Look Guys I Wrote A Whole Story In My Head This Morning About Nesta Leaving Velaris And Marrying Someone

guys GUYS GUYS THIS VIDEO OF THIS PERSON WHO IS RECORDING THE ACOSF AUDIOBOOK .... NESTA AND ERIS TF

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Part Time Soulmate, Full Time Problem

Summary: Nesta has been chosen as a sacrifice from her village- to appease the monsters, she's ordered to die.

But what's monster and what's merely humanity are two wholly different things. And on Calanamai, Nesta will learn which is which.

OR WHATEVER THIS IS MONSTER NESSIAN OKAY?

[note: based on this prompt: Calanmai for the fae is a time for celebrating their magic and fucking like rabbits, but to the humans it's time to pick their sacrifice to the demons of the woods to ensure their people and lands prosper and remain safe for a year. Every year the town picks a name of a human female to dress up like a virginal sacrifice in white, bound and gagged, and left at the border of the forest for the demons to take. Girls growing up are told to be kind and pure or else they could be chosen next. This year the name chosen is Nesta Archeron. That night a group of burley and aggressive men show up and force Nesta to comply or she could see her younger sisters taken in her stead. She willing dawns the gown and walks to the edge of the forest. When the men start to gets handsy while they try to tie her up the demons show up early and decide to make a meal of the human filth before taking the tantalizing and feisty human.]

Warning: dubious consent, inappropriate use of tails, human men | 6k words | NSFW | read on ao3

“Don’t tell Elain.”

Nesta didn’t know why it was so important Elain was left out of what was happening. It wasn’t like Elain would try and stop things, nor would Nesta risk her engagement to Graysen by telling the truth. 

Even it was Elain’s fiancé who’d sanctioned the entire thing to begin with. Feyre, though, the little snoop, had been listening to the entire thing. Hidden in a nearby tree, Feyre had heard the Senior Nolan approach her. 

“Every decade, a maiden is chosen as sacrifice,” he’d begun while his rat faced son had grinned down at her. No doubt, this was their way of absolving themselves of all responsibility to Elain’s family. They’d get the beautiful, submissive one and be rid of obstinate, difficult Nesta.

Still, her heart had raced as they’d continued. “This year, you’ve been chosen, Nesta Archeron. Are you virginal—”

She’d kill them, one day, for forcing her to admit she was. For the way they’d looked her body up and down despite the younger Nolan being pledged to her little sister. She was nothing more than a piece of meat to them, an object to tease and torment and yes, even fuck if they so wanted. She’d been afraid, for a moment, they might drag her behind those terrifying walls where no one would be able to help her.

Instead, Nesta had submitted to their demands. She’d go when the drumming began or they’d drag her and chain her to a tree. If she didn’t, Elain or Feyre—or maybe both—would be sent in her stead. It had been implied that her sisters might meet the same terrible fate as her father. Nesta had swallowed the urge to scream and merely agreed without a smile.

Fuck them. 

Fuck them. 

“You’re not really going to allow this, are you?” Feyre demanded, hands on her hips the moment those men had vanished from sight. “Run away.”

“And let them drag Elain off instead?” Nesta had snapped. She could picture it. Elain, pleading with her betrothed, making him promises he would force her to honor once she was found safe in the morning. And to appease monsters who had long vanished from the world, Graysen would defile her.

And then he’d probably kill her.

Just like they’d done to their father. Nesta wasn’t stupid. Nolan wanted Elain, and the only thing keeping him from getting her had been the Archeron Patriarch. He was a miserable, ugly bastard in every other regard, but when it came to his favorite, he’d protected her as best he could. 

And they’d killed him for it. Nesta knew Elain dragged flowers out, mourning and believing it had been monsters who’d killed him. Wholly unaware the monsters were nothing but trees, and it was the men in the village she ought to be afraid of. 

“Don’t tell Elain.”

Feyre had sworn not to, though in exchange, Feyre wanted to walk Nesta in. Nesta still thought Feyre believed she could escape out to sea. She didn’t understand what Nesta did the moment she heard the distant drumming. This wasn’t about monsters and it never had been. It wasn’t about appeasing them, nor was it about order. It was merely about fear. Every decade, a young woman was chosen from a council of wrinkly, stupid, small dicked men who decided which woman was too frigid to ever fuck them and punished her—and every other woman in the village—by forcing her into the woods where they hunted her for sport.

And it worked. How many girls Nesta’s age had given themselves up when they didn’t want to simply so they’d never be chosen? Nesta refused. She’d refused both Tomas and his filthy, disgusting father and if she had to guess, the senior Mandray was on that council of assholes. 

Feyre’s tryst with Isaac Hale was too well known, and Elain too heavily coveted to be made an example of. That left only Nesta, who had too vocally opposed the match once their father died.

She regretted leaving Elain behind. She wanted to tell her cowering sister not to marry Graysen. To do so was to betray that Nesta knew she wasn’t coming back. They’d lied, told Elain they merely wanted to see what the drumming was about. Elain would never follow. 

