Deep Admiration For Showing Vunerability In Such A Poetic Manner! Respect!!

Letters of Desperation - Neris

Part 1 - Nesta | Part 14 - Nesta | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 514

My darling Eris,

You being the calculated male I have known you to be, and then watching that mask slip away, fall like the crimson and amber leaves; the very lifeblood of this court has been utterly enchanting. To watch every layer chip away ever so slowly, to see the male who has been forced to hide himself away, who has donned a mask for long enough. It has been like seeing a hidden gem reveal itself, a butterfly metamorphosis in its own unique and blissful. To watch a play, to watch as everything clicked into place.

It seems fitting, after all, that the scheming Heir I fell in love with, who plotted and was so stunningly skilled in the ways of nobles, in the ways of the court, was also the one that taught me chess. 

It is a game of sacrifice, in the end. A game of planning, a game of strategy, one that works the brain so beautifully, hones it and trains it in ways I didn’t think possible. The elegant movement of the pieces across the board, their roles and functions all defined clearly. A thousand different combinations of how something could go right, a hundred different ways to win, and yet even more ways something could go wrong. A battlefield in its own right, as the board begins to litter with fallen pieces. An unpredictable and volatile game; chess. Easy enough to learn, but one begins to go mad the second she decides to conquer it. It seems fitting that the male who brought courts to their knees with a few well-placed words was also the one who was a master of chess.

He eventually became the master of my heart, commanding it as he commanded Autumn’s armies before his ascension to the throne. Vying for control, vying for power, he was every bit the Prince I had heard of, as well as the face that haunted my dreams. And yet the stories I had heard whispered of him did not seem to fit him, his demeanour, his actions. It seems that he always had a plan up his sleeve, a hundred other ways and backup plans should the slightest things go wrong. A magician.

It intrigued me just as it baffled me. A true enigma, Eris Vanserra. A slippery person; difficult to talk to and even more difficult to get a straight answer out of. A twisted male, in more ways than one. He had a way of extracting information that did not seem abrupt. Smooth and eloquent was his speech, never faltering, never missing a step, no matter how the others tried to trip him. Somehow avoiding them within an inch of your life, you also managed to craft traps of your own. You kept me up at night, your grand plans and schemes unfoiling and unraveling more perfectly and beautifully than I had imagined. 

It was his mind that enamoured me more than anything else. 

Eventually, he became a part of my soul, and now occupies it entirely. 

De tout mon coeur et plus encore,

Nesta

Part 15 - Fate

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

#52

By the graceful, gilded light of fame My heart calls your name again.

For love keeps me going And money cannot fill the void

Not as deeply

Or as fully

As your soul does.

masterlist

Missed Chances and Stolen Glances

Part 1 | Part 2 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: I’ve never been to a party in my life before, so I have no idea what they look like- I’m going off what I’ve seen in movies and read (please don’t come at me). I hope I captured Azriel's and Gwyn's first meeting in a way that feels natural but also slightly awkward. I hope I described both their insecurities but I also hope I didn't overdo it! I’ll be switching POV throughout this fic so we can see who’s simping harder (because you can't convince me that no matter what AU it is they'll be whipped for each other). I also wanted to have some domestic scenes with Gwyn at home you get a bit of context before we start the actual fuckin- I mean tutoring. *cough cough, clears throat* of course I meant tutoring.

Word Count: 2240

“See you walking ‘round like it’s a funeral

Not so serious, girl, why those feet cold?”

~ Cake By The Ocean, DNCE

Chugging a glass of a drink he didn’t bother to figure out the name of, he coughed slightly. “Damn, this shit is strong.”

“I told you,” Cassian quipped back with an air of superiority.

The music blasting over the speakers was doing nothing to ease his anxiety or the headache that was beginning to build. Indeed, today was the last day he had to find a tutor; the last day of the desperate, foolish bargain he’d made with his father.

The alcohol wasn’t helping much in that regard. He’d thought that by sneaking out, going to a high school party, and getting black-out drunk would help, but it seemed to be having the opposite effect. 

“Y’know, you’ve been weirdly quiet since yesterday,” Rhysand said, another one of his nosy friends. He’d arrived a couple of minutes ago, and had made a beeline straight for the bar where he knew Cassian and Azriel would be sitting, moping about like the losers they were. “Quiet? No, not really,” Azriel answered. “Liar,” Rhysand joked fondly. “Tell us what’s really been going on.”

“I swear to fucking God, Az, if it’s a girl-”

“It isn’t, Cassian. Now will you please shut up?” Azriel responded, irritated. “Oh look, little Azzie still has manners, even when he’s pissy,” laughed Cassian. 

“You still haven’t told us what’s bothering you, you know,” Rhysand said, bringing them back on track. “You two aren’t going to let this go unless I tell you, are you?” Azriel asked, exasperated. 

“Nope,” they responded in unison, grinning like wolves. “Fine,” he sighed. “But it’s far less funny than you would have thought.”

✦ ✦ ✦

Ten minutes later, after he’d told them the entire story, Rhys merely laughed. “You should get your head out of your ass sometimes, you know that?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Azriel asked, bristling. “I mean that if you’d actually bothered to socialise once in a while and not been cooped up at home like a chicken, you’d meet new people. There’s a girl who speaks really good Spanish, I’m sure she’d be willing to tutor you if you asked politely.”

“You can’t be serious.” 

As it turned out, Rhysand, or Rhys, as they liked to call him, was dead serious. His luck, however, seemed too good to be true: him finding a tutor on the very last day of his deal with his father? Unlikely at best, impossible at worst. But, Rhys told him, a sophomore girl who’d only recently joined, and, by his luck, happened to be Spanish, was looking to tutor students as an extra credit…something. Probably for university applications. Azriel had stopped listening halfway. He didn’t care about her sob story. All he needed was a tutor who wouldn’t bitch too much about teaching him. 

