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[lesbianstarlightglimmer]

Guess who has a canker sore on their frenulum 🫠

[ill-skillsgard]

Faust x Faith - No Looking Back

Warning: 18+ smut, public sex, violence, blood, arson, implied death, mentions of non-consensual touching (nothing explicit and no r-words used,) mentions of stalking, unconsciousness, anti-religious themes, strong language.

Note: Hey, hey. I’ve wanted to write this for a while, but haven’t had much time. This isn’t based on any requests—just something I feel needs to happen to move the universe along. After this, I’ll be basing future FxF stuff off drabble requests instead of going story-heavy for a bit. Likes, comments and reblogs are suuuper ‘ppreciated!

Summary: - Not based on Lords of Chaos. I use Faust!Valter’s likeness only as inspiration - 3.6K words -

Faust makes good on his word to protect Faith, taking drastic measures to assure her assailant never bothers her again.

Read more Faust x Faith here [x]

Thin raindrops pattered the man's leather jacket as he walked through the streets with his hood drawn up and his eyes low. For two days, the drizzle persisted and melted the black snowbanks into slush. Though the dismal atmosphere kept most inside, Sven had good reason to travel across town on foot. The promise of a girl's company waited at the end of his route, and he put off his regular nightly routine of masturbating to fetish porn for—what he hoped was—the real thing.

He glanced at his cracked phone screen every few minutes to check in with her, making sure she hadn't changed her mind, that she was serious. From the earnestness of her messages and the speed at which she replied to his questions, he determined she meant what she said about wanting to meet. Finally, his luck was turning. He’d show that miserable bastard Faust who was the better man.

- What abt ur bf? Lol

- What about him? Not here, is he?

- Thought u were a good girl.

- Haha, not really. Are you close?

- Ya. Y r we meeting at this random place?

- I need you to promise you won't tell a soul. If you can prove that to me, maybe we can keep meeting up.

- Lol ok. I PROMISE I won't say a word😉

- Thank you. Hurry, please. It's cold out!

- Be there in 5. I'll let u wear my jacket altho idk might not need it😉

- Hehe omgosh. You're making me blush.

- I'll make u do way more then blush baby. Just wait.

Sven lengthened his strides and turned the corner onto a hill leading toward the industrial area of town. Down the slope, he walked past several warehouses and legions of trucks parked inside barbed-wire fencing. It was a peculiar site to meet up, but his rendezvous insisted on a place nobody would think to look.

Betting his night would take an erotic turn, Sven popped a piece of gum in his mouth and chewed away the cigarette taste. He was seconds away from the spot she chose to meet, and his chest constricted with excitement. His boots crunched over gravel and garbage as he walked down a narrow alley between two faceless buildings. There was an open lot at the end of the lane, where he assumed she was waiting. As he made his way through the dimly lit alley, he whistled to make his presence known. The shrill tune reverberated off an overflowing dumpster to his left, and as he stepped to clear the reeking trash receptacle, something hard and blunt swung out at eye-level and flattened him to the ground.

Dazed and blinded from the sudden strike, he tried moving his mouth, but only a bubble of blood popped from his lips. A piercing stream of sound filled his ears as the edges of his vision turned dark. A large black figure came into view above, haloed by the soggy grey sky in the deepening veil. The featureless shadow chuckled deeply before a heavy boot's tread put out his lights.

~*~

Several hours passed before Sven's eyelids shuddered. By then, his assailant had had plenty of time to tie him to a wooden chair and organize his instruments of punishment. A headache blistered through the man's skull, throbbing in his eye sockets until he gained enough consciousness to open them. When he saw the person who had knocked him out, his throat closed and the gasp ripping through came out high-pitched.

"Faust... Please... Don't—" Sven hiccoughed. "Don't do this. I'm sorry. I'm SORRY!"

Faust, who had been facing the doorway at the end of a long red runner, turned toward Sven, holding a hammer's handle in one hand while cradling the head in the other. A malicious smirk peeked out from a curtain of black hair. He took a step forward, the clomp of his leather boots echoing through the church. Each step made a menacing sound that bit down on Sven's nerves and rattled his sensitive skull.

"What are you apologizing for?"

"I know you hate me, but please, don't hurt me. I swear I'll never talk to her again!"

Faust approached, flashing the obsidian hammerhead. He tossed the tool in his grip and stuck his hand into his pocket, producing several five-inch nails.

"No! God, no, please! Faust! Don't do this!"

The black-haired giant stopped to admire the curve of the hammer’s prongs. Sven looked around the empty church and saw a jerrycan taking up space in a nearby pew. He immediately started struggling against the jute rope binding his wrists and ankles to the chair as Faust drew nearer, smile uncoiling.

"I already gave you the chance to never talk to her again. Remember?"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

"Sorry means fuck all to me. You should know that. The only reason you left the campsite with your dick intact is because of the witnesses," Faust said, then spun around with his arms out, showcasing their solitude. "Now, it's just you and me."

"Please don't," Sven muttered through swollen lips. "Fuck, I'll do anything!"

"There's nothing you can do. Nothing a sorry sack of human waste can provide this world to make me change my mind."

"SHE LIED!"

Faust jingled the nails in his jacket, reminding Sven who held the weapon.

"Whatever she told you... It's not true! I was at the party, but I didn't do anything to her!" Sven's voice cracked.

"Oh... So you didn't follow her into my bedroom?"

"No! I talked to her for a minute, and that's all. That's all, I swear, Faust. Don't kill me."

The stomp of boots neared the altar where Sven struggled in the chair. He twisted to loosen the rope and slipped one hand out. Faust grabbed his wrist and pinned it to the arm of the chair, readying a nail between his lips as he gripped the hammer. Sven let out a scream, stifled instantly by the hammerhead. Faust wedged the metal between his teeth and hissed.

"Shut the fuck up, or I'll use this to smash your teeth out like a goddamn window. Understand me?"

Sven nodded and quaked as Faust placed the tip of the nail against the soft, flat part of his forearm.

"Stay still. If I fuck up and hit the Radial or Ulnar artery... You could bleed out before I'm done. Gotta get it right between the bones." Faust slapped the pale skin to reveal blue veins. He pressed the nail’s tip in place and rose the hammer above his head, bringing it down and stopping short of the head as Sven shrieked.

Faust cackled. "Jesus Christ, dude. Did you really think I was gonna nail you to a chair?"

Sven groaned, relieved and moist with cold sweat. "Faust, I'm serious. Please, man. You gotta believe me."

His dark laughter continued, bouncing off the high ceilings, the wooden pews and polished floors. As Sven let out his own nervous chuckle, Faust brought the hammer down in one swift pull, then slapped his hand over Sven's gaping mouth to stifle the screams. Howling, Sven rattled his head back and forth as a searing bolt of pain tore through his right arm, crackling in his shoulder where it burned and burned.

Faust tore his phone out of his back pocket and brought up a video, slamming the screen into Sven's face. The video of him grabbing Faith in his room while he was states away watching the live feed from the camera he'd set up on the desk.

"I knew these little cameras would come in handy. See? I know what you did, you stupid fuck. And you know what else? I would have just beat the shit out of you had I not stopped by your place before our little meeting."

Sven whined, tears pouring from his eyes in steady streams.

"Oh, yeah. That's right. I went into your room... Saw some interesting things on your computer. At first, I thought it was just standard fucking creep shit. Snuff porn, torture... Teen girls. None of that surprised me... Until I dug around and found your little stalker file buried in your folders. You didn't even encrypt it. How fucking stupid are you?"

"I'm sorry," Sven shook.

"Why are you apologizing to me?"

"I'm sorry for touching her. I should have left her alone."

"What'd you think was gonna happen? That she wouldn't tell me? Or that I wouldn't believe her? And now I know you've been following Faith around, taking pictures of her, you fucking predator. And what about those other women, huh? You sorry about them, too?"

"Yes! I'm sorry. I know I have problems! I'm trying to get help. Please, Faust. If you let me go, I promise I'll do it. I'll get better. I haven’t hurt anyone!"

Faust shook his head slowly, grunting in refusal. "No. I meant what I said when I told you I'd crucify you if you went near Faith again. I'm doing the world a favour."

Sven hung his head and bled from the grievous wound pinning him to the chair, shuddering weakly from his injuries. Faust would never relent. He'd witnessed the drummer's cold disdain, the malignant hatred living inside that made him turn to the dark with open arms. Faust wasn't an actor. He pledged himself to the darkness with unyielding conviction, never one to take such things lightly. This realization depleted Sven's will to reason with the man.

Faust gripped another thick nail and drove it through Sven's left arm, smiling as blood dripped from the wood onto the church altar. The violent yelps filled Faust with morbid delight as he pressed the bloodied hammer under his victim's chin and raised his face.

"You're gonna die tonight, Sven."

"What makes you better than me? You'll be a murderer," Sven stuttered. "You hurt people, too."

"You and I are not the same. Don't ever compare yourself to me. You're a coward, and I warned you. Tread on what's mine, and I'll destroy you. That's what I said."

"All this over a girl? Are you fucking crazy!?"

Faust stooped to one knee, looking up at Sven as though the insult had cut him. Faust's brows arched, bottom lip jutting outward as he studied Sven, who closed his eyes. Then, Faust rose to his feet, leather stretching from the motion. Faust tapped his chin, smiled, and leaned over to whisper, "yes... Totally fucking crazy."

With a powerful kick to the chest, Faust sent the chair and Sven toppling backward. He then unzipped his pants, pulled out his manhood and giggled as he emptied his bladder on the weeping man. While Sven cried and moaned, Faust closed his zipper, whistling merrily. He left Sven on his back and snatched the jerrycan from the pew, taking slow, calculated steps while twisting off the cap and dousing the altar in gasoline.

As the gas trickled, Sven's desperation mounted. He could not flail, so he screamed. Faust gently reminded him what he'd do to Sven's teeth if he carried on shouting. The pinned man blubbered and begged, but Faust ignored his pleas. Inside his head, all Faust heard was the sound of flames rushing into a circle around Sven, crackling over the carpet and up the old church's wooden beams. By the time the roof caught fire, Faust had planned on being long gone.

"Please, Faust... You'll regret this! I know you're a serious person, but this is too far. You won't be able to live with yourself!"

"Wrong. I couldn't live with myself knowing I let a vulture like you walk this planet freely." Faust poured a trail down the floor runner, far away from the altar. He tossed the can aside and looked up at the Catholic saints' stained-glass portrayals and Jesus at the center of it all, staring down with sad eyes. Faust took a book of matches from his pocket and ripped one from the bunch, running its tip across the ignitor strip until a small flame burst to life. Faust flicked the match to the ground without a second thought, and the flame ate up the gasoline trail swiftly. The church was illuminated, and the colourful glass windows came to life. Faust raised his eyes to the forlorn Jesus and leered while the fire spread.

