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desertofsnowflakes · 3 years

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Incorrect Order Chapter 7 (Nessian AU)

A/N: Do inform me if you wanna be added/removed from the taglist! If you happen to find my storyline similar to another fic or one of yours, I'm extremely sorry, I might've just not known. All characters belong to the author Sarah J. Mass. Enjoy!

Summary: Don't first impressions always affect the way you see someone? Well, what more with the Nesta Archeron? Nesta meets Cassian at few unexpected places and to say it didn't go well was a major understatement. Certain circumstances make them become enemies to tolerable company to friends to lovers.

Trigger Warnings: none ig

2097 words | Incorrect Order Masterlist | Read on AO3

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Wearing a tee is fairly simple. Just bunch it up and pull it over his neck, then, put his arms through. That's it. This is the third time he was trying to get himself in this damn t-shirt. The first time, he wore it the other way round. The next time he accidentally tried putting his neck where his arm was meant to go. He got snarled in the t-shirt in the process. It's a miracle the garment hadn't ripped off. His brushed hair also got mussed and tangled in the process.

Cassian sighed and held his dark brown tee up. His mind was still playing his memories with Nesta on loop. It just wouldn’t stop. Not when he was sulking, bathing, changing—

The doorbell rang. A quick glance at his wall clock confirmed that the hour was ungodly enough that most would be asleep. Wondering who exactly it was, Cassian opened the door—

—and his mind blanked out. There, standing in front of him, in all her glory was Nesta. Nesta, who had snapped at him earlier. Nesta in a white oversized sweater and black tight-fit leggings. A small bag was slung on her shoulder. He was pretty sure he was gawking like an idiot. He forced his mouth to shape her name.

***

“Nesta,” he breathed. Nesta could hear awe and reverence in his voice. So much that she shivered. There was pain in his voice too. Tears pricked her eyes. How selfish of her to run to him even after she hurt him. But she couldn’t turn away. Not now, not after walking from her home to here. She closed her eyes and swallowed. His bare torso didn’t help matters either. His torso was a wonderful masterpiece. His tattoos were starker in the moonlight. She longed to trace them with her fingers. Nesta immediately shut that train of thought. She didn’t come here for that. She came here because of Tomas. That’s it.

Cassian was peering over her shoulders when she opened her eyes. Frowning, he asked, “How did you come here? Has your cab left?”

“No,” she said. “I walked here.” His eyes snapped to her face. He took a step back and opened the door wider, “Come in,” he said.

Nesta could feel his eyes on her while she stepped through the threshold and took her time to look through his house. It wasn’t as big as Feyre’s but it was bigger than her apartment. She saw a rumpled t-shirt discarded on the dark blue couch and reigned in a smile. She heard the click of the lock and turned to face him. He looked at her and ran a hand through his hair, tousling it further. Her eyes tracked the wispy strands moving in between his slender, long fingers. Cauldron, she thought, this was going to be very difficult, indeed.

He nodded at the couch, “Have a seat. You must be tired. How long was the walk?” he queried.

She took her seat on the soft couch and replied, “Around half an hour including a short break I took.”

He nodded. The pained expression, mixed with one of longing, didn't leave his face yet. “Why are you here Nesta? Truly? Just a few hours ago, you were screaming in my face and now, you’re in my house looking rattled. What do you want?”

Nesta stared at her hands resting on her lap, took in a ragged breath and said, “Tomas.”

The shock was evident on his face. “Tomas?” he repeated. She saw as the shock on his face bled and became anger. “Did he disturb you again?” he demanded.

“No,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around herself. “No. He wasn’t really even there. I was on my bed. Trying to get some sleep. I couldn’t sleep, I kept tossing and turning on my bed. Sleep felt so far away. But after sometime I think I fell asleep. Then I felt like I woke up. It was bright. It all felt weird to me. And that was when I saw him. He was in my room. His hand was around my neck, squeezing. He was talking and talking.” The words were gushing out of her now, a panicked flow of words. She continued, “Then he slapped me. He also had a knife with him. He kept threatening me. Telling me about the way he said he wanted to kill me. And—and he used his knife on me. He stabbed my arm and kept dragging upward slowly. It hurt like hell. That was what I didn’t understand. The pain. It all felt very real. Most of all, my pain.” She looked back at Cassian. He was silently listening, she was grateful for that. “That’s why I came here,” she admitted. “I got scared. The vulnerability I felt… I want to be ready when he comes back. And he will come back. He isn’t the type to let things go. I need your help. Help me,” she pleaded. She wasn’t aware of the tear escaping her eye.

Cassian got up and seated himself beside her. He cupped her cheek. Unconsciously, she leaned closer to him. He gently brushed her tears away. “I’ll help you,” he said gently. “You’ll be ready. When the time comes, you’ll be ready. I’ll make sure of it. Only if you call me Cass.”

She grinned. “That wouldn’t be very difficult,” she said.

***

Cassian felt like he was selling his soul in a bargain to the devil. He knew. He knew that this wouldn’t end well for him. He knew he’ll end up having his heart broken. But he couldn’t resist. He couldn’t bring himself to say no to her.

Nesta wrapped her arms around his middle. He froze. The sensation of her hands on his bare skin was a shock to his senses and elicited a shiver down his spine. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you so much. Really.” she gave him a playful smile. “Cass,”she said with more emphasis than necessary. And Mother, he didn’t regret letting her call him Cass one bit.

She yawned and stretched like a cat. He liked that too, he decided.

“Have you slept?” he asked.

“A bit. You?”

He shook his head. He gestured to her to follow him up the stairs. “You can sleep here till dawn in Mor’s room. You know, the room you used the last time.”

“Cass,” she said. He halted, turning back to face her. “I really need to say this. I’m sorry. Truly. I shouldn’t have said what I did last night.”

He didn’t say it’s okay because it really wasn’t. He just nodded, acknowledging her apology, showing her that he couldn’t forget how much it hurt him but he’ll try to come to terms with both of their mistakes. They reached Mor’s door.

She hesitated. “I don’t have any clothes to change to,” she said.

“It’s fine,” he said. “Mor’s clothes would fit you, though it would be slightly loose. You can also use the bathroom to wash up or anything else you want to do. I’ll be in the room down the corridor—” he said, gesturing to the second last door— “so just knock if you need anything, okay?”

She nodded and thanked him again before closing the door and preparing for bed. He entered his room and plopped on the bed. It might’ve been how tired he felt or it might have been her presence two rooms away, but in mere minutes, Cass was fast asleep.

***

A few fast and hard knocks on his door woke Cassian from his sleep. Groggily, he opened the door to find Nesta in a tank top and shorts. Very short shorts. She looked disturbed, though.

“What happened?” he asked her.

“I can’t sleep,” she said, her voice small.

Cassian’s heart, or at least, what was left of it, broke. He hated to see this. Cold, sharp Nesta now, standing in front of him, scared and afraid. He felt a surge of protectiveness in him. He wanted to tuck her to his side and shield her from every and any harm that would come to her.

He held his hand out for her and brought her into his room. “Sit,” he gestured to his bed, “What do you want to do?”

She smiled tentatively, “Would you tell me about yourself? We haven’t introduced ourselves properly. I think I want to hear more about you from you yourself. And if you want… I could tell you some things about myself too.”

He sat on the bed beside her and said, “That’ll be fun.” He saw this not only as a means to escape the horrid things in her head, but also as a peace offering. He couldn’t forgive and forget the things she told him earlier but he could try to play along with her patching up.

“Who’s gonna start first?” she asked.

He dramatically placed his hand on his bare chest in a variation of a bow and said, “After you, my lady.”

She laughed and asked, “Do you ever wear a shirt at home?”

“Why? Getting distracted already?”

“Can’t you just answer my question?” she asked hotly, though a light blush was creeping up her cheeks.

The corner of his lips kicked up a notch, “I do wear shirts at home.”

“Good,” she said and opened her mouth to continue when he interrupted her.

“Wait,” he said, “Now, you haven’t answered my question.”

“I didn’t deem it worthy enough to answer.”

He pouted, “You wound me, Nes.”

“Stop being overdramatic. And don’t call me Nes!” she snapped half heartedly.

“Twice,” aggrievedly, he said, “you wounded me twice. Also,” he smirked, leaning closer to her, “you like it.”

“Like which?”

“Being called Nes.”

“I don’t.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Now you’re the one who’s getting distracted. What did we plan for and what are we doing now? If this is how things are gonna be, I think you’ll prove to be a very bad teacher.”

“Now, Nes, you need to know that I’m good at many, many things and would prove to be an extremely focused teacher,” he said, voice husky. He knew she caught his meaning when the blush on her cheeks deepened. He leaned back on his palms, “Go on.”

So she spoke. She told him of her time when both her parents were alive; of the time when they grieved their mother’s death; when she kept herself away from her sisters after becoming orphans; when she made the mistake of falling for Tomas. “Honestly,” she had told him, “when I look at him now, I wonder how I fell in love with him in the first place.” She then told him of how her relationship with Tomas was a toxic one; him being abusive and controlling; how he made her feel low of herself; how he never respected her; how he kept cheating on her. She told Cassian of the day Tomas hit her and accused her of cheating just because he saw her paying for her groceries at a male’s counter. She told him of how she called the police immediately after and got him behind bars. By the time she was over, Nesta was curled by his side, tears silently streaming down her beautiful face, him rubbing soothing circles on her back.

Then he told her about himself. He decided to tell her the plain truth without any alterations. She deserved it. But it felt intimate, somehow, sharing the details he hadn’t spoken out loud. Even Az and Rhys had only seen what he did and never pushed afterwards. He told her as much before telling her about how much he loved his mother; of how he never knew his father and that was for his father’s own good; of how his mother was killed one day while he was at school; of how he beat the men involved into pulp; of how he was called a brute and a bastard there on; of how he first met Rhys and Az at his school; of how Rhys’s mother took him in as her own son; of the silly things and the trouble the trio would create.

“You are a very good friend, Cass. And an even better man,” Nes said

His heart warmed. He said, “Don’t care about what Tomas said. You’re a beautiful, intelligent, brave, witty and sharp woman. And I,” he paused, “I like you very much as a friend too.”