Azriel might not have been the best when it came to school and academics, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t aware of his weaknesses. Not being an A+ student was one such weakness that he’d recognised a long time ago; his patience for learning shorter than his temper. 

“And you’re sure she’ll agree to teach me?” He asked for what felt like the millionth time, still sceptical that his friends were trying to trick him. “Oh my god, yes,” Rhys sighed. “Now go talk to her, you fucking twat.”

Setting his now-empty glass down with a dull thud, he wove his way through the crowd, some of whom were dancing on the makeshift dance floor that was in fact the floor of someone’s garage. 

He only had his eyes on one person, though: this…new girl, whoever she was. He didn’t have to look for long. Copper hair glinting in the dingy lights and a pearly smile that seemed to permanently grace her face, she was easily recognisable as Gwyneth Berdara. 

She was standing at the other end of the room, chatting and giggling and doing whatever it was teenage girls did with a large group of friends. 

They didn’t seem to mind when he approached, though some gave him casual once-overs, then disregarded him entirely. “Hi,” he started lightly, tapping her on the shoulder. “I’m Azriel.” She turned, regarding him with teal eyes that reminded him of the sea, confidently took the hand he held out, and shook it. Azriel couldn’t help but stare down and admire her manicured nails. What did they do to make them look like that?

“I’m Gwyneth. You can call me Gwyn. What’s up?”

“I…actually heard from a friend that you’re Spanish?” He asked, still doubtful of Rhys and his meddling. “Yeah,” she answered with a grin. “Why?” 

“I’m actually not doing too well in my Spanish lessons right now, and I was wondering if you’d be willing to tutor me. I’d pay you and everything. Just for a short while, until I get my grades up,” he added, fumbling, when she didn’t respond and her brow furrowed. “I can tutor you,” she started slowly, drawing out each word. ““For twenty dollars a lesson. Do we have a deal?”

✦ ✦ ✦

Gwyneth Berdara had never thought that one of the most popular seniors, Azriel, of all people, would ever notice her, let alone talk to her. That being said, she hadn’t wanted him to, but…it was nice to think you were special, at least once in a while. 

Unable to resist, she’d had half an eye on him since he entered the dingy, so-called “party” with his friends, each more muscular and good-looking than the next. Everyone within a five-mile radius could sense the arrogance and testosterone oozing out from them; she was sure. 

But for him to strut up to her so casually as he did and start a conversation like it was nothing…her basically non-existent social skills could never. Indeed, she’d been dragged to this party against her will, much rather preferring to stay in the comfort of her own home. It was her friends’ doing, she grumbled to herself, nursing a glass of apple juice. Yes, that was how much of a loser she was. Fucking apple juice at a party where people were plying themselves silly with alcohol she couldn’t even begin to name. Then again, she’d always been strict with herself about not drinking until she was of age. Or anything illegal, really. 

“I’m Gwyneth. You can call me Gwyn. What’s up?” She asked in a voice that sounded fake, even to her. She was fighting to keep her heart rate even, and trying to suppress the roiling anxiety that had made a permanent home in her stomach. She had to come off as slightly approachable, goddamnit. The first couple of words he said went completely unnoticed by her, and she stood mesmerised, fascinated by the colour of his honey-hazel eyes. “…pay you and everything. Just for a short while, until I get my grades up.” Was he asking for tutoring?

“I can tutor you.” Gwyn was aware she sounded sceptical, but instantly remedied it with her next statement. “For twenty dollars a lesson. Do we have a deal?”

✦ ✦ ✦

Twenty bucks for an hour of tutoring in a subject he couldn’t give a rat’s ass about? Did she think she was the Queen of England?

“Ten,” Azriel bit out. If there was anything he’d learned from his father, it was negotiating. Brutally. “Eighteen,” she countered smoothly, clearly unphased by his unwillingness to such an incredibly high amount. They were in highschool, for fuck’s sake. She didn’t think he was going to pay her twenty dollars on a whim simply because he could afford it. “Twelve,” he replied. “I’m not going higher than that.”

Her friends watched with varying degrees of interest. Some were so intrigued by their encounter he was surprised their eyeballs hadn’t popped out of their skulls yet. Others were trying to sneak subtle glances at their conversation while pretending to be wrapped up in their own, while a few were very clearly disinterested and bored. 

“Well I’m not going lower than seventeen,” Gwyneth said. It was clear she’d done something like this before.

“Fourteen.”

“Fifteen. This is my last offer. If you want to go lower, you can find another tutor.”

“Fine,” he ground out. “Fifteen it is.” Fuck his life. And his bank account, apparently

While his father didn’t police his money, he’d let Azriel have his independent account on the condition that he’d only spend a limited amount each month. 

This…scam that he’d gotten himself into because his piss-poor lying skills had backfired terribly.

Azriel had no doubt it was about to get even worse.

✦ ✦ ✦

He must truly be desperate if he wanted Gwyn to tutor him, she thought glumly. No way in a hundred years would we willingly talk to her if he didn’t have some sort of ulterior motive. Then again, what did she have that he didn’t?

The question baffled her, and she’d worked her mind into a tangle trying to unravel it all. 

Gwyn had come home from the party slightly delirious and tipsy, never mind that she hadn’t touched the alcohol. She’d spent the subsequent week trying to understand why anyone like him would be remotely interested in her, and generally trying to keep on top of her homework. One of these days, high school was going to kill her, and she’d be glad for it. 

