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surfalldaybaby · 4 years

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”A Very Long and Comprehensive Analysis of Feyre’s Experience w/ Trauma and Abuse

- This is not a kind analysis of Nesta but please still read it if you want. It’s not in the wrong tags tho so please don’t rant about how much you love Nesta. I love that for you. Personally, I hate her. :)

Also- I use many of the quotes that @feysandlover and @dont-rattle-aelin used to prove her point that Nesta is abusive because she pulled many of the really jarring ones.

I was looking through the Rhysand tag and for some reason someone posted something comparing Nesta and Feyre in terms of their trauma, and they said that Nesta had experienced way more trauma than Feyre and I-

That’s disgusting.

First - don’t compare trauma

Second- they were wrong and lacked critical thinking skills that left out Feyre’s full experience with abuse

Nesta was sexually assaulted ( which nobody talks about enough) and her family’s fortune flipped making them poor overnight. Because of this she fostered anger towards her father. I get that. I sympathize with that. She is then taken away from her life and forcefully changed into fae. I cannot imagine what that felt like for her. It must have been devastating. Her whole identity was shifted in one day and she went from hating fae to being fae. Confusing and overwhelming. She then goes into war and develops PTSD and depression from her experiences. She sees her father die and is unable to reconcile her anger and his death. It’s horrible and I cannot even begin to understand the depth of her emotions here. I have zero issue saying that about Nesta because it’s true she has gone through extaordinary trauma and I cannot imagine how she fully feels. She deals with this trauma in unhealthy ways because they only exacerbate her feelings of worthlessness. Not her fault. However, she also treats Mor and Feyre and Rhys in disrespectful ways and Cassian and her have an unhealthy dynamic where they insult each other. Her and Amren have a shaky and partner like relationship but it is by no means a sturdy one. Az and Nesta don’t seem to have a relationship at all. She has no true healthy relationship with anyone but Elain, and you could argue even that is not truly healthy.

Much of Nesta’s trauma is due to extraneous factors and a multitude or variables. It’s valid and it matters just as much as Feyres. They are both real. However the amount of traumatic experiences she has gone through does not come close to rivaling that of Feyre’s and to even try and compare them is disgusting. Trauma should never be compared but I want to show Feyre’s experience in a broader light to show her development from a scared girl to high lady

Feyre was never an active abuser in any relationship she was always the one being abused. Nesta was abused and she was also the abuser. It is important to point that out because it heavily impacts Feyre’s story.

Also, I believe the reason Feyre became so accustomed and slipped so easily into being a victim to Tamlins abuse is because Feyre was already the victim of emotional abuse from her sisters. We see this everyday, research shows that victims of abuse go back to abusive relationship and form new relationships that center around abuse because they are used to it and find it comforting. This is an extraneous point that you can agree with or can argue against it’s just a personal connection I made. However, it is very evident how Nesta and Elains treatment of Feyre affects her. She has no self confidence, she remains illiterate and with no real knowledge of polite manners ( something important in the real world, something that holds her back from being able to assimilate into the real world), her spirit is broken down at home because she knows that verbal attacks are going to come and Nesta is going to lash out and say horrible disgusting things to her if she asks her to do something or holds her accountable for her lack of work. She is constantly degraded for everything that she does and it has a pronoucned effect on her psyche throughout the trilogy and novella.

Like Nesta, Feyre also had to go through her family losing their fortune, she also had to bear the weight of her promise to her mother, she had to support her sisters financially going into the forest alone to hunt animals just as big as herself at 14. She never had money for herself because her sisters took it from her. Like they literally took all her money to buy things they did not need, leaving Feyre with basically nothing.

“I’d love a new cloak,” Elain said at last with a sigh, at the same moment Nesta rose and declared: “I need a new pair of boots.””“I kept quiet, knowing better than to get in the middle of one of their arguments, but I glanced at Nesta’s still-shiny pair by the door. Beside hers, my too-small boots were falling apart at the seams, held together only by fraying laces... I drowned them out as they began quarreling over who would get the money the hide would fetch tomorrow…”

And Nesta complains and whines and doesn’t stop gaslighting Feyre because of her lack of hard work. But, she doesn’t want to do work herself because she thinks it’s beneath her.

“I thought you were going to chop wood today. Nesta picked at her long, neat nails. “I hate chopping wood. I always get splinters. She glanced up from beneath her dark lashes. Of all of us, Nesta looked the most like our mother—especially when she wanted something. “Besides, Feyre,” she said with a pout, “you’re so much better at it! It takes you half the time it takes me. Your hands are suited for it—they’re already so rough.” My jaw clenched. “Please,” I asked, calming my breathing, knowing an argument was the last thing I needed or wanted. “Please get up at dawn to chop that wood.” I unbuttoned the top of my tunic. “Or we’ll be eating a cold breakfast.” Her brows narrowed. “I will do no such thing!”

She doesn’t care about Feyre or the fact that starving is their new reality. Poverty is what they live in. We all know if Feyre didn’t go hunting Nesta would be furious at Feyre and belittle her and make her feel small and responsible for their hunger.

“Take those disgusting clothes off.”

“Any bit of praise for anyone—me, Elain, other villagers—usually resulted in her dismissal.”

“Is there a problem, Feyre?” She flung my name like an insult, and my jaw ached from clenching it so hard.”

“You stink like a pig covered in its own filth. Can’t you at least try to pretend that you’re not an ignorant peasant?”c“Take those disgusting clothes off.”

“What do you know?” Nesta breathed. “You’re just a half-wild beast with the nerve to bark orders at all hours of the day and night. Keep it up, and someday—someday, Feyre, you’ll have no one left to remember you, or to care that you ever existed.” She stormed off, Elain darting after her, cooing her sympathy.

Then Tamlim comes and kidnaps her. More trauma. She falls in love with him, I think partly because of Stockholm Syndrome and also because he shows her a level of kindness that she was not given at home, and then he disappears so she has to go back to her life with her sisters. Her sisters have all the benefits of her being stolen away bcs Feyre was able to provide their old house and wealth back through Tamlin’s gift. Her sisters literally never did anything to provide for themselves or help their father or sister. If you really think about that situation as a whole it’s devastating. Then she goes to save Tamlin and finds that her home and her loved one was basically destroyed. She goes to save him.

While under the mountain Amarantha humiliates and tortures her for fun. She makes her run around trying to get away from a monster, her illiteracy is exploited for amusement while she is under pressure of death by fire, she is forced to kill fae in order to save her love, and she has to suffer with her injuries in a basement where everyone is rooting against her.

Then she fucking dies. And like Nesta she is forced to become fae in order to survive. Like she can’t catch a break. Her whole life has really just been horrible and so traumatic. A series of abuses.

