I Feel Like Easy On Me By Adele Is Such A Nesta Song

Mor is season two Cassie.

No, I will not elaborate.

Good at Starting Fires

I really hated the overly sexualised way that Cassian looked at Nesta in ACOSAF and ACOSF when he commented on her drastic weight loss. Instead of being concerned that she was losing weight at a drastic pace he was more ‘boobs man, great they’re still there’ and it wound me up no end.

I was sent a prompt by an anon that said 'angsty Nessian set in the Illyrian camp where Cassian sees Nesta in her underwear for the first time’ and I found that I wanted to try and right that 'wrong’ in relation to the above. Probably not quite what the requestor had in mind but hey ho.

Some mention of weight loss and concerns surrounding it.

***

The rain lashed onto Cassian’s exposed skin.

The deluge hadn’t turned into a full storm quite yet but still, this was the worst weather he had seen in a long while, the wind barrelling into him warranting his full concentration in order to continue to fly upright.

Cassian would have chanced some different manoeuvres to make flight easier but he wasn’t flying alone.

The female in his arms had said nothing to him since they left the ground, perhaps planning to ignore him for the remainder of their eternal lives. Cassian would usually provoke her into retaliating against some jibe but tonight, with thick darkness surrounding them and the harsh pelt of the cold rain against their skin, goading wasn’t suitable.

Instead, Cassian flew through the onslaught, clutching onto a shivering Nesta.

Keep reading

Warning: Toxic Relationship

I

It takes weeks before Cassian begins to understand why she left. And if that isn't symbolic of their relationship he doesn't know what is.

Nesta knowing better, being better, as he trots behind. Coated in the arrogance of ignorance, always righteous until he's not, always catching the rhythm a beat too late.

*

He is a goner from their first meeting, leaning against the bedecked wall, grin growing as he watches her rip apart Rhysand's familiar monologue bemoaning the generous Christmas holidays he offers his workers (mostly under pressure from himself and Azriel).

She takes apart his brother's feeble justifications with the precision of a surgeon, irate expression contrasting beautifully with the festive and absolutely horrendous confection of lights and yarn she is wearing.

She is bewitching.

He waits, nursing his drink, quiet for once, eager for a chance to introduce himself.

He is enthralled.

*

It takes three encounters to get her number and an embarrassingly sincere drunk confession to obtain a date.

Then in pieces, in the compounding fragments of the trust he earns, they become a pair.

*

Their relationship, his life's great love affair had always been loud. Screaming, fighting, laughing, fucking. Always wild, careless in their abandon, in their feckless behaviour as they jumped off the cliff, intertwined.

So why was Nesta's departure so quiet?

The muted rolling of a suitcase on carpet barely disturbing him from sleep. The ring left to catch morning light on the side table until he'd copped it on his way to work and rolled his eyes. Nesta is in a huff and he is indignant, ready to whinge to Azriel.

It's six months later, on their anniversary, that he sees Nesta's ending wasn't quiet.

He just wasn't listening.

*

It takes three days for him to realise she isn't coming back.

Convinced she'll return with the bang of a door, with sharp words he'll take and worse ones he'll offer in return. That after some makeup sex the ring will be home on her finger and he'll be thumbing through a wedding magazine before bed.

This misplaced confidence keeps him from calling. To let her cool off. Leads him to saunter to the apartment door Saturday morning only donning grey joggers. Wanting the upper hand, wanting to see Nesta flush so prettily and clench her jaw tightly, seeing right through his feeble tactics.   

Gwyn and Emerie, stony faces and empty cardboard boxes in hand, become a live audience to the destruction of his world. 

He stands stunned, head reeling as Nesta is removed from their apartment. He finds himself carrying out boxes of her books. All he wants is to take it all back - slam the door in their faces like a child - because she can't just do this. But more importantly he needs to find Nesta. So a willing pack horse he becomes, trying to wheedle information from Gwyn.

His voice shaking, tears gathering, bile rising in his throat. 

"Do you know where she is?"

A nod.

"Will you tell me please Gwyn?"

Her red curls shake, a strong refusal. 

"I didn't realise she was being serious, I swear."

 Gwyn stops in her tracks, head turning sharply to bestow a look that calls him an idiot in five languages.

*

When his house is emptied of anything that is her, anything he could not save, he returns to the ring still on the sidetable despite him begging Gwyn and Emerie to return it to Nesta. 