He did not stay to admire his work or revel in the cries of a man burning alive. Faust fled before the fire consumed the church, not once looking back or wondering if his victim had somehow escaped. He trudged through puddles of slush, hair swinging in the wind, white shadows of breath leaving his mouth.

It was time to get back to finish the tour. But he had one more stop to make.

~*~

Faith left the mall after helping close the book store. She received small smiles and nods from the mall staff as they locked doors and unfolded security gates. Some of the people she had spoken to before, and some she had only seen in passing. Though she returned their pleasantries, inside Faith was fretting. She tried not to worry about her boyfriend or ask where he was under strict orders to go about her day as usual.

She stepped into the evening air as the sun sank, taking the blue from the sky along for the descent. Wisps of white cloud stretched across the pink and violet above. Faith took in a deep breath and walked to the bus stop situated between a movie theatre and a dollar store. She popped her earbuds in and turned on a song that reminded her of Faust; one he wouldn’t like. His music taste had no room for the upbeat indie rock she enjoyed. Still, she smiled when the lyrics reminded her of him.

The scent of cigarette smoke caught her attention, and she looked around, finding no culprit. She wondered where the smell came from if nobody was around but soon forgot when the city bus appeared in the distance. It had to make a long trek around the parking lot before it pulled up at the movie theatre. Faith readied her bus card to scan as another cloud of smoke enveloped her senses.

Faith whirled around, and there he was, all black and leather, white teeth clutching the filter of a cigarette. Faust smiled, his words bolting from his mouth as she clamped her arms around him and crushed her face into his chest. The leather and musk brought tears to her eyes. She ripped out her earbuds and tried not to weep.

He hushed her, lifted her off the ground and retreated into the shadowed alley between the theatre and the store. By the time the bus pulled up, Faust had pressed her against the brick wall behind the building.

"Faust. Oh my gosh, where have you been? I was so worried," Faith gasped.

"Sh, don't ask questions, baby." Faust smothered her mouth, holding her thighs around his waist.

"Mm—I love you. Oh my God. I can’t believe you’re here! I love you so freaking much."

"I know you do," Faust breathed against her lips. "I love you, too, babe."

"Tell me where you've been!"

Faust shook his head and kissed her neck instead. She raked her fingers through his hair, knocking his hood down so she could see him unobstructed.

"Told you... Don't ask... Mmkay?... Stop asking... Just let me... Mm—fuck!"

Faith pulled his pelvis inward with her thighs, rubbing against his crotch and the heavy bullet belt wrapped around his hips. In their cloud of lust, Faust pushed his black jeans down just enough to free his erection.

"Fuck, I love your little skirts. Makes it so easy," Faust murmured.

The thought of Faust showing up disquieted her, but his lips on her skin and his desire thwarted these anxieties for a while. She set aside her questions, happy to have him in her arms again and overcome by arousal. When he stretched her panties aside and pushed into her, they both froze in expressions of excruciating ecstasy. Faust tilted his head back and closed his eyes, and Faith clutched his shoulders, already writhing from the intense fulfillment between her legs.

Just as she thought Faust might drop her, he bent his knees and hoisted her higher up on the wall. In his arms, she weighed close to nothing. She missed feeling tiny against him.

"Miss my cock?" He growled in her ear.

"Yes, baby. Oh my gosh, of course, I missed it. I missed my big man."

"Yeah? Fuck, I miss my little pussy," Faust breathed. "Mm, show me those gorgeous tits."

Faith unbuttoned her work polo and stretched the collar down around her breasts for Faust to bury his face. Though there wasn't an abundance of flesh to lose himself in, Faust shivered from the first taste of her nipples. With muted groans of pleasure, he rammed into her until Faith could no longer contain her cries, unaccustomed to his girth. Faust absorbed her whimpers with his mouth, coaxing her tongue until she only hummed.

He felt ferocious from the last twenty-four hours. If he could make Faith scream without drawing attention, Faust would have slammed her into the wall and fucked her until she shredded her vocal cords. He had to keep a low profile. Even visiting Faith was a considerable risk, but one he relished taking as she clamped her thighs and rutted against him.

He supported her ass in both hands and shifted off the wall to fuck her standing up. While he took her this way, she wrapped her arms around his neck and whimpered, whispering, "yes, fuck my pussy hard, big boy. Oh, I love that big cock inside me."

Faust unhooked and held her out so he could watch her breasts jiggle with every bounce. "You still taking your birth control? I'm gonna fucking bust so hard inside you, baby."

"Yeah. Yeah, baby, do it. Fill my pussy, please. I want your cum."

Her dirty talk and sweet sobs for his cock pushed him over the edge. He cradled her head as he pushed her against the wall and throbbed between her legs until empty. Faust pulled out and immediately turned her around and bent her over to watch globs of fresh cum dripping from her wet slit. He used one finger to push some of it back inside and had her suck off the rest. Afterward, he pulled up his pants and compressed her against the wall, one hand over her mouth while the other worked her clit in gentle circles. Faust didn't stop until she squealed and shuddered against him, muffled in his jacket and writhing from the manual orgasm.

When Faith calmed down, he released her and stepped away, pulling a cigarette from the squished pack in his jacket pocket. The lighter's flame created an orange halo around his face and promptly died. He smoked like nothing had happened while she fixed her skirt, buttoned her polo and zipped up her coat.

Faith smiled up at her lover, the night blotting out most of his features.

"I'm so glad you're home," she said.

"Not for long," Faust exhaled.

Her heart quivered. "Wait, what?"

"I gotta go back."

"When?"

"Tonight."

"What? No! But... You just got back," said Faith.

Faust shrugged, his leather jacket speaking for him. The evening matured, consuming the details of her hurt expression until the streetlamps along the road came to life.

"Why did you come here?"

Faust took one last long haul off his cigarette and flicked it down the alleyway. "Listen to me, Faith... You need to quit asking questions. I'm serious. The more questions you ask, the worse it'll be. And you and I did not see each other tonight. As far as you know, I'm on tour. Understand?"

"Yes," Faith said to appease him.

"I want to stay, trust me. But I can't. You know why. All the answers you want, you already have. Don't keep bugging, don't mention it ever again."

"I want to go with you," she whispered.

"No. You stay. Go to your classes, go to work, go visit your parents. Everything normal. And I don't want you moping around either. You put on that pretty smile, and you pretend for me. I'll call you in a couple of weeks before the last show and arrange a way for you to get there."

"What do you mean you’ll call in couple of weeks?" Faith whined. “What about goodnights?”

"I don't have a phone anymore."

"Why—? Oh, um... Okay. I understand."

Faust gathered the girl up in his arms and kissed the top of her head. "Good girl. I love you, and I miss you."

"I love you, too."

He tipped her face up and sensed tears forming in her eyes. Faust shook his head. "No crying. We'll see each other very soon. Just a couple more weeks."

"I know," she sighed.

"I love you more than anything, Faith. Now, go catch your bus. Should be here in a few minutes."

"But what about you?"

"Don't worry about me. I'm on tour. I'm not even here," he explained.

Faust kissed her again, smoothed his hands over her shoulders and turned her to face the bus stop. He urged her along. "No looking back. Hop on the bus and go do your schoolwork."

"Okay," she said, determined to make him proud. Faith walked out of the shadows and into the lamplight hovering over the depot. Across the lot, the city bus pulled in, and though she longed to turn around to see Faust watching over her, she kept her eyes forward and waited. When the bus pulled up, and the doors drew back, she stepped onto the platform and smiled at the driver as she scanned her pass. Faith took a seat in the back and put in her earbuds. She searched through a list of bands and selected the only one whose logo was illegible. As she pressed play, she listened to the immediate assault of the drums, their constant and violent beat. Faith smiled—warm in her chest and between her legs.

[maybe-theres-hope]

Of Will and Wildflowers, Interlude - Carlos: “Indecision”

-Hello all. I debated about ever having this see the light of day, as I wrote it as sort of a character study to keep myself honest while writing the main story, which I always intended to be single POV for the drama of it all. 

However, in my heart I feel like I owe you all at least something for how long you’ve waited for the conclusion to this story (I originally intended to post the whole thing before the season even started and...here we are lol), and I figured you’d appreciate this. It doesn’t spoil anything, so don’t be afraid to read if that’s something you’re worried about (unless of course you haven’t read the story at all, in which case here you go!). It’s just a glimpse into Carlos’ psyche in this AU. 

This takes place the second night of the Strand’s visit, after TK and Carlos take their first journey around the grounds that ends in the apple orchard, and subsequently Elena spilling that Mr. de Castillo will be joining them soon.

This is for all those who have encouraged me so much with this story, and I promise you all you will get the conclusion! Life has just gotten in the way so much lately :( @oquinn53, @reyeslonestar, @howtosingit, @a-l-ias, @mtnofgrace, @descending-into-the-crazies if I missed you let me know please! I love you all :)

Carlos was having difficulty dressing for dinner, and it wasn’t because of the fiddly fastenings of his waistcoat.

TK Strand was…The man was…

Carlos was also having difficulty with full sentences, even ones inside his own head.

The morning they’d shared had been as if from a dream, or a fairytale from one of Raquel’s storybooks. Every time TK smiled at the vast landscape of Carlos’ home, every time his eyes lit up at the brush of scent from the wildflowers hitting his nose, Carlos was arrested. Time stood frozen for a few moments in which he could admire the man before him at his leisure, when he could ascend to a higher plane of aesthetic dominated by the gentle slope of TK’s jaw.

Carlos had also to admit to himself—if not out loud just yet—that there was also the man’s intellect, not just his beautiful face and impeccable seat on a horse, that drew Carlos’ attention. When Carlos had asked him of his life in New York, TK had for some reason shied away from speaking of his father’s company and his own part in it, as Carlos might have expected from a man of business on a business trip. Instead, he talked of Central Park and the Fifth Avenue Hotel, and how the architecture compared to that which he’d seen on their journey through the South. He spoke of the air surrounding them and how clean it smelled, even though Carlos knew they were downwind from a herd and they both knew it.

The man was charming in his innocence and captivating in his depth in turns, and Carlos could hardly bear to look away or allow himself to speak in his turn when TK asked him a question about this landmark or that bit of wildlife.