That’s not even all! She goes home and is deeply depressed and struggling with PTSD and Tamlin, who she literally was tortured and died to save, takes advantage of her sexually because he is too scared to acknowledge that she is struggling. He uses her body for his pleasure while she throws up every night after he leaves her bedroom due to the nightmares she gets from saving hundreds of fae. She is also forced to fit into a box that she doesn’t want- wearing dresses, pretending to be happy, becoming a figurehead as Tamlins bride knowing that it means she will have to be submissive and have children. Lucien emotionally abused her and ignores her obvious depression because of his own fear of what Tamlin would say. He is a bystander. She is so broken that she stops caring about everything, even painting, the one thing she always loved. Then he traps her in his house which is traumatizing again because she was just trapped under the mountain! Even the people she loved, the people she trusted, continually can’t stop abusing her.

She finds happiness and stability later on after intensive work on herself, and months of building healthy relationships, but she is still troubled because of the guilt she feels from the townsfolks anger and their sense of righteousness for her actions even though she did the best she could in every circumstance. When she goes to try and save those townspeople it becomes clear that Nesta still hates her. She shows Feyre no kindness. The only reason she is allowed to use the house, the one that Feyre got for them, was because of Elain. Even after that Nesta insults her repeatedly for being fae. Those statments from the first book that I quoted higher up in this post are just a small part of how she speaks to Feyre in the following three books after she finds out that she is fae. Even after Feyre saves her and supports her she continues abusing and blaming Feyre. She continues to insult. degrade, shame, and humiliate her to uplift her own lack of self worth. Its a technique to stop her own insecurity and depression but it is in no way excusable. It’s no wonder Rhysand hates her. She abused his mate for years- something that he experienced under the mountain (shame, gaslighting, and humiliation). That is her life. She goes on to see her father murdered. She suffered so much in such a short amount of time is a wonder she wasn’t more broken.

Don’t come to me saying Nesta experienced more trauma to prove your point that Nesta is a good person and not responsible for her actions because she “feels to much” and is a woman that is cruel, and prideful, and unapologetic “bcs that’s who she is.” She has to be held accountable for her actions, her attitude, and her lack of words and apologies to everyone she wronged- especially her sister.

Feyre sacrifices her childhood, her body, her mental health, and her life in order to provide the stability that her sisters felt was their norm. They are inherently priviledged because of that sacrifice. They felt and still feel entitled to her money, and her loyalty, and that of her friends and mate. They survive because of Feyre. And Feyre never once called them out on their behavior, not even when they continually disrespected her after she provided them with a place to live and money to live off of. This was due to her feelings of guilt and the trauma that she had continually been victim to as a child and in Tamlins court.

Some of y’all use the excuse that they never asked Feyre to do any of that and I’m genuinely appalled that that is even a response to her genuine sacrifice. Her mother asked her to take care of them. Nobody was stepping up. Nesta was not going to go into the forest and neither was Elain, both for different but equally disappointing reasons. They both would have let the family starve. Also, Nesta and Elain were both older than her. Elain and Nesta as Feyre’s old sisters should have, and had a responsibility, to ensure that Feyre didn’t have to do what she did. Their apathy and ungrateful attitude is disgusting. Disgusting and unforgivable. Sure, Feyre may have been able to do it but she never should have had to. The three of them should have figured out a plan of equal work to give and take and survive. Y’all saying that Feyre never had to do that I- ... do you not have a family? Do you not have loved ones? You don’t have to do something to help your family, but you do it anyway because you love them and you hate to see them suffer. It’s just that usually you aren’t being exploited and taken advantage of at 14, for years on end, because the sentiment is usually reciprocated.

Perhaps if they had taken better care of their younger sister she would not have been in the woods and killed the fae. Perhaps all three of them would have bore the brunt of their fathers injury together and made a family. Perhaps if she hadn’t killed the fae in the forest when she was starving due to her sisters laziness, Elain and Nesta would never have been forced into being fae.

They neglected Feyre. They aren’t as responsible for her as their father ofc but they actively neglected her and Nesta even slut shamed her for her consensual sexual relationship with Isaac. The one thing she had that her sisters couldn’t take and Nesta called her filthy and disgusting for it.

“At least I don’t have to resort to rutting in the hay with Isaac Hale like an animal.”

Nesta remains unapologetic and to me she is not a feminist character. Sarah J Mass tried to use her as that trope to fulfill her idea of a “powerful woman” icon but she’s just a cruel and traumatized woman who people let off the hook. She gets away with it because she gaslights other characters while taking no responsibility for herself. She was abused and traumatized herself but that’s never an excuse for her in turn abusing someone else.

Now I don’t mean to say that Nesta or Elain are irredeemable. Frankly I think they both have potential to be good characters if they just apologized to Feyre in the next book, and really put those sentiments into actions. I do think Nesta is a bad person right now, I think she’s an abuser. And I think it’s hard for abusers to change their pattern of abuse. Elain is less of an outright abuser and more complicit in the abuse. I don’t know if either of them can change, but they definitely won’t if people keep letting them off the hook for their disgusting behavior. I am not impressed or charmed by either of them. Until they show a hint of gratitude and remorse to their sister because as y’all can tell she went through hell to make sure they were taken care of. Not to say that they didn’t do anything for Feyre. They both had important roles to play in the war, and they do have their moments of kindness and bravery and showed they cared for Feyre but abusers can be kind and considerate and brave one minute and then switch up just as fast. It’s about showing a consistent pattern of respect and love.

Just because Feyre took care of Elain and Nesta their whole damn life does not mean she has to be responsible for them as high lady. Also she is not responsible for knowing how to deal with their trauma. Her own abuse, and lack of real world experience- because Nesta and Elain never taught her to read, and Nesta continually degraded and made cruel remarks to Feyre about her lack of manners “ disgusting pig, take off your clothes didn’t anyone teach you ...” (manners she didn’t develop because she was in the forest)- means she is not perfect at confronting Nestas PTSD or depression. Feyre’s intention was always good, whereas you can’t tell me that Nestas was good and pure. She is not exempt from being respectful and kind because she is hurt and has mental illnesses. She is not exempt from apologizing because she “feels to much.”

This applies to all of the IC as well. They are all healing. They all experienced trauma that rivals what Feyre went through. It’s no wonder they built a family from that shared bond. They are healing together- not healed. Nesta is not entitled to Feyre’s care or her friends kindness. She is not entitled to be added into the group painting or their secret jokes or parties because she continues to push them all away. Then she insults them and disrespects them. The inner circle has already suffered so much they are not exactly going to be open to accepting Nesta knowing her history and her current actions and remarks, and the history of the IC. Do y’all not remember Mors family nailing a stake into her body for losing her virginity? Or Cassian, Az, and Rhys being forced to bond together to survive, being called bastards, and being ganged up on by all their peers? Rhys being sexually abused for 50 years and seeing his parents murdered? Az being stuck in a basement so long he became the shadows and his hands being burned so badly they were hard to look at? Or Amren being in the wrong body for centuries and still she and all of the IC remain a family because they try to understand each other and their experiences. Nesta was not only rude to them she was cruel and spiteful, especially to their high lady, and they don’t need an excuse, but especially as victims of abuse, they are not perfect, and they sure as hell are not obligated to embrace Nesta into their family. The IC and Feyre deserve better.