He didn’t understand the short pang of disappointment on his face. All he could think was, shit, I almost said I loved her.

taglist: @shadowsinger07 @im-someone-i-guess @saltyfortunes @cressjacquine @champanheandluxxury @zemiraa @nehemikkele @angelic-voice-1997 @heartless--aromantic @sv0430 @vinylcryes @deedz-thrillerkilller16 @sjm-things @dontgetsalmonella @ganseys-jane

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theladyofdeath · 4 years

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Rags & Riches {20}

Summary: An A Court of Thorns and Roses Fanfiction. 19th century AU. Based on the prompt sent in by @cat5313 All characters belong to SJM, I am just a fan with a plot.

Warning: Mature content strung throughout.

A/N: So, this is how it ends. Epilogue coming soon.

Leave a comment to be tagged & tell me what you think! :)

It had been days since Nesta had been called to the coroner to confirm Cassian’s identity. Now, she sat atop a hill, looking over the cemetery, watching the funeral take place, Marigold at her side. She couldn’t be there, among everyone as they mourned. She did not want to know what the preacher was saying, did not want to see the pain in everyone else’s eyes. There were a few people there whom Nesta did not recognize. Then, of course, her family, her sisters and father, and Rhysand and Azriel, all stood there, too. Watching as Cassian was lowered into the ground, and dirt was thrown on top of his coffin.

She waited for them all to leave before she walked down the hill, Marigold behind her, and sat in front of his headstone atop the patch of dirt.

She cleared her throat. “Well, I hope you enjoyed everyone sobbing over you. I’m sorry I sat so far away.”

Marigold huffed from where she stood. Nesta gave her a look.

“I have been thinking for days about what I would say when this time came,” she began, her voice quiet. “Now, everything I came up with seems insignificant.”

She reached into the satchel over her shoulder and took out a book. “So, I must apologize. I may have ripped apart your book of Keats. I’m working on putting it back together, but I do not believe it would stand the weather conditions.” She placed the book against his headstone, among the flowers that sat there. “So, I brought Wordsworth. Do not worry, I took out my note, and photograph. In fact, the photograph went into the fireplace. Hopefully, it finds you in whatever world is after this one. For...when you get lonely.”

Nesta couldn’t help the small smile that appeared on her mouth as she chuckled, but it quickly faded.

“Cassian…” she hesitated, her gaze falling to her hands, folded in her lap atop her skirts. “I am sorry. I am so, truly sorry for being so frightened. Frightened to be with you, frightened to...love you. To say it. Because I was in love with you, Cass.” Her voice broke, but she lifted her chin, even as her eyes pooled over, the tears rolling down her chilled skin. “I was so in love with you, so much so that it almost seemed impossible. And I was so afraid to tell you, because that love was overwhelming. I had never felt love like that, had never known that I could feel love like that. But, I should have told you. You deserved to know. I wanted you to know. I hope you did know, Cassian, that I loved you so. And I just…” she blew out a long, slow breath. “I am so angry at myself for taking so much time away from us. I pushed you away for too long, Cassian. I took away our time. Because of me, we did not have all the time that we could have. It wasn’t enough. And I regret that, so deeply. That we did not have time. That I did not have time with you, Cassian. But I will find you in the next world, the next life. And we will have that time. I promise.”

Her fingers brushed over the words engraved on his headstone. Cassian Nazari. Son, brother, friend. He had only been twenty-two.

“I love you,” she whispered, “and I will always love you.” Her hand resting upon her abdomen. “We both will. Apparently we Archeron sisters are very….fertile. Which, I have found myself grateful for.”

She had found out soon after he had gone to war, but she told no one. She did not want to take away Elain’s spotlight, and then Feyre had been with child, and lost it, and there never seemed to be a right time. Even so, Nesta liked keeping the secret. It was a piece of him that she held onto when he was gone. And it was now a piece of him that she would hold onto until she died, until she went to the next world, and met Cassian there.

“I told my father that I do not wish to marry,” she rasped, wiping at her eyes with gloved hands. “I wish to inherit his kingdom alone, and I will have an heir, and we will live and run the place in which we fell in love.”

The blue sky clouded over as she sat there for a long while.

“I miss you,” she breathed. “I would give up the world to have you back in it.”

A soft breeze came by and blew Nesta’s hair out of her face. It caressed her skin, made the hairs on her arms stand tall.

She smiled, wistfully. “I love you, too.”

She rose to her feet, her boots crunching atop the leaves as she approached Marigold.

“Anything you wish to say before we part?” Nesta asked, taking Marigold’s reins.

Marigold huffed, nodding her head up and down. Nesta kissed her nose. “He misses you too, Mari. Come now. Let us go home with the others.”

Nesta climbed up onto the saddle and clicked her tongue. Marigold, fully aware of the babe within Nesta’s womb, took her mistress home, slowly and carefully.

~~~~~

Rhysand’s eyes narrowed at the game board. “I do not understand the point of this game.”

Feyre blinked. “That is only because you do not have enough patience for it.”

Rhysand chuckled.

She was right.

It was two days after Cassian’s funeral, and they would be leaving for Velaris soon. The two sat in the library, near the fireplace, hovering over a game of chess.

Feyre was annihilating him.

“Perhaps we should go rest, instead,” Rhysand suggested, head tilted.

“Because you are tired?” Feyre asked. “Or, because you refuse to lose a game of chess to your wife.”

With a sleepy grin, he held out a hand to his wife. She walked to the other side of the table and fell into his lap, her cheek resting against his shoulder.

“Are you ready to go home?” she asked.

Rhysand debated. He felt like it had been a lifetime since he had been home, in Velaris. He knew his estate was in good hands, knew his staff was trustworthy and respectable in his absence.

“I am ready to bring you home,” he said. “To show you Velaris.”

Feyre smiled up at him. “We will finally be able to start our lives.”

Rhysand nodded. After all that he endured, after all they all had endured, that is all he wanted, all he could hope for. To start a life, a real, normal life, with his wife.

“I figured we could have a celebration,” Rhysand said. “Perhaps in a few week’s time, To celebrate our marriage. The whole city will be invited.”

“Is that so?” Feyre crooned.

Rhysand nodded, eyes falling shut. “Yes. They will all come to meet my beautiful wife, and we will eat, and dance, and make them all jealous of how in love we are.”

Feyre snorted. “Spoken like a true romantic.”

He pulled on her waist until he was being straddled, her skirts hanging over his legs. His hand reached for the back of her neck, and he pulled her forward, pressing his lips against hers.

She kissed him slowly, savoring every second. Rhysand melted into the chair, taking her with him. The world could be burning down around him, but she brought him back to reality. She made him feel safe, worthy.

“I am very romantic,” he muttered, against her mouth.

He could feel her smile, before she kissed him, again. Their tongues brushed, and Rhysand growled, softly, in the silence of the library.

“Must we?” A voice came from the threshold. “In the library?”

They both looked up to find Nesta, Oswald at her feet, with her arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

Rhysand cleared his throat as Feyre stood up and brushed down her skirts. “He cannot seem to keep his hands to himself.”

Nesta snorted - the closest she had come to making any sort of joyful noise in nearly two weeks.

“I hear you two are to leave this afternoon,” Nesta said, meandering further into the massive room. “For Velaris.”

“We can stay if-”

Nesta waved Feyre off, mid-sentence. “I do wish you and Elain would stop worrying. Go on with your lives, Feyre. Go home. It is what I want. You two deserve to do so. I will be fine.”

Feyre’s mouth closed and she nodded. “Will you visit?”

Nesta stopped, hands outstretched in front of the fireplace. “Of course.”

“And Ossy too, yeah?” Feyre asked, falling to her knees before the pup and scratching him behind his ears. His long, golden tail went wild.

“I was hoping I could speak to your husband alone for a moment, Feyre,” Nesta said, her back to them both.

Feyre froze and looked over at Rhysand, who nodded once.

“Very well,” Feyre said, clearing her throat. “I will take Ossy outside to play, then.”

After another hesitant look at Rhysand, Feyre led Oswald out of the library.

Rhysand stood and straightened his jacket. “Nesta-”

“Please,” she breathed, then paused. “I felt that I must tell you…..that is-” Her words fell off, flustered. Rhysand may not have known Nesta well, but he knew her well enough to know how uncomfortable she must be, alone with him, vulnerable. “It was not your fault. What happened. I know that you feel as if it is, just as Azriel believes it is his fault, but….you being there when he-”

Nesta stopped, and turned to face Rhysand. Her eyes were stripped, bare, so open and honest. “When he passed. It is not your fault, what happened, and I do not wish you to live as if it were. If I may be honest with you, Rhysand, I am grateful you were there with him, so that he did not have to leave this world alone.”

Rhysand stared at her, lips parted. He was speechless, unable to form a decent thought.

“Take Feyre home,” Nesta whispered, adoration shining in her eyes at the mention of her youngest sister. “Enjoy your time as one, start a family, give her the adventures she has always longed for. Be happy, together. You cannot do that with the weight of guilt on your shoulders.”

Rhysand nodded, and ran a hand absentmindedly through his hair. “And what of you? Will you find your own happiness?”

Nesta looked back to the fire, flames dancing within the confines of red brick. “I had never been truly happy, before him. He...allowed me to experience joy. Freedom. I have not been able to separate the two, not yet - Cassian and joy. But, now that I have experienced both, perhaps I will be able to find that joy, again. For myself. Not in a man, perhaps, but in all other ways this world can offer.”

Rhysand nodded, his jaw locking. “I truly wish you do find that joy, Nesta.”

She nodded, refusing to turn back to him.

“Thank you,” he said, quietly, before he walked toward the entrance.

“Tell Feyre I will be down to bid you both farewell,” Nesta said.

Rhysand promised, before leaving her alone, staring into the fire.

~~~~~

“Is there a reason you’re staring at the drive?”

Azriel spun around, spotting Feyre walking toward him, Oswald on her heels.

“Erm,” he looked back over his shoulder, toward the long, dusty drive, before scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, Elain went to see the doctor in town this morning. I tried to go with her, but she told me to stay and finish gathering our belongings. I thought she would be back by now.”

“Are you worried?” Feyre asked, stopping next to him.

“I’m always worried,” he muttered.

Feyre nodded, understanding brightening her eyes. She took a deep breath. “I am certain she’s alright. You know Elain...she probably stopped to pick flowers or tell Helion how much she adores his current work in progress.”

Azriel chuckled, then nodded. “Yes, you’re right.”

Feyre picked up a stick and threw it. Oswald ran after it.

The carriage came around the trees, Edward sitting with the reins atop the black cab, the Archeron family seal on the side.