They’d passed the morning gently ambling along wherever the horses saw fit to take them, talking of everything and nothing, and it had been glorious. And their picnic…their picnic! Carlos had never worshipped Mrs. Smith’s blackberry jam quite as much as when he caught a glimpse of it clinging to the side of TK’s mouth just before a deft tongue slipped out to take it away. He was quite taken aback at the weight of his infatuation, to be honest. He’d not ever had occasion to fall so fast into regard for someone, and it was at times disorienting and grounding. His body felt as if it had been given over to some mystical force, using its hands to ensure the movement of his heart when it stopped itself at the sight of TK’s smile in the sunshine and guiding his eyes to alight once more upon TK’s handsome profile.

The apple orchard had been…a risk. Carlos simply could no longer help himself in his desire to be near this man. He made every clandestine endeavor to brush a shoulder or knee or knuckle as they walked. Holding TK’s hand properly to help him down from Flor’s saddle was akin to ascension to the clouds beyond.

His hand still tingled when he thought of it.

Was this what everyone referred to when they spoke of love? Surely not. He’d only known the man for two days. And yet.

And yet.

Just then a knock at his bedroom door startled him out of his thoughts, which he was secretly glad of.

After a word of acquiescence from Carlos, Christina passed through the door before shutting it again behind her quietly. Her face still held a small trace of trepidation in it when she caught his gaze, and he was instantly reminded of the scene on the porch when they’d arrived back from their tour of the property.

Fernando was coming, and that muddied his thoughts more than all the rest.

“I came to see how you were faring, and I see it’s just as I suspected,” she offered in greeting. She stood in the middle of the room with her hands clasped against her skirts, looking at him in earnest.

“And what did you suspect?”

“You’re warring inside your own head as we speak. Your thoughts are plain as day on your face. As is your utter admiration for our handsome Mr. Strand. Don’t try to deny it, I know you far better than you wish.”

“That is the truth,” he muttered with a sigh. “What am I to do?”

“About what? Your obvious inclination toward Mr. Strand? Or your equally obvious promise to Mr. de Castillo?”

“There was no promise!” He flopped himself down on the bed, dressing forgotten for the moment. They’d had this argument before. “It is merely an understanding, built upon mutual need. We can just as easily misunderstand each other as well.”

“But you’re not that kind of man, Carlos. You don’t go back on your word,” she replied, her expression turning miserable. She was perhaps the only one who truly understood what had been going on in his head when he’d made the promise in the first place. Christina was also possibly the only one who truly understood why he was warring over it now. She could read his face, his tone of voice, the shape of his stance like a book.  Sometimes he hated it, but for the moment he was quite glad to not have to articulate the particulars of this struggle in bare words. He was content to skirt around the topic they both knew was on his mind with veiled hints and euphemisms.

“I know. So, esteemed elder sister, what should I do?”

She came closer and laid a hand upon his shoulder, her face still a picture of commiseration.

“You should do what every gentleman and lady wishes they could do, but for which they all lack the courage.” He stared at her, waited for her to elaborate. “You should follow your heart.”

“I can see now why all those other gentlemen and ladies lack the courage! I am damned if I do anything. If I keep my word to Fernando, I will be secure but restless, adrift, unfulfilled and bound to endure it, and it will be no fault of his but completely my own. He is a good man, and he does not deserve my indifference.”

“But he would have it anyway, would he not? You don’t—“

“You’re right, I do not. But that is not the point!”

“I thought it was? And what should happen if you break your word?” Her eyes seemed to bore into his skull despite the soft brown of her irises.

“I…” Words seemed to slip away on the wind from the open window. He thought again of TK asking about the wildflowers, how his smile lit up the landscape more than the rising sun. He could picture a thousand mornings spent just as they had this one, or perhaps instead of combing Carlos’ family homeland on horseback, they would promenade in Central Park among the birds and trees. They would walk arm in arm with no destination, just the inclination to be together in the bright spring air. He would utter some quip about the couple across the way just to hear the bells of TK’s laughter. TK would point out some high society maiden and they’d remark—under their breath of course—about the ridiculousness of her hat. At the end of each day they would return home together to sit by a roaring fire and talk into the night about everything and nothing before lying down beside each other and drifting into dreams that could do nothing to rival their waking lives.

The picture abruptly vanished at the thought of Fernando, however. Carlos was right, the man did not deserve to be slighted after all he’d done to assure Carlos of a life beyond his mother’s death and Rosa’s inheritance. Fernando was handsome, kind, and the catch of the century. Anyone would be envious of Carlos’ position.

Except Carlos.

Christina, who had been heretofore silent while her brother ruminated in his thoughts, finally sat beside him on the bed and slipped her arm into his, laying her head upon his shoulder.

“I know it’s not ideal, but you have to choose the path that puts your heart at ease, the one you can live with for the rest of your life. If you do that, you’ll be content. If you go against your own heart, you’ll never know peace.”

The problem was, Carlos couldn’t make sense of what his heart wanted in the slightest, and because of that he was frozen in indecision.

[writing-the-end]

LoL Chapter 40- Forged in Fire

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

While the other hermits forage in Redland, Wels and False forge ahead in Alphasgard, where the best fighters train and best swordsmiths learn. But it’s not just the Arcane guard that is after the two- some old ‘friends’ of Wels want a rematch. 

________________________________

“Halt by order of the Council of Guilds!” False drops the khopesh in her hand, grabbing Wels and dragging him away from the merchant. 

“Thank you for the offer but we have to get going. Right now.” False nods her head over her shoulder, and Wels spots the incoming arcane guard. As soon as he locks eyes with the captain of the patrol, the soldiers push through the busy open market and unsheathe their weapons. 

“Yeah, time to scram.” Wels lets himself be pulled away by False, and the two take off into the crowd. They laugh as they hear the sound of guards yelling, followed a second later by the crash of metal against stone. 

Through the open market, the two blonds make their escape into the heart of Alphasgard. The city traverses over multiple hills, and as the two flee down the slope, houses made of stone and terracotta turn to wood and clay, until the dry pathway becomes a sandy beach at the edge of the Ashioll fjords. Wels ducks between a cart towing raw iron ore and the loud cheering of an archery event along the shore. 

False gets ahead of the guards and Wels. She’s not wearing armor, not left to sink in the sand. But Wels gives himself a speed boost, and quickly catches up with her. Unfortunately, their chase through the beach did little to confuse and confound the arcane guard still after them. “We should split up, Wels. I’ll go over, you go through. Meet me at the Tower of the Blade.” 

“How long should I wait?” He questions, silently cursing having to split up. It’s just the two of them here in Alphasgard, among the square buildings and stout towers. Their magic deals in this physical combat, and they had hoped that just being the two of them would mean they wouldn’t draw the attention of the arcane guard. Fat lot that did. 

“Ah, give me an hour, then assume somethin’s gone wrong. But don’t do anything stupid, just get the supplies and report back to the Order. You know I’m no damsel in distress. I’d do the same if you get caught.” False tightens the weapons strapped to her, preparing to jump and climb. 

“I feel bad for the poor guards that would have to deal with you.” He snickers, before breaking off. The two flee into the city, two different directions.

False takes the high road. Clambering up a ladder made of driftwood, her boots clatter against the wooden roof as False runs across the flat planed shelters. She summons a set of daggers, and throws them into the clay wall, vaulting up the side of the home, each blade a foodhold. Her wild locks of blonde hair dance in the heated tropical sunlight, only tamed by her forging goggles, which sit secure to the crown of her head. 

Over her shoulder, she can hear curses and shouts as the guards struggle to chase after her. Over tall keeps and through windows, she feels almost like a bandit, just finding the best way across the city. Or an assassin, moving above where most won’t look. She clambers up a smooth stone pillar, and jumps from it’s crest to a tower, rising far above most other buildings. From this height, she can feel the cold wind from the fjord whipping at her cheeks. No other building in this district reaches quite as high. 

“Looks like you’re outta roof.” False turns around, her eyes catching on a cart full of palm fronds and a banner on the side of the tower, and faces the three arcane guard before her. The guard at the forefront twirls his shortsword. False can only scoff as she sees how shoddily made the blade is. It was quenched too quickly. One good hit and it could shatter on him. 

“Looks that way, doesn’t it?” False snickers, shrugging and putting her hands up. Taking one step back, until her heel is drifting over open nothingness. “But looks can be deceiving. See you later, boys.” 

With a two fingered salute, she lets the other foot slip off, and she plummets towards the ground. Arms outstretched, she can’t help but laugh at the shocked and terrified faces of the guards above her. She continues to plummet, like an eagle diving towards it’s kill. When it seems like she’d be crushed against the sandy street below, False reaches out and slows her fall by digging her sword into the banner of the building, and buries into the cart of palm fronds. A second later, she hops out, unharmed but heart racing, and continues on her merry way. Leaving the guards shocked and stranded at the top of the tower.

Wels lost sight of False when she hopped over the large square building in the distance. But he has to deal with his own tails he’s kiting through the city. He runs through the crooked streets, somehow managing to squeeze his armored body between the flow of people, trying to keep his head low and disappear among the crowd. 

But the guards aren’t quite as gentle. They barge through people, knocking families apart and sending tailors stumbling for their bobbins and spools. It’s like a bull barging through, eyes trained on the red tassel that swings from his helmet. He can’t keep going straight, they’ll catch him. He has to be clever. 

In a sharp turn, he disappears into the open forges nestled beside an eclectic mix of drink stands. With the blasting ovens baking the smithers and the beating sun against the dry desert sand, the canteens are bustling with people. What Wels wouldn’t give for a sip of the bright blue drinks that are slid across the counters, the clinking of ice against the glass, refreshing as he sweats under his armor. But he doesn’t have time to stop. 

Until fingers wrap around his lion-like tail, and throw him into the ground. He rolls away from a blazing hot rod of unfinished iron. “I got em guards!” 

A bladesmith, mid heat treat, has halted Wels in his tracks. Alarmed by the scene before them, the crowd parts until it was just Wels and the guards. He has no choice now but to fight. Wels frees his blade from it’s scabbard, defending himself but refusing to deal the first blow. Hels would’ve cut down all three guards in an instant. Wels could easily destroy them. But he’s not Hels anymore. 

A guard breaks the silence, swinging his saber to cut down Wels. It’s a stupid move, and Wels easily blocks the attack, the thin metal caught in the twists and curls of his sword. From behind him, another guard shouts out his orders. “Cease and desist this instant! You are under arrest by order of-” 

“Yeah, I’m not really listening.” Wels sneers, twisting his blade and pulling the saber free from the guard. With a flourish, he points the tip of the sword at the shocked guard. “Anyone else want to give it a go?” 

Those words, spoken in a crowd among the city of combat, brought the chaos that Wels needed to escape. It was an invitation to anyone with a sword and a bit of stupidity to start a duel. And from the swarm of people, a dozen different weapons are drawn and brought into the ring. Among the chaos, Wels slips away, dipping behind a drink stand. He can’t help but grab a glass on his crawl past, but he makes sure to leave a few rupees- including tip- for the server. 