A lot of people have posed the argument that if Nesta was male everyone would love her but I disagree. If an older brother let his sister go hunting alone in the woods for years while sitting on his ass, slut shamed her and called her dirty and disgusting, blamed her for her family’s poverty and spoke to her like she was trash for years and years, verbally and emotionally belittled her, felt entitled to her possessions and her kindness while they were both struggling to heal from abuse, predisposes his sister to accepting abuse as a form of relationship, and then rather than apologize “steels [her] back” and says nothing-not even an apology or a thank you for saving their life tenfold- he would never even have gotten a redemption story, or a mate, let alone a 700 page book. He would be the most hated character in the series but because it’s Nesta and she’s a woman and y’all pose her as this feminist it’s okay that shes abusive all throughout the series.

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papa-rhys · 4 years

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The Morning After (Rhys X Reader)

Note: Kind of a part 2 to Shared Empires, but can also be read separately!

Warnings: none unless you count heavy smoochin as a cardinal sin

Word count: 2000 (ish)

Just gone 6 am. It’s so early you might actually cry and the constant tick tick tick of the clock in Rhys’ bedroom is slowly pushing you over the edge, seemingly just to spite you.

Rhys sleeps peacefully beside you, one arm draped over you. Soft snores leaving his lips, stirring up that god-awful moustache ruining his face. Not for the first time, you contemplate shaving it off while he sleeps. Or maybe setting it on fire? No, that’d probably hurt him. You watch him sleeping for a moment longer before the clock's tedious taunts begin grating on your nerves again.

That’s it, you think, I gotta kill it.

You sit up and gently shove the sheets off - silk, grey in colour to match the industrial metal of Rhys’ room and damn near everything else on Promethea. It’s a break from the sand and rock colours of Pandora, at least. You’ve never thought that grey could be so refreshing, but after spending a significant amount of time on a planet that literally has a place called The Dust, you’re just thankful that it’s not frigging beige.

You have to stand on an armchair to reach the clock on Rhys’ wall and once or twice you almost fall, your legs still wobbly from sleep and the celebratory bloody mary’s you and Rhys had thrown down your necks last night. Memories surface, albeit blurry ones; Rhys’ smile, his dumb jokes landing better than usual thanks to the ethanol, hands wandering under the table while Atlas soldiers booze it up on the other side of the room.

The clock tumbles off the wall when you smack it, vengefully, and Rhys pretty much leaves his body when it clatters to the floor. Bless him, but he looks like he might have just had an aneurysm. There’s a few moments of silence as he blinks away the fogginess, sitting up and looking around the room like he’s just been born.

“You okay?” you ask. He nods, slightly confused. He looks like he might be trying to remember his name. “Good,” you say, holding back a giggle.

Rhys rubs his eyes with his knuckles, digging in deep enough to spark a kaleidoscope, no doubt. He’s shirtless and his hair is a mess - his locks having dried curly and shaggy after you’d drunkenly (and totally playfully) dunked each other in the indoor fountain on the way through the lobby last night - but it suits him a lot more than his usual business getup, you think. He looks less work and more play, which is always the way to be.

“You want some coffee for that hangover, Mr CEO?” you ask, hopping down from the armchair and landing on the metal floor, barefooted.

“Coffee sounds amazing,” he replies, giving you a sleepy smile. He frowns when he spies you picking up the cracked remains of his clock from the floor. “What happened to my clock?” he asks.

“I killed it.”

“Why?”

“It was ticking,” you say simply, flashing the object a look of disgust before heading towards the buzzer on the door and nonchalantly dropping the blasted clock into the rubbish bin on your way past. You thumb the pad on the wall beside the door and speak into the comms. “Two coffees with extra cinnamon when you’re ready, Butler Bot. Throw in a little ethanol if you’re feeling generous.”

“I’ll be right with you!” the robotic voice complies, way too cheerfully for this hour of the morning.

As you pad your way back over to the bed on the balls of your feet, Rhys sits at the foot of the mattress, still wrapped up in the sheets at his waist. He waits for you to approach with his arms open and you stand between his legs, the pair of you still warm and toasty with sleep. He hugs your waist and looks up at you through eyes that at least seem a little more alert now.

“How did you end up here?” he asks as you comb his hair back from his forehead.

“You offered to pay me otherworldly amounts of money for the rest of my life,” you reply. “And as a Vault Hunter, I’m legally and morally required to do anything for money.”

“I mean here,” he clarifies, smiling. “In my bed. With one of my shirts on.”

You look up at the ceiling, pressing a finger to your chin under the pretence of searching for an answer. A hum and a shake of the head draws Rhys’ smile up even further at the corners. “Can’t think of any reason in particular,” you say. “Maybe it’s just your dashing wit.”

“And my wonderful fashion sense,” he says, straightening a little.

“The alcohol helped, too.”

Rhys pulls you in against him and you topple, the pair of you landing with a bouncy thwump on the mattress. You giggle and sigh while he places a few strategic kisses on your throat and the sweet tickling of that bloody ‘stache is the one and only thing worth keeping it around for. Lord knows the pash rash down under makes a good argument for shaving it off, though. Eugh.

Rhys rolls sideways and you land beside him with his arm draped over you once again. It seems like you’ve spent the last 48 hours doing anything but moving - the whole time, you’ve been hanging off him like the punters at the bar hang off Moxxi. He hasn’t seemed to mind so far. His eyes haven’t left you in a solid three weeks. If you didn’t find him so innocently charming, then you’d probably have shot him in the face by now, in all honesty.

“We can stay here all day if you want,” he mumbles quietly, only a hairbreadth away.

“Screw the war and let them take Promethea?” you say.

Rhys props his head up on his hand and leans over you. “Well,” he says, shrugging, “we could always save the planet tomorrow instead. I am the CEO of Atlas, you know. I can pretty much do what I want.”

“That sounds like a very shady way of looking at it.”

You smile, but it’s tinged with sadness. You both know letting Maliwan and the bloody Children of The Corn take over Promethea isn’t on the cards. Hell, it isn’t even written on the throw-aways. If this damn war weren’t raging overhead, then you and Rhys would have all the time you wanted. But alas, it is. Another villain taking up your time, another stranger who needs your help, another wrong that needs to be righted.