It gave Nesta a small amount of comfort knowing that Elain would leave her flowers, too. That no matter how the village tried to erase her, Elain would keep her memory alive. The comfort was, however, small, the moment they stepped into the unseasonable warmth. Feyre drew her cloak tight around her, glancing at the bright red clasped around Nesta’s throat.

Why bother making herself hard to find? Better to just get it over with. All Nesta hoped for was whoever came for her, they made it quick and she was able to die on her feet rather than her knees. 

Beside her, Feyre’s fingers brushed the back of her hand. It was better that Feyre came—she knew not to reach for Nesta, to try and hold her or offer comfort. The closest they’d ever get to acknowledging how awful things were was that small gesture. 

I’m with you, those fingers seemed to say. Nesta balled her hands to fists, marching toward the swaying trees. 

Nesta, Nesta, Nesta, they seemed to whisper. Mocking her, just like those distant drums. Who was banging them, she wondered? Was it all part of the ruse? Or a real festival the men in her village took advantage of? Nesta’s heart hammered in time, thudding so loudly she couldn’t hear the rustling wind or her own heavy breathing. The Nolans were waiting at the edge of the trees. And like she’d suspected, the Mandrays were there too, along with the Winchesters, the Bogdens, and the Pattersons.

“You were supposed to come alone,” Nolan said, eyeing Feyre with distaste.

“I’ve come to see her in,” Feyre replied, jutting her chin defiantly. “And make sure everything is done according to protocol.”

Nesta’s throat constricted at Feyre’s bold words. Tomas lunged, grabbing Nesta’s shoulder before she could twist away. Feyre tried to pull her back but Tomas was stronger, pinning Nesta’s back to his chest.

“Or what, baby Archeron?” he asked, his breath fanning over Nesta’s neck while he laughed. “Run back home before we make a game of you, too.”

Feyre’s stamped her foot, drawing a knife she’d hidden in her boot. Graysen stepped forward, perhaps realizing how terrible it was for his future marriage if both his fiancé’s sisters died in one night.

Or, Nesta realized as he stalked closer and closer, he’d done the math and realized Feyre would tell Elain what she’d seen.

“Feyre,” Nesta choked out, struggling against Tomas’s hold. “Feyre, run.”

She could deal with this. Nesta didn’t expect Feyre to sacrifice herself for her, besides. Someone had to take care of Elain. 

Forcing herself not to cry, Nesta met Feyre’s starry-eyed stare. “Go,” she whispered. She couldn’t stand it. Let it be me, she thought wildly, trying to make Feyre understand. This is what I deserve. 

Feyre stumbled back into the treeline, gobbled up by the darkness. Even Graysen hesitated for a moment, standing still in a silvery patch of moonlight. Nesta understood what had unnerved him.

The forest had stilled. No more crickets, no wind, nothing but those ominous drums in the distance. Everyone who might have been banging them was standing in a semi-circle around her. Tomas’s grip on Nesta’s arms slackened for a moment as a long shadow blotted out the rest of the moonlight. 

“Fey?” Nesta whispered.

The creature that emerged was decidedly not Feyre. He was massive, made of golden brown muscle painted with blue and black inked whorls, all of it illuminated by blood red scales edging his skin. The creature towered over Graysen, tall enough to be a juvenile tree and twice as thick. Nesta didn’t know where to look first—at the rounded, black horns jutting from his forehead, the fangs gleaming in his mouth, the talons at his hands or the thick tail swishing with irritation behind him. 

He turned to face her, pinning her with hazel eyes more green than brown and behind those muscled shoulders— “Oh, gods,” Nolan whispered as massive, black, membranous wings unfurled. 

Where was Feyre? 

The smile he offered was anything but friendly. “Is she for me?” he rumbled. No one moved, nor did Tomas release her, though Nesta wished he would. 

The creature cocked his head. His dark, chestnut hair tickled against his shoulders while the wind blew the gentle waves against his high cheekbones and full lips. A scar streaked over his eyebrow, while another cut against his nose.

More, still decorated the muscles lining his ribs, his black inked shoulders and biceps, his pectorals. What kind of monster was this man? 

“Well?” he intoned in that deep, gravely voice of his. Unlike the high born men surrounding her, Nesta had the sense that this creature was a brute of the highest order. A warrior of his people, the sort who had battled things far worse than the men before her and survived. “Is the maiden for me?”

“And if she isn’t?” Tomas dared to ask. 

Nesta looked skyward at the full, silvery moon. Was it hysteria that made her smile? She closed her eyes as the creature said, “Then I’ll kill you for her.”

Hands shoved her at him, flinging her at his booted feet. Nesta gasped, the ground stinging her palms. 

“Take her, then,” Tomas spat. “She’s worthless to us, now.”

Clawed fingers gripped her upper arm, pulling her to her feet. She was close enough for the smell of pine trees and snow capped mountains to wash over her. 

“Did you touch her?” he asked, eyes never leaving her face. Nesta set her lips in a firm line, jutting her chin in the air just as Feyre had done earlier. She wasn’t his toy, either, and resented how much worth they ascribed to her virginity. 