Escaping the crowded forge, through a weapon shop, Wels nearly runs face first into a cart full of palm fronds. His tufted yellow tail flicks to the side to balance him out, but someone takes his hand and keeps him from being stranded on his back in his armor. “Saved ya.” 

“False!” Wels grins, happy to see his friend and fellow swordmaster, safe and even smiling. “Looks like you lost your tails.” 

“And you kept yours.” At first Wels thought she meant his actual tail, but when he hears a crashing from the weapon shop he just emerged from, he realizes he hasn’t quite lost the arcane guard after him.Without wasting another second, the two take off towards the Tower of the Blade. The tallest building, rising above and towering over everything else in the city by leaps and bounds. 

It was their goal, not just because it was easy to spot all across the city, but was also a safe haven from the arcane guard and Dolios’s far reach. It was a place of training and bettering oneself. It was the masters of the dojos and training grounds that determined who could enter and who could find safety among their ranks. It was there that Wels found a new purpose in life, after being betrayed by his bandit gang. Here that a master brought him in, despite his dark past, healed him and gave him a reason to change. Even when he thought he was evil, she saw the good in him and trained him. 

It’s here they’ll be able to find solace, to get trained in being an army all their own, for False to learn new ways to forge new weapons, and for Wels to hone his skills with his magic. 

The two disappear down a thin passageway in between two buildings, hiding in the shadows and staying quiet. Wels casts a spell to better camouflage them, and they hold their breath. Seconds feel like hours, until they watch the arcane guard run past the alleyway they’re hidden in. The two don’t move for another few minutes, waiting to be sure that the guards are gone. Only then do they emerge from hiding, and continue on their way. 

In the shadow of the Tower, Wels finds he’s able to untense his shoulders. This was his home before the hermits. A place he found peace, stopped being Hels and welcomed Wels. It’s here he became the man he is now. How he became a hermit. They’re welcomed in, False and Wels splitting apart to learn their individual skills. 

False finds herself in a class on layering metal types, and quickly impresses the master bladesmith with her even heating and precise strikes of the hammer to make just the right curve in the blade. But with the master, she learns to create thick blades, axes and hatchets, cinquedeas and even patas. 

As she pulls the five finger wide blade from the oil it was treated in, False is grinning from ear to ear. “Let’s see how Dolios will handle our new toys.” 

The hermit bladesmith tosses the new weapon to Wels, and he finds himself in the sandy promenade, among a group of students learning the sword style of arnis- martial arts similar to that found in and around Shellor. Wels can’t wait to challenge Etho the next time they’re on Eremita. His blade may not be from this fighting style, but Wels wants to practice his flexibility among weapons. Not just his massive zweihander, but all weapons in all fighting styles. 

Wels is about to test the sharpness of the sword by cutting through a series of bamboo enemies, when an all too familiar voice- to only him- rings loud and clear in the vaulted halls of the Tower. “You never know when to quit, lionheart?”

The healing scar on Wels’s shoulder burns, but he turns around and faces the group of rogues. “And you never know how to keep your prisoners tied up. That was a pretty easy escape, if I say so myself.” 

It was this group of bandits that he was investigating before he returned to Eremita. They who captured him while he infiltrated their numbers, they who made him unable to respond to the hermits. They who scarred him, but he came out stronger. And he’s not running from a fight this time. 

“You’re so damn cocky, what I wouldn’t give to cut that stupid smile off your face.” The bandit sneers. 

“If you want to duel, you just have to say?” Wels turns his back, his nonchalant attitude and snarky remark infuriating his opponent. Across the promenade, Wels sees False draw her own weapon. He waves her off. So long as the rogue will play fair, they won’t have to become the center of False’s wrath. No person should dare be on her bad side. “I just learned a very unique style of fighting, you wanna see?”

The bandit leader, with a scraggly mess of brown hair hastily tied in a bun, pulls out his blade. Wels may not be a bladesmith like False, but even he can see the cheap craftmanship of the heavy weighted sword. The training grounds clear out at the scent of a duel, and both Wels and the bandit assume fight ready stances. Wels stands as noble as the paladin he is, feet firm in the soil, blade between him and his opponent, his other hand tucked behind his back. 

The bowlegged bandit spits to the side. “I’ll make the last scar we gave ya look like a paper cut.” 

The duel starts, and False can clearly see Wels is already ahead. The bandit stumbles to the side, his blade unbalanced as his stance, and Wels digs the thin pommel into the square of his opponents back. The bandit plays quick and dirty, and soon the two are locked in combat. But even when he has to retreat after the blade slips between his armor and wounds him, Wels is still ahead. Last time, he was outnumbered, not outmatched. 

This time, he has the upper hand, so long as his opponent respects the art of the duel. Respects the rules of the Tower. The battle continues, with each hit his opponent makes on him, Wels gets two. He retreats back, looking over his shoulder after admiring the craftmanship of his sword in comparison to the shoddy blade of his enemy. “This is one hell of a sword, False! Great job, friend!” 

His words, although kind, seem to only enrage the bandit. When Wels turns around, he’s no longer dueling the bandit leader. He’s back in that dark speakeasy, fighting off twenty or so of these rats before being overwhelmed and captured. The other bandits have joined in on the fight. “To hell with decorum, I just want to see your blood staining this entire place.” 

Despite the encroaching axes, clubs, spears, and swords, Wels can’t help but chuckle. He backs up, towards the forge. Towards his fellow hermit. “I hate to disappoint you, but you’re quite… False.” 

His grin only grows when the forge wizard appears before him, summoning a blade as hot as an oven’s flame. He brandishes the newly made weapon. Two hermits against ten or more bandits? 

Too easy. The rogues don’t know what’s coming to them, but False and Wels fight like dragons, as graceful and strong. They have each other’s back. If False gets into a pushing match, Wels gives her a strength buff, and she sends her opponent skittering into the dirt. If Wels is surrounded by rogues, False summons throwing knives, and Wels can step over the ambushing party to get back into the fight.

The rogues weren’t prepared for the strength between two hermits. Wels alone was a struggle, but they managed to overpower him. But Wels and False? The fight is over quickly. Any rogues left standing flee, leaving behind their peers and disappearing into the city. Wels sneers, remembering how he was once left that way. 

False runs a bloody, muddy hand through her hair. “Well, I think we got enough training in that one fight. What do you think of the cinquedea?”

He turns, testing the weight of the sword False made. “Strong, balanced, good for cutting and stabbing. It will kill.”

[maria-scribbles]

glitter + crimson (let’s start a riot)//part two

summary: the pogues get up to a few shenanigans, burn the shit out of some marshmallows, and have a group hug of epic proportions. the dynamic duo of kiara and sailor brings out girl power in full force before getting real about a certain golden group rule. 

word count: 4.2k+ 

ship: jj maybank x oc (sailor flynn)

warnings: mentions of abuse/neglect/parental abandonment/anxiety, underage drinking, weed usage, more fluff, flirting, reference to absolute legend kobe bryant

a/n: hello again! thank you all for the great response to part one, i’m seriously blown away and so grateful for your support! <3 i’m happy y’all enjoyed reading about sailor’s adventures with the pogues! here’s part two, which had previously been combined with part one but i decided to split it because it was getting wayyyy too long (over 8k words, oops). also i’ve never even seen weed with my own two eyes before so my bad if that part’s not realistic, i did my best lol. unbetaed, so i apologize for any mistakes. enjoy!

gif credit goes to @toesure​

~Masterlist~

part one | part three | part four | playlist

part two: treading water 

The pogues spend the next few hours among the waves, surfing their hearts out until they’re waterlogged, exhausted, and hungry. As the sun starts to sink over the island they pile into John B’s beat up Volkswagen, all their boards tied together on the roof, and head to The Wreck, where Kiara’s dad begrudgingly feeds his daughter and her ‘delinquent’ friends.

That word seems pretty harsh at first but as the evening goes on and the group gets a little louder, it’s kind of well-deserved. Pope can’t seem to stop dropping his fork, sending the rest of them into hysterical laughter each time, and everyone knows when Taylor Swift comes on the radio, Sailor has an obligation to get up and dance. The fact that she knocks a chair over in her haste to show off her moves only makes them laugh harder. When they finally leave and head back to the Chateau for the night, she makes sure to put forty bucks on their table for the food and the twelve pack of beer Kiara swipes from behind the bar when Mr. Carrera isn’t looking.

While it may not look like much, John B’s house if home for more than just him. It’s a safe port for all the pogues when they get lost in the storm, a place where they can all be themselves, be real, without judgement, and it’s Sailor’s second favorite place on the island. She’s lost count of how many nights she’s spent here, sleeping in the spare room, on the pull-out couch, and the hammock in the yard (sleepovers have become even more common in the eight months since Big John’s disappearance at sea, no one willing to leave his son all alone in an empty house.).

The hammock is where she finds herself now on this warm June night, sitting beside JJ with his arm around her shoulders, clad in his sweatshirt that she unashamedly stole last year, passing a joint back and forth while the others lounge around the small bonfire, roasting the old marshmallows John B found in the very back of one of his kitchen’s cupboards and drinking beer. One of her long legs dangles over the edge, toes pushing against the cool grass as they lazily swing back and forth, watching Kiara burn her third marshmallow in a row.

“Kie, what did those poor things ever do to you?” Sailor asks, exhaling smoke through her nose before passing the joint to JJ, and the brush of his fingers against hers sends warmth through her whole body. Kiara just shoots her the bird in response as she stabs her fourth marshmallow and holds it over the fire. The redhead laughs and rests her head against JJ’s shoulder, her limbs light as air. In the distance, lightning arcs between the clouds and creates a dazzling show over the water as thunder rumbles but none of them care enough to notice.

Although she never outright asks to smoke, she also never refuses the chance to get high with her best friend and let their problems drift away with every hit, if only for a little while. Lines get a little blurry between them, too, as both become oh so affectionate with each other when their inhibitions disappear like the sun over the horizon. She sighs contentedly at the blissful feeling of his fingers running through her hair and burrows further into his side, turning so she can throw an arm over his waist and curl her own fingers into the soft material of his shirt.

“Damn it!” John B yells as his marshmallow, in the span of a few seconds, catches fire and unceremoniously falls into the flames with a hiss.

“Ha, I’m not the only one on the struggle bus!” Kiara laughs gleefully, delicately turning her fourth attempt to keep it from burning like the other three. “We can’t all be Pope, I guess.”