“I can stay until noon,” you tell him, craning your neck to deliver a swift and equally sweet kiss to his lips. “But then I have to go. You know how it is.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, tracing circles around the edge of the button on your borrowed shirt. “I know. I just hate that we can’t spend enough time together.”

You push up onto your elbows and sit up, gaining height on him (for once) and revelling in the way he looks up at you with that sparkle in his eyes. That sparkle comes when he watches you do two things; when you kill and when you boss him around. You’re beginning to think he has a little bit of a fetish for those two things and you’re not so certain which one is stranger.

With a pointed finger tip pressed to his chest, you push him down further into the mattress and swing a leg over him, straddling his waist. “Why, Mr CEO, you should know that it’s not about the amount of time spent,” you tell him, summoning the most painfully flirtatious tone that drips off your tongue with each word. You lean down and he watches you with those wide sparkling eyes, hardly believing his luck. “It’s about what you do with it,” you add.

Rhys swallows, the pounding in his chest visible. He doesn’t get a word out before you kiss him, but you doubt he’d be much more than speechless anyway. A few second of waiting for a response would have probably only earned you a little drool and a murmur that you imagine would have sounded a lot like “murrmuhnuhnuh?”

The kiss is all kinds of lovely now that last night’s booze has mostly worn off and you pray to the Maker that Butler Bot doesn’t interrupt with that coffee. In an ideal world, it would conveniently take him the next two hours to prepare those piping hot cups of bean water, but realistically you know you have a little over five minutes before he comes zooming in with a tray in hand, offering cheery commentary on your sexual performance. Robots don’t have a grasp on social etiquette.

Still, you can’t quite bring yourself to stop Rhys from flipping you over, despite the embarrassment that is surely on the way up the stairs this very moment.

Rhys breaks the kiss, hovering over you with your legs wrapped around his waist. “Is this okay?” he asks, that cute, bumbly nervousness creeping in. “This is what you want, right?”

You smile up at him, pearly whites on show. He returns the smile even though you haven’t given him an answer yet. Bless him, he really likes you.

“This is exactly what I want,” you tell him. “But if you’d be a doll and hurry up before Butler Bot barges in with those coffees, that’d be amazing.”

He leans down and gets right back to it, laying down kisses like they’re landmines in a field of Eridium clusters. There’s no way in hell that something that feels this good is legal. Or even morally sound. You’ve gotten a lot of kicks in your time but this is on another level. You're a tad bit lightheaded, only it feels good, not dangerous. The thumping in your rib cage thrums through your ears, too, and your breath comes quick and heavy. All of this feels a little bit like heaven, if you’re honest - not that you’d ever get up there after all the things you’ve done for money. Still, you can afford to enjoy this little taste of it, right?

You lose your fingers in the hair at the back of Rhys’ head and grip the slightest bit tighter when his hand squeezes your thigh. His whiskers tickle at your collar bone as he leaves his kisses across your chest. You can tell that some of them will have left hickies in their wake come tonight and you look forward to wearing them on the battlefield. There’s something deliciously petty about letting Maliwan and those COV losers know that you still have the time to get laid in between putting them under the dirt.

Rhys comes up to take a breather, his cheeks pink and breath slightly laboured. “This is more than just good fun, right?” he asks.

You tilt your head to one side, trying to pin his meaning. Watching his breaths come and go, stirring up that moustache, you speak. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you’re… you’re waaaay cooler than me and I - I just figure maybe you’re just having fun while you’re on the job and I was just hoping that maybe it’s more than just… that.” He swallows between breaths. “Is it?”

A slow smile creeps up to the corners of your eyes and you reach a hand up to smooth out his dumb frigging moustache that you’re shamefully beginning to like. In a weird, love/hate kinda way. “If I wanted fun, I definitely wouldn’t be fighting yet another corporate war on a planet in the arse end of the galaxy,” you say. “I think I could find better ways to get my kicks if that’s what I was looking for.”

“And that means…”

You cup his face with both hands. “It means I like you, you idiot,” you giggle. “For reasons that may never be known.”

Rhys grins like a Rakkshire Cat and that sparkle is back to twinkling in his eyes with a hot vengeance. He leans down and presses his lips to yours once, twice, three times. And with a soft sigh, you flop your arms onto the mattress on either side of you and let the moment take you.

#rhys strongfork #rhys the company man #tftbl #borderlands #borderlands fanfiction #my writing #writing: rhys strongfork

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illyrianbeauty · 6 years

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Veni. Natavi. Vici. Chapter 6

Feyre Archeron wanted nothing more that to leave that cauldron damned town and never look back. With graduation looming in the near future, she was desperate find a way to attend Prythian University. Even now with her older sisters out of the house, Feyre and her father barely had enough money to pay rent, let alone be able to pay for any type of tuition. Her only option, as she saw it, was to swim her way to a full ride scholarship. The only thing standing in her way of achieving that goal was the Developmental Reading class she was currently failing. When the cocky captain of the boys diving team, Rhysand, offers to help tutor her, she reluctantly accepts and ends up getting more than she bargained for.

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Chapter 6: A Thought For a Thought

Feyre stared out of the car window as she mulled over Mor’s plan. It was underhanded, devious even, and it would definitely get Ianthe off of their backs for good. If they were successful, that is. If they were caught though… if they were caught they would most likely be kicked off of the team, and as much as Feyre wanted Ianthe taken down a notch or two, that wasn’t a risk she was sure she was willing to take. Feyre leaned her head back against the headrest and squeezed her eyes shut tightly. The all too familiar feeling of dread began to overtake her senses. She absentmindedly fiddled with the charm hanging around her neck, a birthday gift from Mor last year, as she tried to control her breathing.

“What’s wrong, Feyre Darling?” Rhys asked, giving her a sidelong glance.

Without bothering to open her eyes, she huffed, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re a horrible liar. You know that, right?” he chuckled lightly.

“Prick,” she spat. It unnerved her how easily Rhys seemed to be able to read her. Not even Mor, her best friend, was able to see through the mask she so often wore. Rhys though, it seemed, had a direct line to all of her innermost thoughts. The prospect of Rhys knowing her deepest secrets simultaneously thrilled and terrified her.

“How about I tell you something I’m thinking, and then you do the same. A thought for a thought,” he offered, his words lined with equal amounts of concern and sincerity. Slowly she turned her head in his direction and gave him a long, considering look.

“Fine. Go ahead. I’m listening.” She rolled her eyes before drawling, “And it better not be anything disgusting. There are certain things I do not need to know about.”

The corners of his mouth twitched upwards as he said, “Fair enough. I’d hate to offend your delicate sensibilities.”