Azriel wanted to run to her, but he remained frozen in the grass. He knew Feyre was looking at him with the utmost concern, but he could not convince either foot to move.

The carriage stopped in front of the house and Elain hopped out, smiling at where he stood with Feyre. With one hand against her abdomen, she hurried toward them.

“I apologize for taking so long,” she said, as she approached. “I had to make a few stops before I came back.”

Feyre cleared her throat, before turning her back to the pair and chasing after Oswald.

Elain laughed, watching them both fade into the pasture.

“A few stops?” Azriel repeated, as she reached up to kiss his cheek.

“Yes,” she beamed. “I got you something.”

Azriel lifted a brow. “Me?”

She nodded, taking a small parchment wrapped package out of her satchel. He took it from her, slowly, and pulled the paper apart, carefully.

He pulled out a little pair of white, knitted booties. He smiled, fondly, before meeting Elain’s eyes. “As precious as these are, I do not think they will fit me, my love.”

Elain laughed and pushed against his chest. “Stop it.”

Azriel held up the booties before putting them back into the paper. He kissed her, quickly, as he wrapped his arms around her waist. “They are lovely. The baby is healthy, then? The doctor said everything is okay?”

Elain nodded, brown eyes shining. “Yes, she is perfectly healthy.”

“Good, I-” Azriel froze, and Elain laughed at his expression, taking his face into her soft, gentle hands. “She?”

“He believes it is a girl,” Elain said, smiling brightly. “I must admit that I have thought as much, too.”

“A girl,” Azriel breathed, unable to do anything more than repeat her words.

“Yes,” Elain said, her fingers brushing across his cheeks. “A girl, Azriel.”

The tightening that had been controlling his chest seemed to fade as he stared at Elain. And when he kissed her, he felt peaceful. He was going to be a father, to a beautiful, healthy baby girl.

Then Elain would become his wife.

And if they were forced to live in a cruel, unfair world, Azriel came to the conclusion that he was given far more than he deserved.

~~~~~

After hugging Feyre goodbye and trying to stop Elain’s endless stream of tears, Nesta watched Feyre and Rhysand, and Elain and Azriel, disappear down the drive.

Oswald whined by her feet. Nesta patted his head, gently. “I know, Ossy. But, you still have me.”

Oswald whined again.

Nesta’s eyes narrowed. “That is rude, Oswald.”

She walked the pup back inside before grabbing her satchel and walking back out the door, alone.

There was something she had to do.

After hopping atop Marigold, they rode for a little over an hour, until they got to the other side of town. Marigold, true to her nature, rode protectively with her mistress. Because of that, however, it took a little bit longer than Nesta had expected, but she liked riding in the fresh air.

By the time they arrived at the little cabin on the edge of town, Nesta was content, her nerves having lessened just a bit.

Smoke was puffing out of the chimney, so she assumed they must be home. The moment Nesta was on the ground, however, slowly walking toward the door, those nerves returned in full force.

She knocked, and waited, and though she only waited less than a minute, it felt like an eternity.

The thick, wooden slab swung open and a girl appeared, a few years younger than Nesta. She had hazel eyes, and long, curly brown hair. Her head tilted to the side in confusion, no doubt having taken in Nesta’s apparel, her apparel and stance were of a lady.

Then, her eyes widened. “Mama? We have a guest! Come in, please.”

Nesta nodded, gratefully, and stepped inside. The cabin was small, but warm and cozy. They had a fire blazing, a black lab sleeping peacefully on the rug in front of it.

Nesta cleared her throat. “My name is-”

“Oh, we know who you are,” the young woman grinned, and her grin was so much like Cassian’s that Nesta’s chest ached.

“I’m Layla,” the girl said. “My mother is-”

“Here,” a woman came around the corner, smiling brightly. Her hazel eyes lit with surprise as she took in Nesta. It was clear that both Cassian and his sister took after their mother. “I’m Helena.”

“Lovely to meet you,” Nesta said. “I’m Nesta.”

“Oh, we know who you are,” Helena said, repeating the words of her daughter moments before. “Please, sit.”

Nesta did so, sitting on the couch near the fire.

“Would you like some tea, dear?” Helena asked.

Nesta shook her head. “No, thank you. I do not wish to bother you long, I just...had some of-”

Helena clicked her tongue. “No, no. I must get something first. Oh, where did I put that damned thing?”

Layla chuckled. “Top of your dresser, mama.”

Helena scurried from the sitting room and Layla sat across from Nesta. “So, you were my brother’s lover, then.”

Nesta froze, and Layla laughed.

“You will have to excuse us,” Layla continued. “We have no idea how to talk to a lady.”

Nesta smiled, softly. “Nor did your brother, but I liked that about him.”

Layla’s grin widened as Helena returned. She sat by her daughter, an envelope in her hand.

“Nesta, my dear, I must say I am surprised to see you. We hoped to speak with you at the funeral, but we did not see you,” Helena said.

Nesta watched her hands. “I watched from the hill.”

Helena nodded, hazel eyes growing soft. “I see. Well, I am glad that you have come. We have heard a lot about you. Cassian wrote often with many stories about the eldest daughter of Isaac Archeron.”

Nesta’s cheeks warmed as she met their eyes. “All good things, I hope?”

Helena laughed. “All good things, I assure you.”

Nesta swallowed, her discomfort growing. “I came because I had a few things of his that I thought you might like.” She took the distorted book of Keats from her bag. “Um, I...may have destroyed this, but I have spent time putting it back together. Also, I have his pipe-”

“My dear,” Helena began, quietly, watching the way Nesta’s hands shook. “You should keep those things. Cassian wanted you to have them, which is why he listed you as his contact. Those are yours.”

Nesta stopped, brow raised.

Helena’s smile was bright, so full of love and adoration for her son. “We know more than you think we do, it seems. Here.”

She handed Nesta the envelope she had gone to look for. Nesta took it, carefully. It was already opened, addressed to Helena and Layla, written in Cassian’s hand.

“That is the last letter I received from my son,” Helena explained. “While he was on the continent.”

It was like holding a piece of a ghost, a lost piece of her heart.

“Well, go on,” Layla pushed. “Open it.”

“Hush, child,” Helena muttered.

“Well, I want to see her reaction,” Layla muttered, back. “Can you blame me? And I am not a child.”

Nesta huffed a laugh as she pulled out the letter. Between the sight of his hand and her wild hormones, her eyes were watering before she even began reading.

My dearest Mama and Lala,

I am currently sitting at camp, by the fire while Rhysand and Azriel sing drunkenly, reading Wordsworth. Keats may be my favorite, but when I read Wordsworth, I feel like Nesta is here with me, and for that reason, I cannot stop.

I miss you both terribly. Mama, I hope your sickness has faded and you are feeling well again. As for Lala, tell her to keep away from that bastard down the road. She is too good for him.

She deserves to marry a man who loves and respects her, and he surely does not. When I get home, I promise I will visit, and if she is seeing that prick, I will be forced to do things I am not proud of. Do not make me make a fool of myself, Lala.

Speaking of love, I had a favor to ask. I remember you telling me long ago that when I met the woman I wish to marry, I could have your ring. When I get back, I hope it is alright that I may have it. I wish to ask for Nesta’s hand. It is true that she may say no, for I know she cares for me, but I am still much lower than she in social standing. However, if I do not ask, I will never forgive myself.

You will like her, Mama. She is just as stubborn and just as much of a pain as you and Lala. But, like you and Lala, she has forever stolen a piece of my heart, of my soul. I am in love with her. I am in love with her, Mama, and I wish for her to be my wife.

They will be collecting our letters shortly, so I will say no more. I promise to write again soon.

I love you both.

But seriously, tell Lala to stay away from that prick. I mean it.

I will see you soon.

With all the love,

Cassian

The letter fell to Nesta’s lap as she wiped a tear from her cheek and looked up to Helena, who was watching Nesta, quietly.

“I cannot believe it,” Nesta breathed.

“That he wished to marry you?” Layla asked, quietly.

“That he thought there was a chance I would refuse,” she said, her heart full.

Helena reached into her pocket and pulled out a small gold band with a sapphire encircled by small diamonds. “This was my mother’s. I had no brothers, so as the eldest sister, I inherited it upon her death. I was saving it for Cassian, when he found the woman he wished to marry. You are that woman, Nesta. He may not have had the chance to ask, but this is yours, my dear.”

Nesta’s eyes widened. “Oh, I- I cannot.”

“But you would have accepted,” Helena smiled, kindly. “I can see the love for him in your eyes. Wear it, think of him, of his love for you.”

Helena held out her hand, and Nesta hesitated before reaching out. Cassian’s mother slipped the ring onto her finger, where it fit perfectly. “See?” Helena beamed. “It was meant to be.”

“Thank you,” Nesta breathed. “Truly.”

Helena pulled Nesta into her arms, and Layla wrapped her slender arms around them both. Once they pulled back, Nesta stood.

“I hate to be leaving so soon,” Nesta said, in all honesty. “I would love to visit more, but it will be growing dark soon and I have a long way home.”

“Of course,” Helena smiled. “Travel safely and come see us again soon?”

“Of course,” Nesta promised.

She walked to the door, then stopped. “I actually was hoping that I could visit often. As well as you both being welcome at the Manor, of course.” She turned to meet their curious gazes. “I am with child. Your grandson.”

Helena’s hands covered her mouth, her hazel eyes welling up with tears. “You are pregnant?”

Nesta nodded, slowly. The words sounding foreign, as nobody had yet to know.

The two rushed at her so suddenly that Nesta’s body fell into a defensive mode, but when they reached her, Nesta was swarmed with hugs and kisses on the cheek, as well as Helena rubbing her hands all over Nesta’s abdomen.

They talked for a while longer, rejoicing over the good news. Helena said that, hopefully, the baby does not turn out like Cassian, for he was a hellacious toddler.

A fact that Nesta was not surprised by, whatsoever.

Nesta promised she would visit them again the next weekend, and the weekend after that they would travel to the Manor.

As she went back outside once the sun began to set, Marigold huffed.

“Yes, I told them.”

Marigold swung her head.

Nesta smiled. “Yes, they were very happy. Are you not loaded with questions this evening?”

Marigold huffed, once more, as Nesta stopped in front of the mare, petting her fondly.

“Yes, I believe it will all be okay, too. Eventually.”

Nesta pressed her forehead against Marigold, and the horse remained silent as she wept.

But for once, as she cried, Nesta’s heart was no longer shattered. For the first time since his death, Nesta felt the slightest glimpse of hope.

She saddled Marigold, and they began their journey home.

“Perhaps tomorrow we shall go to the cemetery, Mari,” Nesta said, as they reached the dirt path. “I must tell Cassian that his mother and sister are very kind. Also, I must tell him all the embarrassing childhood stories Helena just told me about him.”

Marigold nodded, her mane flying wildly.

Nesta laughed. It seemed Marigold wanted to hear the stories, too.

Nesta straightened her back and held her head up high, one hand on the reins, the other resting on her abdomen and the small bump that had begun to form as the sun began to set.

Night would arrive soon, but a new day would follow.

