I think compassion is what united Queenie and I, and I had to sort of work on the architecture from there. It was a beautiful choice on J.K. Rowling’s part, to give Queenie such depth, so you can’t just pin her down as one thing. With women’s roles it’s very easy to say, “Oh she’s a this or she’s a that.” It can be a very one-dimensional sort of thing, like it’s one tagline per woman. But with Queenie she’s fun-loving and adventurous and mischievous and free but she’s also incredibly soulful and deep and still.
“Harder, Sweetheart,” His voice. That insufferable voice that held command, power, arrogance, and everything in between made her fingers twitch. Nesta let out a small groan, her fingers digging into the dirt, before she lifted her arm up.
The Illyrian female grinned and yanked her back up, almost pulling her shoulder out. She’d gotten used to that bit of roughness. Nesta learned to take it as a sign that they liked her - or at least this one female.
“You heard the Commander,” She taunted, before her fist flew through the air. It was still too fast. She was still getting used to her newly found senses. Everything was louder, faster, closer, and it was too much.
Nesta yelped as the fist connected with her face, effectively flipping her over. The female was pinning her down in a second, her sun dyed hair falling over her eyes. She grinned, her russet brown skin glistening from sweat. Her knee pressed into Nesta’s back, making the latter groan. “Harder, Sweetheart” The female mocked, popping up.
Nesta clenched her teeth together tightly, but she stayed down. The female looked back and gave her a mock salute, before practically sashaying away. Nesta closed her eyes, rolling onto her back, her fists shaking.
Cassian reached his hand out and Nesta smacked it away, before slowly pulling herself to her feet. She brushed her hands over her face, her skin considerably darker due to the time spent in the sun. Training, bleeding, sweating, and then training again. She was not Illyrian. She had their wings, their speed, but she wasn’t one of them.
“Come on, Sweetheart, you have as much training as they do” Cassian folded his arms, his leathers tightening against his skin. Nesta’s tongue went dry and she shook her head, swallowing slowly.
“I’m not them. I don’t have the drive, I can’t control these…these things on my back, everything is still too fast. All I am is a punching bag to them. And it’s not their fault. It’s mine,” Nesta squeezed her fists together. Her nails slowly dug into her palms and she tilted her head back, sweat rolling down her neck.
Cassian’s eyes fluttered down and he raised both his eyebrows, before watching Nesta. Like an experiment that wasn’t exactly doing what he wanted it to do. Cassian tilted his head to the side, giving her a lazy smile. “Well at least you’ve admitted you’re horrible at this”
They’d spent hours upon hours out here, training. Training to no end. Fists knocking again jaws, feet hooking around ankles, knuckles bleeding, lips bruised. She didn’t feel like herself. Where as the females around her wore their bruises and cuts and the blood dripping from their bodies with pride, she felt like an imposter in her own skin.
A skin that was no longer hers. A skin that held scars she didn’t deserved, a skin that harbored powers she couldn’t control, a skin that protected a heart that was thumping wildly in her chest. It was all too much.
So Nesta swung her first punch. And it felt good.
Gasps and shouts filled the air and Nesta pulled back her fist. The skin of two knuckles had cracked open. It turned out Cassian’s jawline could cut skin. Nesta looked at Cassian, who was smirking and rubbing his jaw. “That’s all you got? What are you so angry about Nesta? What’s got you so moody lately, Sweetheart?”
He was baiting her and she found she didn’t care. She had watched him bait the females around her thousands of times. Females who had their wings clipped, who had beaten down all their lives. Cassian worked with their anger, and then he made it disappear.
Nesta had anger. Just like them.
She snarled, and faster than she thought was possible, she spun around and slammed the bottom of her boot into his chest. Cassian stumbled back and he grinned, putting his fists out. “That’s more like it, darling. Why are you angry? Tell me”
“I’m angry,” Nesta struggled to breathe. Her teeth were clenched and she wiped her mouth on her sleeve, then all that anger exploded. She ran at Cassian, punching left and right, and screaming, “I’m angry because my father gave up!” Nesta panted, jutting her knee up to hit Cassian in the jaw again.
Cassian spun around, locking her arms behind her back. Nesta shook her head and she slammed her foot down on his, turning her body to elbow him in the throat. “I’m angry because he left me, alone, hurting, to raise Elain and Feyre. And I couldn’t do it!” Nesta leapt into the air, surprised at how much ground she could cover, before her other fist slammed into Cassian’s chest. Again, and again.
“I failed Feyre and she knows it. I failed Elain and she knows it. I’m their big sister. They shouldn’t have to worry about all this. I should. I should bear this weight and pain, not them, Cassian, not them!” Tears were streaming down her face. Nesta hiccuped and she slammed her palms against Cassian’s chest, but he had stopped fighting. She growled and pushed against the hard muscle harder, harder, harder.
“Fight back! Fight back!” The eldest Archeron sister screamed. She gripped his collar and shoved him forward. “I have these powers I don’t deserve! I have these senses I don’t need!” Nesta slammed her clenched fist onto Cassian’s arms, his shoulders, even his neck. She started to claw at him, her sobs choking her.
“I’m angry because I’m breaking. I’m breaking when everyone needs me whole. I’m breaking inside, and I know this is how Feyre felt! This is how you felt. This is how everyone felt and I finally get it. I finally get this pain, pain that I inflected, over and over again”
Nesta roared, and her back burned. “Fight back, you coward! Fight me!” Wings shot from her back and it was like thousands and thousands of needles were being pushed and pulled from her skin. The females all jumped back, mostly to avoid the sheer power of the thrust her wings gave.
Cassian grabbed her arms tightly, almost lifting her off the ground. He cupped her face, pulling her into him. Nesta screamed into his chest and she sobbed, her knees giving out on her. Cassian caught her, careful of her wings. “I got you, Sweetheart, I got you” His fingers rubbed her scalp, slowly tugging and brushing at her hair.
Nesta shook in his grasp, her nails digging into his fighting leathers. She sniffled, tears still blinding her, still streaming through the dirt on her face. She looked up at Cassian. “Promise?” She whispered, her lip wobbling.
“I promise, Nesta. I swear it” He pressed his lips against the side of her head, holding her as tight as she needed him to hold her. Her father was supposed to have her, to protect her. Her mother was supposed to, as well. She wasn’t supposed to have grown up so quickly, to protect Elain and Feyre.
She wanted someone to protect her, to have her back, to be there for her.
And that was exactly what Cassian promised her.
I wrote Nessian. Sound the bells, pound the alarms, call 9-1-1, code red, code red. And I may write more. I may not. That’s how the game goes.
Leave comments, tell me what you think, thanks for reading.
Rebecca cheated on Ross. She abandoned a date to sleep with another man. She took advantage of someone who was both heartbroken and extremely drunk and vulnerable. The next morning she acts like she had no idea she was being used, she acts like the victim for Robert making a fool out of her. No one pinned her down to the bed and yet she’s acting like that’s exactly what happened. The more I think about it and the more I see, the more she’s pretending the victim and that really hurts me.
If a man had done this, he’d be being strung up and hunted down by wolves by now. Can’t see any redeeming features for her now, she’s too far gone for me.