So many fucking essays and tests and assignments and all sorts of other bullshit she was sure she’d never need the minute she stepped out of school. It was only her second year, and she already felt like she was drowning. God, what would the next couple of years be like? And what about college?

“Gwyn!” Her mother called from downstairs, and she jumped. She’d been so caught up in her own thoughts that her voice startled Gwyn. 

Sandra Berdara was a strict woman and even stricter mother. Her expectations from Gwyn when it came to school were crystal clear from the very beginning: high grades, no picking on anyone, and certainly no drinking, smoking, or drugs. In all fairness, Gwyn thought they were fair assumptions to make. Not like she would have done lines of cocaine or beat some kid up if her mother hadn’t warned her. She had that much sense in herself, but a good amount of kids in her grade didn’t.

Not wanting her mother to charge upstairs and break down her door with a battering ram, she made her way downstairs. “What’s for dinner?” She asked.The sounds of the kitchen filled her ears as her mother bustled around, chopping vegetables and making a sauce. “Pasta,” she called over a shoulder. “Can you set the table?”

“Sure,” Gwyn replied, already reaching for the plates. “Where’s Cat?” Though Catrin was her actual name, they called her Cat at home.

While Gwyn tended to be the quiet, more reserved twin, her sister was the true life of any social gathering. Charming and vibrant, it seemed she had an aura, a sort of allure that occasionally made Gwyn jealous. She molded into any social gathering, fitting in with people like she was made to be around them. Parties, hangouts, and other events only seemed to make her come alive, and she thrived in the chaos and art that was interacting with all sorts of people.

As corny as it sounded, Gwyn wasn’t like that. She had a harder time with…everything, it seemed. Catrin had already had her first kiss, and had moved through at least two proper boyfriends from what Gwyn could recall. 

“At her boyfriend’s,” Sandra replied, a slight edge to her voice. Neither of them had properly met the guy, Gwyn only having seen him in passing. He seemed okay, but appearances could be deceiving. It was clear her mother didn’t approve, but she also didn’t want to stop her daughters from having a bit of fun outside of school. As long as they were doing fine academically, it was alright. 

To be honest, Gwyn didn’t know how Catrin found time for her…social endeavours, as her mother liked to call them. It seemed that she was on top of everything; schoolwork, the latest trends, and her social life. 

Her mother carried the pot to the table, having laid out a coaster beforehand. “I’ve tried a new recipe today, so you’ll have to tell me how it is. I didn’t taste it, since I wanted you to have the first taste.” Gwyn’s heart warmed, and she hugged her mother tightly. The comforting weight of Sandra’s hands on her back made her instantly relax, making her feel as if everything was okay, just for a little bit. As if she wasn’t swamped in schoolwork every second of her life, as if the overwhelming stress of school and picking subjects and college and whatever other nonsense simply ceased to exist. 

She gave her mum a small peck on the cheek, and sat down. Sandra ladled a portion of pasta in red sauce and prawns onto Gwyn’s plate. Reaching for the cheese, she grated some on top. It truly looked like something out of a food magazine, one of those rare features where the chef described the food in all sorts of tantalising ways. 

Taking a forkful into her mouth, Gwyn hummed in approval. “Mum, you’ve outdone yourself. Es delicioso.”

“Gracias, mija.”

Part 3

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Vibrant Velaris

AO3 | Nesta Week 2025 Masterpost |

@nestaarcheronweek

Prompt: Day Six - Birthday Girl (While Nesta doesn’t have a specified birthday in canon, that doesn’t mean we can’t celebrate our favorite character turning a year older! How do you think Nesta and the people who love her would celebrate her special day?)

A/N: I hope I’ve captured the Valkyries' banter and general interactions in a way that’s at least a little bit canon-accurate. If not, apologies! I also haven’t watched the Phantom of the Opera (even though I’d like to), so forgive any plot inaccuracies! The info is mostly from Wikipedia and fanart I’ve seen, as well as one quote from IMDb. Also: extremely slight use of drugs for recreational purposes (they get high on mirth root, which is pretty much fae weed), and general horny insanity towards the end (no actual smut, just teasing!)

Word Count: 4253

“Surprise!” Nesta blinked, bleary-eyed and still not quite within the world of the waking as Emerie’s voice floated to her, light and breezy. Sunlight filtered in through the now-open windows, and Nesta bet it was her best friend who had drawn the curtains in an attempt to rouse her.

“You couldn’t have waited a little longer, Em?” Nesta mumbled, eyes drifting closed once again. “Nope! It’s your birthday, which means it would be considered criminal if we let you sleep in late.”

“Come on,” encouraged Gwyn, who was standing on Nesta’s other side. “It’s your thirtieth birthday. You can’t tell me you’re not excited, because then you’d be lying.”

“I am excited. But we didn’t have to start this early-”

“Nonsense!” Emerie’s voice cut through Nesta’s grumbling, and she yanked the covers off. Nesta gave a small yelp as the cold air hit her bare legs. “Aren’t I the birthday girl? Don’t I decide what we do today?”

“You can and you will,” Gwyn said, nearly hauling her friend out of bed. “Once you get up, that is.”

“Cruel, evil females.” The words had no real bite to them, but Nesta let herself be dragged outof bed anyways. She rolled her eyes and began making her way to the bathroom, having figured out the hard way it was easier if her best friends got their way.

When she came out, Gwyn and Emerie were already seated by the table in her chambers. All the grander, more opulent chambers tended to have one, and the House certainly didn’t mind, not as it was currently plying the two Valkyries with pastries and sweets galore.