~~~~~

@throne-of-ashes-and-beauty @mariamuses @a-happybird @amusicalbookworm @manoncrochanblackbeak @alifletcher2012 @candid-confetti @fandoms-everywhere-united @mis-lil-red@littlehoneyybee @abillionlittlepieces @impossiblescissorspeachpaper @awesomelena555 @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @tswaney17 @jemma-nessian-and-elriel @rhysandsrightknee @gendryaforthemasses @dayanna-hatter @thebluemartini @welcometothespeaknowworldtour @julemmaes @christiashadows @sleeping-and-books @itsme-malin @agnez312 @cat5313 @amren-courtofdreams @chemica @empress-ofbloodshed @islamonna @illyrianbeauty @sleeping-and-books @queenofxhearts @sleeping-and-books @aedionashryver-wolfofthenorth @queenofillea1 @mynewdreamwasyou @levivlio @hellolenas @burritowithfeels @that-other-pineapple @girl-who-reads-the-books @raghad-50725@musicmaam @rowaelinforeverworld @negativenesta @welcometothespeaknowworldtour @gloriouspaintercreatorbandit@sannelovesreading @nerdperson524 @ireallyshouldsleeprn @nerdperson524 @mariamuses @gorl-power @booklover242 @rowaelinforeverworld @regular-nessian-trash @izou1204 @aelin-rowan-whitehorn @opheliatheemerald @eversincebeirut @musicmaam @ladybookwrm @santas-dwynwen @starryandbooks @candid-confetti @avenrebekah @awkward-avocado-s

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #nessian #feysand #elriel #sjm #fanfic #fanfiction #period au

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bigskydreaming · 5 years

Note

In the extremely unlikely event that Bruce dies for real, or finally retires, who out of his various children do you think should (not could) inherit the Cowl? Just based on skills and temperament, who do you think would be a perfect fit for the next Batman?

I’m a firm proponent of the Cass For Batman movement.

Here’s the thing…..I think by the time any of the Batkids are old enough/tall enough to pull off the cape and cowl look….any and all of the Batkids have the skills to be Batman, or hell, even to surpass him. I’ve always said the high concept of the Batfam is that they’re a family of Mary Sues, that’s their point. Put any one of them in a room with any non group of Bats, and they’re all by default likely to be the most skilled, best fighter, etc, etc. But them together….eh, too many people IMO spend too much time trying to rank them when it seems pointless to me…..you put a family of Mary Sues all together in the same room, they’re all still Mary Sues. (And keep in mind, I’m not using Mary Sue as an insult. Obviously. I love them all, lol. And Batman is the original Mary Sue as far as I’m concerned).

So bottom line is, any one of them could be Batman, skill-wise. Cass I think is the only one who has consistently truly wanted to be, temperament and ambition wise.

I was a big fan of Dickbats, when he wore the cowl. He was good at it, both times, after Bane and then when Bruce was believed dead. He’s Bruce’s eldest and has been by his side the longest of all of them, there’s a degree to which part of me wants to say it should always go to Dick after Bruce, just in acknowledgment of all of that, but honestly? It shouldn’t IMO - again, I liked the Batman we got when Dick wore the cowl before, but it took a toll on him from a character standpoint, because he’s never wanted to be Batman is the thing. He wants to be his own person, of his own design….yeah, he stepped up and made being Batman work for him, on his terms, but it was never his first choice, and IMO never would be, and I’m all about Dick getting to choose. So no, it shouldn’t be him.

There’s at least one Earth in the DC Multiverse where Jason became Batman and was good at it. But with Jason its all about temperament. I honestly don’t think Jason wants to be Batman, not anymore. He wanted to be Batman during Battle for the Cowl, but that Jason was written extremely OOC then and by Morrison as well after that, IMO. He cared more about making a point to his family - or at least Bruce (or even just the ghost of Bruce) - than he cared about innocents, and that’s never been a take on him I find convincing or compelling. I’m fine with Jason killing, I’m behind him on a lot of occasions, but that’s only a Jason who kills out of empathy for the victims who will never see justice otherwise, because a broken system just flat out doesn’t care about them.

And I think ultimately Jason’s biggest grievance with Bruce is he sees Bruce’s refusal to kill his murderer as proof that Bruce ultimately doesn’t care about Jason, based on an inverse of the same logic - and with this being something that Jason has trouble just flat out owning up to in that specific sense (at least after UTRH), because he refuses to be a victim, and Bruce has already made his choice there once, as far as Jason’s concerned, and Jason is too proud to beg or ask a second time. But during the Battle for the Cowl era, Jason wanted to be Batman, but to prove a point, that his way of being Batman is better than Bruce’s, and like I said…..that just never felt like Jason to me. His conflict with people is often based on him believing he’s right, but its not truly about proving that or needing to, IMO….he just believes he is and does what he does. He craves being avenged, not being validated.

So bottom line is, I don’t think Jason in this main Earth would ever really want to be Batman, because BFTC aside…..I think he’s perfectly aware and comfortable with the fact that his way is not Batman’s way. That who he is by choice is not who Batman is, or would really choose to be. And he’s fine with that. The thing about Jason, as far as I’ve always seen it, is he’s never been upset that Batman wouldn’t kill the Joker, his murderer, that Batman wouldn’t avenge him. He gets why Batman wouldn’t. The thing that he can’t ever really reconcile is that Bruce, his Dad wouldn’t avenge him, whether as Batman or just as a grieving father. And that ultimately has nothing to do with Batman as a concept, as a hero or anything with someone who is not Bruce under that cowl. And thus who and what Batman is, ultimately has nothing Jason really needs or wants to be.

Tim, just like the older two, is more than capable of being Batman…..but he doesn’t want to be either. He’s afraid of who he might be as Batman, ultimately. He’s more than once been shown visions of a future where he’s Batman, or faced time traveling future versions of himself as Batman, and its never been a pretty picture. Tim as Batman, in the various futures he’s seen that come to pass in, almost as a warning, is someone who in each of them has kinda gone full Dark Side, embraced the idea of vengeance over justice, or total control over even the chance of chaos befalling someone he cares about, etc. Because Tim does have these tendencies, I’ve always maintained, and he’s not oblivious to them either. He doesn’t deal well with loss, and has a tendency to lose himself in his refusal to accept loved ones as being gone (even though yes, admittedly he is sometimes right to), or just….a denial of the way things are.

And Tim, like any of the Batkids, is more than capable of circumventing the way things are, by virtue of genius inventions, time travel, etc, or manipulating powerful beings into acting exactly as he needs them to in order to achieve some end, etc. So the thing is, any of the Batkids losing themselves to their refusal to accept things the way they are, the natural order of things, is a potentially dangerous thing, because there is very little they aren’t capable of when they put their minds to it, but Tim is the one who is most afraid of this possibility. Dick rejects the possibility as willfully and stubbornly as he can, when people try and force it on him. Jason has at times accepted it and not looked back until much later if at all. Cass has lived it and found it to be her worst nightmare, and Damian was taught to embrace it and had to unlearn that.

Tim is distinct in this regard, in the sense that he’s the one most afraid of being tempted by it, and afraid that he could be tempted…….its not so much that he’s walked a fine line with this in the past, he’s never really done all that much in terms of becoming the future versions of himself he fears, here and now in the present….but he is aware that something about him and his choices attracts the likes of Ra’s al Ghul’s attentions the way Dick attracts the attentions of Slade, Cobb and various other assassins. Ra’s tends to focus on Tim and trying to get him to side with him, more than he really ever does the others, not because any of them couldn’t be just as deadly were they to side with them, but rather I’ve always viewed it a matter of temperament……I think Ra’s has always viewed Tim as being the one he has the best chance of convincing to side with him or try things from his POV…..because he knows or believes, or at least Tim sees it that way, as Tim being the one who could be potentially sold on the idea of total control. Of having the power to ensure nothing harms anything that he is protective of, that he has power enough to stop even death from reaching his loved ones.

But, at the same time, Tim is also the Batkid who is most invested in…..kinda….preserving the idea, and the reality, of the Batman who has been his hero since he was a kid. The Batman that he tracked down and sought out in order to try and help him in any way he could when he was only thirteen. To try and keep safe and to keep from becoming the darker version of himself he was becoming after Jason’s death in his grief.

Like….to Dick, Batman was always just Bruce, his partner….he wasn’t someone he had a lot of preconceptions about before he met him. He’s never really been anything but Bruce to him, and thus he’s never actually been some larger than life figure. He’s known him as his guardian and father figure as much as he’s known him as his mentor and teacher…they go hand in hand for him, not really much of a time gap in between him being the one and becoming the other. So in as much as Dick has always looked up to Bruce from an early age, Batman has never been any kind of mythic ideal for him….its just Bruce in another guise. His guardian, friend and eventually dad.

And then to Jason….I’ve talked about this before, but I think Jason and Dick are both the reverse of Tim and Damian because the latter two came looking for Batman and stayed for Bruce, but the older two came to trust Bruce first and only came to trust Batman because of that. And so to Jason, Bruce was his dad even before Batman was his mentor and partner, and no matter how much Jason may have enjoyed being his partner at times and wanted to impress him as Robin, it was always Bruce that Jason valued far more than Batman. If he had to choose between the two, he’d choose Bruce every time, and at times I would describe their conflicts even before his death as being the result of Batman kinda getting in the way, when Jason just wanted to talk to Bruce, his dad.

