Eyes Roll, Contemplating Her Offer For Half A Second His Pride To Prove Himself Quickly Losing To The

eyes roll, contemplating her offer for half a second — his pride to prove himself quickly losing to the bitter chill that danced across his spine. the first thing he’d looked for upon arriving was a thermostat, only to find it broken. naturally. “ only since you insist. ” he realizes his gaze may be lingering on her for far too long, taking in the sight of his clothes on her, how his sweatshirt swallows her up. how she still manages to look so perfect, despite damp tresses messily falling over her shoulders. he averts his eyes to the flask. the only way he’ll make it through this. “ i’ll be on my best behavior, promise. ” hands raise to show his palms in surrender, though the smirk on his lips says otherwise.

he carefully sits on the edge of the mattress, his back turned to her, as if one abrupt movement would cause her to change her mind, head tilting back as he takes another swig of his liquid courage. in the moment of silence, he can feel the heaviness of her breaths, the way she shifts completely, as if he knows exactly what’s on her mind. her question is only confirmation of what he suspected. lucien finding them was unexpected — the panic rhysand felt, when for a moment he thought there might’ve been a chance feyre would actually go with him, was even more so. it twisted at him, consuming him until he was frozen, unable to even spew any of his usual insults at him. he was fully ready to face the fact that he would never see her again. yet she defied all expectations, turning even lucien’s face pallid, standing her ground. there won’t ever be a time where he forgets that. where he regrets any of this.

he turns to face feyre, throwing all caution to the wind as he shifts closer. his head slowly shakes, features hardening. his response is quick, stern — as if he couldn’t let her even wonder for a second longer where he stands. “ no. never. ”

my clothes soaked, i had no choice but to change into a pair of tattered leggings and the dry, black sweatshirt rhys had lent me, trying to ignore the faint scent of his cologne. i busied myself in the bathroom longer than i needed to, becoming increasingly aware of the forced proximity we would have to endure tonight. only exiting after i heard him on the other side of the door. shaking off the adrenaline that had fueled me all day, perhaps i should’ve been more scared — knowing both tamlin and hybern were after us, but all i could think about was the wet, shirtless rhys on the floor. “ i have a hard time believing your silver spooned sensibilities would allow for that. ” i had to step over his legs to cross the room. “ there’s plenty of room, ” i shrugged, knowing full well there wasn’t, but i was so used to sharing.

“ this is luxury, ” i gladly took the flask from him, taking a decent sized gulp, hardly wincing from the burn this time. i was leaning to love the pain. handing the whiskey back to him, i ripped open a bag of chips, before situating myself and sitting criss cross on the bed. aside from the loud crunch of chips, silence enveloped the tiny room, as some level of exhaustion began to wear on me as i considered the day’s events. the realization that tamlin had sent lucien to find us, to bring me back. knowing i was reluctantly the center of so much of this chaos. just dragging them all down with me. “ are you starting to regret it yet? ” helping me.

a muscle in his jaw twitches, light flickering out from his gaze as it falls away from her. he's played his part too well: a master of puppets, strings now being cut one by one, all for her. yet here she stands, with such hate in her eyes. he pretends her accusations ripple right off of him, unaffected — as if his chest didn't ache, as if he weren't full of panic. she wasn't supposed to be here. he was desperate to avoid just this. watched the blood drip & drain from the poor soul he'd unknowingly given up in place of feyre ... it weighs on him, the guilt & despair, knowing it's only a matter of time before feyre is next.

fingers run through night drenched hair, holding back his scowl, as he adjusts his sleeves. " ah. you really believed that? you're smarter than this, feyre. i'm working against her. " voice is run down, haunted. tired of the act. he moves to lean his back against the cool of the brick, dismissing the topic with a small wave. he can't bring himself to defend his actions, for greater good or not. not while clare's body is still limp & lifeless in the other room. hands slide into his pockets, that silver fire coming to light as they meet hers. a humorless laugh erupts from him, bitter & dark. " he could end this. he could get you out of here. " words bald. blunt, as if it were obvious. " tamlin is who she wants. "

i was achingly still as his hand brushed against my cheek, his touch unusually soft and careful, as he neared the budding bruises. staring up at him, i studied him closely, his expression cold and unreadable as he looked me over with renowned intention. it couldn’t possibly be concern i detected flickering somewhere deep within him, and yet he had tried to warn me in his own way. my safety, he had claimed to care about. a part of me had even wanted to believe him, to take him at his word, but everything that happened had made that impossible. tamlin had been right. rhysand was a manipulative monster— he had fed me just enough information to lead me down the rabbit hole that inevitably ended here.

“ you conveniently failed to mention the part about you working with her. that you’re together. ” the way she stroked his thigh with a proprietary grasp had made my stomach churn. they were both sick and twisted. i tried not to physically flinch as he mentioned tamlin — i had been trying not to think of him, of the fact that no one was coming for me. perhaps it was better this way. no one else would have to die for me. my brow knitted as i stared at his black coat for a hesitant moment, as if waiting for some anterior motive, before i reluctantly accepted it and wrapped it around my shoulders — a faint part of myself almost grateful for any level of comfort, no matter how discreet. my voice lost its bite as it lowered further, “ i’m glad he’s not here if this is what’s waiting for him. ”

rhys having a wine collection like the pretentious old bisexual man he is

@shadowsung : “ was it worth what it cost? ”

rhysand has had many nights to contemplate it: the safety of his family, velaris still unscathed. for the price of his freedom, his dignity. all of the carnage he'd witnessed, the suffering he had to inflict — packed into those fourty-nine years, were enough to haunt him for the rest of whatever he has left. what did it really cost? he's unable to even look himself in the mirror, without feeling utter disgust. there is a monster that stares back now, of shadows & bloodshed. he can still feel the ghost of her claws, reminded of them every time someone dares to utter his newfound nickname: amarantha's whore. after everything, every sacrifice, even when he's gone ... that is all he will be remembered as.

the rebelling illyrian camps were the first to whisper of his time under the mountain, that his brother's had heard. whatever bodies weren't turned into red mist, now laying at their feet. he had no desire to reminisce, even if he knew this weren't the last they would hear of it. not when they had so many bands to still deal with. yet he doesn't hesitate, features void of any expression, gaze set on the massacre. " yes. there was no other way. "

@feydarling : ❛ if i didn't know any better, i'd say you were jealous. ❜

amber liquid swirls in his glass as he lifts it to his lips, finishing off the remnants. never mind the fact dawn is still settling. the burn down his throat offers temporary salvation, a momentarily distraction from his buzzing thoughts. perhaps he had been foolish to wish. to allow his imagination run wild, somehow picturing the two of them — mated. happy. the aroma of the salty sea breeze from the summer court entangled in hers still keeps him awake at night: the first moment he'd allowed himself to even dare to dream of it, of her. yet that hope died down, crushed to pieces, after witnessing an exchange with cassian. he's reminded that she isn't his, that he was likely just a distraction that she desperately needed.

he can't bring himself to even force a smile, to match her energy in the slightest ... only a moonless obsidian night lurking onto his features, wings flaring out against his chair to absorb the rising sun's warmth. " and what if i were? " he bites down on his words, withholding any actual interest in the conversation. his head tilts towards the rays, eyelids fluttering shut. " i have other matters to be concerned with. "

the house of wind in my sims 4 game has caught on fire multiple times btw