It is the only time they look upon him with an ounce of pity which only makes it worse. Pity is for those who have lost. He cannot lose Nesta. There is not a universe he can fathom where he does not belong to her.

The ring he cradles in battered hands amidst shattered glass and splintered oak.

His blood an artful, awful, Pollackesque smattering over the mess.

Flimsy furnishings seeming a small casualty when his heart is now a necrotic organ burning in his chest.

The ring he picked,

with a white dress,

a honeymoon in Paris,

the rest of their life, in mind.

A silent killing blow.

*

One last blazing row the night before.

Cuts landing too deep this time.

The final fragment of a trust he'd once treasured sacredly, spent so terribly,

"Who the fuck could stand you Nesta when I can't?"

It makes his stomach turn with sickening guilt. He would stitch those words into his skin with wire rather than say them to her now.

He'd like to think he's a different man, maybe a better one, but that's up to her.

She's the only deity he wants to weigh his soul.

He'll come up wanting.

But maybe...

Maybe she'd look at him.

Face him.

Let him burn alive in the grey fire of her glare.

He would delight in his damnation to have her look at him once more.

*

Saturday is a haze. Rhys and Az try to coax him out to no avail. His pain is raw. Anger, frustration, desperation a tumour growing unchecked in his chest. The broken sidetable now possessing a broken vase, two pictures frames and three tumblers to match it. 

She isn't answering his calls, vision blurry from tears and drink, the blue light of his phone is the only thing he can focus on in a world that is swimming. Her contact, Nes 🖤, a beacon, a wavering light, keeping him from going under. 

She isn't answering his calls and so the voicemails begin. 

"I have your ring. Sweetheart I'm not taking that back. It's yours. I'm yours... Nesta please just talk to me. I'm sorry about Wednesday night. Come back and we can talk."

Beep.

"What is this about Nes? We fight rough, always have baby. I'll do anything, say anything, get you anything you want just please Nes don't do this. We can get a fucking dog. I swear. We'll move to a different apartment. We can open a fucking dog hotel if that is what you want just.."

Beep.

"Tell me you're safe. Please. I'm going out of my mind here. I love you. More than anything."

Beep.

"Mor was right, you know you're such a fucking bitch sometimes. I'm trying to apologise when you left without a word. Fuck you sweetheart."

Beep.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. That came out wrong, I didn't mean it, just I..I'm beginning to think you're not coming back to me. This isn't goodbye Nes right? Right?"

Beep.

"Just punish me in person, I'll grovel for you Nes, you know that..........It's just a break. It's just a break. That's okay sweetheart you can have it all. Anything you want. Just talk to me first. Talk to me."

Beep.

"I love you. More than anyone else ever has, will or can. Just. If you're going to shred my heart. Do it in person. Do it in person and I'll walk away. Otherwise I'm going to fight you tooth and fucking nail love."

Beep.

The last voicemail a gauntlet thrown by a drunk fool. A sealing of their fate. 

*

She arrives on Sunday. Suitable for it to be a holy day if this is one last visit from his god.

He is relieved to see her.

Drunken promises of walking away temporarily forgotten. She had texted him an hour before to let him know she was on her way. Giving him time to put the house back in order, air out the smell of alcohol, sweat and despair. He's in his nicest jeans, hair tied in a low bun just how she likes. In the bedroom he has candles and rose petals, ready to worship her.

He wants to remind her she loves him, or she at least she did once.

Purple is painted in the hollows under her eyes, a slight tremor in her hand, greasy hair falling limply around her drawn face.

She looks terrible. Still the most stunning person he knows.

This is his doing.

He'd rather Az pummel him in the ring than see her like this. The aching in his chest makes it hard to breathe. He's made a mistake forcing her hand. 

She looks around, avoiding his gaze, eyebrows raising slightly at the very absent sidetable. She'd been so happy when they found that at old flea market off Washington St. when they first moved in together.

He should have thought of that before he left it in splinters. 

"There was an accident. I fell, you know how clumsy I get Nes. The table never stood a chance."

Her eyes land on him, and now it's him that can't bear to look, hand rubbing on his neck nervously, focusing on his white socks.

The silence is choking him.

"It's okay. It's okay. We'll get one just like it. I'll check Ebay. I'll ask Amren, she prowls around all the good antique shops. I'll make a replica if I have to. Lucien knows an excellent carpenter. I can fix it Nes. I promise."