“Delicate sensibilities, my ass. I just don’t want to hear about you farting or anything like that. Males are disgusting creatures, after all,” Feyre smirked sassily as she twisted a strand of hair around her finger. Rhys tipped his head back and barked out a laugh. Her stomach fluttered at the sound. Heat began creeping up her neck and checks and she was unable to hold back the giggle that escaped.

“No bathroom talk. Agreed.” She raised an eyebrow expectantly at him. Like hell she was going to go first. This little game was his idea after all.

“I am thinking that I really hope you agree to our little bargain. I am thinking that I would really like to spend more time with you,” Rhys said, rather sheepishly, as he rubbed the back of his neck. Though he remained focused on the road ahead, she noticed his cheeks turning slightly pink. Cauldron, he was adorable! She bit her bottom lip as she considered his statement. What if Mor had been telling the truth? Feyre had dismissed it as nothing more than her friend’s drunken ramblings, but what if he actually liked her?

Finally coming to a decision, she said, “I’m thinking that I need to talk to Mor about a stupid plan we made. I’m thinking that I’m going to have her come pick me up after my shift. You don’t need to wait around for me at the coffee shop tonight.”

Rhys’s forehead furrowed as he said, “Alright.” A look of disappointment flashed across his features.

Hoping she wasn’t making a horrible mistake, Feyre said as casually as she could, “I’m also thinking that I am going to accept your offer. How does tomorrow night sound? I have the night off.”

Feyre watched his whole face light up as he purred, “Tomorrow night is perfect, Feyre Darling.”

She squirmed slightly in her seat at the intensity in his eyes as he grinned at her. Unable to hold his gaze any longer, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and began searching for her cell phone. It would probably be a good idea to see if Mor would be able to pick her up later anyway, she thought to herself.

Fey: Can you pick me up after my shift tonight?

Mor: Yeah, but I thought my idiot of a cousin was going to.

Fey: Please?

Mor: Of course. Anything for you, Feyfey.

Feyre snorted loudly. Feyfey? What was she? A fucking poodle?

Fey: DO NOT CALL ME THAT EVER AGAIN!!

Mor: ;) See you later Feyfey!

Groaning slightly, she tossed her phone back into her purse and said, “Mor is going to pick me up, so you can just drop me off.”

“You sure you don’t need me to stay?”

“Yes, you mother hen. I’ll be fine,” she hissed, though the corners of her mouth quirked up.

“Alright, but if Mor forgets to pick you up and you end up spending the night sleeping in a booth, you only have yourself to blame.”

She huffed, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The rest of the ride was spent in a comfortable silence, only interrupted by the pounding of her traitorous heart.

***

Feyre nibbled on her lower lip, glancing at her phone for what must have been the hundredth time. Mor was late, just as Rhys had predicted. Cursing viciously, she kicked the door frame with a ferocity that vaguely surprised her. Feyre cried out as pain radiated through her foot. Great. Now she probably had a broken toe. Icing on the fucking cake! A loose stone bit into her back as she slumped against the wall. She let loose a ragged breath and pinched the bridge of her nose, willing herself to calm down.

“Keep it together, Archeron,” she scolded. It wasn’t as if Mor had ever been known for her punctuality. Cauldron knew that she loved to make a grand entrance. Sighing heavily, Feyre scrolled through her contacts list until she found the one she needed and began texting.

Fey: Where are you??? Her phone pinged with a response almost instantaneously.

Mor: Almost there!

Her shoulders sagged slightly in relief. Cauldron boil and fry her- she could almost see the devilish smirk on Rhys’s face if she would have had to call him for a ride home. She felt that all too familiar heat creeping up her cheeks, as it usually did whenever she was thinking about him. Her head snapped up at the sound of an approaching car, interrupting her errant thoughts before they could become inappropriate. Feyre let loose a breath, one she hadn’t realized she had been holding, upon seeing it was none other than her wayward friend behind the wheel. Not that this area of town was bad per se but Feyre didn’t want to press her luck by standing outside all night long.

She flung open the car door and hissed, “Seriously? Where the hell have you been, Morrigan?”

Mor drummed her fingers on the steering wheel as she muttered, “Sorry.”

Feyre climbed into the car, collapsing into the passenger’s seat dramatically. She spun her head to face Mor, her blood still boiling and itching for a fight. The hateful words she was about to spew caught in her throat when she spotted Mor’s red rimmed eyes.

“What happened?” she asked quietly, placing a hand on her friend’s shoulder.

Mor shrugged her shoulders dismissively, though her voice quavered slightly as she said, “It’s nothing.” Feyre pursed her lips as she took in Mor’s hunched shoulders and pale expression. So, that's how she was going to be, huh? Fine, she’d just have to pull it out of her the hard way. Feyre feigned disinterest as she inspected a nail.

Glancing at Mor surreptitiously through the corners of her eyes, she said offhandedly, “Okay, whatever. I’ll just ask Rhys about it when I see him tomorrow.” She was tremendously grateful for having the foresight of putting on her seatbelt as Mor slammed on the breaks and brought the car to a screeching halt.

Mor narrowed her eyes at Feyre and glowered, “You wouldn’t dare.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she snapped, “Try me.”

“Fuck off,” Mor hissed, running a hand through her hair in agitation.

“I love you too, Morrigan. Now tell me what’s wrong,” she cajoled. Mor slumped back against the seat and began massaging her temples.

She took a steadying breath and then said, “My father called me tonight.”

Feyre’s stomach twisted painfully as she asked, “What did he say?”

Mor’s hands dropped from her face as she laughed bitterly, saying, “He wanted to know if I had started applying to colleges yet.”

“What?” she asked, feeling thoroughly confused. Mor had a rather tenuous relationship with her parents, and that was putting it politely. As far as Feyre knew, they had only spoken on the phone a handful of times and hadn’t seen each other since the day Mor left, and began living with Rhys’s family.

Mor scoffed, “Who knows. He probably wanted to make sure I wouldn’t embarrass him further and besmirch the family name by going to a state school.”

Feyre took ahold of her hand and said, “What did you say?”

She smiled wickedly and said, “I told him that I didn’t have the time nor the crayons needed to explain myself in a way he would understand, then I hung up the phone.”

Feyre snorted, “And you say I’m the dramatic one.” She gave Mor’s hand a gentle squeeze and then continued, “But seriously, are you okay?”

Mor heaved a sigh and said, “Yeah, I’m fine.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively before saying, “So, are you going to tell me why you’re seeing my cousin tomorrow?”

“I’m just helping him out with a dive,” Ferye squeaked, utterly unprepared for the drastic change in the topic of conversation.

Mor clucked her tongue and said, “Sure. So why did you want me to pick you up then? It’s not as if Rhys is busy, seeing as he’s currently reading. At home.”

Feyre squared her shoulders and said with determination, “I wanted you to pick me up because I need to know something. Were you serious? That night you said Rhys had a crush on me, I mean.”