“We broke the bitch in for you,” Tomas laughed, though it sounded hoarse—forced. “You’re welcome.”

The creature’s smile made her shiver. Nesta didn’t move when his tail curled around her calf, squeezing slightly. 

“Did you now?” he asked, stepping around Nesta. She skittered back, avoiding touching those massive wings of his. “I don’t recall asking you to do that.”

No one spoke. The creature paused when he reached Tomas, looking over his shoulder at Nesta. “He’s pissed himself,” he told Nesta, still smiling as if the whole thing were funny.

“Is it true he touched you?”

Nesta swallowed, nodding her head.

“And did you ask him to? No lies,” he added, as if Nesta would ever want to protect any of the men now trembling before the beast. She shook her head no. 

He ran his tongue over his sharp teeth. “Seems like it’s my lucky day,” he said, advancing on the men. “It’s been a long time since I tasted human flesh.”

Nesta didn’t move—watched as those sharp talons cut through Tomas’s throat. His screams were music to her, silenced in a gurgle of blood. All she could think about was that night in the barn, his hand on her mouth to keep her quiet, his knee between her legs. Nesta didn’t let herself consider what it said about her that she enjoyed the sight of Tomas being ripped to pieces or that she wasn’t afraid. 

Not until that winged, horned man turned to look at her, blood dripping from his teeth. He held her gaze for a heartbeat, smiling with a different, darker sort of hunger.

The kind that convinced Nesta she ought to run. 

She was looking for Feyre, though it occurred to Nesta that her sister might have seen the monster and turned around and gone home. Nesta wouldn’t have blamed her for that. Not when the distant silence set Nesta’s teeth on edge. Shouldn’t they be screaming loud enough to wake the village? 

Nesta’s legs pumped through the underbrush, dragging her closer and closer toward those loud drums. Closer to—

“Hello, Nes,” came that voice. She whirled and there he was. Blood soaked and grinning, his wings tucked tight against his back. “You got further than I thought you would. Not far enough,” he added, glancing around.

“Let me go,” she panted, resting her hands on her knees. “You got what you wanted.”

“Wrong,” he replied with easy amusement. “What I want is you. Killing them was merely a little sport.”

“A little…” Nesta couldn’t catch her breath. “A little sport.”

“I think you liked it,” he added, taking a step toward her. 

Nesta shrugged her shoulders. “You don’t know what it’s like,” she said, trying to pretend she wasn’t as afraid as she was. He was massive, was made of pure muscle, of claws and horns and fangs. 

“To be hunted?” he asked, his eyes the only light in the darkness. He was close enough she could smell him again. Shouldn’t he smell like fire and brimstone? Like sulfur and death? 

She shook her head. “To be powerless.”

Those eyes of his found hers, so reminiscent of the first grasses of spring poking through the winter frost. Nesta blinked just as he lunged just as Tomas had. One moment Nesta was on her feet, still trying to catch her breath and the next he’d jumped, beating those massive wings.

They were skyborne.

“No!” she screamed, twining her arms around his neck. He only laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that reminded her of a cat. “Put me down!”

“I think not,” he replied, taking them higher and higher, until the treetops were mere dots beneath the clouds and Nesta—Nesta couldn’t get enough air into her lungs.

“Please,” she whispered, pressing her cheek to his chest in an attempt to slow her frantic heart. “I–”

“Don’t get sweet on me now,” he said, tightening his grip. Nesta meant to snipe. To tell him to get fucked. 

“I’m going to kill you,” she whispered. Darkness was encroaching on her vision, and it was, she decided, a mercy to lose consciousness up here.

“I look forward to watching you try,” he replied, lips in her hair.

“Bastard.”

Her neck hurt. That was the first thought Nesta had when she came to. Her neck and her shoulders ached, stretched in a way that felt unnatural.

“There she is,” came his voice. Nesta opened her eyes, blinking away the remnants of oblivion to look at him.

“You’re naked,” was the only thing she could think to say. She was in a cave illuminated by torches hanging on the four walls, bathing the two of them in a warm, orangey glow.

He’d restrained her, looping her wrists together with rope he’d then suspended to a ring in the ceiling. Nesta was forced to sit on her knees, the purpose of which seemed obvious enough.

He wasn’t aroused, which was a small mercy. That didn’t make her feel much better. Not when she couldn’t keep her eyes off the log hanging between his legs. Nesta had seen penises before—she’d seen Tomas’s pathetic thing when he’d pulled it out, releasing his hold on her just long enough for her to sink her teeth in his ear and escape. There would be no escaping this. Nesta knew he was watching her examine him, practically preening if those splayed out wings were any indication. It was just…she didn’t think they were supposed to be so tapered, and definitely should be scaled…or covered in thick ridges. 

Nesta’s eyes returned to his face. “Do I please you?”

“You disgust me,” she returned, breathless and scared. “Untie me right this instant.”

“How will you pretend you hate me if I unbind your hands?” he replied, still smiling. He’d wiped away the blood and the blue paint, leaving nothing but his scarred, brown flesh and the blank inked whorls she was certain foretold her doom. 