“What’s all this, then?” Nesta asked, glancing over at her best friends whose mouths were now stuffed with delectable pastries. “Oh, the House wanted to wish you a happy birthday,” Gwyn mumbled around a particularly delicious raspberry tart. “Mmm, these are delicious. Nesta, you have to try some.”

“Oh, trust me, I wasn’t planing to miss out on these treats.” She plopped down beside Emerie. The House had likely sensed her there, and a plate immediately appeared in front of her, along with a spoon and a glass. “Thanks, House,” Nesta said to the ceiling, beginning to pile a slice of chocolate cake and a small block of fudge onto her plate.

At her hum of approval, Emerie only grinned. “Told you. I swear, the House makes such good food.” It seemed that they’d managed to please the House immensely because it only kept serving them increasing amounts of sweet treats until they were all about to burst. Even with Nesta’s infatuation for baked goods, she could tell this was getting out of hand.

Reclining in her chair and letting out a long sigh, Gwyn closed her eyes. “Oh that was the best breakfast I’ve had in a long while.”

“Shut up,” groaned Nesta, too full herself to actually muster much of a coherent response. “You’ll only encourage the House more.”

“Ow,” came Emerie’s voice from beside Nesta’s. “Don’t make me laugh. It hurts to breathe, I swear to the Mother. It’ll be a miracle if I manage to walk at all after this.”

It seemed that Emerie’s request for a miracle did not go unanswered after all. Indeed, the three Valkyries spent the afternoon wandering around Velaris after having been flown down by Cassian, Azriel, and Mor. Rhysand was at the townhouse, accompanied by Feyre, meeting with the governors of the city about a particularly pressing matter regarding labour migration.

“I thought you didn’t want anyone ‘interrupting you’ on your birthday, Nes,” teased Cassian as he flew them down. “Yes, well, it’s not like we were planning to waste four hours climbing ten thousand steps, either,” she quipped back.

“Fair enough.” Cassian’s answering grin was sharp enough to cut.

✦ ✦ ✦

The Rainbow emerged in front of them, alight with life and colour as artists and customers alike meandered through the stalls. The theatres of Velaris stood in the distance, elegant and refined in their own way as the Sidra cut through the city’s famed district, glistening in the bright sunlight.

Window-shopping after lunch had quickly turned into actual shopping, and the females had bought their weight’s worth in jewellery, clothes, and shoes, then ordered some items to be collected at a later date. Shop until you drop had been Emerie’s answering phrase when Gwyn asked if they really needed all of this, and none had objected since then.

Now hauling at least four large bags each, they clambered their way up the crowded streets, dodging hordes of people who seemed to be enjoying the pleasant weather. Spring was beginning to properly set upon Velaris, and everyone wanted to be getting as much sunlight as possible before a bout of April showers overtook the City of Starlight once more.

“What time is the play?” Gwyn asked, trying to be discrete but failing miserably. “Four, I think,” came Emerie’s response. “Play? What play?” Nesta’s curiosity had gotten the better of her. “Oh, my bad. It’s not a play. Well, it’s this romantic opera,” came the Illyrian’s clumsy explanation.

Nesta stilled, coming to a halt in front of a stall. She didn’t care if she was blocking someone’s way. The thoughtfulness behind the gesture had tears welling up in her eyes. “That’s…you’d do that for me?”

She’d once mentioned off-handedly how much she loved dance and music, and that she’d never been to a dramaturgy, even as a human. Nesta had been too young, and her family had lost their wealth shortly afterwards. All dreams of one day visiting a production had been lost until today.

“Don’t be silly. Of course we would.” Gwyn’s light voice cut through Nesta’s inner whirl of emotions. “Now come on. I don’t want to be late.”

After managing to coax the information out of them, they let slip that they’d managed to get Azriel in on Nesta’s birthday festivities. He’d found a way to book last-minute tickets for them all. The Shadowsinger had likely had to pull a few strings, but Nesta would properly thank him later.

Making their way up to the Theatre of Margravia, one of the city’s largest, Nesta had to physically restrain herself from gasping. The opulence and grace that the theatre exuded was unlike anything she’d ever seen. Fantastical domes and spires covered the entire structure, each design decorated with enough gold for a small kingdom’s treasury.

Velaris really did like to go all out, splurging on the smallest of luxuries until Nesta was sure she couldn’t possibly see any more wealth or decoration. Oh, how wrong she was.

If the exterior had been breathtaking, the interior was nothing short of heavenly. Nesta had to crane her neck to glimpse the stained glass and intricately painted murals that covered the ceilings in the main lobby. Receptionists’ desks lined in gold and crafted of marble were artfully arranged along the far side of the wall. Neat queues had begun forming as fae waited to be let in, chattering quietly amongst themselves.

To her left, an archway stood with a sign above it: Locker Area. It was beginning to get more crowded, and the three females had to make a decision before they were trampled under the throngs of Fae now entering the main hall.

Thankfully, they managed to make it to the lockers without being jostled too badly. It was half-past three, which meant that they had plenty of time to leave their shopping, go to the bathroom, and get situated with time to spare before the play started.

Leaving their coats and everything else inside, and ensuring that her shopping and woolen overcoat was neatly locked, Nesta glanced towards Gwyn. “Do we ask them at the front desk?”

“I think so.” A slight furrow was visible on the redhead’s brow as she, too, attempted to make sense of this entire social setting. She’d be damned if she committed a single social faux-pas tonight. “The operas here are so different from choirs and singing of Sangravah.”

“That’s what I saw everyone else doing. I mean, we can always ask the receptionist.”