Mor gave her a considering look before finally saying, “I think you need to talk to Rhys about that.”

“Mor, I’m asking you, my best friend. Please tell me the truth,” she implored, running a hand through her hair roughly.

Mor raised a brow and said with simple directness, “Yes, Feyre. I was telling you the truth.” She snorted before continuing, “Granted telling you while drunk wasn’t my finest moment. Rhys will kill me if he finds out, by the way. But yes, he has a crush on you. He always has.”

“Rhys likes me,” Feyre said, still not quite daring to believe it.

“Yes, my dear oblivious friend, he likes you,” she said in exasperation.

Feyre couldn’t help the smile that bloomed across her face. She paid attention to little else as Mor drove her home, other than those same three words she found herself repeating over and over. Rhys likes me. Rhys likes me. Rhys likes me.

It wasn’t until much later that evening, as she was getting ready for bed, that she realized that she had forgotten to talk to Mor about their plan for Ianthe. Shit.

***

A special thanks to @librarian-of-velaris and @lady-katkat for being beta readers. I’m so luck to have y'all as friends!!

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theillyrianhalfbreed-blog · 7 years

Text

A second chance - part 1

The hallways echoed with the laughter and chatter of students as Feyre hurried towards the lecture hall. It was her first day at the Night Court Campus of Prythian University and while everyone else in her year knew the place like the back of their hand, Feyre had already gotten lost, twice. There were seven campus’s situated around the country of Prythian, the most disreputable of which being the Night Court, she had originally been accepted into the Spring Court Campus, on the other side of the country, a year before but after a recent break up with the boyfriend she still had nightmares about she had requested a transfer.

Tamlin, her ex, had locked her up, he locked her in the house while he went to a party and both Lucien and Ianthe refused to let her out. So she had requested a transfer, and she was given the Night court as her only other option, on the far side of the country. She had been accepted due to her artistic talents, something the Night Court valued highly, apparently.

Feyre hurried towards her English class, a subject she hated but unfortunately had to take. Walking into the hall she wandered up to the back, dumping her bag and pulling out a notebook and pen, she noticed quite a few students pulling out expensive looking laptops, when she had lived with Tamlin, he refused to let her get a job, claiming he could provide for everything she needed and it would be a waste of her time, so she had very little money, most of which she had used to move here. Her sister Nesta had helped, Nesta had moved to Velaris, the city The Night Court was situated in, months ago, having hated the people at the Spring Court, but Feyre definitely could not afford a laptop, she had managed to get a job at a local cafe, but that started this afternoon and would defiantly not pay for a brand-new laptop if she wanted to keep the small amount of food that was on the table.

She was staying in the provided dorms, but was yet to meet her roommate. The name on the information sheet had read Morrigan Sidra, but she was yet to show up, Feyre had arrived in her dorm two days ago and still hadn't fully unpacked, not that there was much to unpack. She had spent the days wandering the city of Velaris, particularly the artist’s quarter, fondly named The rainbow.

A cheerful 'Hello' snapped Feyre back to the present. In front of her was a golden haired woman, with a broad smile and a sparkle in her stunningly blue eyes.

“Um, Hi.” Feyre replied, caught slightly off guard by the gorgeous woman’s arrival. The golden haired beauty just smiled wider, dropping her bag and extending her hand,

“I'm Morrigan, but you are under no obligation to ever call me that, call me Mor instead. Don’t worry about not having a computer, they’re over rated anyway, pen and paper are much more fun.”

Feyre was taken aback by the statement, processing everything until one particular detail snagged her attention, “You’re Morrigan, as in Morrigan Sidra my mysteriously absent roommate?”

Mor grinned, “Yup that’s me. You must be Feyre, Feyre Archeron. Great to meet you, I’ve been excited about having a new roommate, my roommate last year was Amren, and she is never there, I swear she turned up once, turned around and refused to step foot in the room ever again. Anyway, my cousin’s helping me move in this afternoon after classes so you won’t be lonely anymore, I haven’t seen you around, where are you from?”

Slowly warming up to Mor’s friendly personality, Feyre replied with, “I’m from the Spring Campus actually but I requested a transfer when I broke up with my boyfriend and everyone I thought was my friend decided they no longer wanted anything to do with me, other than taunt me. I got in on a scholarship for art.”

Mor grimaced, “Ouch, that’s rough. Why’d you two break up?”

Feyre should have been prepared for the question, having known it would probably come up, but she couldn’t help the panic that rose as the wave of memories came flooding back to her, the sound of glass shattering under Tamlin’s fist, the shouting over another shattered object subject to his fury. The quiet sobs in the dead of night, the pain as her heart shattered in her chest the first time he hit her, the bruises she would try so hard to cover up, the disgust crawling like bugs over her skin the first time he took without her consent. The false I love you’s whispered to a darkened room to avoid a flying fist. The locked doors and long lost friends, having to beg her estranged sisters for help, the fear of what would happen if she was refused, the tear stained letter of requesting a transfer sent in the dead of night.

Morrigan watched as Feyre drew into herself, and a pang of guilt flew briefly through her as she watched pain and fear flash in Feyre’s eyes, her eyes flicked down to the still fading bruises that encircled Feyre’s wrists. Not knowing what to say to the too-thin woman beside her Mor sat down, pulling out her books, for-going her laptop, if only to make Feyre a little more comfortable.

Desperately trying to change the subject she asked, “Do you want to sit together at lunch, my cousin would be there as well as two of his friends, they can be a bit of a handful but you have my full permission to punch them in the face if they get too annoying, my cousin included, it would be nice to have another girl around as well as Amren. I mean Amren’s alright but she’s a bit quiet, and a lot scary. She mostly just threatens Cassian and complains to Rhys but we all threaten Cassian at some point in the hour, and Rhys is the only one willing to hear her out on her list of complaints and not so diplomatic solutions.”

She felt a rush of relief as Feyre’s eyes cleared of pain and a small smirk played on Feyre’s lips. “Are you saying,” Feyre asked. “That you would like me to have lunch with a whiny idiot that everybody threatens, a scary short ass that complains endlessly, a mysterious unmentioned character, your ever patient cousin and you? Because if so then yes, I would love to.”

Feyre watched as the bubbly spirited woman burst into a full blown grin, Mor’s eyes dancing with no small amount of mirth. “I was scared you were going to reject me for a minute there. And yes you are correct about Cassian and Amren, though never call Amren ‘a scary short ass that complains endlessly’ to her face if you want your guts to remain inside your body and you like your head attached to your shoulders. As for Rhys and Azriel, well you can figure them out when you meet them.”

As Mor finished speaking, the entire hall fell into silence as the professor walked into the room. Mrs Weaver apparently. Mor winked at Feyre as she picked up her pen and the lecture began.