His wings stretched end to end in the cave, taloned tips hovering over his broad shoulders. He snapped them in close and stepped closer. Behind him, Nesta could see he’d folded up her cloak and dress just beside his pants and boots. Why? If he was going to eat her, too, why bother at all? 

“Don’t toy with me,” she told him, letting her desperation color her words. “Just…just make it quickly. I swore I wasn’t going to die on my knees—”

He laughed, jolting her back. “Die? Is that what you think?”

Nesta couldn’t help but look back to his cock, unmoved and yet…he was naked. “Yes?”

He came closer and closer, until he was kneeling, too, on that soft bed of blankets. Nesta could hear the steady thrum of the drums, pounding until her blood jumped, too. “I’ve been looking for you for a long time,” he whispered, running a callused hand over her cheek. “And I’d untie you if I didn’t think you’d claw my eyes out.”

“Don’t you dare,” she hissed, for all the good it did. He was closer still, running his tongue over her collarbone.

“Make a deal with me,” he whispered. Don’t, a voice in her head whispered even as she looked down to meet his gaze. 

“What kind of deal?”

He chuckled, lips trailing toward her breasts. Fuck him, and the way her body was warming beneath his touch. It was magic—she’d swear it was. He’d woven some spell, had gotten in her head somehow.

“If I can’t make you feel pleasure with only my mouth, I’ll release you back to your little hamlet before the drums stop.”

Nesta blinked. With just his mouth? A red tinged haze had settled in her mind, clouding her judgment because she thought that was a decent idea. “And if you can?”

“Oh, Nes. I think we both know what happens then.”

She didn’t, but maybe it was better he didn’t spell it out. Besides, Nesta was known for her iron will. If he thought a couple minutes of kissing her was going to be enough to break her, he had another thing coming. 

“Fine,” she said. Given he’d already removed her clothes and tied her up, she had little room to bargain. How fun, besides, to wound the monster's pride. “Do you have a name, or shall I call you brute?”

“You can call me whatever you like,” he told her, licking her peaked nipple. Nesta swallowed—she hated it, she hated it, she hated it–-and focused her eyes on the flickering light of one of the torches. 

“But most people call me Cassian.”

“Cassian,” he repeated, catching how his breath stuttered. “That’s a rather nice name for a creature like you?”

He shrugged those inked shoulders. “And Nesta seems like the sort of name you’d give your daughter knowing she’d grow up to be a witch.”

Well. Nesta huffed and Cassian licked again, looking up at her as if to ask, did I guess right? Do people think that about you? 

She didn’t deign to answer, nor did she need to. He knew he was right, had marked her just as surely as she had the moment he’d seen her. 

“Is this your great plan?” she asked, still staring at the flame when his lips sucked around her nipple. Nesta knew how to bring herself to completion and this was not how it was done. Not that Nesta was going to tell him that. Let him waste his time—she’d be back in bed, this whole thing little more than a memory. 

“Are you always so impatient?” he murmured, his tongue lavishing praise over her sensitive skin. 

“When I’m tied to a ceiling? Strangely, yes, I do find myself impatient. Get on with it, Cassian.”

He grinned, nipping at her neglected nipple gently. “The words every male wants to hear. Get on with it, Cassian,” he mimicked, grinning as he…as he laid himself on the floor.

“What are you doing?” she breathed, squirming when those big, broad hands reached for her waist. Nesta twisted, straining her shoulders in an attempt to keep him from lowering her directly against his face. 

“Using my mouth to please you, remember?” he asked, looking up at her through dark lashes. 

“That’s not—this isn’t what I meant—Cassian, don’t—”

She hadn’t realized his tongue was forked until it slid from behind his teeth to lick her cunt. Nesta screamed, unsure if it was fear or rage or even the betrayal of her enjoyment that made her do so. Cassian didn’t stop, digging his fingers tighter into her hips to keep her still. 

“Cassian,” she panted, thinking she could convince him to stop if she just…if she just what? Begged? When his tongue was swirling over her clit the way her fingers often did, but softer and wetter than anything she could have managed herself? “Cassian, stop. Let’s…lets just talk—”

He sucked her clit between his lips and Nesta bucked into him, unable to help herself. Instinct demanded she rub herself against him while the last remnants of her good sense begged her to fall limp until he grew tired and just killed her.

That was the crux of it for Nesta. She didn’t truly believe he wasn’t going to kill her, that this wasn’t some game in which he wound her up, took everything he could get, and then bathed in her blood, too. 

Twisting against her restraints, Nesta could go nowhere and do nothing but submit. There would be no pretending, of that Nesta knew for certain. His mouth was too precise, messy in a way she thought she should have hated and yet secretly she relished it. She liked the smacking noises of his lips, the rumbling moans from his lips. 

And when she’d twisted, she’d seen that thing standing at attention between his legs. 

“Cassian,” she whispered. It was a test to see if she was right—that saying his name did something to him. Nesta didn’t know what, exactly, but when she said it, he bucked, fingers digging against her flesh hard enough to bruise. 