As the three females made their way to the front desk, each clutching a small handbag, conversation resumed in full force. “See? I told you you’d need to dress fancy today,” said Emerie as they walked. “You should start listening to me more.”

Indeed, all three females wore formal dresses, though none was traditional enough to be considered entirely formal. Nesta’s was a plain, crimson gown as if she wore blood on her body. Lady Death indeed. It complenented her complexion wonderfully, and her friends’ gowns contrasted hers. Emerie was in black; Gwyn in teal, both wearing gowns with high slits. While Emerie’s showed of her shoulders with an elegant low cut, Gwyn’s was backless, the gems on it artfully placed and glittering as it caught the light.

“Alright, alright,” came Nesta’s response. “Let’s not get ourselves on a high horse over this, shall we?”

✦ ✦ ✦

“Hi. Three tickets for The Phantom of the Opera, please.” Gwyn flashed a charming, polite smile to the cashier who sat at the reception. Sporting a head of long, indigo hair and stunning silver eyes, she had a slight frown on her face. She seemed to be busy, making notes and writing things in the margins of her ledger. 

“Certainly. Give me one moment, please.” Her voice was smooth, practiced. As she took the tickets from Gwyn’s awaiting hand and crossed off what Nesta assumed to be their names on a checklist, she gave them a tight smile. “Hall three. Straight down and second door to your left. Enjoy the show.”

Thanking the receptionist, they began making their way to the hall, and Nesta’s breath left her lungs in a gasp as she saw the true resplendence that the Theatre of Margravia had to offer its guests.

Seats made of the plushest velvet were placed in a semicircle all around the hall; soft to the touch and rising in height to create a sort of indoor amphitheatre with clear views of the stage no matter where she looked from. Chandeliers hung from the domed ceiling, shimmering with iridescence as the daylight struck them from different angles; entering through the elevated windows.

Balconies rose on either side with cutouts that allowed unimpeded views for the members of the audience. Sconces were place periodically along the walls, bathing the entire chamber in a warm, mellow, and almost regal light.

Finally, Nesta’s attention was dragged to the stage itself. A crimson curtain was drawn over the stage, leaving little of the oak paneling visible to the audience, but Nesta had no doubt it was just as, if not more magnificent than any other feature of the theatre.

“Oh my gods,” Emerie breathed beside, clearly as awestruck as Nesta herself. “It’s so…” She trailed off, and Nesta couldn’t agree more. The theatre had left all of them speechless, all playful banter whooshing out of their skulls as a newfound admiration for the stunning architecture overtook them.

Neither of her friends had ever had the chance to visit something so majestic, that she was sure of. Illyrians didn’t exactly value the richness and culture that Velaris had to offer, and Sangravah had its own traditions and rituals unique to the temple.

Needless to say, it was an experience in itself, and Nesta wasn’t going to waste a single moment of it.

✦ ✦ ✦

The music filled Nesta’s blood, imbuing her veins with exhiliration and making its way to her heart, giving it life. It made her feel…Nesta wasn’t even sure what she was feeling, only that she was, and it was wonderful.

She hadn’t realised she’d been crying until her vision went blurry and she could no longer see the singers on stage. Their outlines softened, and she felt a drop of something warm land on her cheek. The last time she’d been this emotional over a piece of music had been at the Solstice Party in the Hewn City years ago, and even that had been short-lived as she was forced to uphold the role of cruel, calm courtesan attempting to seduce a shrewd Eris Vanserra.

Nesta hadn’t realised how much of the world she was missing out on because she’d been healing. It brought a certain air of melancholy to her, despite being surrounded by music and art and her best friends. She made a mental note to herself to come to the opera more often.

The male on stage, a musical genius and the phantom haunting an opera, sang about his love for the singer who was employed there. His fierce passion for her, her adoration for him as he made her his apprentice…Nesta was in a world of bliss.

Their voices were more than apt for these roles, she thought. They complemented each other, and formed a glorious harmony when they sang together. The notes flowed around them and over them, arcing and circling throughout the hall until they crafted an arrow aimed straight at Nesta’s heart. It’s aim landed true, and Nesta could only stare, transfixed, as their voices raised gradually in pitch. 

Sweeping arpeggios and increasingly dramatic chord progressions had her gasping in amazement. Never had she heard something that sounded so chaotic in its glory, something so wonderful it had her heart nearly leaping out of her chest in an attempt to get closer to the music. Indeed, she found feelt her own pulse quickening in time to the escalating tempo, the thud-thud-thud of her heart becoming louder and louder until it filled her eardrums.

Suddenly, applause erupted all around them, and Nesta stood, still in trance, to applaud the performers. They deserve more than flimsy cheering and whistling as if we’re some hooligans, she thought to herself, but only clapped harder. She was still at a loss for words, and didn’t quite know how to show her appreciation for them.

“That was incredible.” Gwyn’s sigh to her left had Nesta’s mind reeling back to her friends. She could only nod dumbly as Emerie and Gwyn, who seemed to have recovered much better than she had, discussed the show.

“-And the way he said his lines-”

“They expect us to be normal after she sang ‘God, give me courage to show you you are not alone’? What the hell?”

“I swear to the Mother, his mask-”

“Did you know, I would have ripped the thing off his face with my teeth if he would have let me, and then fucked him in that suit.”

Nesta hadn’t quite managed to come down from the high, the exhilaration that the theatre pieces had brought her. In fact, it was all she thought about on the way to retrieve their jackets until Emerie’s hand on her shoulder had her jolting.

“Are you alright? You’ve been very quiet since the play finished.”