But to Tim….even while its not like Tim as Robin was naive or had this unrealistic view of Bruce or the fact that he was as human as anyone else….and even though its not like he didn’t value Bruce for who Bruce was aside from Batman, and eventually see and value him as his father……there’s always been a difference to the way he speaks of Batman, the idea of Batman. He’s the first of the Batkids to ever really approach viewing the cape and the man underneath it as something….necessary to Gotham. That the city or even the world needed, the way Batman was before Jason’s death, and that Tim felt driven to try and bring him back to. Dick and Jason were both aware of Bruce’s good qualities and all the things Batman did to protect the world of course, but while to them that was more or less just Bruce doing things in the way that made the most sense to him or worked best for him, Tim’s the one whose first real glimpse of Batman and view of him was formulated at a distance, where all he could really see was what the Batman presented to the world and thus represented, before he was close enough to see the man behind the mask.

So he’s the one to first or most wholly truly grasp the symbol of Batman….and that’s what I’m trying to get at there. He respects what Batman stands for, the necessity of that, the Batman he’s dedicated so much time and energy and his own life to safeguarding and preserving that heroic/protector spirit of his as much as he has prioritized physically guarding that Batman’s back as Robin…..like, Batman as Tim wholly believes Batman should be, matters far to much to Tim to ever ‘jeopardize’ by giving into Ra’s temptations, or his own dark visions or future glimpses of who he might become. And so no, Tim would never want to be Batman either, because he’s afraid of the Batman he might be, and its too important to him that Batman be what Tim believes the city and the world needs Batman to be.

And then there’s Damian, who again, is more than capable, at least by the time he’s an adult, and unlike pretty much all the others, has spent most of his life intent on becoming Batman. He’s always viewed it as his birthright, his destiny…….but that was before he came to Gotham, met his father as well as his brothers, and was Robin to Dick’s Batman. There’s a lot of reasons why I think whether he’s even totally realized it yet or not, I don’t think Damian still wants to become Batman even as of this point. Such as the fact that with the right writers, he’s discovered that he likes the freedom to choose who he might be, the unknown of it all rather than the certainty and thus the restrictions of being confined to an inevitable destiny. Various events since he’s come to Gotham, like him dying, discovering his grandfather intended to try and use him as his new younger vessel, etc….many of them to different degrees have made him view fate as being just as likely to be a trap as it is to bring the freedom and power he once thought his fate promised him. He’s still young (and he’s still written by a bunch of shitty writers who see him and think “Oh, this is a brat with an attitude and a history of violence, that means he’s basically the Antichrist like that other Damian was, yes?”) so there’s a lot of stopping and starting with this character growth, but the growth is there, if you focus on it and not just the writers who are like “I see a kid named Damian, I write that kid named Damian as pure evil, cuz I gotta, its the rule.”

But also……there’s an endless number of ways in which Dick and Damian are the mirror of Bruce and Dick at their beginning, and this is just one more of those to me. Because I think deep down, Damian no longer wants to be Batman, not all that dissimilar to how Dick never wanted to be Batman. Because it was never that Dick didn’t respect everything Batman stood for, and I don’t think it was ever that he was afraid of drowning in the darkness typically associated with the mantle….because Dick was the one who was truly in the dark spot when he first met Batman. Batman was his light before Dick ever climbed out of his depression, reignited his own inner light, and became Bruce’s light too. So Bruce’s Batman didn’t ever equal just darkness to Dick in the first place. No, Dick’s real issue with being Batman was always just that it wasn’t him…it was his dad. He didn’t want to wear his dad’s old clothes, he wanted to be someone that was uniquely and distinctly him.

And I think its the same thing for Damian at this point. Even though he’s been Bruce’s Robin as much as he was Dick’s, Dick was Damian’s first Batman, the one who made him Robin in the first place. And I think despite what Damian grew up thinking Batman was….when he came to Gotham he really only had enough time to grasp the fact that nothing he thought he knew about Batman or his father was accurate….before Bruce was believed dead. So the new image he formed of Batman, of who and what he was, the Batman that replaced those false impressions…..was Dick’s version of Batman. And now, I think, that’s forever kinda immortalized in Damian’s mind as what Batman is supposed to be, and so I don’t think he wants to be Batman anymore, because that’s not him.

And not even because of insecurity, like he wouldn’t be capable of being that Batman, but rather because I think Dick is the one who taught him to seek more for himself than just what he’d been told was his destiny by others, to choose it for himself….and so I think Damian would never truly want to be Batman at this point because to him, Batman is forever the guy telling him to be his own man, something new, something he hasn’t even thought of yet…..not just some other version of the identity he’d thought was his destiny since he was old enough to talk.

Duke also would be more than capable of being Batman, and I could see certain AUs where it might end up being him, and I’d like to see some of those AUs, but ultimately I don’t see him wanting it either for much the same reason as most of the other boys: Duke’s someone who’s also found power in finding himself in his own identity, building his own mantle and persona and name for himself from scratch as The Signal, rather than step into the shoes left by someone else. I’m short changing Duke here, as he deserves more than just that sparknotes paragraph, but this post has more than gotten away from me already and its late, so I will happily come back to that at a later time if anyone wants.

But that brings me back to Cass. As I said, its not about her being the best fighter of them, like, that making her inherently more suited for the cowl skill wise or whatever….since any and all of them are hyper-competent across the board and possessing their own various specialties. So they’re all more than skilled enough. But its a temperament thing, the thing she has marked off in the pro column of “Why I Should Be Batman” that none of the others do. Its that of all of them, she’s the one who truly wants it, and for the right reasons. Who sees power in it, for herself, the kind of power that she would choose to wield in defense of others, power that she wants to be the kind that defines her and who she is as a hero. As opposed to the boys who see it as something they’re leery of, or that they feel embodies a sense of self that just isn’t them.

Any of the boys as Batman, just like Dick did, would likely do better at it than they thought. They would likely do so through each of them subtly redefining it in their own ways, making it their version of Batman, a Batman each of them could comfortably be, without losing themselves in it. But the same isn’t true for Cass, I think, because that’s the point: she wants to be the Batman that Batman already is, to her.

She wants to fill those shoes, because of all of the kids, she and Tim I think are the closest here, in that they’re the two who never fully stopped seeing the larger than life symbol of Batman, even after getting to know and love the man underneath it….but while for Tim, that symbol was more about what it represented to Gotham, what it could be for the world….for Cass, that symbol was more about what it represented to her. Batman was her hero, before she ever saw him be anyone else’s…..he was what saved her, that made her believe she was worth saving, and Batman, that Batman, is what Cass in turn wants to be for other people. The hero for them that he was for her.

At his best, Bruce has been many things to his various children, as both Bruce Wayne and as Batman. He was the light that first showed Dick the way through his trauma, he was the father that Jason never had, he was the symbol that Tim believed in from afar and that lived up to that promise even when Tim met the man underneath, and he was the legend that Damian heard and wanted to be.

But for Cass, and only Cass….he was all of those things at the same time.

And that is why I think Cass is ultimately the only true successor to the Batman that is, (or at least, the Batman that he is, when at his best aka not written by Tom King or those of similar ilk). Rather than a successor who would become a Batman in name, but with their own individualized take and reinterpretation of the cowl and what it means or stands for when worn by them. And its why I think Cass is also the only one who truly wants to be that successor, and for reasons she finds fulfillment in, rather than seeing as baggage that weighs her down or keeps her mired in the past, in grief, stuck walking the same path someone else already walked. She knows who Batman is to her, and what his symbol represents, and she knows that its everything she wants to be, and nothing that she would feel trapped or limited by, rather than empowered by.

I think any and all of her siblings have the potential to someday mirror their own pasts with Batman and Bruce, and who he was to them:

For Dick, being who and what Bruce was for him when he needed him first - that means being Dick Grayson, with Batman merely a secondary title. Just like it was Bruce Wayne he had needed, with Batman merely incidental to that….and all of this being born out as true with Damian, when he ultimately responded to Dick’s efforts to reach him far more than Dick-as-Batman’s.

For Jason, being who and what Bruce was for him might mean being a father someday - and with who he is as the Red Hood potentially being the thing that gets in the way of that, just as Batman was what sometimes got in the way of him and Bruce. And thus with the Red Hood being the thing he might have to choose to hang up and put behind him, if he truly wants to learn from the mistakes his father made with him.

For Tim, being who and what Bruce was for him at first, would ironically mean being the darker, grief-driven version of himself that needed someone else to remind him of who he was…..a version of himself for some precocious would-be hero to save the way Tim had once been determined to save Bruce from himself.

And for Damian, being who and what Bruce was to him at first, would unfortunately mean being in someone else’s eyes no different - and no more approachable - than the legend Bruce originally existed as for him. It might mean being distant and out of reach even as what someone really needed was for him to be there and in the flesh. And thus by extension meaning that given the choice, Damian would likely prefer to be for that someone what Dick taught him to be, what Dick was for him…..real and present for that someone else, even if they weren’t that person’s first choice.

And so only for Cass, would being who and what Bruce was for her, mean Cass being someone’s hero. The person who saved by inspiring, just as Batman had saved her by inspiring her. Protecting her by the mere act of proving that he wanted to protect her. Who gave her a new life just by showing her what was out there and what that life could look like.

That’s the Batman that Gotham’s future needs. The same Batman she needed, and the one only she can truly be because of that.

And that’s why IMO it should be her who ultimately takes their father’s place as Gotham’s Dark Knight.

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smallest-clown · 5 years

Link

Who am I to you?

It started with a kiss. That’s all it took. All it took to have Eddie silencing his sobs with his pillow that night. Then that kiss turned into Richie skipping lunch with the losers every couple of days to go make out with his side piece in the janitor’s closet. That made Eddie not come to lunch either. Then those little moments away from the group turned into Richie skipping out on his and Eddie’s plans to go hang out with his girlfriend, which in turn made Eddie stop hanging out with the Losers all together.

He didn’t want to be anywhere near Richie or anything associated with him.

Richie meant everything to Eddie. He would hide it behind all the jokes and fights and insults, but he loved Richie so much. Ever since 6th grade, Eddie had wanted to be more to Richie than just his friend, but the comments Richie made about gay people made Eddie hide his feelings a lot. Everything about Richie made Eddie’s heart flutter. He just wanted to be his, and be able to look at Richie and think “he’s mine”

The only time Richie and Eddie saw each other after that was English class. But instead of having desks pressed together, passing notes, loud laughs and unfinished work, Richie and Eddie were on opposite sides of the classroom. Richie with his girlfriend, and Eddie on his own. Eddie’s work was done much quicker, much better as well. The teacher was happy that he didn’t have Richie weighing him down.