He can fix it. He can fix this.

He meets her gaze and wants to vomit.

She looking at him with care, tears running down her face, voice barely audible.

"Cassian. We can't be fixed."

He can't think, he can't breathe, the world is on its axis and she's going to leave. The distance between them has vanished, he's on his knees, soft carpet beneath them a luxury he does not deserve, burying his face in the cotton of her tshirt hands wrapped around her waist. 

"No. Nes, no. You can't do that. You can't leave. I'm going to convince you to stay. That's why you're here. You want to stay. I love you. I love you. I love you. I can't be without you."

Pulling his hands from her waist she kneels beside him, caressing his face.

"I'm here to end it in person like you asked."

Her voice and his heart break simultaneously.

'I love you too Cassian... I...I can't live like this anymore. I cannot be both your Madonna and your whore. And we know exactly which one your friends think I am."

The words friends is spat out.

'It's either worship or war. So much fighting...a ren't you tired? '

A breath that holds a future.

'I'm so tired Cassian. I need more. I need to be by myself for a while. I need someone you're not Cas."

And on the exhale he sees all his plans dissipate amidst the dust motes that hang in the air.

This is what hell feels like. He's being excommunicated for his sins. She's even doing it in person.

His god, so cruel and alluring.

"I'm leaving now Cas. I'm moving away for a while. A clean break will be good for us. You'll thank me for doing this one day."

She let's out something that an alien might count as a laugh. Nervous and watery, choked and uncertain.

"I'll never thank you for this Nes."

His voice is dark and maybe he knows sin better than he once thought because her flinch in response feels better than he'd like it to.

They are one. No matter what she says. They should hurt as one too. 

She leaves.

He's still kneeling hours later her words a painful, unending echo in his mind.

*

He doesn't go out much now and drinking himself numb in this empty apartment is not who he is anymore.

But on their anniversary he let's himself drown in rum, in albums, in the box of her stuff he managed to keep after Gwyn and Emerie cleared house.

He cries into that stupid fucking Christmas jumper.

He sprays her bottle of perfume, letting the vanilla, blackberry, sage sink into the air, a ghostly embrace. Sitting amidst his shrine to her he allows himself to reflect.

Regret every overlooked sneer and snide comment. He doesn't see any of his friends, his brothers anymore. Nesta doesn't like them.

Rue every time he came home late, missed a date, was too tired to talk. He has a new job now, remote with flexible hours. It pays less but he still has his stocks and the nest egg he built breaking his back working for over a decade.

Rhys was frantic to keep him on. Bullshit talk about how he was spiralling, how she wasn't worth it. Punching that remark from his mouth, in front of the board, forced his termination quite effectively.

He has enough for Nesta to retire in the morning. He has enough to buy that fancy brie she likes, and handpainted books, and enough jewellery to fill a small store. He has enough to stay beside her so she won't have to miss him. 

He's even bigger now, all his free time spent in the gym, ignoring how eating so much protein makes him feel. She always liked feeling safe in his arms.

He's read all her books. Found her Goodreads and follows it like his gospel. Has watched every show, every podcast she consumed on their accounts.

He'll share all her likes. He'll never fight her on anything.

Once he earns her forgiveness they can be happy again.

*

She's coming back to town next month. A flying visit apparently. He's going to change that.

His chance is coming to show her how much better is.

The type of man she needs. The type she'll never leave. 

II

New Song Fic: Bejewelled

Me: What song from midnights do people want a song fic for?

Everyone: ANTI-HERO! VIGILANTE SHIT!

Me: Cool, cool, um actually I’m gonna do Bejewelled tho

*Sorry guys I was in a Nesta fucking shining away from the Night Court mood rather than a depression fic mood so here you go*

Link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30357864/chapters/106906422

Snippet:

Nesta had gripped a sword that never belonged to her and trained her body into a weapon she never wanted to be. She wrung the plum red wine from her brain and confused a soldier doing his duty with a prince come to save her. She trusted even the beast that raged beneath her skin to be tamed by this male. This person who was … who was supposed to be her person. 

Cassian was a broken promise. A great, cosmic joke. Just hers enough to fool her.

Would you consider a part 2 for the fic where nesta just does as she’s told? Maybe where Cassian confronts the inner circle about it?