“I’m fine,” she responded quietly. “I’m just…processing, is all.” Gwyn laughed. “I can imagine. I’ve seen a similar production at the temple once before when I was younger, but the actors were so good I was on the edge of my seat the entire time. I knew what was going to happen, I knew about the Phantom and Christine and yet it felt like I didn’t. It felt like I was experiencing everything all over again. I can only imagine how amazed you must be.”

“Well, that’s enough sappy business for one evening,” came Emerie’s reply. “What’re we doing for dinner?”

“We were having a moment, you know,” Gwyn grumbled, reaching into her purse to fish out the key to her locker. “You didn’t have to ruin it.”

“I’m being practical, Gwynnie dearest. We won’t be able to discuss whatever it is you Priestesses do without something to fill our bellies, now will we?”

Their banter continued as they stepped out into the now cooler spring air. Nesta sorely regretted buying so much, because she could barely carry the bags anymore. Her arms had cramped up, and she’d be thankful if she had any ability in her upper limbs tomorrow. 

“I think it’s better if we go up the House and have dinner there, no?” She asked her friends. “We’ve been dragging these bags around with us the entire day like pirates with our loot.”

Emerie snorted. “True, that.”

“Besides,” the redhead chimed in. “If no one else is already there, then we’ll stay the night.” It wasn’t rare for the other two to spend a night at the House of Wind, seeing as it was safe and secluded enough from the city that no one would bother them. It wasn’t like they needed to go into the city in the early hours of morning or some godsforsaken time at night anyways, so the steps didn’t bother any of them, at least not as much as they used to.

Emerie’s initial trepidation at being trapped in the House had thawed, though it had taken her a while to become fully comfortable with the place the way Nesta and Gwyn were. 

“Rhys is away, I think, and Cass and Az might be in Illyria tonight. We should be fine.”

“What about Mor?” Nesta couldn’t help the wolfish grin that overtook her face at Emerie’s question. “What about her?”

“Not-not like that!” She hissed, smacking Nesta lightly on the arm as Gwyn burst out laughing. “Oh yes like that.”

“I don’t like her that way!” She said indignantly, now visibly blushing. “It’s so cute how you get flustered,” Nesta replied coolly. “One would assume you only get this hot and bothered because you fancy her.”

“I hate both of you. Did we really have to discuss this in public?”

“Yes,” Gwyn wheezed, shopping bags forgotten as she clutched at her stomach. “Our goal for delivering maximum embarrassment has been met.” She fist-bumped Nesta, who was still smirking. Emerie’s glare only deepened, and she rolled her eyes. “Why must you terrorise me so?”

✦ ✦ ✦

“Thank the Gods we managed to make it up here in one piece,” Gwyn huffed, wiping sweat from her now-damp brow.

Nesta only grunted like a heathen, not even bothering to grace her friend with a response. 

Currently, all three of them were sprawled out on the living room sofa, panting lightly in an effort to catch their breaths.

They’d made it halfway up the steps with their fuckton of shopping, as Nesta had called it, before Gwyn had the enlightening idea to simply ask the House for help. “House?” She’d called out in her sweetest voice. “Can we have a ramp or something to help get all this stuff upstairs?”

Immediately, it had summoned a platform lift of sorts, and had waited patiently as they loaded everything into it. That seemed to be where it’s tolerance ended, however, because as soon as they’d gotten situated, the lift had darted up with no warning nor preamble.

They stumbled out of the thing like drunkards, each clutching their stomachs and sporting a complexion that was such a delightful shade of green it would have given the swamps in the Spring Court a run for their money.

The nausea had yet to abate, hence, their intoxicated-like stupor and unwillingness to converse normally.

Simply collapsing on the couch had done at least some good for them, it seemed. They were all feeling much less like half-dead fish and much more like functioning people around half an hour later, and were at least speaking to each other.

It was then the debates for dinner had started.

“Okay, okay. What about…” Gwyn screwed her face up in her concentration as she tried to come up with an idea that all three of them would like. “What about lasagna?”

Nesta made a face. “I like lasagna, but I want something more…” She trailed off, not quite sure to how finish that sentence. “Nesta,” Emerie grumbled. “Just pick something or we’ll be forced to choose for you.”

“You wouldn’t,” she shot back. “I’m the birthday girl.”

“I would. Especially if you take this long to pick dinner, for Cauldron’s sakes. You must rival even me for sheer indecisiveness.” The Illyrian’s patience was wearing out, and they were all getting increasingly hungry.

“Fine. How about shawarma? Or kebab?”

“I can’t handle the spice, remember?” Gwyn objected immediately. “The House says it makes the food less spicy, but I don’t trust it.” She frowned up at the ceiling, eyes narrowing as if trying to get the House to confess.

“Oh my Gods. We’re having fajitas and it’s final.” It was the one Illyrian dish Emerie knew Nesta had fallen in love with. The first few times when Nesta had visited her shop, she’d decided to make fajitas as a treat. Meat in such large amounts was rare, but the vegetables had been no problem since Emerie grew her own. They’d made do, and Nesta had adored the recipe despite its simplicity.

“Ooo, yes, that sounds lovely. These won’t be too spicy for you, will they, Gwyn?” Nesta teased.

“Oh, shut up,” she grumbled.

By the time their argument finally died down, the House had finished summoning plates, cutlery, and a large saucepan of fajitas, as well as a large chocolate cake which Nesta was sure would give them a heart attack if they ate more than two bites of. A plethora of sauces along with still-warm tortillas had also appeared, meaning the House had them freshly made.

For the first five minutes, only the sounds of munching filled the room. They were all famished, and no one wanted to waste time on something as frivolous as talking. As their bellies began to fill, though, conversation slowly began trickling back. “Mmm, this is delicious,” were Gwyn’s first words as she spoke around a mouthful of chicken, peppers, and tortillas. “You outdid yourself this time, House.”