Nesta was nothing if not petty. If Cassian was going to drag every inch of pleasure out of her then she’d do just the same to him. In this battle of wills, she would be the victor. He would regret giving chase in the woods, would rue the day he’d ever chained her up. 

She’d leave him here, his own hands suspended over his head and if he begged her really pretty, maybe she wouldn’t kill him—a sweet fantasy given the horned monster was currently licking at her furiously, desperately.

And his tail— “Don’t you dare,” she gasped, her words little more than a moan.

“You’ll like it,” he replied, just as desperate, just as ragged. “Trust me.”

“I don’t—”

He growled, those hazel eyes flashing. It’s not like she could tell him no. Cassian flat out refused to hear her say it. Nesta closed her eyes and took a breath, fighting the urge to scream. She was so close, and it did occur to her his tail might stall her. It was so strange, scaled and fleshy like the rest of him and yet unnatural. She couldn’t pretend he was human, not with the horns and certainly not with the wings and yet when she looked at him, sometimes he looked like a man.

His tail stroked at her inner thigh. Nesta’s head fell to her chest while she tried—and failed—to act like it didn’t feel good.

“Stop,” she tried, clenching tight when she felt the tip tease against her entrance.

Cassian merely sped his tongue, his eyes never leaving her face. Gods, Nesta was going to come all over his face, he was going to get to keep her and she’d failed and—

His tail pushed into her body, maybe an inch. Not more than two. The stretch was enough to set her over the edge. There was no denying what was happening. Even with her teeth clenched so tight she could taste blood on her tongue, Nestas legs shook around his face, clenching so tight she didn’t know if his groan was pleasure or pain. 

“That’s enough,” she whispered when he kept pushing in. Nesta hated him for the reaction he drew, for making her come a second time when he began to gently thrust in and out of her, still working her too sensitive clit with that forked tongue of his. “Cassian—”

“I’ll tell you when it’s enough,” he panted, pulling away just long enough to see his glistening lips and shining, bright eyes. And, was it her imagination, or had the drums increased their tempo? Cassian, too, was licking faster, had begun to really work her with his tail and Nesta…well, Nesta was wrecked. She pulled at her restraints, twisting her body not in an attempt to escape him, but because he needed to lay forward.

Secretly, she needed to touch him, too. 

“Cassian, please,” she whispered, ignoring the string of words grunted from his throat in a language so old, she had no idea what he was saying. Uxor mea, or something close to it. Nesta, who’d been given a thorough education by their mother before she passed, had no idea what he was trying to say. 

“Please, please—Cassian no—!” Nesta came so hard her whole body went taut and slack all at once, jerking around him. She managed to throw herself sideways, kneeing him so hard in the face blood trickled from his already crooked nose. 

Cassian snarled, eyes flashing even as he propped himself up on his elbows. “I need a break,” she said, writhing against his tail still buried inside her. “I need to breathe.”

He looked toward the entrance of the cave, the movement so animal it set her on edge. Behind him, his wings flared before tucking tight against his body while his lip curled upward, revealing those sharp teeth. Nesta thought she heard rustling, a dress perhaps slithering over the ground, and soft footsteps walking closer, closer—and then nothing at all.

Cassian waited another heartbeat before those broad shoulders of his relaxed.

“What was that?”

“Not for us,” was all he said in response. “Have you taken a breath?”

He withdrew himself from her entirely, letting Nesta sag to the ground. Arms still held over her head, she wondered what it would take to convince him to untie her. Would he believe her if she said she wasn’t going to claw out his eyes? Not for lack of want, but simply because Nesta lacked the energy.

“What have you planned now?” she asked, delighted there was still bite to her words. Cassian was unaffected in a way no other man in her life ever had been. By now, they’d be bristling, determined to punish her for her smart mouth. Violent, even—hadn’t Tomas done that? Wasn’t that why she was chosen for the monster now rising to his feet before her? 

“I’m going to fuck you until you purr like a kitten,” he replied, flashing her a blood tinged smile. 

“Am I allowed to use my hands?” she retorted, looking up at her wrists still over her head. He hesitated, once again surprising her. The answer ought to be no. It hurt her and kept her at his feet, and that was what he wanted.

Wasn’t it? 

“Are you going to hit me?”

“I think you might like it if I was rough,” she responded silkily. And Cassian didn’t bother to hide how right she was, shuddering as his eyes rolled upward.

“Yes, I think I would,” he agreed. “I’d let you draw blood if you wanted.”

“Untie me,” she urged. Cassian hesitated even as his fingers became tipped with those sharp talons. 

“There is nowhere to run,” he said, eyeing that door again. “I’ve warded the entrance, but even if you did manage to incapacitate me and make it out, something far worse would harm you. I wouldn’t be able to help you.”

His words rang in the silence, punctuated by those pounding drums. He stood, muscled and broad—and erect, which she was trying so hard not to stare at despite being eye level with the thick appendage. 

Nesta shifted. “What is out there?”