Pretty please <3

I’m not sure this is the closure people are looking for from this but uh … this is what came out. Sorry everyone.

Feyre rolled her eyes before Cassian could even finish speaking. It wasn’t like her, to be so dismissive. But that look in her blue-grey eyes, so alive that it twisted his gut thinking of the shade, it was pure dismissal.

“Listen, Cass,” she sighed, as if speaking to Nyx when he wouldn’t finish his mushed up sweet potatoes. “I … I don’t know what went on between you and my sister in the war. I know that she pushes your buttons and I know that you two have your … whatever it is, but just because Nesta doesn’t want to play that game anymore doesn’t mean anything is wrong with her. She’s finally herself again.”

“No she isn’t,” Cassian insisted. “She’s … I don’t know, faking it. Going through the motions. She’s -“

“Healing,” Feyre said with yet another sigh. “She’s healing, Cassian.”

“She’s numb, Feyre. And I swear to the Cauldron if you sigh at me one more time-“

“You haven’t known her as long as I have!” Feyre crossed her arms over her chest, clearly fighting back a fucking sigh. “You didn’t know her when she was young. Before we lost everything …” Feyre swallowed hard, shifting on her toes. “This is what she was like. Free, unburdened, quiet. I’m sorry that you liked the version of her that was bitter and afraid, but that wasn’t her. Not really. This is her.”

“Bullshit,” Cassian spat. “You said it yourself months ago. Nesta is like a wolf who never got to be a wolf. If she acted like this when you were rich humans it was only because she thought that’s what the world wanted from her!” Cassian knew Nesta. Feyre was her sister, had known her longer, but Cassian … Cassian knew her. In his bones, in his soul, the piece of him that was … not missing, that wasn’t how to describe it. The piece of him that was reaching. It knew. He knew.

This was not Nesta.

“Even if that is true,” Feyre sighed, “it just proves my point. She is healing. Finally. It took me so long to remember who I was again and Nesta … she’s been through so much. We all have.”

Suddenly, Cassian understood why Nesta snapped when he tried to shove stories about Rhys and Feyre and their special little journey’s down her throat.

“She. Is. Not. Ok.”

“She is,” Feyre spat. Hands tightening and jaw clenching. “She is fine. My family is finally together and happy and I won’t let you ruin it because she won’t fuck you, Cassian!”

Cassian stumbled back three steps. Feyre’s hand flew to her mouth. “I didn’t. Cassian I didn’t mean that. I know-”

“It’s fine, Feyre.” Cassian held his hands up in surrender. “I get it.”

And he did.

He should have gotten it a long time ago.

It was never about Nesta or her behaviour or her power. It was about Feyre, it had always been about Feyre.

Rhys’s plan, the insistence on training, it wasn’t about Nesta.

Nesta never wanted to be a warrior. She said it herself, there are other ways to be strong.

The plan … the entire plan had never been about Nesta.

It was about Feyre.

Fixing Nesta when she was never broken.

Creating impossible choices.

Using him to manipulate her.

No one had ever cared if Nesta got better. They only cared that Feyre was happy. That Feyre had her family. That nothing upset Feyre after everything she went through.

And the worst part of it all was that Cassian couldn’t even blame anyone. He couldn’t blame Feyre for wanting to believe that everything was finally fine. He couldn’t blame Rhys for doing all of this because … he was doing everything he could to protect his mate. To make her happy.

The same thing that Cassian was supposed to do for Nesta.

He was supposed to be the one on her side the way Rhys was on Feyre’s.

Complete loyalty.

He was supposed to protect her, and instead he broke her.

Failed her in every way a male could possibly fail.

Nesta Archeron had lived through a war, had removed multiple heads with her bare hands, had been shoved into the freezing waters of good and evil and creation itself and had her humanity ripped away.

But none of that broke her.

None of that was the worst thing to happen to her.

He was.

The Full "I Will Love You." Letter. The Beatrice Letters, Lemony Snicket

Always. Continuously. With increasing apprehension, and decreasing hope.