Eddie wasn’t. Nobody had seen him smile in weeks. Occasionally, the other Losers would individually spend some time with him. He always seemed closed off, his demeanour no longer overactive and extreme. It was obvious he was depressed.

Richie wasn’t doing so well either. Sure, he was happy with his girlfriend, Lucy, but he was still upset. Eddie wasn’t talking to him, and all the other Losers were barely giving him the time of day. He almost wanted to break up with her so that things could go back to the ways they were. But that’s insane. He loves her.

He loves her. Eddie thought as he watched the two cuddle up to each other in class. He just lay his head down on his desk. He had finished all the work leading up until next Monday. He just let himself melt into the wooden table.

Richie watched from across the class. Eddie would usually be freaking out about how disgusting the tables were. He would barely touch them, to the point where certain teachers would keep spray bleach bottles in their classes to let him clean the desk before sitting in it. But here he was, face pressed fully into it. That made Richie nervous. God, something must be wrong. This wasn’t like Eddie at all.

The teacher started handing out graded works. Some sort of creative writing type of thing. She handed Lucy’s hers, and then Richie’s his. A large 98% of the top. Richie’s eyes almost popped out of his head. This was impossible! He had written some bullshit about coyotes roaming through the desert and starting fights. Even though he was a straight-A student, English was kicking his ass this year for some reason. It didn’t really matter though, he’d already gotten accepted into his dream college, so a few bad English grades wouldn’t do that much damage. And besides, the school year was ending in a week. Graduation had already passed and most of the exams were done. But there’s no way in hell he got this high of a grade for what he wrote. He checked the name on the top.

E. Kaspbrak

The teacher had given him Eddies and his. He checked his own quickly. 57%. Yup, that made more sense. But now he was curious. Eddie used to always show him his work beforehand. Used to always ask for his opinion. He glanced over to see Eddie asleep on his desk. Guess what the kid doesn’t know won’t hurt him? Richie began reading.

‘Who am I to you? What place do I take in your mind? What do you see me as? Am I your friend? Your foe? Someone just for you to talk to? Was I used to fill in an empty space? Do you really need me, or are you just using me for my kindness? I’ve had people like that in my life before. I was used by those people because I was submissive to them. They just used me because I let them. I never fought them on it. I let them use me for whatever they wanted. I let them treat me like shit just because I was afraid of being all alone. In my head, being alone was worse than being abused and made fun of. I would rather be called horrible names, be embarrassed about myself, hate every single thing about myself than be left alone to my own devices. I now have to pay for that. I have to pay for my actions. I can’t look at myself in the mirror without hearing the names they would call me. Fag, dumbass, useless, a waste of space. I had heard about abusive relationships before, but I thought that I couldn’t possibly be in one. Am I like that to you? Just a punching bag for your words or a punchline at the ends of your jokes? Do I even matter to you? Am I worth your time? My mind made up these situations where you admit to me how much you hate me and how you find me worthless, and I started believing them. I let my mind create multiple situations where you leave me and let me be, and that’s what I’m afraid of. I’m afraid of you leaving me. And right now, I think you just did’

Richie’s heart shattered like a mirror getting hit with a baseball. Eddie, his Eddie, was feeling this way. His Eddie didn’t feel wanted. Richie kept himself from crying. He made a mental note to talk to Eddie after school about all this. “Babe? Is everything alright?” Lucy asked from beside him. “Yeah babe, everything alright.”

The rest of the school day felt like it was going on forever for Richie. It was only two classes but it felt like every second passing by was actually a minute. But when the last bell rang, he sprinted out of class to his locker. It wouldn’t be hard to find Eddie, he takes the same route to walk himself back home every day. He hasn’t changed it since they started going to this school. That’s something that Richie liked about Eddie. His consistency. He needed that in his life. His mind would bounce from subject to subject so quickly that nothing was ever exactly the same to him. He could never do something twice exactly the same. But Eddie, Eddie could continuously do everything exactly the same all the time. He needed those patterns to exist. Richie envied that.

“If you were in such a rush to see me, I could’ve met you at your class silly.” A voice said as Richie frantically packed up his bag. “Oh, Lucy, Hi. Listen I’m going to have to cancel our plans for tonight. I really need to see a family friend.” Richie watched as confusion and then hurt painted this poor’s girl’s face. “Oh, alright. I’ll see you later I guess.” She mumbled as she walked away. Richie felt bad. Every time he tried to cancel plans with her, she’d take it as a personal hit. That’s why he had been blowing Eddie off, cause he knew that Eddie would understand better than Lucy.

Girls were complicated. They didn’t always settle like guys did. Most of the guys Richie knew would take whatever answer they were given and settle with it, but girls would argue and try to get their point across. Girls needed to be right. Guys liked to be right. Richie really did believe this.

Richie ran as fast as possible from his locker, out the front door, past the parking lot, just in time to catch Eddie leave the school property. “Fuck!” Richie sighed out when he finally stopped running. Eddie barely noticed who was behind him, thinking it was the younger students that had taken a liking to him and would walk home with him every few days. “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” Eddie asked, still not turning around. “No, but I kiss yours, and she seems to enjoy it.” Eddie froze and his heart dropped so fast it practically hit his feet. Richie. It was Richie. “H-hi trashmouth.”

Eddie had no plan, no idea what he should do. God, why did Richie have to be like this? He was so socially unaware of everything happening around him, he never seemed to take how others were feeling into consideration. Eddie wished he could be more like Richie, not caring what others think, not needing their approval. He wished he could just blow through life saying and doing whatever he wanted and not having to take any guff from people. He wished he was brave enough to just be himself.

“So, Eddie Spaghetti, y’know in English class today? When Mrs. Cass handed out our work?” Eddie didn’t remember. What work? He shook his head, indicating to Richie that he hadn’t been aware of this. “Oh right, you were asleep. Well, you see, Mrs. Cass was handing out our corrected creative writing work, and I guess her brain was still used to us sitting next to each other cause she gave me your work too.” If Eddie’s heart was at his feet, his stomach had joined it. He had written that very quickly one night when he was upset and just handed it in without giving a second thought. He wasn’t usually the one to make a vent work, but he had done it this time. He didn’t think anyone besides his teacher would read it. But knowing that Richie read it made him afraid. Those were his private feelings, a secret message he had made for the boy, and he had read it like it was nothing. “W-why would you do that?” He hissed. Richie was taken aback. He hadn’t seen any malice with what he had done. He was concerned for his friends well being, why was he acting so offended “Do you still have it, Richie?” He snapped afterwards. “Uh, yeah, here it is.” Richie said confusingly, handing the smaller boy his paper. Eddie grabbed it as fast as possible and started walking away. “Wait! Where are you going?” “Home.” Eddie had quickened his pace. It was obvious he was trying to get out of there as fast as possible. “I thought maybe we could hang out to make up for the times I couldn’t.” Richie said, jogging to catch up with the smaller boy. But he had stopped abruptly hearing that. Eddie was filled with rage, and it was evident with his body language. “Make up for the times you couldn’t? No Richie. You’d be making up for the times you blew me off just so you could spend time with Lucy! You didn’t ask me beforehand, you never gave me a heads up that you weren’t coming! That was a real dick move Rich.” Richie didn’t know how to react. He really thought Eddie would’ve understood. “I-I just thought-” “Did you think I wouldn’t care? You think I would’ve just been like ‘Welp, better luck next time.’ You know me by now Richie.” Eddie continued walking home. “Eddie I’m sorry but we really need to talk. Eds, slow down! Eddie, you scared me!” He shouted. Eddie turned around to face him. “Your writing, it scared me so much. I-I didn’t know you w-were feeling like that. I was scared that you were going to do something bad Eds. Please, just let me hang out with you tonight. let me know you’re ok. I’m sorry.”

Eddie took a deep breath. Everything was too much right now. He was just moments from crying. “I’m fine Richie, really. Just….just go hang out with your girlfriend.” Eddie turned himself back around, dead set on leaving for home for real now.

Richie was struck with a realization. This wasn’t about the reading of the paper. This was about something else. Richie could tell by the way Eddie had said girlfriend

“Wait, are you mad at me for having a girlfriend?” The question hit Eddie right in the chest, making him lose his breath. “N-no.” Richie could tell he was lying. “You are. You’re jealous of her. Listen Eds, I’m not your property. I can hang out with who I want. I can date who I want. I don’t belong to you. I’m sorry for blowing you off but I thought you’d understand cause you're my friend.” Eddie’s lips trembled with the feeling of holding back tears. He still had his back to Richie. “I cancelled plans with her tonight cause I’m concerned for you! God, you’re such a whiny bitch.”

That’s all it took. Those words said usually teasingly, now said to hurt him. Those words were all it took to break Eddie’s heart. And all it took for Eddie to try to break Richie’s nose.

For the first time in his life, Edward Kaspbrak threw a punch. He turned around without thinking and punched Richie square in the face. He could hear himself screaming shut up while he did it, but the aftermath was a gut-wrenching silence. Richie held his breath as he saw the blood on his fingers. It was coming from his nose. He was hurt and concerned for himself, but he couldn’t help but chuckle.

“You finally did it Eds. You finally stood up to me.”

Eddie couldn’t stop himself from crying as he apologized profusely. “Hey, don’t be sorry. You’ve got a good punch. Bill teach you how to do that?” He chuckled, spitting out the blood that had leaked into his mouth. He knew he pushed Eddie too far. It was evident. “Beep fucking beep Richie.” Eddie hissed as he pulled tissues out of his backpack. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t very kind of me. You wouldn’t think like that bud.” Eddie wasn’t used to Richie being so calm. It was as if the punch had rebooted him. “Richie, you’re in shock.” “Of course I’m shocked, you just punched me Eds.” “No! That’s not what- nevermind. We need to get you cleaned up.” Eddie continued to clean up the bloody nose. They were lucky almost none got on Richie’s clothes. They even took a quick jog to the pharmacy to get some water to clean it up, asking the obviously coke buzzed pharmacist if Eddie had succeeded at breaking Richie’s nose. He said no, but some bruising would definitely appear. Richie smacked Eddie’s back in pride, saying something along the lines of ‘Eddie spaghetti finally grew some balls huh?’ But Eddie felt nothing like that.