The other boy looks up at the mention of his name and grins, holding out a perfectly toasted marshmallow on the end of the stick in his hand. “It takes talent, Kie.” He jokes, chuckling as she sticks her tongue out at him.

Sailor can’t help laughing, too when the two of them dive headfirst into a heated discussion about the finer points of roasting things over a campfire, their voices becoming louder and louder as they try to talk over one another while John B, unfazed from his spot between them, just holds another marshmallow over the fire and ignores them completely as he takes a sip of his beer.

“Aaaand JB’s totally checked out of that particular conversation,” She says to JJ under her breath and she feels more than hears him laugh in response.

“Poor bastard,” He whispers back before taking one last hit of the joint, now burnt down to a nub in his hand, and flicking it into the fire with a shout of “Kobe!”

“Nice one, hotshot.” She shifts her head up on his shoulder as her eyes unabashedly trace his profile in the warm orange glow of the fire, from the golden hair falling haphazardly onto his forehead and down the straight slope of his nose to the curve of his lips before she’s caught -not that she was being subtle in any possible way-, his ocean blue gaze holding hers with an electrified energy that would’ve normally set her whole face aflame. She’s not Normal Sailor now though, she’s High Sailor and High Sailor has positively zero shame so she just looks up at him with a saccharine smile on her face and blesses the fact that weed makes her bold as hell. 

The flickering flames throw JJ’s features into sharp relief and highlight the dimples that she loves as he returns her smile, the hand in her hair now twirling a single curl around his finger. His free hand settles on the strip of bare skin at her waist where her sweatshirt has ridden up and her heart beats a little faster when he starts drawing agonizingly slow circles with his thumb. Her hand releases its grip on his shirt and before she even realizes it, she’s reaching up and brushing a finger along her jaw, just like he’d done to her that afternoon on the beach, and she feels the fingers at her waist press against her skin. 

It’s moments like these that make her wish she could freeze time and live in them forever. Just the two of them, looking at each other like they’re more than just friends, touching each other like they’re falling into something beautiful and all they need to do is stick the landing. The possibility of taking that final leap teases her. He’s so close, it wouldn’t take much to just reach up and make that minuscule distance between them disappear and from the way his eyes flick down to her mouth and back, she’s sure he’s thinking the same. They won’t though and for now that’s okay, but deep down she wonders just how long they can balance on the cliff’s edge before they both fall. 

As much as she’d like to stare at his stupidly handsome face all night, the weather has other plans as lightning flashes white across the sky, immediately followed by a big crack of thunder that makes Sailor jump and accidentally headbutt JJ right in the forehead. The stick in Pope’s hand goes flying somewhere into the bushes when he startles, too, and there’s a pause as everyone looks at each other before bursting into wild laughter.

“Jesus, Sail,” JJ says, reaching up to rub at the spot she hit, “you have a hard head.”

Her reply of “speak for yourself!” is drowned out by another clap of thunder and seconds later it starts pouring rain, sending the group scrambling to head back inside the Chateau before they get too drenched. The duo, in their haste, get tangled together in the hammock and nearly fall to the ground in a heap but manage to hold each other up with their hands clasped tight, both laughing so hard she’s sure the water on their faces is more than just rain.

“The beer! Don’t forget the beer!” Someone yells and John B, halfway to the porch in front of them, does a smooth 180 on the wet grass and runs back for the booze sitting beside the dying fire, sending them a lazy salute when he passes by.

“We honor your sacrifice, Captain!” JJ calls over his shoulder before they clamber onto the porch alongside a giggling Kiara.

“Oh my God, you two almost bit it so hard.” She says while wringing out her shirt, adding to the steadily growing puddle of water at their feet.

“But we didn’t, all thanks to me and my impeccable balance.” He says proudly, grinning down at the girl still snug against his side before she lets go of his hand to slug him in the shoulder.

“Ow, what was that for?”

“Oh please, J, I was the one who kept you from falling on your face. Now, hold still.” Sailor orders and places her hand on his arm, using him for balance as she brushes the grass from her feet.

“Yes, ma’am.” His reply is low in her ear, his hand settles even lower on her back, and she pretends the shiver her body makes is just from the cool rain.

“You like being bossed around, Maybank?”

Her hand grips his strong shoulder a little bit tighter, and she feels his fingers tighten on her sweatshirt as he replies, “Depends on who’s doing the bossing, Flynn.”

Kiara coughs pointedly, staring at them with her eyebrows raised and Sailor feels her face begin to flush bright red because, to be honest, she’d kind of forgotten she was even there as they both let go of each other. The other girl snickers and drawls, “If you two are quite done-”

Thankfully, a thoroughly soaked John B joins them and interrupts whatever Kiara was going to say, his hair plastered to his face and dripping onto the soggy carton of beer protectively cradled in his arms.

“Mission accomplished.” He says with a satisfied smile, setting the drinks down on a chair before shaking his head like a dog and splattering rainwater on everyone, including Pope as he emerges from the house carrying a pile of towels. A few drops land on his cheek and he wrinkles his nose in disgust, wiping them away with his own towel hanging around his neck.

“I was just kidding about the beer.” He says, throwing one and smacking John B right in the face, then kindly passing out the rest. Sailor barely grabs the last one before Pope’s suddenly put in a headlock by the brunet boy, yelling something about mutiny and a captain “not standing for this” as they start to grapple back and forth. JJ pauses in the middle of drying his hair and instantly jumps into the fray after tossing his towel to the floor, the scuffle quickly turning into a three way wrestling match.

She and Kiara both glance at each other and roll their eyes before scooting by the melee and heading into the house, leaving the boys to do their thing. They quickly dry off and change into pajamas, hang their wet clothes up to dry in the bathroom, and then tiredly flop onto the bed in the spare room together.

“How long do you think it’ll take until Wrestlemania out there’s done?” Sailor asks, rolling onto her stomach and reaching to pull her phone and glasses out of her bag on the floor; under her newly acquired hat, the lightning whelk peeks through its towel and the sight of it makes her smile softly. Kiara snorts and sits up, crossing her legs and running her fingers through her damp hair. “Knowing those fools, too long.”

The redhead laughs and mirrors the other girl’s position before slipping her glasses on and glancing down at her phone in trepidation, where no new texts block the lock screen picture of her and the rest of the pogues, and she does her best to ignore the hurt coiling in her chest, the smile fading from her face. She places the phone screen down on the bedside table and when she raises her head, she’s not surprised to find Kiara, ever so perceptive, staring at her with sympathy in her soft brown eyes.

“You okay?” She asks and Sailor takes off her glasses, then pulls her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them.

“Could be better.”

Lightning illuminates the room, followed by an impressive crack of thunder a few seconds later as rain continues to pound against the window and down the hall, they hear the door slam closed as the boys finally storm inside after their scuffle, still yelling like banshees. The other girl reaches over and quickly squeezes her wrist before shooting her a bright smile.

“If you ever need to vent, I’m all ears.”

She knows she means it. Aside from JJ, Kiara’s her closest friend and from the moment they met, the two had quickly bonded over being the only girls in the group and their love of the environment: she’s lost count of how many times they’ve volunteered, both themselves and the rest of the pogues, to help raise money for animals. Despite Kiara’s kook year, Sailor considers her a sister and knows that Kie feels the same about her. Having each other’s backs no matter what is just what they do.

The redhead looks away from watching the storm outside and matches Kiara’s smile, then scoots closer to wrap her arms around her in a grateful hug.

“Thanks, Kie.” 

The dark haired girl eagerly returns the embrace. “Any-”

“Comin’ through, gotta get me some of this group hug action!” JJ yells, storming into the room like a hurricane and throwing his arms around them, all but tackling them onto the bed before they even realize what’s happening.

“No, no, you’re still wet!” Sailor cries as his head rests against the back of her neck, his damp hair slowly beginning to soak into her shirt while Kiara growls, “Oh my God, get off!” 

“And miss out on this? No way.” He says cheekily and pulls them both closer, ignoring the dark haired girl’s venomous glare and attempts to pry his hand away from her arm. Sailor, resigned to her fate, just laughs and calls over his arm to John B and Pope as they curiously poke their heads in from the hall, “Get your asses in here!”

She doesn’t have to tell them twice. They throw themselves into the hug faster than she can blink and with such contagious enthusiasm that Kiara can’t fight the affectionate grin making its way onto her face, even as she threatens, “I’m gonna kill all of you.”

Sailor rests her cheek on JJ’s outstretched arm and smiles to herself. This, right here and now, is where she belongs, surrounded by the best friends she could ask for, living each moment to its fullest. No matter what comes their way, she knows this is true: as long as they all stand together, the pogues will be just fine. 

Some time later, the hug comes to an end as JJ jokingly complains about Sailor’s big head making his arm numb, which earns him a swift elbow to the stomach from the redhead.

“Weak.” She replies, smirking at the little oof he makes before grabbing his arm and pulling them both up from the bed. “Now get out.” 

“Please.” Kiara agrees and pushes John B out the door, followed by Pope. “This room is girls only.”

“Since when?” The latter asks, sidestepping to avoid JJ as he’s playfully shoved into the hall by Sailor, who replies, “Right now.”

“Why?”

“’Cause we said so!” Both girls say in unison before they slam the door shut and then lean their backs against it, giggling. On the other side, they hear Pope ask in a very amused voice, “I thought this was your house?”

John B sighs the deepest sigh they’ve ever heard before replying, “Yeah, I did, too.”

“Ten bucks they’re gonna talk shit about us.” JJ says and there’s a not so subtle bump against the door that gives away the fact that he’s got his ear pressed to it, trying to listen in on them; a fact that gets proven when Sailor smacks her hand on it and makes him stumble back with a yelp of surprise.

“Dream on!”

“You wish!”

She and Kiara call at the same time, then glance at each other and burst into another fit of giggles.

“Tough break, dude. You’ll feel better in the morning.” That was John B’s tactless way of saying he’s tired without actually saying it and seconds later they hear his footsteps disappear down the hall to his room as he makes his escape, followed faintly by the sound of his door swinging shut.

“You don’t talk about us at all, Sail? Seriously?” JJ asks and Sailor can almost feel the sheer force of Pope’s inevitable eye roll when he mumbles under his breath, “Oh my God.”

Kiara’s on the same wavelength as him because she rolls her eyes, too and all but yells, “If we say yes will you fucking leave?” 

There’s a pause and then: a slightly miffed “...yes.” along with Pope trying and failing to disguise his laugh as a cough.

“Then yes, we do talk about you. Now go.”

“Okay, okay! Jeez.”