He flashed her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We’re males, almost like the sort you’re accustomed to. But on Calanmai, we revert back to beasts. We’re driven by instinct,

Nes—and not everything out there will find you as beautiful and charming as I do.”

Nesta’s heart hammered. “Don’t lie to me.”

He strode toward her, reaching up and slashing. She collapsed to the soft bed beneath her, frantically unlooping the rope that had bound her. As she worked, Cassian crouched before her, his tail gently curling around her ankle. Just as it had done when she’d been standing outside the forest, waiting for him to exact his revenge. 

Lifting her chin with one gentle finger, Cassian said, “I would never lie to you. Ever.”

The drums drowned everything else out. “What are you going to do with me when this is all over?”

“Take you away,” he whispered, his mouth ghosting over her own. “I think you’d like it. You’d be the most terrifying thing those mountains had ever seen.”

“What about…” Nesta swallowed, because she knew what she’d have to say if he told her no. And Nesta wanted so badly to let him drag her off to the mountains, wherever they were, where she’d never have to see that miserable village ever again. “What about my sisters?”

Cassian’s eyes sparkled. “I thought you were the bravest female I’d ever seen, staring down Death the way you did. You did see him standing in front of you, did you not?”

Nesta reared back. “No. I only saw you.”

“Lucky me,” he replied with a grin. “I would have fought my brother if you’d preferred him. He has your sister—and the other one…the timid, weepy thing—”

“Elain,” Nesta said, waiting to hear Elain was still in bed, still safe.

“She is fine, as well. In the morning, I’ll take you to see them both,” he added. And, she supposed for good measure, he slashed one of those talons over his wrist, letting the blood drip toward his elbow. A promise written in blood.

“I will not harm you,” he whispered, rolling his shoulders as the drums outside increased in tempo. “I swear it.”

She thought all she had to do was shake on it. When she offered him her palm, Cassian curled those claw tipped fingers around it, slashing through her own thin, delicate skin.

Nesta hissed even as he pressed the wounds together. Warmth flooded through her bones, some magic that made Nesta feel settled.

Almost peaceful, given the circumstances. Maybe as much peace as a person could feel when they were kneeling and naked on a blanket, and their come was still shining on a monster man's lips. 

“Come here,” he whispered, tugging at her elbows. Nesta was staring at the wound, teeth gritted against the white hot pain. Blood trailed down her arm in little rivulets, staining her fair skin. And the wound itself…was knitting itself back together. There was no other word for what was happening. Like magical stitches, one moment it was an open line of blood and skin and the next it was unblemished and the pain was gone.

Nesta held it up to her face, ignoring how Cassian had manipulated their bodies so she was perched in his lap, her legs spayed around his massive, muscular thighs. She thought of Feyre, and all the times she’d come home injured from hunting in the woods and how useful this little trick might have been back when they were cutting up dresses to bandage the wounds. 

Something tugged in her chest. A muscle Nesta had never been aware of, something glimmering and golden and warm—something she would have noticed before, because that little tug filled her stomach with butterflies.

Cassian’s hand returned to her swollen clit, causing her to jump.

“It’s too much,” she whispered, realizing only right then that his massive, tapered cock was pressed against her wet cunt, glistening with his own arousal.

The sight of him so close to her was obscene. 

“You can take it,” he replied roughly, not understanding what she meant. His touch was too much, but his cock…Nesta had the sneaking suspicion it was just enough. It would hurt, and she’d beg him to keep going, to unmake her.

“What is happening?” she asked him, because surely her want, her need—hell, her agreement—was some different sort of magic.

“You are mine, and I am yours,” he replied, his voice dark. Sharp teeth grazed her neck, drawing a shiver from her naked frame. “There will be no others.”

Nesta had a million questions, all forgotten when those big hands of his, devoid of the talons from before, cupped her ass and lifted her ever so slightly. Just enough to sink down on that tapered tip.

“Relax,” he gritted out, as if it pained him to speak. Nesta looked over her shoulder at him, surprised to find those hazel eyes wide and blown out, nearly black with what she assumed was arousal. In the distance, the drums seemed fevered and frantic. 

Cassian did, too. He gave her no time to adjust to the sheer size of him, nor did she think it had occurred to him that before his tail, no one and nothing but her own fingers had ever been inside her body. A conversation for another day—though he realized it the moment he seated her fully on him and Nesta doubled over, squeezed so tight around him she didn’t think she could breathe. He was in her lungs, her throat, her—

“Breathe,” he rasped. “Fuck, Nes, I—”

“It’s fine,” she said, because it was. Gods, but it was better than fine, even with the strange pain of the stretch and the invasion, it was good. “It’s fine.”

Why was she comforting the monster? When had that happened? 

“Tight,” was all he managed to say. Cassian was unraveling with just one touch—that kind of power was bound to go to her head. “So fucking tight, Nes.”

“Move,” she whispered, writhing her hips. The position required him to do most of the work, not that she cared. He leaned back, gripping the tops of her thighs to lift her just enough—pulling out only to plunge right back in.