The lecture finally finished and it had been every bit as tedious as Feyre had expected. Gathering her stuff and shoving it in her bag, she checked her timetable. Visual Arts, than lunch. She glanced up at Morrigan, who was trying very hard to shove all her books into her bag with her bag ripping open. “Where should I meet you for lunch? If the offer to eat with you is still out there.”

Mor looked up stunned, “Damn, I had totally forgot we had another class, I’m already starving.” She huffed dramatically and shouldered the exploding bag. “Meet us on the oval, near the goals. What do you have next?”

Feyre grinned “Visual Arts, What about you?”

Mor sighed, “I have Business, I don’t know what I was doing when I signed up for it, worst subject ever! Any way the decision is long forgotten now so I have to live with the consequences. Life sucks like that.”

Feyre smirked “Yeah, it does. See you for lunch, we can complain about our crappy life decisions over some food.”

Mor grinned “I knew I liked you for a reason, see you then!”

Feyre grinned back, before joining the stream of students pushing and shoving to get out of the hall.

Art was uneventful for Feyre as they were focusing on theory for the first day and wouldn't be painting anything till next week. There had been collective groans when that announcement was made.

As Feyre walked towards the oval, nerves started to flutter around inside her, there was a group of guys finishing up what looked to be rugby training, their coach yelling things at them that no one seemed to be paying attention to. She wandered past the stands dawdling slowly over to the goal posts, her eyes on the freshly mown grass. Thoughts started swirling inside her mind, what if they didn't like her, what if Mor made a mistake asking her to lunch with them.

She was scared of their judgement, she realised, because she wanted them to like her. Even though Mor had described Cassian as whiny and insufferable she had said it with a fondness in her eyes, though she had said Amren was quiet and scary there was awe in her face, and Feyre wanted to have that. She wanted the mischievous gleam that lit up Mor’s eyes when she referred to her cousin. Feyre wanted friends, and she had liked Mor.

Something hard collided with the back of her head and sent Feyre tumbling to the ground, forcefully dragging her back to reality, then into a swirling black oblivion.

She raised her head from where it had lain in the grass the thud of impact still resounding throughout it. The world was spinning and she thought she heard Mor call her name in the distance. She sensed more than saw a large figure dropping in to a crouch beside her, large hands coming to cradle the base of her skull. Her eyes blinked slowly open, the world dropping in and out of focus at a rapid pace. “Look at me Darling, that’s it open you’re eyes,” Feyre didn't know who was speaking, but the rich male timbre kept her grounded. “Look at me Darling.” The worry in his voice forced her to look up. As she looked up she found herself looking into the eyes of the most handsome male she had ever met.

Chapter Two- Unpublished

His eyes were an impossible shade of violet, flecks of pure silver taking the appearance of starlight and the frame created by his ebony lashes creating the perfect painting, the worry shimmering behind his beautiful eyes was replaced by relief as she slowly drew herself into a sitting position. Her hand subconsciously reaching around the back of her head to where she had been hit. Her eyes dropped to her bag, her books spilling out of it. A blush spread across her cheeks when she realised she still didn't know what had happened, she opened her mouth to ask when a highly amused voice cut her off, “Congratulations Rhys, you just knocked out the one person you were so adamant on impressing.” Two large shadows fell over her, and Feyre twisted up so she could see who the voice belonged to. It was a stunning male, with a shit eating grin and a cocky posture. He grinned down at her, eyes sparkling with an infinite amount of mischief in them, “How’d you manage to befriend Mor in one English class and put up with her blabbering without thumping her over the head with one of those massive books of yours.” He says, nodding towards the books strewn around her now empty bag. Finally finding her voice she looked up at him, then to the silent male next to him, the more classical beautiful of the two and back to the ruggedly handsome one, “How has anyone put of with you for more than five minutes without physically trying to either kill or severely injure you?” The man let out a great booming laugh as a flustered Mor ran up to them, “If Cassian’s howling I hope it mans that Feyre told him to shut his fat mouth,” Rhys let out a breathy laugh behind Feyre, drawing her attention back to him and the featherlight grip he had on her fore arm. “Now, which of you do I need to kill for the near death of my new best friend?” Mor asked, appearing very serious. Cassian snorted “That would be Rhys.”

Mor focused her worst death glare at Rhys, and then drawled. “Do you have a reason for knocking my new friend and roommate out, other than the universally known fact of your overwhelming stupidity?”

Rhys simply smirked, getting up and brushing an invisible piece off dirt from his shirt, “It’s not my fault that Feyre darling here got in the way of the ball.”

Feyre’s eyebrows shot up, her incredulous expression magnified by her outraged statement, “It is most defiantly not my fault that you threw the ball at my head, you could’ve warned me.”

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rhysanoodle · 6 years

Text

In My Blood

A/N: In which Cassian again participates in the Blood Rite and both he and Nesta must deal with the consequences, post-ACOFAS

Nessian angst

Word count: 1856

AO3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Part 4

Gods. Everything fucking hurt.

As Cassian slowly began to regain consciousness, there was little room for thoughts of anything else. What the in the rutting hells had happened? He was still drugged so thoroughly that he couldn’t sort out the memory of the past few days in his head.

“Ah, Sleeping Beauty has finally decided to come back to us,” a beautiful voice trilled. Mor. He opened his eyes to find her at his bedside, Azriel flanking his other side. Rhys, Feyre, and Amren were all standing in the doorway.

There was another scent that took him a moment to place.

Nesta. Where was she? Had she been here? Visited him while he was still unconscious? The thought of that was utterly laughable. She hadn’t given two shits about him for over a year. They’d lived together in the same house, and she couldn’t even be bothered to speak to him unless required to.

He’d tried. Even done some quite childish things to try to get a rise out of her, to make her acknowledge him for once. Every time, he’d just been met with...nothing. Emptiness.

Eventually, he’d stopped trying. Cassian wasn’t going to let her see how truly lonely and unhappy he was. His friends could’ve at least bothered to visit him more often to help pull him out of this pit of despair that had been slowly swallowing him since he’d been isolated here.

Choosing to ignore her possible presence for now, Cassian turned to Mor, and pasted the most cocky grin he could on his face. “You’re not supposed to be my dashing prince, I hope.”

That earned him a light smack on the arm. Fuck. Even though the small scrapes he’d had there had already healed rather nicely, everything still just burned. Hissing, he jerked it away from her, but Mor wasn’t done with him.

“I swear on the Cauldron if you ever do something so reckless again…” Tears were streaming down her face now as she failed to finish that thought, and Cassian flinched. He’d known how much this would hurt her. They’d decided to try to keep this operation fairly secretive. It had been a last minute bargain made out of desperation, and he hadn’t wanted the others worrying about him.