“Goodnight, boys!” Sailor calls in a singsong voice before hearing them retreat to the living room, arguing about who gets the sleeper sofa and who gets stuck with the regular couch. When she’s sure they’re gone she shakes her head fondly (she doesn’t see why they can’t just get over themselves and share the damn thing) and turns back to Kiara, who’s already in the middle of pulling the damp comforter from the bed, her face the picture of disgust. 

“Ugh,” She shudders, tossing it to the floor and then wiping her hands on a discarded towel from earlier. “Don’t touch that.”

“No shit.”

The dark haired girl jokingly flips Sailor the bird and then joins her in lounging on the bed, watching the fan spin in circles above their heads while the storm outside continues to rage on. The silence is comforting, soothing, and goes on for so long that the redhead’s nearly sent off to dreamland by the sound of the rain before Kiara finally speaks, “Hey, Sail?”

She hums in response, slowly turning her head to face her and blinking the sleep out of her eyes.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You just did.” She replies with an impish grin, but it slips from her face when the other girl shoots her a flat, unamused glance. 

“Ha ha. I’m being serious, okay?”

Well that wasn’t worrying at all. “Is something wrong?” Sailor asks, rolling onto her side to face her friend completely and propping her head on her arm, all traces of lethargy thrown out the window. Kiara does the same with an unreadable look in her eyes as she answers, “No, I’m just a little...okay, a lot curious about something, and I want you to be honest with me.”

“I mean, I kind of have to. You know I suck at lying.”

She frowns when Kiara doesn’t even react to her comment and instead starts to worry her bottom lip between her teeth. “It’s kind of a personal question, though.”

Oh, Jesus. She’s gonna ask about her dad, Sailor knows it, and that’s something she’s just not ready to talk about -she hasn’t even told JJ the whole story yet and she tells him (almost) everything- but before she can think of a semi-decent excuse, or run to the bathroom, or pretend to just pass the fuck out, Kiara blurts, “What’s the deal between you and JJ?”

Okay, that’s decidedly not what she expected to hear and it completely throws her for a loop, her brain blowing a fuse in epic fashion. A long stream of gibberish comes from her mouth as she tries and fails to articulate a response because holy hell she’s so not prepared for this; she’s a listener, not a talker! She’s the confidante not the confider, the asker not the answerer, and she can feel herself getting a little sweaty at just the thought of talking about her feelings, even with someone as close to her as Kiara. She almost wishes the other girl had asked about her dad.  

To be honest she should’ve seen this coming, considering the looks Kiara’s been sending her recently and especially today, the ones that clearly meant that the dark haired girl’s seen what’s been happening and wants. that. tea. What Sailor doesn’t get though, is why she’s being so serious about it: she expects at least an overexaggerated wink or a teasing comment or two from her friend but she’s just waiting patiently, the slightest hint of mirth in her eyes. 

Finally, the redhead manages to collect her panicked thoughts enough to squeak oh so eloquently, “Me-him-nothing!” 

Kiara arches one eyebrow. “Sail, you really do suck at lying.”

Sailor flops back onto the bed and slides her hands down her furiously blushing face with a groan. “I’m not lying.” She mutters insistently but even she can admit it sounds weak as hell.

“It’s obvious there’s something-”

Something in her snaps and before she can stop them, words just start coming out with the force of a wave crashing against the shore, rough and callous. “It’s obvious there’s nothing going on, okay? Nothing. And even if there was -not that I’m saying there is- it can’t happen. That’s the golden rule, Kie.” 

Kiara looks momentarily taken aback at the redhead’s outburst and then rolls onto her back, staring at the ceiling for a moment before she whispers quietly, like a secret she’s reluctant to share, “Maybe I think that rule is stupid.” 

“Stupid?” Sailor glances over incredulously, the brief flash of anger aimed at her friend slowly morphing into confusion. “You’re the one who came up with it in the first place!”

“I know...” The dark haired girl sighs, tiredly running her hands through her hair, “I wanted to keep things from getting weird! It’s worked pretty well so far but I’m kind of, sort of, maybe starting to think it might not have been the best idea.”

“Why?” She asks, brow furrowing.

Kiara appears deep in thought as she keeps staring at the ceiling, working her jaw until she seems to come to a decision and turns her head to look Sailor in the eye. “Because I don’t think something as simple as a rule should be able to dictate who you can or can’t...love.”

Oh, God. Anxiety starts to take hold in her chest and she tries to keep her brain from going into five-alarm fire mode, her fingers tapping nervously against her leg. Why oh why did she have to say the L-word? Who said anything about that? Hell, it’s been a few months and she’s still getting used to her world-changing, panic-inducing, everything-clicking-into-place epiphany that made her realize that she does, in fact, like JJ as more than a friend (how and when her feelings changed, she hasn’t quite figured that out yet.). She’s not even close to thinking about love. Noticing her friend’s distress, Kiara reaches over to place her darker hand on the paler girl’s and gives it a reassuring squeeze. 

“I’m not saying you love him, okay? But there’s obviously something good going on between you guys and I’m not cool with some dumb rule we made when we were twelve getting in the way of your happiness,” Her mouth curls into a lighthearted smirk, “even if it happens to be with someone as, uh, distinct as JJ.”

Despite herself, Sailor snorts a laugh and the tight feeling in her chest slowly starts to become a little more bearable as its replaced by a swell of gratitude that she has a person as wonderful as Kiara for a friend. She really did luck out in that department, she thinks, and the corner of her mouth lifts in a small smile. 

“Distinct?”

“Hey, I was gonna say idiotic but I’m trying to be nice here.” The dark haired girl says, laughing as Sailor affectionately rolls her eyes before continuing, “But you do know that if he messes this up I’ll kick his ass, right?”

“Trust me, I do.”

“Good.” She punctuates that with a massive yawn, then rolls away from her and pulls the sheets higher over her chest, mumbling, “Now I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for bed. All this deep talk made me tired.”

“Big mood,” Sailor replies, reaching over and flicking off the bedside lamp, the only light now coming from the occasional flash of lightning through the windows as she rolls comfortably onto her side, tucking her arm under the pillow. Silence settles over them, dark and calm and stretching for who knows how long before she says quietly, “Thanks, Kie.”

There’s no answer. Realizing she must’ve already nodded off, the redhead’s just about to crash herself when her friend’s reply softly cuts through the silence like a knife.

“You’re not the only one I did it for.”

Kiara doesn’t say anything after that and Sailor falls asleep wondering what, or rather who, exactly the other girl meant. 

~

let me know what you think! 

taglist ❤ (i added everyone who’s comments and reblogs made me smile so let me know if you don’t want to be tagged!) : @jiaraendgame @obxlife @sunflowerbecca @maysbanks @obx-adventures @mortifiedposts @sexualparkour​ @coltonparayyko​ @heavensalreadyheres​

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Poetry for an Heiress, Chapter 5

Word Count: 4.2k (exactly lol)

Summary: When a duchess and her children are abandoned far from home, they must rely on the kindness of one stranger to guide them home.

Warnings: Near drowning, brief allusion to suicide (for this chapter)

All Ezra could do was watch in terror as she fell as he rounded the bend with the boys in tow. She didn't scream, didn't shout for help as she fell. He saw her disappear over the side of the ravine and into the water below. He dropped the cooler and shouted her name, hoping, praying that she heard him. 

"Stay here!" he called to the boys as he rushed to the side of the ravine. He wouldn't be able to jump without injuring himself. "Make sure your sister doesn't go anywhere!"

Ezra rushed off the path and slid down the sloping hillside, closer to where he could safely jump in. He kept his eye on the spot where the Duchess had fallen in, hoping to see her bob to the surface. When she didn't appear by the time he reached the bottom, he quickly unclasped his jacket and dove into the river after her.

The bubbles had stopped coming to the surface - he didn't have much time, and even less considering he couldn't swim as well as he used to. He'd have to think fast in order to save her, if it wasn't too late already.

As he sunk to the bottom, it became harder to see. Mud had swirled up from the bottom, clouding his vision. Through the murk, he saw the pale blue lace of her dress floating in the water. He kicked his legs towards her and wrapped his arm around her waist. As he tried to pull her free, he noticed her ankle had gotten tangled in the debris that collected in the mud and sand at the bottom of the river. It wouldn't budge on its own.

He dug his boots into the silt and quickly freed her foot. As she slowly began to ascend to the surface, he grabbed her by the waist again and kicked his legs to try and steer them both towards the bank. 

He breached the surface, coughing and sputtering as he dragged her onto the grass. She wasn't breathing.

"Shit," he grunted, wiping the water from his face. He looked up and saw the boys had slid down the hill after him. Marie was still climbing down on her side, screaming for her mother. "Shit! Aiden, I need you to go across the river and get your sister. Henry, I need you to hold your mother's nose for me."

"But, Mr. Ezra--"

"I need to breathe for her, kid," he quickly explained. "I can't do it one-handed."

Henry reached over and pinched her nose closed, his own cheeks stained with tears. He took a deep breath to steady himself as he watched Ezra closely. 

"Good, good. It's gonna be okay," Ezra soothed, pushing the duchess' hair from her mouth. He bit his lip and looked at Henry before mumbling an apology under his breath and lowering his mouth to hers. He placed his hand over her breast and felt her chest rise and fall with his breaths. Beneath his hand, he could feel the steady thumping of her heart. 

Henry sniffled and let out a little sob as he watched Ezra. He held his mother's hand in his lap, silently begging her to come back. 

"Alright, let go of her nose," he urged, sitting back up on his knees. Aiden had rejoined the group, holding Marie close to him as she screamed. Ezra took a deep breath and pumped her chest, trying to clear the water from her lungs. Once, twice, three times, before---

"Mama!" Marie wailed as her mother involuntarily jerked to the side and coughed up a mouthful of water.

"Wake up! C'mon, Princess," he begged. "Wake up!"

He helped pull her into a sitting position and thumped her on the back, trying to clear as much water as he could from her lungs as she coughed loudly. "Cough one more time. Good. Good. 0Boys, help me stand her up."

***

"Your highness! Your highness!" a frantic voice pulled you out of a sound sleep. "Wake up!"

You slowly opened your eyes to the darkness and rolled over to face the other side of the bed. Empty. Rion, your husband, was still off in the Far Systems fighting invaders. He'd been gone for six weeks already, leaving you with twin boys under three and a third baby on the way with your due date closer every day.

"Your highness!" the voice came again, accompanied by a frantic knocking at your door. "Please wake up!"

"I'm coming!" you called with a groan as you slid out of bed. You cupped your growing belly and waddled towards the door. "Ophelia, what is it?"

Ophelia, your handmaiden, stood before you in her own night clothes, her expression ashen, twisting her hands nervously. "Milady, it's-- it's His Highness."