They both moaned loud enough for a moment, she heard nothing else. Not the frantic, uneven beating of the drums or the world around them. Just him, groaning softly with each new thrust of his cock. His tail curled over her thigh, teasing the sensitive skin like it had a mind of its own. 

Cassian licked the side of her neck, growling at the taste of salt and maybe fear. She would have given anything to have even a fraction of his senses. Nesta wanted to taste what he tasted, wanted to smell what he smelled. 

Cassian withdrew himself, snarling not at her but she thought, himself. He hadn’t thought the position through, and now he couldn’t find his own release. She grinned even as he positioned her on her hands and knees like she, too, was an animal. She certainly felt like it. 

Watching him over her shoulder, her braided hair slipping from the pins to drape over her slim shoulders, Nesta knew she was in trouble. Wrecked, even, at the sight of that winged, horned man gripping the swell of her ass. He was so handsome despite his monstrosity—he wanted to keep her? Maybe she’d let him. 

Cassian slid into her body with another snarl, not of warning, but approval. Of pleasure. Nesta pressed her cheek into the soft blanket beneath her and did as Cassian had said.

Breathe.

Relax. 

There was nothing nice or gentle about the thrusting behind her. She didn’t want it, and he didn’t offer it. Nesta suspected he couldn’t. This was the quietest he’d been and she had a feeling it had something to do with the discordant drums in the distance, thudding wildly in some messy culmination she was unaware of. To her, it rang through her chest into that threaded cord, demanding more. 

More, more, more. 

“Cassian,” she gasped, feeling his tail prod at her backside. He didn’t say a word, growling softly.

“Cassian, you—”

“Take it,” he ordered, spreading her cheeks apart with those big hands of his. 

“I can’t,” she said, eyes rolling upward. “It’s too much—”

“It’s enough when I say it’s enough.”

There was nothing else to convince him, not without squirming away to go where, exactly? This was where she wanted to be and Nesta couldn’t deny it. And when his tail pushed into her ass, stretching her beyond what she’d ever imagined she had capacity for, Nesta let him. 

Breathe.

Relax.

More, more, more.

It was exactly how she imagined. Pleasure edged in pain, rough and unforgiving. She could feel his tail and cock rubbing between that thin layer of skin, and once Nesta got past her discomfort, the fullness of the fucking felt good. 

She felt mindless. Cassian had said the creatures like him were guided by instinct that night, but she felt as if she were, too. All she cared about was chasing pleasure, pushing back and meeting him thrust for thrust. Her fingers curled in the blanket, digging so hard she broke one of her nails in the process.

“Cass,” she panted, her voice muffled by the fur. “Cass, I—”

She came, clenching so tight around that ridged cock and tail that Cassian snarled approvingly. Of course he’d like it. Cassian kept pumping, though his own movements, will still rough, were also out of sync. He’d lost his rhythm just like the drums.

It hadn’t occurred to her that Cassian was waiting. Holding himself back for the exact moment the drums just stopped. Nesta didn’t know, though, and was too tempted to reach for one of the wings draped over them both. Running her finger over it, she found it was soft rather than slimy or tough. 

Something yanked viciously in her chest. Nesta came, still worked up, still sensitive from the soft rub of his ridged cock and his overeager tail. Cassian did, too, pouring himself into her with a roar that shuttered the torches on the wall. Nesta could feel it dripping down her legs, could hear him panting in the dark.

His tail withdrew first, and then his cock. She expected him to get up, to leave her laying in a mess of his own making. Maybe dress himself and leave, or say something about how disgusting she was, how he’d broken her, ruined her—

“Nes,” he whispered, his eyes the only light in the dark. “Come here.” Already he was reaching for her, bringing her to his chest still half wrapped in the blanket. Maybe it was all the fucking, and the being bound…and probably the murder, too, but Nesta felt exhausted. Wrung out and barely able to keep her eyes open.

“My dress,” she whispered when he stood.

“I won’t forget,” he told her, his voice hoarse like he’d been screaming. Had he? She barely remembered.

“What’s going to happen to me?”

Cassian chuckled. “You’re my wife, now—I’ve bound us did you bite me Nesta?!”

She had. It was the last thing she remembered before the darkness took her.

Nesta woke with a start. Gone was the oppressive heat of summer, of the humidity that made her hair curl against the back of her neck and her clothes stick to her skin. A chill bit through the air, invading even the warmth of the blankets she lay beneath. Nesta sat against a mountain of pillows to survey the room. A fireplace roared while frost blotted out the sun on the large, wall to ceiling window panes. Dark wood furniture mixed with red and cream walls made Nesta feel safe—at home.

And Cassian was there, lounged naked in a chair. Those big, soft wings were draped behind him, and he’d tied half of his wavy hair off his lovely, rough face.

He grinned when he saw her. “I was starting to think you’d never wake up.”

“Where am I?” she demanded, her heart settling at the sight of him. If Cassian was here, she was safe. Nesta knew that for a fact.

“Home,” he agreed, rubbing absently at a ring of scars on his forearm. Teeth, she realized with no small amount of satisfaction. She’d forgotten she’d bitten him. “In the mountains, just like I promised.”