“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you, Mor,” Rhys murmured from the doorway. “Nobody outside the camp members and myself and Feyre were supposed to know until it was all settled.”

Mor gave her cousin a withering look that Cassian knew meant he’d be paying for that decision later but thankfully let it go.

“If it helps, the camp lords are pissing themselves right now. I even had some trying to convince me that you were too indisposed to accept your new title in some sort of sad attempt to find any loophole which would change the outcome,” Rhys smirked.

“It seems a good amount of money was bet on their prized sons coming away victorious, especially considering the fact that they schemed to team up against you, and some of their families are now absolutely devastated. Pity.” The smug look on Rhys’ face as he picked at his nails indicated that his brother thought it was anything but.

“I’m ready to get to work now. Let’s get me crowned and get this over with,” Cassian grimaced as he tried to sit up. Fire shot through his abdomen, forcing him back down onto the bed.

“It can wait, Cass. For all intents and purposes, the bargain crowned you the second you landed in Windhaven. A public ceremony can wait. Madja mentioned the fact that your intestines were practically hanging out of your gut when you arrived. You need to rest for a few days, and that’s an order.” Rhys’ last sentence was clipped, obviously fighting back an urge to scold him that would make him damn well hypocritical. This had been Cassian’s idea, yes, but Rhys and Feyre had agreed, even knowing the danger he’d be facing.

“Let me worry about the little things, brother,” Azriel pleaded from his side. “If there is anything pressing, I can always come ask for your opinion, but I think I can handle breaking your throne in for you for one measly week.”

“A week?” Cassian gasped.

“Yes, you moron.” Feyre approached to embrace him. “Your magic was stifled during the Rite, and as they begin to return to you, even your enhanced healing abilities can only work so quickly. And we won’t have you in anything but the best shape when you formally take up your position. You need to show them strength, Cassian, and showing up looking and feeling halfway to death won’t help you accomplish that. I don’t give a damn if they’re all bargain-sworn to serve you.”

“But…” Cassian was speechless at the thought of being bedridden for a week. That was practically an eternity. He’d gone out of his mind while waiting for his wings to heal, and he knew it wouldn’t do him any good to be cooped up for so long again.

“We’ve already made the arrangements. You’ll spend another night here so Madja can make sure you remain stable, but we’ve gotten permission to move you home tomorrow. Where...Nesta will keep up with your care...” Feyre blushed a bit as she managed to struggle through the last part.

“What?” Cassian bit out a laugh, heart beginning to pound furiously. “Nesta doesn’t even tolerate me. She won’t sit in the same room as me or answer me when I ask her simple questions, and you expect her to want to wait on me hand-and-foot while I can’t move? I don’t know what you’ve all been smoking as you’ve been waiting with baited breath for my miraculous recovery, but can I have some?”

“Umm...it’s true. Your house only has the two bedrooms, and as Nesta is currently staying there, we’ve asked if she would do you the favor,” Feyre muttered, but she wouldn’t look Cassian in the eyes. She had to be hiding something.

“The infirmary needs all the extra beds we can help vacate. Don’t worry. We’ll still be taking an extended vacation in Windhaven and will make sure to come check in on you too, but this will be easiest for everyone.”

“And what if I refuse?” Cassian retorted, suddenly furious with them for making such a decision without his input. Nesta had surely only agreed because Feyre promised her money or clothing or booze if she was truly desperate, and it disgusted him. He couldn’t stomach being this object of pity that forced her to be in his presence.

“Then I guess you’ll just starve and piss yourself,” Feyre bit back. “This is happening. End of discussion.” The ire in her eyes made even him, a male almost six centuries old, recoil a little. He understood the direct order that was being given to him, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

Once, he would’ve been giddy at the idea of Nesta being forced to spend time with him, but he’d already been given that sentence — and the two of them had been trapped together for the past year in an unbearable silence.

Maybe afterwards, they’d finally let her leave though, and Cassian would be free to move on with his life, without the shadow of her presence lurking in his periphery constantly. They’d more or less settled the conflict they’d been sent to quell, and while there would still be much to do as he adapted to his new title, Nesta was no longer necessary to help him achieve his goals.

He’d ask it of Rhys and Feyre the moment he was crowned, as a customary gift. All he had to do was make it through this week without her biting his head off.

“Fine,” he grumbled, looking her dead in the eyes.

“Well, we’ll let you get back to your beauty rest soon, but there’s somebody else who’d like to have a word with you,” Rhys said.

As his friends filed out of the room, the scent caught in his nostrils. Nesta. Shit.

She was the last person he wanted to talk to right now. The pain of learning about how they’d be spending the next week of their lives was still too fresh. He groaned and raised his arm above his head to cover his eyes and block out the view of the female who was most certainly about to walk through that door. His wound cried out in pain at the motion, but it was worth it. He didn’t want to formally acknowledge her presence.

“Cassian…” she murmured from the doorway. Her tone was softer, almost contemplative. The complete opposite of the one usually reserved wholly for him.

He laid there in silence.

“I know you’re awake.” Closer now, as if she’d sat down next to him in the chair Mor had vacated. And that scent. Up close now, he was assaulted by it. It still absolutely intoxicated him, much to his chagrin. He tried to tamp down those thoughts.

“I just wanted to see how you were doing.” Ha. That was rich.

“Nesta, I’m sure Feyre sent you in here with instructions to act like you didn’t hate me because I almost just died, but you don’t have to keep up the facade anymore,” Cassian gritted out. “Let’s just make it through this next week, and then I’ll ask your sister if you can be free from this ridiculous assignment. You can move out — move wherever the hell you want. I don’t care.” Even as he spat the words, he could feel their untruth deep in his gut, but he was so endlessly tired. He couldn’t keep living like this.

“I volunteered, you know, for this next week,” Nesta whispered.

“Ha. Don’t give me that shit. I know it’s the last thing you’d ever sign up for. Feyre already told me they asked you. What’d they have to buy you to convince you to say yes?” Surely, she was just lying to him out of pity, or some other strange instinct that even Nesta couldn’t ignore when she saw him so wounded.

“Fine. Think whatever you want about me. I don’t care,” Nesta snapped back. There she was.

“Not able to keep that mask on for very long were you?” he retorted. “Glad to see your true feelings are back out in the open.” This was the longest conversation they’d had in weeks.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she gritted out and stalked out of the room.

Only then did Cassian uncover his eyes, and as he did, he realized how weary he still was. Almost getting cleaved in two really did take a lot out of him, but the past few minutes of conversation had temporarily heightened his senses.

As he began drifting off, he couldn’t help the niggling feeling in his gut that something was off about his conversation with Nesta. That maybe she had been slightly sincere and he had made a mistake in rebuffing her, but he was unable to consider it further as sleep dragged him under once again.

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