You felt your heart drop into your stomach. Ice cold panic settled into your veins and sweat beaded up on your brow. It couldn't be...

"What happened?" you breathed, clutching the doorknob for support.

"He... oh, Highness, please don't make me repeat it," Ophelia sobbed as she pressed her hand against her mouth.

"You must," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I must hear it."

She removed her hand from her mouth and looked at you, her dark eyes locking with your own. "Milady... he was killed by the invading forces. An assassin snuck into his tent and, oh, they shot him. Dragged his body behind their truck, showing off their victory. He's dead. Your highness, I'm so sorry."

You fell into her arms and wailed, your cries echoing down the hallway. In the back of your mind, you thought of your sons, just a few years old. What were they going to think when they couldn't find their father? And the babe still inside you? They were never going to meet him. Your heart shattered, held only together by your children.

As you lifted your head from Ophelia's shoulder, you spotted Edgar consoling your mother. The moonlight streamed in from the large windows and cast a harsh shadow across Edgar's angular face. If not for the tears that clouded your vision, you would have sworn that Edgar was smiling.

It all became too much for you and you collapsed against Ophelia, sagging heavily in her arms. You heard her shout for Edgar as she lowered you to the ground, cradling your head in her lap before you fell unconscious in her arms.

"Your highness!" Edgar called, frantically trying to shake you awake. "Please wake up!"

***

"Wake up! C'mon, Princess," a warbled voice pleaded, dragging you through the darkness. "Wake up!"

You managed to crack open your eyes to blinding sunlight and couldn't stop yourself from coughing violently. It felt like you couldn't breathe. 

Someone helped you sit up and firmly pounded you on the back. You coughed and sputtered  again as hot water spilled from your Iungs. 

"Good, good," the same voice soothed. The hand moved up your back and gave a few more pats. "One more. Cough one more time. Good girl. Boys, help me stand her up. We gotta get her back to the house. Hang on to her now, she might go dead weight on you."

*

"It's a girl!" cried Petunia, the midwife that was currently knelt between your legs. The piercing wail of a newborn baby filled the room, bringing you out of your labored stupor. 

Your mother pushed sweaty hair back from your forehead and gripped your shoulder, beaming with pride. "Oh, my sweet, she's beautiful! You did a wonderful job! I'm so proud of you."

"A girl! Can I see her?" you gasped, reaching for the shrieking baby. A second midwife whose name you couldn't remember snipped the cord and placed another sheet beneath your chair to clean up the mess.

"In a moment, miss," Petunia promised. She went to work, quickly brushing off the baby's face, clearing her nose and mouth of fluid before wrapping her in a blanket and laying her gently in your arms. 

Your mother cooed and leaned in to look at your new baby. She took the corner of the blanket and cleaned some remaining fluid from around her still closed eyes.

"Oh, she's perfect," she whispered, pressing a kiss to your sweaty temple. "He would have been proud to have a daughter, you know."

You only nodded, too transfixed by your minutes-old daughter to give a proper response at the mention of your recently deceased husband. You pressed a kiss to your baby's forehead, letting the tears flow freely down your flushed cheeks. "Marie. Your name is Marie."

***

"Easy now, Princess," Ezra whispered against the Duchess' ear. "I've got you."

She lolled her head back against Ezra's shoulder as he helped her up the stairs. 

"Rion?" she whispered, reaching for the man just to her left.

"Shh, Princess, up you get," he urged as he sat her on the edge of the bed. "Aiden, grab her nightgown there off of that hook. Henry, grab her legs and swing them up on the bed. We need to get her out of this wet dress before she gets sick."

Ezra coughed nervously, trying to act as natural as he could as he pulled the Duchess' sopping wet day dress over her head. He looked off to the side, trying to preserve at least some of her dignity as she sat there in the light shift she wore. He cleared his throat as Aiden handed him the dry nightgown. "You boys go outside with your sister and keep her occupied. I can take it from here."

Henry started to protest but Ezra shook his head and gestured for them to leave. He grabbed Aiden's hand and pulled him towards the stairs. 

Aiden pulled his hand away and looked at Ezra, tears brimming in his eyes. "Is mama going to be okay?"

Ezra looked at the Duchess and nodded once, his mouth set in a firm line. "Yes. She'll be just fine. Go on."

The boys looked at one another and then descended the stairs together.

"Rion?" she mumbled again, her whole body pitching forward to lean against Ezra's chest. 

"Shhh," he soothed as he blushed and quickly removed the rest of her wet clothes before slipping the dry gown over her head. He propped her up against the pillows as best he could and covered her with the blankets from the bottom, doing his best to keep her warm. "Just rest."

***

"Oh, Edgar," the princess called, flagging down her mother the Queen's advisor. "Have you heard from my daughter? I thought for sure by now she would have radioed. It's been quite some time."

Edgar gave a fond smile and shook his head. "Milady, I've just spoken with her this morning. It seems as though the radio there hasn't been working properly. Her and the children arrived safely several weeks ago - Orville is tending to them while they go about their business."

"And they're alright?" she asked, wringing her hands. 

"Oh yes, quite well," he replied. "They're getting along just fine. She asked about you and your mother as a matter of fact. I told her you both were still asleep. She regrets not calling later so she could speak with you."

The princess worried her lip between her teeth and nodded. "I wish she would have said something before running off like that. We have the Moon Feast in a few weeks. I know she's not fond of the Chancellor, but the two would get on well together if she gave him a chance. She could have just told me instead of taking the children and running away."

Edgar tutted lightly and smiled at the princess. He patted her lightly on the arm as he walked with her back to the drawing room. "I'm sure she is just trying to sort things out, my lady. Perhaps trying out that rebellious phase you had just said you were glad she had missed?" He chuckled, trying to alleviate any of her worries.

"She never grew out of her teenage years," the queen snapped from her chair in the corner. She gave a wracking cough and shuddered violently with the effort. "She hasn't been the same since Rion died."

"Mother, please be sympathetic," the princess tutted. She drew her shawl around her and sighed. "I fear you're rushing her to find a husband too quickly. She's not ready."

"It's been five damn years!" the queen spluttered. "She should be ready."

"You didn't pressure me into finding a husband when Vincent passed," she replied, crossing her arms indignantly.

"Oh, you were well past your prime, don't flatter yourself," the queen hissed, raising herself from the chair with great effort. She had gotten so frail in the last few years, and the stress of this whole ordeal wasn't making it any easier on her. If word got out that the young Duchess had run off, neighboring dominions would converge in an instant. "You had but one child of marrying age yourself. Why would someone choose you over her?"

The princess turned back to the bay window overlooking the garden, pointedly ignoring her mother's comments. "Edgar, if she calls again, you will wake me at once. I don't care how early it is. Understood?"

"Of course, milady," he replied with a bow. "Will there be anything else?"

The princess dismissed him with a wave of her hand. She sighed softly and looked back out towards the garden her daughter loved so much.

From this window, she could see her daughter's wing of the palace, uninhabited, curtains drawn in all the windows. "Something doesn't feel right about this. She would have called, even if she were cross with us."

The queen huffed and hobbled over to her desk. She lowered herself down and picked up a pen. "If she were grateful, she wouldn't have run off."

"She is grateful, mother--"

"Let me finish, child," the queen snapped. "She is grateful. And she wouldn't have just vanished like this, you're absolutely right."

"Mother--"

"I am agreeing with you, girl. Don't start," she said. "I am going to put a letter out to Thom. He should be able to check on her. See if Edgar is telling the truth."

"Your military strategist? You're sure he can be trusted with something like this?"

The queen snorted and coughed again. "My girl, I trust Thom more than I trust most people. I wouldn't worry. He'll know what to do."

"You don't think that Edgar would--"

"Keep your mouth closed, girl," the queen hissed. "These walls have sensitive ears."

***

You awoke with a startled gasp, one hand flying to your chest. The ragged breath sounded wet and crackled like a sickness in your lungs. You coughed, trying to clear fluid from your throat. It felt like you were suffocating.

"Princess, Kevva be praised," a worried voice said. A warm hand gripped your shoulder and helped steady you as you sat up further in the bed.

You saw Rion's anxious face, blurry and swirling in front of you. He touched your cheek, his rough fingers warm against your skin. You felt so cold.

"Rion?" you whispered. You blinked a few times as your eyes adjusted to the light.

"Shh, it's alright," he murmured, still touching your cheek. "Just rest. You're safe.

As your eyes adjusted, your heart sank. It was not Rion, but Ezra. Your heart skipped a beat when you realized how close he was to you. Ezra. You smiled weakly before you coughed again and fell back against the pillows.

***

You opened your eyes and rolled over onto your side in the soft grass. The spring flowers were coming in, their sweet perfume coming and going with the gentle breeze. 

"You look like a goddess like this," Ezra said softly. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and caressed the swell of your cheek with his thumb. "My own personal idol."

You blushed under the praise and smiled as you slid closer to him. When you placed your hand on his chest, he pressed a kiss to your forehead. You hummed at the affection and closed your eyes. 

"I didn't want to wake you, Duchess," he said. "But we need to head home."

Your eyes shot open at his words and you sat up. "What did you call me?"

Ezra slowly pushed himself upright and looked over at you. "Duchess. That is your appropriate title, if I am not mistaken?"

"Th-that..." you stammered, looking all around. "You never call me Duchess. You call me--"

"Princess, can you hear me?" Ezra murmured, cupping your cheek.

"Wh-what?" you asked as your fingers curled around his wrist.

"You gotta wake up," he said. "Please, wake up."

You jolted awake with a gasp, your chest heaving with effort. "Ezra!"

"I'm here, Princess," he soothed, his fingers carding through your hair. "I'm right here."

"The children?" you whispered, trying to crane your neck to look around him. "Where are my children?"

"Outside playing," he replied, glancing over his shoulder towards the window. "Though I expect they're right below the window there. I kicked them out a few hours ago."

"Hours? What happened?" 

"The bridge collapsed and took you with it," he explained. "I expect you cracked your head somewhere on the way down, sucked in a good lungful of water too."

You tried to move with a groan and Ezra pushed you back down. A dull pain shot up your leg and you hissed through your teeth.

"What is it? What hurts?"

"My leg," you groaned, reaching down to pull the blanket off. 

"It was caught under a branch," he said softly. "Lucky for you it kept you rooted in one spot and kept you from getting swept away until I got you. I was able to pull you free."

"You saved me?" you croaked, holding onto his hand. 

He nodded. "I did," he said softly. "Had a hell of a time with it too. Swimming is, regrettably, not one of my strengths. I reckon I fared only slightly better than you did, Princess."