“And my sisters?” she added, certain he would not honor that promise.

Cassian stretched those long, powerful legs while Nesta ignored the way his cock, once stuck to his thigh, was stirring to life. He sighed.

“Elain,” he said pointedly, and she wondered if he’d forced himself to learn their names or some other  creature had forced him to, “Is by the sea.”

She’d love that, Nesta thought ruefully.

“Happy,” Cassian added, like he knew it mattered to her. “And Feyre is in a palace not far from here. We’ll see her first.”

Nesta nodded, pushing the blanket from her body. “Now?”

“Soon,” he agreed, catching her around the waist to haul her into his lap. His wings furled around them, blanketing them in soft darkness. The light from the fire glowed softly through the membranes, beckoning her to touch.

Nesta did, surprised when his cock jumped against her bare stomach. “You like that?” she questioned.

“Yes,” he agreed, sucking in a breath through his sharp teeth. “Do it again.”

“We’ll never get anything done,” she warned him, dragging her finger along the edge all the same.

Cassian only smiled.

“That's fine by me.”

Aleksander asking if Alina was sure mid-kiss was such a cute, soft, and unexpected moment for me. Of course Ben Barnes came up with it.

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.)

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“Hi, yes, I’m Lily Evans. I received a call?”

Lily unzipped her jacket and leaned against the edge of the receptionist’s desk, staring down at a dumpy old woman with big round glasses.

“Oh yes, dear, he’s right over there,” the woman said, leaning forward to continue in a whisper, “I would have him checked for a head injury if I were you…he seemed pretty confused when he walked in here. Poor thing even forgot how to use a telephone.”

Lily smiled and nodded at the woman, knowing good and well that her friend’s confusion was not caused by a concussion. She turned her head, staring a few feet down the hall at a figure slumped in a chair against the wall. She had to admit that even though it was a bit of a pain having to pick Sirius up from a muggle police station, him not being behind bars was a huge positive. She walked towards him, her footsteps echoing against the tile of the empty hallway. His head perked up and he looked at her, his wild curls covering half of his face. He stood, wrapping her in a hug.

“Lily, darling! Wonderful to see you!” He smiled his trademark smile, toothy and charismatic. A smile that had dodged many detentions, changed many grades, and fooled many girls over the years.

Lily, however, saw right through him.

“Sirius, what is going on? How did you get here? Why are you here?”

“Ah, I just figured I needed an adventure, that’s all,” Sirius shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, “Ernie from the Knight Bus and I are very well acquainted. Also have you tried this muggle drink? The secretary woman gave it to me. Honestly, the things you guys come up with-”

Lily put her hand firmly on Sirius’ shoulder, bringing his mindless rant to a halt. He always got like this when he was trying to hide something, or trying to convince his friends that he wasn’t upset. She gently took the can of Coca-Cola from his hand, setting it on the floor by her feet.

She reached up slowly, brushing away the mop of curls that covered the right half of his face. She winced as she saw his eye, dark purple and slightly swollen. Someone had punched him. Sirius avoided her gaze, opting to stare down at the toes of his boots instead. Lily had a feeling she knew who had given him the black eye, and she was livid.

They stood in silence for a few moments before Sirius reached into his pocket, pulling out a ripped piece of paper. Lily immediately recognized her handwriting. She had given Sirius her address before Christmas break after finding out that James was going to be on holiday for most of it. He had shrugged it off at the time, but she insisted that he take it in case something bad happened. However, it looked as though part of it had been torn away.

“Kreacher found it and tried tearing it to bits,” Sirius told her, rolling the paper between his fingers, “I had a right hard time getting it back from him. I couldn’t remember the rest and I didn’t know what to do when I got here, so I made a bit of a loon of myself asking people on the street until someone brought me here.”

Lily smiled, pulling her friend into another hug. She held him tighter this time, twirling his curls around her finger as he melted into her. She could tell he was exhausted. Her heart broke for him. He didn’t deserve any of this.

“Come on, it’s getting late. We’ll go back to my house and make some tea. My dad’s already made up the spare bed for you.”

Sirius pulled away, giving Lily a watery smile and running a quick hand over his eyes, wincing as he grazed his bruise. He picked up the can from beside their feet and Lily swung her arm around his shoulder, giving the woman behind the desk a quick nod as they left the building. As they stepped out into the cold winter air, Lily saw headlights coming up the street. She smiled and clutched Sirius’ arm.

“Ready to ride a Muggle bus for the first time?”

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.

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

Her me out... Tamlin and Nesta are mates

A scary though just came to me rn

What if somehow Sarah j mass decides to ruin us and kill us by making Az and nesta mates .....

I-

No

No that would never happen hopefully

My manifestations for today

Cassian and nests are mates

Az ends up with someone who deserves him

Az does not die

Tamilin is no more a sad and feeling sorry for himself kind of person but decides to change and become a better person

Freysands child is born and lives

Elain and Az are rly close friends and NOTHING more eventho I rly rly want them to be lovers

And everything is perfect

Mor is season two Cassie.

No, I will not elaborate.