I will love you with no regard to the actions of our enemies or the jealousies of actors. I will love you with no regard to the outrage of certain parents or the boredom of certain friends. I will love you no matter what is served in the world’s cafeterias or what game is played at each and every recess. I will love you no matter how many fire drills we are all forced to endure, and no matter what is drawn upon the blackboard in a blurring, boring chalk. I will love you no matter how many mistakes I make when trying to reduce fractions, and no matter how difficult it is to memorize the periodic table. I will love you no matter what your locker combination was, or how you decided to spend your time during study hall. I will love you no matter how your soccer team performed in the tournament or how many stains I received on my cheerleading uniform. I will love you if I never see you again, and I will love you if I see you every Tuesday. I will love you if you cut your hair and I will love you if you cut the hair of others. I will love you if you abandon your baticeering, and I will love you if you retire from the theater to take up some other, less dangerous occupation. I will love you if you drop your raincoat on the floor instead of hanging it up and I will love you if you betray your father. I will love you even if you announce that the poetry of Edgar Guest is the best in the world and even if you announce that the work of Zilpha Keatley Snyder is unbearably tedious. I will love you if you abandon the theremin and take up the harmonica and I will love you if you donate your marmosets to the zoo and your tree frogs to M. I will love you as the starfish loves a coral reef and as kudzu loves trees, even if the oceans turn to sawdust and the trees fall in the forest without anyone around to hear them. I will love you as the pesto loves the fetuccini and as the horseradish loves the miyagi, as the tempura loves the ikura and the pepperoni loves the pizza. I will love you as the manatee loves the head of lettuce and as the dark spot loves the leopard, as the leech loves the ankle of a wader and as a corpse loves the beak of the vulture. I will love you as the doctor loves his sickest patient and a lake loves its thirstiest swimmer. I will love you as the beard loves the chin, and the crumbs love the beard, and the damp napkin loves the crumbs, and the precious document loves the dampness in the napkin, and the squinting eye of the reader loves the smudged print of the document, and the tears of sadness love the squinting eye as it misreads what is written. I will love you as the iceberg loves the ship, and the passengers love the lifeboat, and the lifeboat loves the teeth of the sperm whale, and the sperm whale loves the flavor of naval uniforms. I will love you as a child loves to overhear the conversations of its parents, and the parents love the sound of their own arguing voices, and as the pen loves to write down the words these voices utter in a notebook for safekeeping. I will love you as a shingle loves falling off a house on a windy day and striking a grumpy person across the chin, and as an oven loves malfunctioning in the middle of roasting a turkey. I will love you as an airplane loves to fall from a clear blue sky and as an escalator loves to entangle expensive scarves in its mechanisms. I will love you as a wet paper towel loves to be crumpled into a ball and thrown at a bathroom ceiling and an eraser loves to leave dust in the hairdos of the people who talk too much. I will love you as a cufflink loves to drop from its shirt and explore the party for itself and as a pair of white gloves loves to slip delicately into the punchbowl. I will love you as a taxi loves the muddy splash of a puddle and as a library loves the patient tick of a clock. I will love you as a thief loves a gallery and as a crow loves a murder, as a cloud loves bats and as a range loves braes. I will love you as misfortune loves orphans, as fire loves innocence and as justice loves to sit and watch while everything goes wrong. I will love you as a battlefield loves young men and as peppermints love your allergies, and I will love you as the banana peel loves the shoe of a man who was just struck by a shingle falling off a house. I will love you as a volunteer fire department loves rushing into burning buildings and as burning buildings love to chase them back out, and as a parachute loves to leave a blimp and as a blimp operator loves to chase after it. I will love you as a dagger loves a certain person’s back, and as a certain person loves to wear daggerproof tunics, and as a daggerproof tunic loves to go to a certain dry cleaning facility, and how a certain employee of a dry cleaning facility loves to stay up late with a pair of binoculars, watching a dagger factory for hours in the hopes of catching a burglar, and as a burglar loves sneaking up behind people with binoculars, suddenly realizing that she has left her dagger at home. I will love you as a drawer loves a secret compartment, and as a secret compartment loves a secret, and as a secret loves to make a person gasp, and as a gasping person loves a glass of brandy to calm their nerves, and as a glass of brandy loves to shatter on the floor, and as the noise of glass shattering loves to make someone else gasp, and as someone else gasping loves a nearby desk to lean against, even if leaning against it presses a lever that loves to open a drawer and reveal a secret compartment. I will love you until all such compartments are discovered and opened, and until all the secrets have gone gasping into the world. I will love you until all the codes and hearts have been broken and until every anagram and egg has been unscrambled. I will love you until every fire is extinguished and until every home is rebuilt form the handsomest and most susceptible of woods, and until every criminal is handcuffed by the laziest of policemen. I will love you until M. hates snakes and J. hates grammar, and I will love you until C. realizes S. is not worthy of his love and N. realizes he is not worthy of the V. I will love you until the bird hates a nest and the worm hates an apple, and until the apple hates a tree and the tree hates a nest, and until a bird hates a tree and an apple hates a nest, although honestly I cannot imagine that last occurrence no matter how hard I try. I will love you as we grow older, which has just happened, and has happened again, and happened several days ago, continuously, and then several years before that, and will continue to happen as the spinning hands of every clock and the flipping pages of every calendar mark the passage of time, except for the clocks that people have forgotten to wind and the calendars that people have forgotten to place in a highly visible area. I will love you as we find ourselves farther and farther from one another, where once we were so close that we could slip the curved straw, and the long, slender spoon, between our lips and fingers respectively. I will love you until the chances of us running into one another slip from skim to zero, and until your face is fogged by distant memory, and your memory faced by distant fog, and your fog memorized by a distant face, and your distance distanced by the memorized memory of a foggy fog. I will love you no matter where you go and who you see, no matter where you avoid and who you don’t see, and no matter who sees you avoiding where you go. I will love you no matter what happens to you, and no matter how I discover what happens to you, and no matter what happens to me as I discover this, and no matter how I am discovered after what happens to me happens to me as I am discovering this. I will love you if you don’t marry me. I will love you if you marry someone else – your co-star, perhaps, or Y., or even O., or anyone Z. through A., even R. although sadly I believe it will be quite some time before two women can be allowed to marry – and I will love you if you have a child, and I will love you if you have two children, or three children, or even more, although I personally think three is plenty, and I will love you if you never marry at all, and never have children, and spend your years wishing you had married me after all, and I must say that on late, cold nights I prefer this scenario out of all the scenarios I have mentioned. That, Beatrice, is how I will love you even as the world goes on its wicked way.