Eddie felt sick to his stomach. He knew that Richie was right, that’s why he reacted the way he did. He didn’t want anyone, especially Richie, knowing how he felt about him. So he needed to shut him up. His heart was so heavy with guilt. Richie was praising him for his reaction, but Eddie this wasn’t something you’d praised someone for. He was hiding his secret behind the pain Richie was in.

Eddie let Richie stay the night out of pity. His mom was quite surprised to see the boy but didn’t question it. She had learned to just let Richie over or else Eddie would just run off to his house. She didn’t question the bruises on Richie’s face, mumbling something about his father under her breath. Eddie was so nervous and stressed about having the boy in his house, he didn’t notice Richie intensely looking at his arms when he took his coat off, sighing in relief when he saw nothing there besides unmarked skin.

The boys ran up to Eddie’s room. Richie immediately threw himself onto Eddie’s bed, a lopsided grin on his face as he waited for Eddie to join him in the bed to cuddle like they usually did. But he didn’t. He stood in the doorway with his arms crossed over his stomach as he stared at the ground. “Richie...I know you said you didn’t care and that your proud of me for punching you….but, did I hurt you?” Richie looked like he was contemplating his answer. His throat flexed and then relaxed, indicating he gulped his saliva. “Well, you obviously hurt me, but like you didn’t cause any emotional pain I guess?” “Yeah, I get that. But like, if anyone else would’ve done that, any of the other losers, you would’ve beat them up so hard and not talked to them for days. Why are you treating me differently?”

Another gulp. There were things that Richie was hiding, parts of himself he was afraid of letting anyone else know. He felt his incisors bite down on the tip of his tongue to control himself. Every ounce in his body was screaming at him to just say it. Every muscle pulling him into Eddie’s arms, his heart racing in his chest, his lungs breathing in quicker and quicker. Three words, that’s all it was. It would only take three little words and he’d know. That there was a reason he didn’t go out with a girl until now. There was a reason he’d been so close to Eddie for such a long time. There was a reason that at night he had to convince himself that he loved Lucy and that he wanted to stay with her. A taunting voice at the back of his head told him to say it, to just get it over with. But for once in his short life, Richie thought before he spoke.

“It’s cause I’m nervous for you.” Eddie was confused and it evidently showed on his face, because Richie continued. “That thing you wrote. It wasn’t just a thing for the English class. I know you Eds, you always write from the heart. And I’ve never seen you write anything like this before. I didn’t want to leave you alone tonight….in case bad things happened.”

Eddie sucked in a breath. That fucking paragraph “Things between us have been weird recently since Lucy came into my life, and I’m sorry that I haven’t been paying enough attention to you….I-I’ve noticed that you haven’t been as happy as you usually are and I feel responsible for some reason. I just don’t want you to do anything dumb.” Eddie was quiet, still barely standing in his room. Richie was now sitting up in the bed. Neither of them were looking at each other. It wasn’t long before Richie heard Eddie take in stuttered breaths. “you were right.” He said in such a quiet voice Richie thought he imagined it. “You were right Rich, I’m mad that you have a girlfriend. I feel like you’ve left me.” Richie looked up at him. His nose and cheeks were blushed and his eyes were watering a lot. Richie stood up quickly to hug and comfort him. “Hey hey hey, it’s alright. I’m not leaving you. We’re still friends after all.” “No Richie, you don’t fucking get it.” Eddie said as he pushed him away. Richie just stood there in shock. “It feels like I’ve lost my chance. I know you love her and I’m happy for you, I just wished that were me. I just wished that I was more to you than your friend. I want to kiss you and call you mine. I want to share a bed with you and be able to hold you without it feeling weird. Ever since middle school friends I’ve been teetering between better of as lovers or better off without each other, and when I lost you I knew that the later wasn’t what I needed. “you’re everything to me. There isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t think of you, where I don’t crave your dumb jokes and general dumbassery. Seeing you with her has torn a hole through my heart and I was scared that if I didn’t tell you how I feel soon, it was just going to grow into a crater that could never be filled. I know you most likely don’t feel the same, and I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry for telling you, but you needed to know. I’m sorry that I’m too late.”

It was as if a flood gate of emotions had been opened and Eddie couldn’t keep anything in. He needed to say these things. He meant every word of the emotional rant and just stood there in the puddle of his regret, tears leaving his eyes as if he was a cloud and his shirt was the world, raining down and creating a wet patch.

Both boys just stood there frozen looking at each other after Eddie had said his little speech. Richie was crying. Staring directly at Eddie. He didn’t say anything as he picked up his backpack and left the house altogether.

Eddie broke down, throwing himself into his bed and crying into his pillow. He knew it was a bad idea. He was such an idiot. He’s lost Richie for good now, it was clear to him. Nothing mattered. His mind drifted to the box under his mom’s bed that she kept in case someone ever tried to hurt them, but pulled himself away from that quickly. What the fuck was he thinking? His crush didn’t like him and he might’ve just lost his best friend, but that’s not a reason to kill himself. He needed to talk to someone about this, and quick. He grabbed the phone next to his bed and dialled a familiar number. “Stanely Uris speak-” “Stan! I told him!” Silence from the other end of the line. Eddie could hear Stan closing a door and then returning to his bed. “How did he react?” “Left my house immediately.” There was a sigh from the other end of the line. Stanley could hear the hurt in Eddie’s voice. A slight tremble that wasn’t there usually. “Richard Tozier, you dumbass.” He mumbled to himself as he grabbed his bag. No use talking over the phone, Eddie needed to be comforted in person. “Eddie, I’m sorry that I’m hanging up now, but I’m on my way over.” “Alright, Stan.” They hung up their phones and Stan made his way over, making a slight detour towards the man of the hour’s house.

Eddie had told Stanley by accident in 9th grade. Eddie had a knack for sleep talking occasionally, only when he took medications that sedate you. That night in particular he had a slight scratch in his throat so his mother had begged him to take a dose of some cough medicine. When he had fallen asleep, he was quite verbal during his dream in which he and Richie seemed to be doing….things. Stan had stayed awake laying on the floor next to Eddie, debating keeping this to himself or mentioning it to Eddie the next day. In the morning, while the two were making breakfast for themselves since Mrs. K had run out to do her daily errands, Stan asked him what his dream was since the nightly noises seemed to indicate he was having a ‘fun time’. Eddie lost his breath hearing Stan say that. He had tried to stutter out an excuse but Stan silenced him with a hug, comforting him and saying that he was fine with him being gay, telling him he’s proud of him. Eddie broke down in Stan’s arms, crying and clinging onto him for dear life. Stan cried a bit too, admitting his crush on Bill. The boys spend the rest of the morning talking about their fears.

Stan slammed his fist against Richie’s front door, hearing some yells behind it. Went opened the door and stared down at the unimpressed looking teenager. “I need to borrow your son.” “RICHIE!!!! ONE OF YOUR FRIENDS IS HERE!!!” He yelled before walking back into the living room. Richie sulked his way down the stairs to the entrance. “Look, Eddie, I’m not in the mood to talk- oh hey Stan the man, what’s up?” Richie said, trying to hide his awkward hurt mood with the usual nickname. Stan almost audibly gasped at the bruise formed on Richie’s face but ignored it. He just grabbed Richie by the ear and started to drag him down the road. “owowowowowowow! Stan what the fuck! ow where are we going?” Stan didn’t say anything as he dragged the boy towards the house he had been at less than an hour earlier.

Richie was finally able to free himself when they were only a few houses away. “Stan! I can’t go back in there...He must hate me.” He grabbed his temples, frustrated with his past actions. He wasn’t ready for Eddie to tell him. Well, he wasn’t ready to tell Eddie he felt the same way. He had known for a while that he wasn’t straight, but had denied himself from accepting that. He refused to think of himself as gay. He loved Eddie, he wanted Eddie the way he wanted him. But he had ruined things. Eddie probably hated him. He looked up to see Stan giving him the most ‘I’m about to smack you so hard you’re great-grandchildren will feel it so don’t try me.’ look.

“Oh, he must hate you? After you walked out after he confessed his love for you after hiding this secret since 6th grade? Oh no, I’m sure you’re fine.” He said in a sarcastic tone as he knocked on Eddie’s door. He knew these dumbasses weren’t going to fix things on their own so he had to give them that push to solve their problems. “Stan! There you are…..” Eddie trailed off when he noticed Richie standing next to him.

Stan didn’t let either of them say anything, he just grabbed them by their hands and dragged them upstairs to Eddie’s room, throwing them both in there. “I’m going to stand outside this door and neither of you are allowed to leave until you solve your problems.” He said right before he slammed the door shut.

The two stood there unable to think, barely able to breathe. Where were they supposed to go from there? Neither of them knew what to say. But Richie just went with it. “I’m sorry for leaving….I panicked.” He mumbled, looking over Eddie’s face for any sign of emotion. He just nodded solemnly. “You should be yelling at me.” Eddie just shook his head. He looked like he was going to say something so Richie gave him the room to speak. “You don’t yell at the people you love.” Richie’s heart started beating faster. He still loved him. The statement reminded him of earlier that day, the bruising punch Eddie gave him and his internal refusal to react. He loved Eddie too much to be mad, even if the punch really did hurt, how in the hell does someone his size hit like that? No! Focus trashmouth.

Stan was trying his best to listen along to the conversation through the door. “Stanley Uris? Well isn’t this a shock.” Mrs. Kaspbrak said as she stood at the end of the hallway. Stan sighed under his breath and turned to the large woman with an even larger smile. “Hello Mrs. K! How are you?” He said, needing to keep this woman as far away from the room as possible to keep Eddie and Richie safe. “Well Eddie didn’t tell me you were coming over.” She said as she waddled towards the door. “Uh well yeah. We were studying with Richie but took a quick break. Say, Mrs K, you’ve been to the new pharmacy in town. How is it? How’s the service. Spare no detail.” Eddie was going to owe him a big one later. “Oh god, the place is a disaster! It’ll take me hours to break down the complexity of how horrendous it is.” “I’ve got all the time in the world. Let’s go to the living room to chat!”