It merely flapped the curtains once in response, as if to say, You’re welcome. 

General topics of Valkyrie training, the newest stores in the city, good restaurants, and the like drifted around, punctuated by the occasional teasing jab or giggle.

The sun had begun setting over the horizon, casting a soft, golden glow throughout the open chamber, but no one paid any heed to it. Currently, they were all scarfing down more chocolate cake than what a normal person would deem healthy, but…it was Nesta’s birthday, which meant that she could eat whatever she wanted. By extension, the same rule applied to Gwyn and Emerie, and none cared about the stomachache they were likely to be hit with later that same night. Right now, Nesta’s story was far more interesting, with her friends hanging onto every word like entranced children.

“-And then he called me a witch in front of everyone.”

“What? Just for using the weapons while you were on your cycle? What a bastard.”

“Please tell me you didn’t let the prick get off that easily, Nesta,” said Gwyn, glowering. “Oh no,” she responded, grinning. “Most certainly not. “I went up and brushed a finger along every single one of his weapons, you know the ones on the racks? And then I looked at him sweetly and told him that he had to bury all the daggers now, because I’d cursed them.”

That sent Emerie howling with laughter, and she collapsed on the couch, wheezing. Despite herself, Gwyn cracked a smile, which dissolved into a cackle almost immediately as Emerie trembled.

“No way.” Gwyn was still in disbelief. “I’m not joking about this one,” said Nesta. “I’m dead serious.”

✦ ✦ ✦

Nesta’s mind was blissfully hazy, and she had the stupidest grin plastered on her face as Gwyn rambled on about…something. She’d long since lost track of what anyone was saying. She heard Emerie’s voice join the conversation, but didn’t have the energy to pay attention.

The scent of lavender and vanilla permeated the air, as well as the distinct smell of smoke.

Ridiculously high on mirth root and lounging in a large bathtub with expensive soaps and oils, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d indulged in something like this. The joint they’d shared was currently in Gwyn’s hands, and she let out a puff, eyelids drooping shut.

“Nesta,” Emerie called, drawing her name out. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re fucking hot?”

She couldn’t help as a snicker left her lips. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back on the edge of the bathtub.

Inhibitions were nearly non-existent at this point, seeing as they’d been in here for well over an hour. The House, Cauldron bless it, had kept the water warm this entire time, almost as if it, too, was enjoying watching the three naked females’ antics.

“Thanks, babe.”

“No, like, I’m serious. Like you’re ass is so fine in those training leathers, did you know? I honestly don’t know how Cassian hasn’t fucked you yet.”

“You can’t be talking about Nesta’s ass when you were practically flashing half the city in that gorgeous dress of yours. Oh my Gods, your tits, Em.” Gwyn groaned. “I’d lick them if you let me.” With that, she passed the pipe to Emerie.

Their conversation only became more depraved after that. Comments about certain body parts quickly devolved into detail descriptions and explanations about how they’d fuck each other. At some point, the House had materalised bottles of some of the strongest liquor. Despite their best judgement, they gave in letting the sentient structure pamper them for this one night.

It was, after all, their best friend’s birthday.

A/N: The “Theatre of Margravia” I mentioned here is actually based on the Bavarian Margravial Opera House in Southern Germany. I thought the name sounded pretty and I encourage you to search up pictures! We also don’t know very much about Velaris’ Rainbow, and I’m never one to pass up an opportunity for worldbuilding!

#55

My heart aches so profoundly and so deeply for a love that I do not have, for a love that might not even exist.

And yet I hope. Hope for someone, anyone, to come and whisk me away from this hell we call home. Even numbing the pain has not helped, for all I have succeeded in doing is numbing my heart. Numbed and frozen and preserved the charred and broken remains of it I will be surprised if it thaws at all. For all my heart and soul have ever known is an eternal winter so frigid and cold it needs the strongest of fortresses to keep the cold out. 

But now I fear that I have blocked too much out. People, places, things, feelings. And I do not know how to open the castle I sealed so meticulously. The castle that was once glimmering with hope and love and joy, has been reduced to nothing but ashes and dust, and the sad, sorry remains of my broken and breaking heart. 

I do not know when I shall recover, if ever at all. 

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#121 - Letter #2

My Dearest [name],

I cannot believe that we have nearly known each other for a year, and yet it feels like so much longer. They say we no longer have the ability to accurately perceive time once we find those we love. Perhaps I, too, am guilty of this, though I do not regret it at all. If anything, I have learned how to be eternally grateful.

We have known each other for just short of a year, and yet so much has changed. 

You appeared in my life like an angel of some sort, perhaps a saviour, and I felt compelled to know you. Not simply know you, but befriend and grasp your very essence; know all those lovely details like the tiles of an ever-growing mosaic that make you who you are. What brings you joy, what makes you contemplate. But most importantly, what draws that radiant smile of yours out; and that laughter. I hear echoes of it when I am lonely, I am reminded that no matter where I am, your presence will hover over me; a thing of calm, lovely beauty. It rings in my ears as the clear chime of a cathedral, signalling that a new era in my life has begun.

You floated in like a dove, elegant in a way that set my heart ablaze.

Even if we lived in a hundred separate lifetimes, I would choose you, over and over again until fate tried to pull us apart. But I would have fought for you like no other. I would have waged war so that every other hero in history would have been put to shame; Achilles and Patrocles would stand no chance, Romeo and Juliet would turn away in embarrassment. 