A concept...

Nesta x Eris Vanserra brotp

Just hear me out ok?! Ok. Thank you.

Understanding each other when the whole world is against them.

Eris about to throw hands but getting THAT look from Nesta and shutting his mouth.

Eris and Nesta gossiping about everyone like, “Love his jacket” - “he might be a dick but he sure has good taste”

Imagine Morrigan’s shock, imagine the inner circle’s shock. 

I’d live for the drama. Full on. 

Call me a bitch but… Feyre understanding that Nesta can make friends outside of the IC… as can Lucien.

Nesta would be his confidant and he would be hers. 

I honestly think Eris would protect Nesta from the venomous snake that is Morrigan (My hate for her is deep and don’t even bother trying to change it)

“Don’t talk to her like that. whatever problem you might have with me, DO NOT DEMEAN NESTA.”

I also think that Nesta would protect Eris from Cassian and Azriel. Like we all know mami is a fucking physco (I aspire to be like that) so she’d probably just jump in between like”Move Nesta”- “make me” while Eris is trying to subtly push her outta the way

“DON’T TOUCH ME VANSERRA,”

“yes ma’am.” 

Cassian’s jealousy

Nesta getting mad at Cassian because he belittles him at every chance he gets as does Eris and she just watches them fight.

I’m basically seeing Nesta just in the middle saying a Veronica lodge line:

“I can’t stand the male toxicity in this room.” every time they fight.

The IC might make peace with Eris because if Nesta knows the truth, what happened and why he did what he did then they might…ya never know.

Matching outfits. 

And the most important thing:

He would belong solely to her and no one else.

He’d make her laugh and she’d make him show his true self to the world.

The Queen of Death and the Lord of fire. 

Thank you for coming to my ted talk

SHADOW AND BONE ↳ 1.05: Show Me Who You Are

Let Me Go | Nessian Fic

Rating: M (tw: suicide mentions, blood/injury gore descriptions)

Summary: After a heated argument and cruel words, Nesta Archeron left the Illyrian Mountains for a mission. Upon her arrival home, Cassian smells blood and the pain of dancing with death. (Nessian angst and hurt fic. Not a death fic.)

Let me know if you want to be tagged for some of my fics or be part of my permanent tag list here!

Fic Masterlist

Keep reading

I am looking for a fanfic set during acowar where cassian and nesta are sort of together and they share a bed in his tent, I don't remember much more, but please tell me if you find anything like this.