Richie and Eddie were sat in silence again, the two still trying to find words. Richie had sat himself down on Eddie’s bed, the asthmatic joining him. They’d been there for a few minutes. “I-I I’m sorry I made things weird.” Eds said, not looking up from his lap. Richie gave him a sideways glance. “You don’t have to apologize. You told me stuff that was bothering you. You’re allowed to do that.” More silence. Richie’s brain was trying to focus but, as usual, his brain was jumping between twenty thoughts at once. ‘God Eddie is so cute, I like him so much, I want to kiss him so badly, I need to break up with Lucy, but it’ll crush her, but this is hurting Eddie so much.’ He was sure of what he needed to do. Lucy would understand. She’d be upset, sure, but it was wrong keeping a relationship he didn’t care that much about going. He turned towards Eddie, gently placing his hand on top of his. “Hey, Eds?” “Hmm?” Richie took a deep breath, wiping his sweaty hands on his dirt and grass-stained ripped jeans. He could do this. “I...um...alright. I like you too.” Eddie had to stop himself from grabbing the inhaler in his pocket cause holy fuck oh my god Richie fucking Tozier said he liked him too. His heart was racing a million miles a minute. Richie took another breath and continued. “Remember all those things you said earlier? I feel all those things too. I-I want to be to you what you want to be to me. Does that make sense?” Eddie nodded, a wide smile growing on his face as happy tears fell down his face. “I want to be your boyfriend. Not just your friend. I want to call you mine. I know I won’t be the perfect boyfriend, but I will do my best for you Eds...I-I love you. I love you so fucking much.” He said, starting to cry as well. Both of them just sat there looking at each other, smiling and crying. This was it. The moment the two of them had been hoping for years. It was finally happening. “I love you too.” Eddie whispered, his voice trailing off a bit as he said the last word, muffled by his crying. Eddie gently placed his hands on Richie’s cheeks, wiping away some of the stray tears that fell. He slapped the right one quickly. “That’s for leaving.” He mumbled, moving closer to Richie. He wrapped his arms around Richie’s neck, pulling his face closer. He gently placed his mouth on his. The kiss was soft, sweet and perfect. Emotions and feelings poured into every movement both boys made. This was the tender moment the two had craved for years. When they finally pulled away, they had the biggest smiles on their faces. “And that’s for coming back.” Eddie said teasingly. Richie pulled Eddie by his shoulders into another kiss, laying down and dragging Eddie onto him. They continued to fool around until Eddie pulled away. “I feel like we’re forgetting something” the two took a moment until realization dawned on them. “STAN!”

note: I’m lowkey proud of this. it’s my longest one shot to date. It’s also kinda a vent fic I guess?

#reddie #reddie fic #reddie fanfiction #reddie one shot #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #stan uris #IT movie #it 2017 #losers club aged up #fix it fic #it chapter one #it chapter two #richie x eddie #gay richie tozier #gay eddie kaspbrak

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iamnesta · 7 years

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A Court Of Witchcraft And Wizardry: Part I

The ACOTAR Hogwarts AU that nobody asked for.

A/N: This fic was totally unplanned for, but I randomly got a sudden burst of inspiration to write it, so here we are. I am aware that the title is stupid, but I honestly couldn’t think of anything else. I took some liberties with how to sort the characters, so no, they are not all in the same houses SJ Maas put them in. This is my first ACOTAR fic and my first AU fic! Exciting stuff! Please feel free to comment/leave constructive criticism. Enjoy!

Read on AO3

Summer had officially come to an end. It was time to return to school.

The Hogwarts Express sat idly at Platform 9¾, a steady stream of witches and wizards walking out of the brick barrier to join the raucous swarm of students dawdling beside the train. With ten minutes before departure, the Archeron sisters entered the fray. From across the way, a tousle-haired boy with violet eyes grinned and pushed himself off the wall he had been leaning on.

Feyre, the youngest sister, abandoned her luggage and began elbowing her way through the crowd, launching herself into the arms of the grinning boy. “Rhys,” she breathed into the crook of his neck.

“Feyre darling,” he returned, pressing a kiss to her temple, “I missed you this summer.”

Pulling away, eyebrows pinched with concern, Feyre began, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t visit. My father–”

Rhys’s gaze fell to where his finger absently twirled a stray piece of her golden-brown hair. “Don’t apologize, Feyre,” he said softly, “You have nothing to apologize for. Not ever, not to me.”

There was a long pause. Then Feyre sighed, and reached up to kiss him gently. “I love you,” she murmured against his mouth. She felt his lips stretch into a smile.

“Feyre!”

The couple broke away, Rhys’s deep laugh vibrating through his chest as Feyre rolled her eyes. Behind them, the eldest Archeron sister watched with a scowl on her face. Above the clamor, Nesta shouted, “Get your hands off my sister, Rhysand!”

Sliding his hand down Feyre’s arm and lacing their fingers together, Rhys said, “It’s good to see some things never change.”

Feyre snorted. “Tell me about it.”

It was amazing, really, how Nesta managed to peer down her nose at Rhys when her head barely met his shoulder. Perhaps she had been taking lessons from Amren, who was technically the shortest of the group, though her personality made up for any lack in height. Regardless, Rhys felt a wave of uneasiness wash over him as Nesta turned her icy stare to him.

“So,” she sniffed, “You’re still here.”

“That I am,” Rhys said jovially, gesturing toward the train. “Shall we board?”

“Please,” Feyre muttered, quickly ascending the steps to escape the tension.

Elain, the middle sister who had been silent until this point, glanced toward Nesta. “Will you sit with us?”

Guilt flashed across Nesta’s features, the emotion gone before it could fully form. “I’m afraid not. As Head Girl, I’m required to go to the Prefects’ carriage,” she said softly.

“That’s a shame,” Rhys drawled. He would have looked like the epitome of boredom had his eyes not glittered with mischief. “I know Cassian is eager to see you again after so many months apart.”

Nesta did not deign to acknowledge Rhys’s comment. To Elain, she said, “I’ll see you in the Great Hall.” She then spun crisply on her heel and stalked onto the train.

Rhys sketched a small bow as a the train’s whistle sounded. “After you,” he said politely to the remaining sister.

With a grateful smile, Elain gathered her pleated skirt and climbed aboard.

Feyre was already deep in conversation with Mor by the time Rhys and Elain arrived, and Cassian’s thundering laughter spilled into the corridor at something Amren had said. A smirk played at Amren’s blood red lips, and she whispered something to Azriel, who sat half-immersed in shadows beside her. Azriel snorted, his gaze flicking to the newcomers.

Rhys plopped himself down beside Feyre, snaking an arm around her shoulders. Feyre leaned into his touch, but didn’t break her discussion with Mor. This left Elain standing somewhat awkwardly in the doorway, unsure of where to sit, until Azriel slid over and provided room for her. She offered him a timid half-smile, and delicately took her place.

It was only after everyone had settled that Cassian frowned. To no one in particular, he asked, “Where’s Nesta?”

“The Prefects’ carriage,” Rhys answered, “Apparently she’s Head Girl.”

Cassian’s brows rose in surprise. “Really?”

“Of course she is,” Amren scoffed. “She’s the smartest girl at Hogwarts.”

With a lazy grin, Cassian taunted, “Even smarter than you, All-Knowing One?”

“No,” Amren replied immediately, silver eyes glinting, “But I’m too humble to be Head Girl.”

“Clearly,” Cassian quipped.

“Well, she’s certainly smarter than you, Cass,” Azriel interjected.

Cassian relaxed into the back of the seat, clasping his hands behind his head and resting his right ankle on the opposing knee. “Oh, I don’t doubt that,” he said, unabashed. “But at least I haven’t got a stick up my ass.”

“You must be so jealous of this metaphorical stick,” Rhys observed, struggling to keep a straight face. Elain’s cheeks flushed a rich scarlet color and Azriel coughed. Even Mor and Feyre’s chatter came to a stop.

“Rhysand,” Mor scolded, her voice taking on a motherly tone.

Cassian’s neck burned red with embarrassment, but he schooled his features into a look of nonchalance. He opened his mouth to shoot back something exceptionally vulgar. Before he could get the first word out, however, the trolley lady arrived.

“Anything from the trolley, dears?” She trilled.

There was a whirlwind of exchanging candy for coins, and only when everyone was munching on Pumpkin Pasties did the topic of Quidditch arise, as it always did. It was impossible to avoid talking about the sport when two of the Team Captains were in the same room.

“All I’m saying,” Cassian said around a bite of Liquorice Wand, “Is that Gryffindor is going to kick your ass this year.”

Azriel shrugged, popping one of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans into his mouth. “I wouldn’t be so cocky, Cassian,” he advised, “I’ve got some new tactics up my sleeve.”

“Tactic only gets you so far when you have a shit team,” Cassian pointed out. “I’ve got Viv as seeker and Varian as keeper. My team is solid. Plus you’ve gotta get through me.”

Shaking his head, Azriel argued, “You can’t just take your players and throw them out on the field. It doesn’t matter how good they are if there’s no organized plan.”

Cassian rolled his eyes. “I have a plan. And good players. You don’t stand a chance.”

“Is this brute disturbing you guys? I’m allowed to assign detention now.” Nesta’s distinct, cold voice turned the air chilly. Cassian’s head snapped to her, his eyes instinctively running over her body like he was taking inventory, like he was making sure she wasn’t somehow hurt. He sat up straighter, fixing his slouched posture, which made his already massive body appear even larger.

“Hello, Nesta,” he said, his warm hazel gaze catching her frigid blue-gray one.

“You,” she said as a greeting. Silence fell over the compartment as Nesta stared at the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain. Everyone waited with baited breath as if one of the two could explode at any second. But instead of making any scathing, sardonic comments, Nesta simply said, “We’ll be arriving soon. I suggest you change into your robes.”

Nesta finally looked away from Cassian, letting her focus slide over Elain and Azriel suspiciously before whirling around, cloaks billowing dramatically, Head Girl badge gleaming.

Entering the Great Hall was like returning home. There was a simultaneous sigh among the student body as the doors creaked open, the thousands of floating candles against a velvet sky coming into view. Feyre clutched Rhysand’s arm as they made their way to the Slytherin table, Mor hanging behind to exchange low words with Viviane’s sister.

Elain, now flanked by her friends Nuala and Cerridwen, broke off from the rest of the group and headed for the Hufflepuff table. Lucien, who was unhappily sat beside Tamlin at the Gryffindor table, attempted to catch Elain’s eye, but his efforts were of no avail.

At the Ravenclaw table Nesta and Amren were either gossiping or plotting something dreadful, and Azriel appeared extremely uncomfortable to be beside them. Cassian passed Nesta and leaned down to whisper something in her ear, at which point Nesta whipped around and tried to slap him, but Cassian darted away with a roaring laugh.

Thus another school year began.

Part Two

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