And though this letter is a feeble attempt at poetry (and forgive me for this), know that there is no real way for me to convey my adoration of you. Gifts will do you no courtesy, so these words will have to do. 

I hope that the threads of our friendship never fray.

Fondly, your admirer. Keep burning, my eternal flame.

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Letters of Desperation - Neris

Part 1 - Nesta | Part 12 - Nesta | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 586

My darling Eris,

How I yearn for you to fill me with liquid amber, weave my soul with threads spun of gold, until the darkness which has dictated me is forever banished. Pour yourself into me, and I shall drink it up like the plants swallow the sunlight. Hungrily, desperately, and with no regret nor remorse. Perhaps you can fill the parts of me that are lacking and make me whole again. Maybe you can sew together the parts which have been torn and ripped into shreds I am not sure how much is left anymore. If it is possible for you to fix it, fix me, Eris, then I beg of you, do it.

I yearn and long so painfully, not only for your love, but for you. For your presence. 

If there were a way to etch your name onto my soul, my heart, my very being, I would. If there were a way to meld your entire self, I would. But alas, this world despises lovers, and only wishes for them to be kept apart for their cruel entertainment. 

They drive us to the breaking point, until we are not sure if we are broken or have broken others. Perhaps both. But the lines have long since gone blurry, as has my vision when it fills with a pool of tears. Tears of longing, tears of desperation, tears of yearning. For what, I do not know. A life which has not been dictated by others, or perhaps a family who has truly loved me. 

My birth family has long since stopped being my own; perhaps the day I was locked up like a rabid beast who bit when cornered, or perhaps the day they dismissed me and my experiences as nothing but the scum on the bottom of their shoes.

But I have a new family now; one which rules Autumn and all that decays. I am eternally grateful to have you all. Brothers, who jest and joke now that the ever-looming presence of your father’s shadow has long since departed (how utterly unfortunate, that he had to have passed from a disease). A mother who is nothing like my own; who radiates warmth and a quiet strength I sometimes envy. A support I did not know I needed until I had collapsed into your waiting arms. Not a maiden to rescue, but merely someone who needed a partner to lean on, people she could trust.

And I will be eternally grateful to have found that in you, Eris. Your heart of gold, your mind as nimble as the flickering flame of passion, you have been my friend first, my lover next. Perhaps that was all I needed. Someone who would listen, without judgement or remorse, who would not condemn me as cruelly as fate had. For it seemed to hate me the moment I was born, cursing me as it blessed my sisters. And yet I found a lover. One who would help me shoulder those burdens, as it became startlingly clear that I had been carrying them for far too long. I am glad I have found that in you, no matter that we were forced to wed under less-than-convenient circumstances.

Despite that, I want you to know, that simply because our first marriage was not true in the sense of a union born of love, my admiration for you, and my dedication to be the best wife I can be stands true.

De tout mon coeur et plus encore,

Nesta

Part 13 - Eris

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Nesta Week 2025 Masterpost

AO3

Total Word Count: 13,291

1. Day One: Bonds ♕ Nesta has forged many bonds during the series, from the Valkyries, to Elain and Feyre, to even a brotp with Azriel. What do you think of the bonds she's formed with her family and friends?

A Waltz With Magic: We know quite a bit about Nesta’s relationships with others, but what about her relationship with her magic?

2. Day Two: Mask ♕ Nesta wielded the mask in ACOSF, but she's also an expert in hiding her true thoughts and feelings. What does Nesta wearing a mask mean to you?

A Lesson in Façades: Nesta has been forced to wear many masks during her journey. But what about her love for books?

3. Day Three: True North ♕ The eight-pointed star has many meanings in Nesta’s journey, but the path is far from over. Where do you think her star is pointing?

Romance, Requests, and Redirection: Nesta’s compass has pointed first to the Cauldron and then to the Night Court. Will the next step in her journey be the Autumn Court?

4. Day Four: Lover ♕ Nesta has had many opportunities for love across Prythain — who do you ship her with? Cassian? Emerie? Eris? Gwyn? Azriel? Cresseida? Any and all ships are welcome!

Crimson: Eris and Nesta's potential for a romantic relationship has interested me for such a long time. Aside from the obvious fire symbolism, their childhoods, traumas, desires, and the things they enjoy are similar in so many ways.

5. Day Five: Mother ♕ Not only does Nesta have a bond with the Mother, but she's also mommy Mother. How do you see this word applying to her?

Sleepy Affection: Nesta has been a mother to many, but how do Eris’ smokehounds see their mother?

6. Day Six: Birthday Girl ♕ While Nesta doesn’t have a specified birthday in canon, that doesn’t mean we can’t celebrate our favorite character turning a year older! How do you think Nesta and the people who love her would celebrate her special day?

Vibrant Velaris: What do the Valkyries have planned for their best friend on her special day?

7. Day Seven: Free Day ♕ Any topic of your choosing!

Karaoke Night: What happens when our two favourite, most badass females from different universes cross paths with each other in a modern world?

Thank you so much to @nestaarcheronweek for hosting Nesta Week 2025! The prompts were so much fun to work with and I had a great time!

Line dividers credit goes to @sweetmelodygraphics

#74

You’re worth more than a million stars,

And the heavens couldn’t compare,

To the light you cast upon my soul,

Illuminating it after centuries spent in darkness.

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#125

A/N: Inspired by this Tumblr post

“But nothing makes a room feel emptier than wanting someone in it.” Ah, but then it is not empty, is it? It is merely full of want, of ache, of longing, of desire, so much so that it suffocates everything else; sucking the air out of it until nothing but the cloying scent of a forbidden love is left, and the haunting, eerie presence of something that almost was, but never became.

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Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings