach tomorrow, her lover having found her in the same night.  

Strangling her to death once he saw her laying there.  

Up till this day I can’t tell how Cassian managed to smile again after he found out about her at the age of fourteen. The experiences I had with my own father leaving a bitter taste in my mouth whenever I thought about it.

It could have been my mother, I always thought. My mother that could have been killed as soon as someone found out that she was pregnant and I thanked the gods that it was only a life full of pain for a six-year-old me. That she seemed to be spared from it. So, I thought at least.

She was beaten down, just like me, whenever she was allowed to enter the basement.  

But she – we- were able to get away from this pain, not without some scars though. Most were in our minds, while my hands screamed of those my half-brothers had left on me. Those crippled, numb hands haunting me for the rest of my life.  

Luckily Elain was able to get away from this horrible life, I thought to myself. Looking out and realizing just how late it had turned, I wanted to look to my companions.  But they were gone.  

A note of Amrens handwriting everything that remained of them,  

‘You looked so deep in thought that I guess it is time for you to use some quietness to sort yourself out again. Feyre and Rhys already paid for us, if you plan on sitting a bit longer you get to pay your drinks alone.’  

I smiled at the little note, perhaps it really was time to get myself sorted out again.  

After all, with the woman from today and Elain Archeron on my mind - combined with her story it was perhaps better to talk to my mother again. She always seemed to have a good advice for me, though I don’t really want to imagine her laughter when I am going to explain my troubles to her.  Those so called ‘Lady troubles’ like she loved to call it haunting me down.  

A groan escaped me as I looked out of the window again, seeing just for a brief moment a coated figure that ran across the street. Rounding the corner and soon entering Rita’s. I had noticed how a waiter moved to the lady that had entered and wanted to already take her coat off, but she declined.  

The young waiter leading her with a confused look to my table.  

“Thank you.” was all she whispered to the waiter as she ordered her food in the same breath, taking up a seat next to me once he was gone. My eyes strayed over her form as she sat all wet at the table, her face and entire body covered under a beige trench coat, the only thing I could make out of her was her large stomach – that seemed to wiggle?

“Excuse me?” I turned her attention to me; this petite form of hers growing stiff as she turned to me. A nervous chuckle, which I already heard once today, boring itself into my mind again while she pushed back her hood.  

Those soft rosy lips smiling up at me once again. My traitorous heart starting to speed up by the mere look of her.  

“Elain Archeron.” she exclaimed with an extended hand, the other one holding onto the bundle on her stomach she attempted to hide. “Azriel Dandelion.” was all I could answer with a slight rise of colour.  

Those warm eyes of hers scanning my entire being for a moment before a small screeching had captured her attention.  

A warm but scolding look was displayed on her face while she looked at the little snoot that poked out from her hide out. The wet tongue of the dog moving to lick Elain’s nose once she was close enough.  

It was a cute scenario I witnessed with a bursting heart. After all, not all dog owners went that far as to disguise their puppy as a pregnancy only to not have her wait in the rain. “When are you due?” I found myself asking. Leaning smugly on my hand while she tried to shush Cookie.  

I had been scolding me the entire day for the stupid question I had asked her about the puppy, that made her owner crash into me ‘Why did you name her Cookie?’  But she didn’t seem to mind it. Back then as well as now, she only smiled as if it had been stitched into her very lips.  

Her heart not caring at all of what others thought of her.

“Well, Azriel, how long are the others gone already?” Gods! I loved how my name rolled of her tongue. This wildly beating heart inside my chest seeming to grow a tail too, as it kept wagging pleadingly at her to say my name.  

‘This is embarrassing!’ I thought with a cough. “To be honest, I have no clue.”  

It was a heart-breaking sad smile that settled on her lips as she eyed her puppy “Like I know my timing, they are probably only gone since the last ten minutes.” “Why would you say you have a bad timing?”  

She seemed torn between something as she had a turmoil looking at me, those sceptic eyes again resting on me. Just like they did four hours ago, though this time she didn’t assess if I was hurt – due to her sudden crash into my chest.  

And heart.  

But then again, she didn’t just suddenly crash into my heart. Elain was there when I had discovered my freedom. The mere memory of her accompanying me up into adulthood. These oft giggles having never left my ears as they wound deeper and deeper into my heart each time, I thought about her.  

Maybe it was the cosy feeling I always had when I remembered her freckles, those sleepy eyes as she was dragged away by the Golden Retriever, that smiled so proudly into the camera with her all those years ago.  

“Well, I once had a bad timing for when I got back home.”  

“That had nothing to do with your bad timing.” was all I could mumble, while her eyes still held mine captured. Her caramel ones locking with my hazel ones for the brief moment of seconds, before she declared a triumphing “Aha! I knew it!”  

“What exactly?”  

“Feyre and Nesta told you about my engagement.” Somehow, I felt ashamed as I nodded. I knew she would find out sooner or later anyway. But having her call me out that easily made me feel like the clumsiest kid that had been caught red handed in the cookie jar. A groan escaping me at the play of words in my mind, while she only giggled.  

Cookies brownish snoot peeking up ever the slightest.  

“Don’t worry about it. Nesta and Feyre, both, like to brag about my burst out.” I lifted a curious brow at that but she only continued to smile. Cookie barking happily at her once she saw this honest smile of her cheery owner.  

“Shhh, you already had a good time of barking at the vet!” tried Elain to shush her little pup as the attention of the few guests was turned onto her. A grin breaking lose on my face while I could only eye her with fascination.  

Love struck, like my mother would have said.

But I would care later about this. “How about we get your food as take out and eat at my place. Cookie doesn't need to hide there.” I simply put as reason a baffled look crossing her features.  

This somehow confused look of hers worrying me to death.  “That is if you want to!”  

“ I would verry much like that.”  

* * * “Azriel Dandelion! Could you give me one hell of a good explanation as to why I am here?!” yelled Feyre across the hospital floor as she dragged Cookie on a short leash behind her. The puppy, she had gifted her older sister over a year ago, having grown well over the months she was away with Rhysand. Traveling all across the court.  

Cookies tail started to wag harder once she saw my worried form standing in the middle of a pink, sterilized hallway – right before a delivery room from which I heard Elian's screams.  

Feyre’s snow coated body growing as pale as the flakes captured on her hood as she identified her sisters screams of pain. Letting the leash of Cookie fall down to the floor while she bolted for the door.  

But my bulky frame locked it. Cookie’s large form to my side, that pleaded for attention, also preventing her from opening up that door. A look of confused rage crossing those blue eyes of hers.  

“Azriel! My sister is in mother fucking pain! Let me in there!” “You think I am deaf? I hear her screams just as well as you do! And believe when I tell you these nurses aren’t patient!”  

“What?” Feyre looked baffled up at me. A storm of questions, just as heavy as the snowstorm outside, displayed in her eyes.  “I already was inside there, but the nurse shooed me out once I was about to have a panic attack – claiming I would make El more nervous than anyone else.” was all I could scoff before I bent down to scrap Cookie behind her yellowish fluffy ear.

Elain was right, when she told me of the therapeutical use – it really eased my nerves as I felt bits of the soft fur of her under this crippled flesh of mine.  

Seeming to sense my thoughts, she gently nudged her snoot into my palm. Trying to calm me on her own way down, while she sat calmly on the floor. Feyre taking up a seat next to the door as we waited outside.  

A frustrated huff leaving her exhausted body. Her teary eyes not looking at anything in particular “Can you give me at least an explanation as to why Cassian had been waiting for me in Elain’s apartment, shoved Cookie’s leash at me and told me I should go to the second floor of the hospital and look for you?”

It was readable as clear as day that Feyre was worried. Though she didn’t seem to have read the signs while she stormed up to me. “Have you checked the station you are on?”  

Like Cookie woken up when she heard the doorbell, did Feyre hunt down for a sign. Just did she not seem to be able to read all those signs around the floor through her tear-stained vision. Dreading mother knows what while she ran around the station.  

“Feyre! Look!” I simply pointed out to her the sign that hung opposite of me. Written in big fat cursive letters was: “Delivery room …" It was all she mumbled as she took up the space next to me. Some nurses eying us with shacking heads while they did their work. Clearly noticing the dog that lay to our feet, but not caring as long as she didn’t run wild.  

Though I think the last thing Feyre had on her mind now were the nurses that hurried around like bees. The usual strong voice, with which she spoke, having become breathless.  Her plate wide eyes looking up at me with a look, I couldn’t place my finger on. Settling down in her Irises, once she was fully aware that she had read my silent answers well.

“How did that happen?”  

“Feyre, I think you are old enough to know of how babies are made.”  

Well, that hit on the shoulder was a deserved one. “Now is not the time to be cocky Azriel! My sister is in labour!” “Well, if it helps – my fiancé is in labour.”  

All colour drained from her as she hit me again on my shoulder, a bruise already forming there “I am gone for god fucking ten months and you end up sleeping with my sister and proposing to her! What else is there to know? Did Cassian and Nesta start dating too?!”  

“Well, that is clearly not my story to tell.” The look she gave me made me feel glad that we were in a hospital. A doctor would always be close by, a nurse would be enough too to make a bleeding stop.    

But a bark had captured our attention as the rest of the hospital turned quiet and made us save the rest of our argument for later. Elain's screams having long ebbed down while Feyre and I were shouting at each other, right in front of her delivery room. The small wailing of a new life was all we heard.  

I think if we all would have had tails like Cookie, we probably would have cleaned up the floor better than any mop could have. Our nerves strained to the point of snapping while we waited for the door to open up. One of the doctors almost run down by the three of us, as we hurried into the room.  

Tears blurring my vision as I saw my wife to be, cooing softly at our daughter cradled in her arms. This soft bundle looking so fragile in her arms as Feyre already stopped at the door. A long stream of tears escaping her eyes while Cookie and I moved to Elain’s side.  

Eying the little girl carefully as I stretched out a hand to caress her tiny chubby cheek. The bubbly laugh on my lips something I had never before from myself. “She looks like you.”  

Completely knowing where I was going with this, she carefully nudged my side. Love and a playful fondness laying in this silly gesture “You were cubby as a baby too.”  

“Yet you still were the cuter one.” I found myself praising the woman I loved. Kissing her sweaty temple while a giggle erupted from her, making my already full heart bursting for her even more.  

I think there would never be enough words in any dictionary, that could describe this whirling storm of feelings inside my chest. My heart already bursting when I thought of the future, the future I so long had hoped for but never thought of as happening to me.  

Never have I had faith in myself when it came to love, never had I been thinking that I would one day hold a child in my arms. My – our child - as Elain carefully lay her into my bulky arms resting a bit before Feyre bombarded her with questions.  

Elain answered every question of her sister with a kind smile as the night aged into the morning. The heavy clouds of the snowstorm making it impossible to see the rising sun. But there was no reason for the sun to rise – not anymore.  

It was a selfish thought – I knew – but there was no reason for a third ball of sunshine to rise. While I had the two brightest ones cradled in in my arms already.  

My loves blinding smile everything I needed to live for the rest of my life happily. Pampering her and our little one with kisses as everything made perfect sense.  

Those ‘Visions’ that kept her awake many nights, made her live through hundreds of nightmares and her sobbing into the mornings – they connected her to me. Showed her pieces of my past, our combined past as she spoke of those soft bandaged hands, making us both remember of the day we first met.  

Though I do believe it was hard for to remember, since she was only one, but our hearts seemed to have long called for each other. Knowing from the very start that this future would be awaiting us with open arms.  

Our family. Perfect as it was – two aunts and two dorky uncles, with two bussy bodies of a godmother waiting for us. Cookie, with her brown dots on her fur just as unique as our daughter.  

Her eyes - one soft and brown like those of her mother, while the other one was hazel, like mine.  

Happiness brimming in both of them when she first showed us the world. Our world that would await us once we got back home. Our hearts already captured by her sweet giggles, that had both of us left in tears.  

My eternal love and gratefulness for Elain, never enough to show her how much I thanked her. How much I wanted to know her that she was the one and only one that had captured my heart.  

Expect for the little one cradled in our arms, but she seemed to already wrap our whole little world around her chubby finger. Cookies soft snoot nuzzling into her soft skin as she smelled her. Acknowledging our little girl already as part of her family.

Hopefully Cookie would not have the same habit as Elain’s dog so many years ago had – dragging her away by her collar as she hurried through the house with a tired Elain captured in her mouth.  

Though I guess I would not mind it. Cookie already seemed to have a problem with Feyre approaching us – which had her laughing and moving swiftly out of the door. Most likely calling Rhysand on the news.  

Declaring with a goofy grin that they became an uncle and an aunt – their family having just spread a bit wider.  As all of us sat around the Christmas tree the next week, our little Soleil finally among us, while we were all gathered in our little, perfect apartment.  

Her bussy bodies of a family gushing and aweing at the pregnancy pictures of her mother, that beamed through each of them like the sun herself.  

A proud smile never leaving her soft lips – which I found myself chasing more than often in the past week. Not able to control this sheer force of love that seemed to make me throw myself at my beloved, whenever I saw her.  

The melodyic giggle of her, accompaying me through everything life threy our way.

______________________________________________________________

So I hope you liked this one: I hope you don’t mind the use of name in this one😘 

When I wrote this I at first thought to myself ‘Shit! How do you write about a dog person?’ well it wasn’t that difficult anymore once I saw those cute little puppys. 

I am now officially cheating on my cats since the last ten days😅 

Anyway, here is your hint for tomorrow: It’s turning classy.

[inkedstarlight]

Bittersweet: Chapter Nine

Summary: Cassian and Nesta finally meet. Officially, this time. Let the romance commence. Notes: Read it here on AO3! Warnings: very brief/non-explicit mention of sexual assault Bittersweet Masterlist

“Earth to Nesta?”

Nesta snapped from her trance to see Emerie waving a hand in front of her face.

“You’ve been cleaning the same spot for a good ten minutes,” Emerie gestured to where Nesta was scrubbing the counter with a towel. It was squeaky clean.

Nesta let go of the towel and cleared her throat. “My bad.”

Emerie pulled out the chair on the other side of the counter and sat down. It was eleven in the evening on a Monday, and they had just closed. The only other person in Rita’s was Lucien, and he was doing dishes in the back.

“You’ve been acting weird for the past two weeks,” Emerie stated blatantly. Her stare was unwavering. “And you’ve lost at least ten pounds.”

The incidence with Tomas happened two weeks ago. Nesta was doing a pretty good job of moving on with her life all things considered. She felt like shit, but she hadn’t missed a single shift at work. That had to count for something.

But she should’ve known Emerie would notice. She was like a fucking hawk, that girl. She saw everything.

When Nesta didn’t say anything, Emerie shrugged and got up from the stool. “At least try a little harder,” she said, referring to the coworkers’ challenge to get the most tips. She shot Nesta a sad look. “Thesan is beating you. Thesan.”

Nesta mustered a laugh. Thesan wasn’t great with customers, that was common knowledge. Neither Emerie nor Nesta were people persons, but they knew how to turn it on for customers. Thesan, on the other hand, didn’t make much of an effort. It wasn’t that he was intentionally rude, the guy was just quiet in nature. In fact, he was quite a sweetheart.

Which was why it was quite entertaining to watch Thesan and Helion interact. Where Thesan was an introvert, Helion was loud as hell. Not to mention it was clear that Thesan was crushing on him. But unfortunately, Helion flirted with every living, breathing thing and was thus completely oblivious. During Nesta’s first week at Rita’s, Emerie had spilled all the tea about their coworkers. Thesan was head over heels in love with Helion, Helion had never been in a monogamous relationship, and Viviane… well, Viviane had her own little love story. A complicated one at that.

His name was Kallias. They grew up together, from scheming little kids to rebellious teenagers to young adults. Best friends since they could remember.

Because Emerie grew up in the same small town as them, she knew everything. They all went to school together. She knew that Kallias had been in love with Viviane since freshman year of high school. She knew that Viviane felt the same way, but she would never admit it thanks to the hell she was put through during her childhood. Nesta didn’t know the specifics, and she never asked.

It also didn’t help that Viviane was in a relationship with someone else. They’d been together for almost two years. Emerie thought Viviane deserved better, that he wasn’t a very good person.

Anyway, Kallias visited Rita’s nearly every weekend after his shift at the fire station to grab a drink and more importantly, see Viviane.

Nesta thought it was ridiculous. She’d told Emerie as much when she’d brought Nesta up to date on their coworkers’ lives. Why wouldn’t they just admit they loved each other and get on with it already? It was pretty fucking simple; they were just making it complicated for themselves. Emerie wholeheartedly agreed and the pair then went on an hour long rant on the idiocy of romantic relationships.

And if she was being honest, Nesta didn’t care much about these people. Sure, they were respectable but they were a temporary fixture in her life. Once she secured a job in her career field, she was going to leave them all behind.

“We should get a drink sometime. Outside of work,” Emerie clarified with a look of disgust. “I’m sick of it here.”

Nesta knew that was a lie based on the relationship Emerie had with Rita and her wife. But she didn’t say that.

“Maybe,” Nesta responded distractedly, desperate to think of an excuse. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Emerie; no, Nesta liked her coworker. She just couldn’t muster the energy to go out with friends or socialize like that. “I’m pretty busy right now though.”

Emerie narrowed her eyes and scrutinized her.

“Stop analyzing me.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

Emerie sighed and receded. She hesitated before saying quietly, “Is… is this the part when I ask if you’re okay and we get all deep and explore a new level of our friendship?”

Nesta slowly met her friend’s gaze. They stared at one another for several moments.

Then, they burst out laughing.

-------------------------

The next morning, Nesta was brewing her third cup of coffee when Elain padded into the kitchen.

“Good morning,” Elain yawned as a greeting. She wore bunny slippers and an oversized hoodie. Elain only had one evening class on Tuesdays, so today was her only day - save for the weekend - to sleep in.

“Hey, kiddo.”

“How long have you been up?”

Nesta glanced at the clock. It was nine-thirty. She’d woken up at six after a sleepless night of tossing and turning.

But she simply shrugged instead. “Not long.”

Nesta poured the coffee into her mug, sitting back down at the counter. She watched as Elain bustled around the kitchen, scrambling eggs and slicing fruit. The morning light spilled through the dusty kitchen sink window, bars of sunshine reflecting off the tiled floors. Iroh basked in the sunspots, his black fur glistening as his chartreuse eyes blinked closed.

Elain and Nesta hadn’t spent much time together in the past couple weeks. It was Nesta’s doing, of course. She was actively avoiding her sister and everyone else. After Elain had tried to talk to Nesta after the whole thing with Tomas, she stopped asking Nesta if she was okay. Nesta assumed that Elain realized she wasn’t going to get an answer, that there wasn't really a point in trying.

But Gods, Nesta fucking missed her. And even though she wanted nothing more than to retreat to her bedroom as she sat there in the kitchen, she didn’t move from the chair.

You need them as much as they need you, her father’s voice echoed in her head.

Guilt stabbed at her chest.

“How’re classes going?” Nesta asked quietly. Elain looked at her over her shoulder with a surprised yet pleasant smile.

“Great! I’m so grateful to be at such a great college, but…” Elain bit her lip, hesitating. “My bio lab is going to be the death of me."

“You know you’re allowed to complain, right?”

Elain just gave her a smile. “Yeah, I know. It's just, considering where I was a year ago, I couldn't be happier to finally be enrolled in such a prestigious program. Even if that means the classes are brutal."

I wish I was like you. I take everything for granted.

“And have you made any friends?”

Elain had started school at Pryth U months ago and yet Nesta had no idea if she even had friends yet.

Selfish bitch.

A fond smile broke out on Elain’s face. “Yes, I have this really great group of friends: Lucien, Ressina, and Varian. It's just the four of us, but we've gotten really close.”

Nesta asked Elain more questions before excusing herself back to her room, claiming she was going to try to write today, to which Elain squealed and wished her luck.

Nesta hadn't written since their dad died. Prior to his death, she would write nearly every day. She'd been working on a novel for years. The plot had came to her in middle school, and it just grew from there. She'd never told anyone about it. Everyone knows how fucking hard it is to get your writing published, much less get high ratings. Nesta wasn't even sure if she was going to finish it. This was the longest she'd gone without writing or editing it. And she had a feeling that she wouldn't ever go back to it.

Dread filled her stomach as she thought of that prospect. What the fuck was she doing with her life?

Nesta’s phone buzzed, and she fished it out of her back pocket.

 Incoming call from Feyre Archeron.

It kept buzzing, Nesta merely stared at her sister's name on her screen. She couldn't think of a single reason why Feyre would be calling. But she pressed "Accept" before it could go to voicemail.

“Hello?”

“Hey.”

Silence.

“Uh, what’s up?” Nesta asked. She collapsed onto her unmade bed. Iroh scampered past the door and jumped on the bed with her. He didn't waste a minute curling himself around her head.

"I was calling to see… maybe, I don’t know… uh, would you want to come to dinner tonight?”

I was not expecting that. And Nesta was about 95% sure this was Elain’s doing.

“Why?”

“I want you there," Feyre told her as if it were obvious.

“Why?” Nesta asked again. She hadn't seen Feyre since Thanksgiving despite her sister living just on the outskirts of the city.

That had been weeks ago.

“It's complicated," Feyre responded quietly. She seemed to pause before finding the words. "I've been so worried about Cassian, we all have. He'd never been deployed for that long - five months. It was scary. I guess I took that out on you. I don't know why..."

She drifted off. Nesta held her breath.

"I'm sure Elain told you, but he's home now. I've been more myself since he returned, and I want you to come to dinner. I… miss you.”

She rubbed her temple. “I don’t know, Feyre.”

I don't know if I can pretend to be okay for an entire night. I don't know if you even fucking want me there or if you just feel obligated. I don't know if I can be in the same room as your douchebag boyfriend. I don't know if I can be surrounded by your friends, most of whom seem to dislike me. I don't know if I can behave like a normal fucking person.

I don't know.

“Please?” The plea was soft, quiet. It was like she was almost desperate. But for what?

Nesta looked out the window where a blue jay - their dad's favorite bird - was perched on a bare tree branch. The leaves had long ago fallen, leaving the world naked and vulnerable. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

-------------------------

Feyre embraced her with an awkward hug when Nesta and Elain walked into the house. Nesta patted her on the back lightly, uncomfortable with the physical touch. Luckily, no one else seemed incline to embrace her. Rhys actually seemed to make sure he was as far away as possible.

Elain, on the other hand, gave everyone a hug. Mor gave a laugh as she squeezed Elain back, Aurra watching them with a smile. Interestingly enough, when Elain greeted Azriel with a hug, his tanned cheeks glowed red. It was almost imperceptible, but Nesta noticed.

Feyre took a step back to assess her. Nesta could see the judgement in her sister's eyes as she took in Nesta's noticeably thinner body. Luckily, however, she wasn't given the chance to comment on it when Elain piped up, "Where's Cassian? Nesta still hasn't met him yet."

"He's running a bit late," Rhys answered, glancing down at his phone. "Should be here in about ten minutes."

Everyone began to make their way into the dining room and Nesta followed. However, she was quickly tugged to the side when Amren swooped in out of nowhere and basically dragged Nesta into the privacy of the hallway. She stopped, crossed her arms over her chest, and glared at Nesta.

“Where have you been?” Amren demanded.

"What do you mean?" Nesta asked, playing dumb.

She hadn't spoken to Amren in a long time, even though they had each others' numbers. Even though Amren had repeatedly texted her, asking to get coffee or go for a walk or something else of the sorts. All of which went unanswered.

Amren rolled her eyes, and Nesta was convinced they went to the back of her head for a good minute. "Don't play dumb with me, Nesta."

“I don’t know, working?"

"Is that a question?" Amren rose a deadly brow.

Nesta huffed and mirrored Amren's angry stance. "Why are you interrogating me?"

“Because you've been radio silent for weeks. I had to ask Elain if you were still fucking alive," Amren explained. Then, she leaned in close like she didn't want anyone to hear. "I was worried about you, you bitch."

Nesta let out a sigh. "I'm sorry, okay? I've been busy. I do want to hang out, it's just that..." she trailed off.

"What? It's just that what?"

Nesta stared at the floor, unable to form words.

"Nesta, are you okay?" Amren asked, her voice softer.

Just tell her. Fucking tell her.

I was almost raped.

Just the thought was enough to make Nesta want to puke. She couldn't, it was too much and she wouldn't even be able to fucking say it and it's her fault, all her fault.

She breathed in through her nose and looked back up at Amren. She shot her the most fake smile she'd ever given. "I'm good. Seriously, I just got busy. It won't happen again."

Nesta saw the skepticism in Amren's eyes. But she conceded with a small sigh. "Well, don't do it again, okay? I seriously thought you were fucking murdered or some shit."

Nesta just nodded. Amren looked at her once more before gesturing with her chin back to the dining room. Nesta followed her.

When they rounded the corner, she stopped dead in her tracks.

Because sitting next to Feyre was the man who had tried to break into her apartment.

“Nesta!" Feyre exclaimed, calling her over from where she sat. "This is Cassian. Cassian, this is my sister, Nesta.”

Nesta simply stared at him like a deer in headlights and he stared at her, his lips parted in surprise. He was wearing a grey sweater, his long hair hanging down, no longer in a bun like it was the last time. He tucked it behind one ear.

"Are you stalking me or something?" Nesta said incredulously.

"I could ask you the same," Cassian retorted cheekily.

Feyre looked between them, a confused expression written on her face. "Do you guys know each other or something?"

"Something like that," Nesta mumbled.

Everyone's eyes were on them as they waited for an answer.

"Well as everyone knows, I live in the same building as Nesta and Elain," Cassian explained, waving a hand to the two sisters. "The other night, I got stupid drunk with a friend. He drove me back to my place and me, drunk off my fucking ass, tried to get into their apartment thinking it was mine."

The entire room erupted into laughter, Rhys choking on his food and Azriel looking up as if reasoning with the Gods.

"So when Nesta opened the door," Cassian continued, "she nearly beat me to death with a baseball bat."

Another round of laughter.

"Overreact much?"

Everyone's eyes flew to where Nesta sat. They seemed shocked. Nesta was too.

She didn't know why she said it, why she let it bother her. He was just so fucking frustrating, even his mere presence.

Cassian stuck his tongue out at her.

Feyre interrupted, her jaw agape. "You guys are acting like children."

Nesta got quiet after that. The conversation continued, thankfully taking the attention off her. As everyone laughed and conversed, Cassian looked over at her. His smile disappeared when he met Nesta's gaze. She just stared back at him, lips in a thin line. He seemed to try to gauge her reaction carefully, but her face was blank.

And so the night went on. Nesta didn't say another word after what happened. She avoided eye contact with Cassian. Avoided conversation with everyone.

It was half past eight when they all began clearing their dishes. Mor, Aurra, Azriel, and Cassian were all gathered in the kitchen cleaning up. Feyre and Rhys had excused themselves. It was just Nesta and Elain who remained in the dining room.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” Nesta leaned over to whisper to Elain.

Elain nodded. "We'll head out right after, yeah?" She must've noticed the exhaustion in Nesta's face.

Nesta agreed, excusing herself from the table.

She walked down the hallway, peeking through every door to find the bathroom. She was about to push through a door on the left that was slightly cracked open when she heard voices coming from within.

“I’m worried about him. He’s not the same.” It was Feyre.

“He never is when he comes home, Feyre," Rhys said dejectedly. "It’s happened before. Cass just needs time.”

Cass.

Nesta tiptoed closer to the door, just enough for her to listen.

“No, what he needs is to see someone!”

“I’ve tried. He doesn’t want to go.”

“Try harder, Rhys!” Feyre cried, her tone frustrated.

“We can’t just force him to go, okay?”

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing? Do you even notice how lost your own fucking brother is? Do you even care?!”

Silence.

“Rhysand, I’m sorry. Gods, I’m so sorry. I know you care. More than anyone. I just… I don’t want to lose him.”

She heard them both breathing deeply.

“C’mere,” Rhys murmured. Nesta heard Feyre's footsteps as she presumably walked toward him.

“We’ll figure it out, okay?”

“Together.”

“Always, Feyre darling.”

They got quiet, probably embracing each other. Nesta crept away from their bedroom door and into the bathroom before they could find her.

------------------------------------

Elain and Nesta had just unlocked their apartment door when Nesta groaned. “Oh, shit, I forgot my wallet in the car." She fished around in her bag to make sure it wasn't in there. "I’ll be right back.”

"I'll leave the door unlocked," Elain called behind her as Nesta made her way to the elevator.

She stepped between the doors, hitting the button for the parking garage. Gods, she just wanted to go to sleep. The night had been exhausting.

After a minute or so, she was approaching her car. She unlocked her door and grabbed her wallet that was in the middle console when a pair of headlights flashed past her, a car pulling into the spot next to her.

Before panic could set in, Nesta recognized who was driver the car through the window.

Cassian.

His car turned off and he emerged from the driver's door just a moment later. He looked over where Nesta was clutching her wallet to her chest staring at him. He gave her a tight-lipped smile before turning away and walking towards the elevator. Nesta had no choice to follow.

She walked just a few feet behind him as they made their way to the elevator.

"I'm sorry," Cassian told her, his voice sincere. He cast a concerned glance her way. "For embarrassing you at dinner. And if I scared you that night."

"You didn't embarrass me," Nesta snapped at him. "You were just being annoying as hell."

His entire body seemed to relax at her insult. Cassian tried to hide his smirk but failed. "I'm glad to see you're still your normal, hotheaded self. You got me worried at dinner with your stoic behavior."

Now she really glared at him. "Don't talk like you know me. You don't."

"Oh, sweetheart," he teased. "I think we're more similar than you think."

She scoffed. "I think that hubris of yours will be your downfall."

"You know, it's quite sexy when you use literary devices to insult me," he joked.

Nesta froze.

Was he coming onto her? Chills ran down her spine when she thought of the last time a man expressed interest in her.

It's not the same, she tried to convince yourself. He's not Tomas.

Cassian must've expected a heated response to his comment because he looked surprised when Nesta simply stared straight ahead. She seemed to be in a world of her own, oblivious to everything around her. Any trace of anger was gone, replaced by a cool indifference.

Cassian's face fell. "Nesta, I didn't mean to - "

He was cut off as the elevator door dinged opened and Nesta swiftly walked out.

-------------------------------

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[joysbell]

The One with the Snowstorm: Part I

It’s Summer and I’m thinking of snow. It’s obviously too hot. 

The One with the Snow Storm: Part I

###

My boots crunched in the snow and I sank with every step I took. The dense white burden was at least two feet high, and it came up to my knees. Illyrian leathers kept me warm, although they were loose, and hung from my body in an unpleasant, unattractive way—I did not care. I hated them. But in any other clothing I would freeze.

The cold was like nothing I had experienced before. Every breathe I took hurt my lungs. Any exposed skin burned. My nose felt like it was going to freeze and shatter off.

Everything was white. The trees, the village in the distance, my cabin. Yes, my cabin I reminded myself. It was covered in snow before me. It was rickety—in desperate need of repairs. Small, with only a tiny kitchenette, living room and hearth, one bedroom, one bath. A cabin meant for an Illyrian bachelor, now occupied by the village witch, the outsider, that Made fae who no one would touch, literally.

I had tried.

What I wanted was to be touched. Hard, soft, fast, slow. It did not matter. The Illyrians were beautiful, muscled, with calloused hands. And I wanted one. I hoped it would be rough. But nothing. No one would come near me.

I had tried to get liquor as well. And failed. I had also tried to gamble with some jewels I still had; but no one would play. It seemed I had a cautionary sign on my back.

Now, after months of living here I kept to myself. When I went to the village it was a brief visit, and only because I desperately needed something. I did not bother with anyone or anything and they did not bother with me. I was a ghost.

A ghost that lived in a little run-down cabin on the hill.

When I first came to the mountains, Cassian had made me an offer to stay at his residence. A place I had never seen because I had chosen the other option instead—an abandoned cabin. There had not been time to build me a proper home, Cassian had said, and had apologized. I had sneered.

I do not want you to build me a house.

Instead he insisted on slowly repairing this place. The first thing he did was install locks on my door. I let him. But I did not talk to him. I knew it was his job to check on me—Feyre had insisted. But silence was all that met him when he came.

For three months now he had come, three times a week, on schedule. Cassian brought things from my sisters, cheese, bread, flowers, books… I threw away everything aside from the books. I needed them. I did not want to eat. I did not want to decorate. But the books were an escape from all of this, and they allowed me to travel, to be someone else, to live a different life—a life I did not want to throw away.

Cassian was coming today. So, I stopped drifting away in the snow outside and picked up a few pieces of firewood in my arms. They were heavy and I was weak. All I could carry was three logs, but that would be enough for the hearth. I only lit the fire when he came, because otherwise the bat would throw a fit.

I slowly waded through the snow to my front door. I had left it ajar and the cold had crept inside. The hearth waited for me.

Once I had the fire started, I plopped myself on the couch. Barely a couch, at that. It was worn, blue, and mine. I had insisted it be brought to this place from my old apartment. It had the perfect slump, still smelled like turned wine, and made Cassian angrier than a hellhound. He refused to sit on it. Which pleased me.

I could feel him coming suddenly. He was flying fast, moving more aggressively than usual. The wind howled outside, but it was as if I could hear him, see him, flying straight down to the snow, landing as hard as a mallet to stone.

I grabbed a book and opened it, pretending I had been reading and put on the appearance that I did not want to be disturbed.

“Hello Nesta,” Cassian said, as he stepped through the door I had not locked. He gently tossed a bag on the table by the door. It thumped, obviously full of whatever he had brought. I knew he did not expect me to respond.

Not a word had been spoken from my lips to him since I had come here. I told myself today would be no different. I might look, I might glare, or smirk, or sneer, but otherwise I was mute.

Cassian never stopped talking when he came. If I were going to be silent, he would refuse to shut up.

“The bag has food, clothes, books—from Elain,” he said, rather shortly. It was always things from Elain. “She misses you—wishes you would allow a visit,” he pulled a chair back from the table and sat down.

His whole body was tense. I could see his muscles twitch beneath his leathers. His black hair was pulled tighter than it usually was, in a half bun wrapped in red thread, the rest of the tendrils hanging down against his neck. His eyes bore into me. Cassian smirked, “Sadly, I told Elain hell would probably freeze over before you allowed anyone to come here.”

I silently agreed and kept my nose in my book.

A couple minutes passed where he said nothing. Strange, unlike him to be so quiet. Slowly I looked up from my book and made a passing glance. His eyes met mine and I quickly returned to my cover of paper and words.

“There’s a storm coming. A bad storm. I am worried for you to be alone here during it. I will not be able to fly—”

Instantly, I turned and gave him a dark look of steel. I would be fine. Leave me alone, I said with a clench of my teeth.

Cassian crossed him arms, challenging my expression. Still tense, still tired, but ready to fight me.

You will not stay here.

Yes, I will. It is my job to protect you, and I will not disobey my High Lord and High Lady.

Was this conversation really happening? This was not the first time I felt as if we talked in our minds. Not the first time I looked at Cassian and knew what he was thinking, what he was saying to me and only me. It made me shirk back into my couch, clutch my book harder, and debate whether to throw it at him—

“Nesta, I am sorry to invade your sanctuary. But I will be staying. You may take the couch. I will sleep in your bed,” he finished, and started laughing. His shoulders seemed to sigh, relax.

He had a bad day. Now he was at ends with having to stay with me. Then I realized why the bag he had thrown on the table was so heavy. His things were inside.

When is this storm? I slammed my book shut and got up from my couch.  

“The storm is coming tonight,” Cassian said, and I wondered if it was an answer or a coincidence. “I’ll be out of your hair before you know it. But in the meantime, I brought some knitting to do…”

I turned from him and rolled my eyes. If he was not testing me, he was joking, the stupidest things came out of his mouth—

“Perhaps I will knit you a blanket to keep you warm, your skin and bones. I am surprised you have not died from the cold yet; it is notorious here. With no fat on you, you hardly stand a chance. If you get caught outside in a whitewash, and cannot find your way back, you will be dead in an hour.”

From where he still sat at the table, he looked me over without shame, slowly starting at my feet and working his way up to my face. It was primal.

The air between us always changed so quickly.

A storm was coming, and Cassian was going to ride it out with me.

I looked back at him with menace. The arrogance. To think I could not survive some snow. I had survived the cauldron, I had clawed my way out and took a chunk of it with me, but snow—I shook my head, and went for his bag. I picked it up and shoved it at him. A demand that he leaves.

Cassian sighed, “If you really want me to leave, I will. But” he pressed, “I might get caught in the storm on my way home. And if something happens to me, can you live with yourself?”

Absolutely, I wanted to yell at him, and at that cocky grin that replaced the lament on his face.

Yet I found myself surrender. I found myself back at a place I had not allowed myself to go in a long time. A place where I shielded a broken warrior’s body, sacrificing myself, ready to go—and then I snapped back, and found Cassian staring at me with concern.

Do not, I thought. Do not look at me like that.

Cassian stood a little taller, much taller than I, and changed his expression. He was waiting for an answer. He really was giving me a choice—a horrible one, but a choice.

Stay, I relented. Stay here. But stay away from me.

Cassian smiled. “I’m going to make your dinner.”

I wanted to throttle him. I wanted to scream because he irritated me. With that smile, that smirk, that cocky, arrogant, toned body—

Cassian’s smile grew and he turned, heading for the kitchen. I swore there was extra swagger as he moved his ass. Fucking bastard.

For a moment I prayed the storm took us both.

[theladyofdeath]

V O I D { T W E L V E }

Chapter 12. An ACOTAR fanfiction.

Nessian. Elriel. Feysand.

Previous chapters:  Fanfic Masterlist

 “It takes ten times as long to put yourself back together as it does to fall apart.” – Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins

Cassian hadn’t been to church since he was a child, and the moment he stepped into the sanctuary he literally thought that he might burst into flames.

He didn’t.

He did, however, sit in a pew in the middle of the large room and stared at the stained-glass cross behind the pulpit. It was empty, no one in sight. He preferred it that way. He didn’t want to be preached at, just wanted to observe, reflect in the quiet. It was a small church, unable to hold hardly any more than a hundred people, if that. When he was young, Cassian thought it was huge, though.

And he had always admired the ancient stained-glass windows. 

He heard the door open and close behind him, then the footsteps of whoever it was stopped.

A quiet curse filled the room.

Cassian glanced over his shoulder. “You know, you’re not supposed to curse in a church.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Obviously, I didn’t know anyone was here. I’ll go.”

Cassian turned back around and faced the cross. “You don’t have to.”

At first, he thought she hadn’t heard him, or that she had simply walked away. But, a moment later, she sat across the aisle in the same row as he.

For a minute, no one talked. Then, Cassian said, “I’m sorry for what I said yesterday. I don’t know you, and I shouldn’t have said what I did about you.”

She gave him a curt nod. “It’s okay.”

It wasn’t, but Cassian nodded, anyway. “I couldn’t sleep last night. Your words kept replaying in my mind. Maybe that’s why fate sent you here, to give me another kick in the ass.”

“You’re not supposed to curse in a church,” Nesta muttered, copying his earlier words.

Cassian chuckled.

“And it wasn’t fate,” Nesta went on. “I live around the corner. I come here sometimes. I like the glass. And the quiet. The solitude.”

Cassian nodded, looking around at the stained-glass windows. “My mom used to take me and my sister here when we were little. I think she came to pray for my father. We all used to pray for him. But they were never answered. Instead, my mom died leaving us alone with him.”

Nesta didn’t say anything at first, but he knew she was watching him. “And you think that was God’s fault?”

Cassian cleared his throat, rubbing his sweaty palms against his jeans, as he did in uncomfortable situations. “I want to believe in God. I want to believe He’s there, watching over us...I used to lie awake at night, praying for a better life. But, I’m an underage alcoholic with rage issues, no parents, and a little sister that I can’t set a good example for if my life depended on it.”

Nesta shifted in the pew across the aisle. “My mom used to say that God doesn’t control our lives or the people in it, but he’s there when we need him. When we want to talk, to vent. I don’t know why he works in mysterious ways, but mom always said that he does. I’ve been questioning it a lot, too, lately...if there is a God, and if there is, why am I in so much pain? Why do I not want to live, why do I hate who I am...I wish I had all the answers, but I don’t. I wish I understood life and all its struggles and obstacles, but I don’t. But, I do know that I feel better today than I did yesterday, and I do believe that people are sent into our lives to give us the little bit of light that we need to keep on going.”

Cassian understood her meaning. “Hale?”

Nesta looked at him, and for the first time, their eyes connected. “I wanted to die. I was ready. And he saved me. Literally. He stopped me, and talked to me, and heard me out. I understand that you have hard feelings against him, and I’m not telling you not to. But, personally, Hale gave me the light that I needed when I needed it.” 

Cassian looked back up to the cross, just as the sun shone through the glass, brightening its colors and the sanctuary around them. “I don’t like who I am.”

Nesta nodded, then quietly said, “Look for the light. Don’t push it away.”

~~~

Rhysand hated the heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach as he knocked on the door of his own home. When no one answered, he pushed it open. “Hello? Anyone home?” 

“Rhys?”

He spun around, almost losing his balance.

Reina was walking toward him, eyes wide and red-rimmed.

“You okay?” He asked, but she was running to him, arms wide as she wrapped him in a hug.

“I’ve missed you,” she sobbed, wiping her eyes against the front of his shirt. 

“I’ve missed you, too,” he said, holding her near. “Where’s mom?”

A crash came from down the hall, and Reina winced.

Rhysand didn’t wait for an explanation. He hurried down the hall until he found himself standing in the doorway of the study. His mother was lying on the floor, clutching her face, his father standing above her. 

He wanted to say something. He wanted to scream, wanted to yell, but nothing came out. His body shook as his mind reeled.

“Rhysand?” his father crooned, as if the scene he had laid out wasn’t atrocious. “What a nice surprise.” He surveyed Rhysand’s current state before adding, “Ah, yes, I heard you had gotten yourself into some trouble.”

Rhysand blinked. “Are...I…”

Alastair clicked his tongue. “You never could get your words out. A weakness.”

Rhysand’s mother pushed herself up, locking eyes with Rhysand for the first time since he entered. Her eyes, the same eyes that reflected his own, were lined with tears.

“Come on, mom,” Rhysand said. “We’re leaving.” 

She didn’t move.

“Rhys,” Reina whispered. “Come on.”

“No,” Rhys snapped. “No, I’m not going anywhere. Not without you and mom.”

Rhysand’s father looked as if nothing was amiss as he took a step forward. Rhysand did not move, did not retract his gaze. 

“Your mom and sister aren’t going anywhere,” his father began. “The only one going anywhere is you. You don’t live here anymore. You’re not welcome here anymore. Go, Rhysand.”

“Go?” Rhysand repeated. “Who the fuck do you think you a-”

His father reached forward and grabbed Rhysand’s collar with one tight fist. Rhysand’s mouth snapped shut, quickly.

“You will leave, and you will go home, and you will leave us alone. Is that understood?” he asked, his voice quiet but brutal. 

Rhysand said nothing. A word didn’t leave his mouth until his father let go of his collar and took a step back. 

Rhysand’s mother quickly lowered her gaze, as did Reina.

They lived in fear. Fear of the man before them.

Rhysand took a step back toward the doorway, but before he left, he stopped and shook his head. “You know, when I was little, I wanted to be just like you. You were my hero. Now, the thought of me ending up like my father is a nightmare. You’re cruel, a monster. You don’t deserve all of this, the life people believe you have. You don’t deserve any of it. You don’t deserve anything.”

A conniving smile twisted his father’s mouth. “Spoken like a true bastard.”

Rhysand laughed - a low, shaky, humorless laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Leave,” his father repeated. “Go home.”

“We’re okay,” his mother smiled, still from her place on the floor. “Really. Go home. We’re okay.”

Reina hesitated, but then she nodded in agreement.

Rhysand looked back to his father, jaw locked. “You’re going to get what you deserve. Soon.”

He simply smiled. “It was good to see you, son.”

“Burn in Hell,” Rhysand spat through gritted teeth. 

His father’s grinned widened. “I’ll see you there.”

With that, he pushed Rhysand out of the study and slammed the door shut behind him, his sister and mother inside alongside him. Rhysand stared at the dark slab of wood before pounding his fist against it. And when that did no good, he left.

~~~~

Nesta exited onto the back porch to find Feyre and Elain already huddled together on top of a blanket in the grass beyond.

“It’s about time!” Elain hollered. “We were missing a sister!”

With a sigh, Nesta meandered down the porch stairs, onto the soft Autumn grass. She had always loved the feeling of grass between her bare toes, even if the night chill was growing colder.

She plopped down next to Feyre, resting her folded hands behind her head.

The Velaris starlight was breathtaking. Nesta could believe that there was no other night sky in the world like it.

“Is dad home yet?” Feyre asked.

Nesta shook her head. “Not yet.”

“I’ll take that as a good sign,” Elain grinned.

It was his first night out on a date in years. He had only gone on a handful since their mother’s death, and he had hated all of them, without hesitation. But, a waitress at the diner he liked to eat breakfast at kept asking him for a dinner, and he had eventually said yes, leaving the girls to have a night to themselves.

“How’s Rhysand?” Nesta asked, glancing sideways at Feyre.

“He’s doing well,” she said, thoughtfully. “Itching to be more active, but he’s getting stronger.”

“Azriel says the same,” Elain said. “He finds Rhys doing squats every morning when he wakes.”

Feyre chuckled. “Sounds right. And what of you and Azriel?”

“We have settled on tomorrow night for our date,” she crooned. “He’ll pick me up at seven and I’ll look fabulous.”

Nesta was almost surprised by the chuckle that shook her frail body. “Of course. And then what? A goodnight kiss?”

Elain made a noise that was half embarrassment, half pure joy. “Maybe. Maybe something more.”

Feyre howled, shoving on Elain’s shoulder as Nesta grinned.

It had been so long since Nesta had felt such joy. They had been through their hardships together, but there was nothing like spending alone time with her sisters.

They fell into a humored silence as they watched the stars twinkle above. 

Nesta almost felt at peace. At least, until Elain asked, “Have you talked to Tomas since you’ve been home?”

She must have known it was a fragile topic because the question was quiet, hesitant.

But Nesta closed her eyes as she said, “No. He texted for the first few days after I left, but I never replied. It seems he took the hint.” I hope, she added, silently.

“You can talk to us,” Feyre said. “You do know that, right?”

Nesta did know that, but it wasn’t that easy. She had never talked about Tomas, about who he truly was, to anyone. Not even Hale, not in its entirety. She hated Tomas, loathed him. For years, she was a slave to him. Yet, the moment she opened up about it… it was then that it became real. But she didn’t want it to be real. She wanted the years that she had spent with Tomas to be a bad dream, a horrible nightmare.

But it wasn’t.

It was real.

It had all been real.

She had danced with the devil for two years, but she had survived.

“He was kind to me, at first,” she began, and when she spoke, she surprised herself. Her voice sounded distant, foreign, but she continued. “Then, when he got comfortable, that kindness faded.”

Nesta’s voice became lost, but Elain and Feyre did not push. They waited. Listened. They let her take her time. 

“He abused me,” she confessed, quietly. “Sexually. Verbally. Physically. I wanted to get away, but I couldn’t. For a while, I thought I deserved him, everything he did to me. But then, one day, I realized that he was the one that was making me believe that. I left. I had to get away from him. But, now, I don’t remember who I was before him.”

The words spilled out of her, as if she didn’t speak them quickly enough, she would have lost her courage to do so. 

At first, neither Feyre nor Elain said a word. Then, Feyre took her hand while Elain, on Feyre’s other side, whispered, “You are loved. That’s who you were before him, and that’s who you are now, Nesta. Everything else will come to you, but you must know, that you are loved.”

Feyre squeezed her hand as if to say, Yes, you are loved.

As Nesta’s eyes closed, she felt completely and utterly peaceful.

And loved.

For the first time in years, Nesta felt truly and unconditionally loved. 

[azrielsiphons]

Moe’s ACOTAR December One-Shots #1 - Nessian in the Snow

Every other day in December I’m going to be posting a Christmas/winter themed one-shot for either Elriel, Feysand, or Nessian. They’ll be tagged under “moes winter writing” so make sure to check all of them out. 

Almost all of these prompts are directly from or variations of this post. 

Please like and reblog! 

Moe’s Christmas One-Shot Number One: 

Nessian -  “I know we hate each other but it’s Christmas Eve and your flight was cancelled please come inside”

Nesta was in her happy place. 

Once when she and Feyre were having one of their legendary screaming matches in their high school years, Feyre had screamed at Nesta that she “enjoyed making herself miserable because it was easier than being jealous of everyone else’s happiness.” Nesta had thought that that sentence was genuinely the stupidest thing and made zero sense and Feyre had tackled her when she said as much. The sisters still fought, but age had made them less inclined to say such cutting words or resort to pummeling each other. 

But part of what Feyre had said had always lingered in Nesta’s brain. Did she enjoy making herself miserable? Was that easier than trying to attain happiness when it could all be ripped away in a second when someone decided to leave like they always did?

Maybe she did. And maybe that was okay. But for now at least, in this bright beautiful moment of solitude, she was in her happy place. 

The snow fell gently outside, the moon illuminating the quiet suburban street with a glow that was … magical. Nesta was no sentimentalist, but there was no other word for it. The night was positively magical — between the moon and the stars and the snow, she could almost taste it. 

Snow was Nesta’s favorite. Feyre wasn’t particularly fond of the cold and Elain always complained about her flowers not blooming in the wintertime, but Nesta thrived during this season. She never took the insults about having “such a cold heart” too seriously considering it was the cold made her feel positively alive. 

And to top it all off, it was Christmas Eve. The gift-giving part of Christmas had never particularly been Nesta’s favorite — there was too much pressure on gift exchanges as an adult — but the decorations and the music and the lights and smells and foods … positively magical. 

Nesta had no delusions about her personality, she knew she wasn’t an easy person that didn’t take as much joy out of life as others did. But standing out in her front yard, fifteen minutes till midnight on Christmas Eve, not a soul in sight as the snow fell gently around her in silence … 

Nesta was in her happy place, and nothing — nothing — could ruin that for her. 

“Shit — fuck — dammit all to hell!”

Nesta deflated, the soft corners of her lips dropping into a scowl immediately. Her chin went from being tilted up to the night sky to almost touching her collarbone. 

Turns out there was someone who could ruin her happy place after all. 

Nesta’s blood began to boil as the magic around her shattered, replaced with irritation that ran through her like a lightning bolt. She wouldn’t have been surprised if the snow around her had turned to steam — that’s how mad she was. 

“That asshole is supposed to be gone,” Nesta seethed, turning on her heel and stomping around the side of her house to the back where her incredibly annoying brute of a neighbor was disturbing her happy place and ruining her snow moment dammit. 

“I told Az to replace the spare key — did he replace the spare key? No, he didn’t, and who is surprised? Nobody! That’s the fuck who!” 

Nesta could feel the blood rushing to her face and ears, her teeth grinding as she saw him standing on his porch, fiddling with his front door. 

Cassian. Even his name annoyed her. His shoulder length hair and heavy black pea coat were covered in snow, and his broad shoulders were turned just enough that she could see his hands shaking sans gloves as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and uselessly pressed the power button over and over again. 

He roared out a few more choice curse words before turning on his heel and hurling the dead phone. 

It landed right in front of Nesta’s feet, flinging snow up on the front of her snowman pajama pants. 

“Oh,” Cassian said, his shoulders relaxing and his eyes widening at the sight of Nesta standing at the edge of his front yard. If she hadn’t been so spitting mad at him in that moment, she might have appreciated the bewildered expression on his annoyingly perfect face. “Nesta.” 

“Oh, Cassian,” she mocked. “Aren’t you supposed to be on a flight to the other side of the country and not disturbing my peaceful snowy Christmas Eve?!”

And just like that, his fire that always matched hers so well came roaring to the surface, wiping away that look of bewilderment and … adoration? No it couldn’t be … right off of his face. 

“Well excuse me, princess!” he shouted right back, bounding down the steps to the snow covered grass and sauntering towards her. “I didn’t realize my cancelled flight was going to be such an imposition on you!”

Nesta could feel the blood pounding in her head as he got closer, that lovely sound of fresh snow crunching beneath his feet tainted by his sarcasm. Oh and damn him for looking so nice, his hazel eyes especially bright as the snow gleamed between them. 

“Oh your flight was cancelled?” she spat, “That’s too bad, I would feel sorry for you if you weren’t such a big oaf cursing in the middle of the night while the snow is falling magically!”

She knew she looked ridiculous standing there in her red snowman pajamas with a matching beanie and a heavy green robe. She knew she was fighting a battle nobody would win — nobody ever won in their screaming matches, except maybe her migraines.

But he infuriated her beyond reason. They had been living next to each other for a little over a year and ever since he and his stupid brother-friend-fellow-idiot Rhys (who happened to be dating her little sister, which made her hate him even more) had shot the side of her house with paintball guns like freaking twelve year olds, she had never been around the brute and not felt inclined to strangle him. 

And now? On this night? On the best night of the whole damned year? Unacceptable. It could not stand. 

“You know what Nesta—” he started, pointing a finger in her direction, but she wasn’t having it.

Nesta strode forward smoothly, smacking his finger out of the way as if it were an insect bothering her. 

“No you listen to me, Cassian,” she hissed, enjoying the way his eyes widened as she leaned in close enough to feel his warm breath on her face, tilting her head back because of his height, “you are entitled to a bad day, to a cancelled flight, to a locked door, and even to a dead phone battery. You can have that. Okay? You can have that. But what you cannot have is my snow! You are not allowed to interrupt my snow time, you are not allowed to take away my one happy time of the year, okay? Okay?!”

In the back of her mind, Nesta noted that she had probably woken up more than one of the neighbors with her shouting, and there were at least two dogs barking in the distance. 

But in the front of her mind, all she could focus on was Cassian looking down at her (damn his tall self) with a look of utter confusion. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I just …”

“Just what, Cassian?”

“I just thought that … are you really only ever happy this time of year?”

Nesta deflated. She could barely think straight enough to blink as his voice washed over her. She was so used to him shouting at her the way she shouted at him that sometimes she forgot how nice his regular speaking voice was. And when had they gotten so close?

“I mean I know we fight but I thought … well damn, sweetheart. I thought you enjoyed our little spats like I did. Do.”

Nesta felt her cheeks heating despite the chill temperature. Of course she didn’t enjoy their arguments, who the hell enjoyed arguments, that’s just …

But she did. She did enjoy the bickering and the shouting because with him it was all surface and never actually cutting. He never really tore her down like so many others had, he never commented on her coldness, he never brought up her insecurities … they bickered about stupid things like the importance of paintball (or lack thereof), and the Red Sox versus the Yankees, and how often he should cut his grass in the summertime. 

And damn it if those weren’t some of the best parts of her day. Damn it if being around him didn’t have that same glow to it that the snowfall did. 

And damn it if she hadn’t been blind to it this whole time. 

Cassian, taking Nesta’s stunned silence as something other than it was, huffed in resignation and leaned down to pick up the phone he had thrown moments before. He hissed, stretching out his surely numb fingers. 

Nesta finally came back to her senses. 

“Wait when did you even get back?” she asked, feeling strange at using her normal tone of voice with him. “I didn’t hear your car. Or that death trap you ride.”

Cassian rolled his eyes. “That death trap is called a motorcycle, and you are always welcome to take a ride with me. But my damn car ran out of gas about a mile down the road. All the stations were closed and I didn’t think I would be coming back here today, but—”

“You walked a mile in the snow?” Nesta asked incredulously. “Without gloves?”

“I didn’t think I would need them!” Cassian shot back, though it held no bite. “I expected to be in the nice, contained heat of my car but damn it all if my flight was cancelled, then I ran out of gas, my phone died, and fucking Azriel never replaced the spare key under the mat last month.”

Nesta huffed, lifting her eyes to the snow falling around her once again. Cassian continued to mutter on and on about stupid Azriel and a broken gas gauge, but she wasn’t paying attention. 

Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it, she thought to herself. He’s a brute and Elain and Feyre are gone and it’s your Christmas Eve and you don’t owe him anything. He’s a big boy, he can handle himself.

“Stop talking,” Nesta snapped, pressing her gloved palm to her forehead. Cassian, to his credit, shut up. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she muttered under her breath, reaching over and grabbing one of Cassian’s freezing cold hands before turning on her heel back towards her own house, pulling him along with her. 

“Uh, what are you doing there sweetheart?” Cassian asked, trying and failing to mask the way his voice cracked .

Nesta could feel her eye twitching. “Look I know we hate each other, but it’s Christmas Eve and your flight was cancelled and even though you’re … you, I can’t just let you freeze to death out here.” 

She could feel Cassian’s grin behind her, but Nesta just trudged on through the snow, dragging Cassian behind her up the two steps to her front door and inside her home. 

Cassian practically moaned when he stepped inside the toasty warmth of her home, and Nesta promptly ignored the tingling that the noise set off low in her stomach. 

“Shoes and coat off,” she snapped, pointing at the bench and coat hanger next to the door. Cassian promptly obeyed, giving her a salute that she pursed her lips at so he wouldn’t see her smile. 

“You know sweetheart—”

“I told you not to call me that.”

“—I’m starting to think you like me more than you let on.”

“Think what you want, I don’t care.” Nesta knew her words fell flat when she took in the way his black button down shirt tightened over his chest and shoulders as he pulled off his coat. 

Why couldn’t her annoying neighbor look like a troll instead of a Greek god? Why must life treat her this way?

“Go warm your hands up by the fire, I don’t want to take you to the hospital for frostbite.”

Cassian chuckled, the sound a low rumble in his chest as he obeyed. He hissed as the blood rushed back to his fingertips with the heat. 

Nesta bit her lip, watching the muscles in his back ripple as he knelt down in front of the fireplace. He had been in her house before, the brute tended to follow Rhys like a puppy whenever the former came around to see Feyre, but he had never been in the house alone with her before. And never late at night … when the snow was falling outside … on Christmas Eve … 

Stop that, Nesta warned herself. This isn’t a damn Hallmark movie, pull yourself together.

But … he had a point earlier that she couldn’t shake. Sure, the snow was her happy place. But … inexplicably, bickering with him had the same feel as snowfall. The same magic.

“Hey Cassian,” she called out tentatively, her voice softer than it had ever been in any of their interactions.

Cassian whirled around so quickly he almost lost his balance. His eyes were wide as saucers.

“You know sweetheart, I think that’s one of the first times you’ve called me by name so nicely,” he said with a small smirk, recovering from his shock quickly. “I liked the way it sounded.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes, but she knew there was a softness there that she rarely let others see. Oddly enough, she wasn’t scared to show that softness to him.

Maybe it was the snow, maybe it was because it was Christmas time … whatever it was, she didn’t care. She could give into the magic of it all this one time. Maybe try a bit of that joy that everyone else found so easily. 

But she would find it her own, very Nesta-ish way. 

“Listen here you brute, I’ll make you hot chocolate, but you’re not getting marshmallows.”

Cassian’s surprised smile, lit up by the glow of the fire, was infinitely more magical than the snow. 

Thank you for reading! Please like and reblog and happy December!