You chuckled weakly and settled back against the pillows. The events of the afternoon swirled around your head, trying to patch themselves together. Everything had happened so quickly and you were still unsure how it all went down. All you knew was that Ezra had saved your life. 

"Thank you," you whispered. "I truly won't ever be able to thank you enough for saving me, Ezra."

He tutted and picked at a fuzz on the quilt. Worry was still etched into his brow, a deep line cutting down the center of his forehead.

"You said the children are outside?" you asked. Through the open window, you thought you could make out the sounds of them playing. 

Ezra nodded and stood up from the little stool with a pained groan. He walked towards the window and nodded. "They're by the barn with the kittens." He smiled and waved at them before turning to you. 

"My ankle," you said, slowly pulling yourself into a more upright position, trying to take a look at your ankle. "Is it broken?"

He shook his head. "No, luckily for you. Badly twisted and bruised, but not broken."

"How did you get me home?" you asked. The word fell from your lips before you could stop it. Home. It felt so natural. 

The bedroom door suddenly crashed open and the children came barreling into the room. Almost immediately they began to climb on the bed and into your lap, asking a million questions at once.

"I did have some help from your boys," he explained with a small laugh over the ruckus. He smiled at the chaos, and even more so at the way life returned to your face. "I admit I would have had a difficult time getting you home myself."

You kissed each of the boys cheeks and smiled broadly at them. "Oh, my heroes!" 

Henry buried his face against your neck and hugged you tightly. You could feel his tears against your skin and you quietly sushed him, trying to reassure each of them that you were going to be alright.

Aiden was on your other side, happily nestled under your arm, resting his head against your chest. He was unusually quiet, tears threatening at the corners of his eyes.

You soothed each of them by running your hands through their hair and scratching your nails against their scalps. "It's alright, little ones. It's alright."

Marie sniffled and pressed your face against your breast. You knew she probably hadn't stopped crying since it happened. 

"Oh, little bug, I'm alright," you hummed, kissing the top of her head. Her hair was warm from the sunlight outside and you smiled gently.

"Mama," she whispered. "I love you."

"Oh, I love you," you said. "So much. So very, very much."

Ezra stayed quiet for a minute before he cleared his throat to get their attention. "Alright, little birds, why don't you go find some pretty flowers for your mama," he suggested. "Mind her leg now."

As the children murmured in agreement, they climbed off your lap and off the bed. They looked back at you and you waved your hand at them. "Go ahead, I'll be down in a few moments. And mind my garden by the shed! They aren't ready to be picked yet!"

The children smiled and tried to race one another down the steps. You heard them shouting at one another as they ran outside.

You and Ezra both chuckled as he moved to sit beside you again. He looked far less worried now, but that deep line still marred his brow. As you looked closely at him, you noticed a silvery scar on his left cheek, half-moon shaped and long healed. You raised your hand to touch it and he startled a bit at the action.

"I'm sorry," you said softly. "I just never noticed your scar before."

Ezra reached up to touch the thin scar and chuckled at the memory of it. "Oh, this was nothing but a school yard fight at the academy I attended as a boy. Federation-run, so not much in the way of administration. Easy for other boys to gang up on the runts. No one cared one way or another whether we lived or died."

"That's awful," you said softly.

He shrugged. "That's generally what happens to Floaters. Ones with no family at that. Scoop 'em all up and throw them away. Out of sight out of mind."

"You didn't have a family?" you asked.

"I did, at one point, have a family, yes," he replied. "I was from Rowan originally. My dad worked on deposit farms. My mother, see, she had a little girl not long after me. Tiniest thing, according to my dad. I believe her name was to be Eudora. I never met the little thing. That tore her right up. She couldn't handle it anymore. Next thing I knew, my dad and I were drifting, Floaters. He got sick a sprint or two later, couldn't pull through." Ezra's voice sounded thick and he swallowed once to clear it.

You frowned and touched his arm. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

Ezra shrugged and blinked away any tears that collected in his dark eyes. "Speaking of prying - it's my turn, Princess. You kept mumbling a name when you were going in and out. Rion. Care to share with an old harvester like myself?"

You took a deep breath and nodded. If he could share his story, you supposed you could share yours with him.

"Rion," you murmured, smiling at the memory of his name. "He was my husband. He was killed about five years ago on La Won while I was only a few months out from having Marie."

Ezra leaned forward, urging you to continue. He held your hand and squeezed it reassuringly as you told your story. He rubbed his thumb against your knuckles, mindlessly drawing patterns between the bones.

When you had finished, he sat back with a breath and shook his head. "I am so sorry for your loss, Princess. I truly am."

You smiled and put your hand over his and traced a series of scars and callouses on his palm.

"It's been so long," you said softly. "And I was sad for a long, long time. My grandmother tried to push me to remarry, but my mother was heartily opposed to it. I felt trapped between them for a while."

"And you are for or against it? Remarriage, that is?" he asked. 

"I am not unopposed to the idea," you murmured. You felt a blush creep up over your cheeks and smiled a bit.

"Mama!" Marie shouted from the doorway. "We got you some pretty flowers! You gotta come see!" She sprinted back down the stairs at full speed, yelling to her brothers.

Ezra smiled and shook his head. "I suppose that's our cue to head downstairs? Are you sure you're feeling up to it?"

"Oh, of course. Lead the way," you smiled, offering your hand for him to help you out of bed. He shouldered your weight and lifted you out of bed with a smile. 

*******************

TAGLIST: If you want to be added, please let me know!

@the-feckless-wonder @gallowsjoker @phoenixhalliwell @huliabitch @lestrange2703 @miscellaneous-mando

[foxtophat]

for mercy -- 2, 3, 4, 9, 11! :)

2: What scene did you first put down? this feeds into #9 but i actually wrote john and nick’s meeting first. the first time was disjointed from john’s pov and then the second time stuck with nick’s pov, and since nick was easier to write as i went ahead and just kept his pov throughout

3: What’s your favorite line of narration? ok it’s not like my FAVORITE b/c i’m sure there are other parts that i like equally as much, but after picking around my favorite chapters (winter nights, helping hands and unpaid manual labor) i think this is one of my better attempts at conveying action while not forgetting setting:

Nick hopes he never has to admit it again, but John is apparently right to warn him.  The dirt under the thick foliage is loose and wet from the earlier rains, which Nick only realizes as he sinks his boot right into the root system of the vines holding the erosion at bay. He pitches down the hill, managing to bring up his arm a fraction of a second too late to save himself from going headfirst into the ground. His elbow takes most of the damage, followed immediately by his temple, ringing his bell so thoroughly that he misses the rest of his full-on tumble down the slope. He's face-first in the dirt one second, and face-up to the canopy the next, the world still spinning even when Nick is pretty sure he's hit the bottom.   Somewhere nearby he can hear the river, and all around him are deep green leaves and bright pink flowers.  Sunlight shines in through the trees, and for a moment the amber light turns the world around him into an alien landscape.  The plants rustle in the breeze; somewhere on the incline above, he can hear roots tearing through the dirt.  They're miles away, on the contour just above him, and Nick struggles to focus on them.

honestly that whole chapter was pretty baller as far as narration goes, i think it’s the one i’m most satisfied with overall. thats not the question but thats an answer!

4: What’s your favorite line of dialogue? again with the favorites, let me just highlight the dialogue right before that part because it is PEAK john/nick

"What are you doing?" John asks incredulously as Nick starts to gently pick his way through the brush down the slope.  "That's a terrible idea." "Suddenly you know so much about everything," Nick grouses.

also peak john/nick from the party, because this is actually their relationship now

"What, you wanna go hide all night?" Nick rolls his eyes. "No, don't be a baby. Worst that'll happen is you'll get knocked down again." John doesn't look convinced, so Nick tries another route. "Come on, we went through all that just so you wouldn't have to hide out every time we have company. And people are gonna have to get used to you eventually — at least Sharky and Hurk already know you're alive." Finally, when none of that seems to work, he sighs and promises, "I'll make sure nobody decks you for no good reason, c'mon." John finally relents, sighing and gesturing vaguely. "Fine," he says, "Whatever you say.”

and just for good measure, here’s a decent bit of john and kim talking

John takes a breath. [...] "I'm sorry," he mutters. Stunned, Kim asks, "Are you okay?" "No," he quietly replies. "You were right." Kim shakes her head, glancing briefly at Nick before putting a gentle hand on John's arm. [...] "We can talk about it later, if you want," Kim tells him, patting his shoulder. There's relief in John's voice as he suggests, "I'll need a strong drink before I accept that offer." Kim shakes her head, laughing a little. "It's as good a place to start as any," she tells him.

actually i have some pretty good dialogue in a newer fic but i’ll wait to talk about that until its done, suffice it to say kim and john can actually communicate like adults sometimes

9: Were there any alternate versions of this fic? so yeah originally the fic was going to be from john’s perspective, and he and the ryes were going to communicate through the radio for a while before john’s died. it was gonna be a whole thing to make it more realistic for nick and kim to forgive john, but then as i worked on it i realized that actually, fuck that lol. i still have scraps from it left around in case i can use any of the lines later

11: What do you like best about this fic? its definitely the closest to what i envisioned it to be. most of my fic winds up not being exactly what i wanted, but this one was STUPID easy to manage. every time i needed something to happen, i could just organically get it to happen, and it was just NICE to write something that wasn’t constantly struggling with me to get out on paper

[new53]

password?

When he woke up, Dick immediately knew something was wrong. He was laying on his stomach, his head turned to the side and so he had a great view of the grey pillow next to his face, except his own bedsheets weren’t grey. He twisted and sat up.

The comforter bunched together near his knees was silver-and-blue striped and the walls were an eggshell white. The curtains were pulled aside and letting some light seep into the otherwise dark room, so he knew it was morning. The room was mostly neat, with a pair of pants thrown on the ground near the laundry basket and a towel on the floor near the bed.

There was a picture on the bedside table, and Dick grabbed one, bringing it close to his face so he could see through the dim light.

The picture was of a man with a little girl on his shoulder The man had Dick’s own face, but his hair was long, pulled back in a loose bun, and Dick’s own hair hadn’t been that long for years. The little girl had dark skin and darker hair, and the photo had caught her mid-laugh.

Dick had never seen her before in his life.

He put the picture down and picked up the phone laying next to it. The background picture on the phone was the same girl, and the phone unlocked with Dick’s fingerprint.

He frowned.

He scrolled through the recent calls, glad to see names he recognized--Babs, Wally, Gordon. No Bruce, though, or any of his siblings.

The most recent text was from Kori. Dick opened the message thread and read it.

ok have fun--see u at thanksgiving

He scrolled up a little and found the beginning of the conversation.

Kori: i have service for a little while!

Dick (?): okay great!

Dick (?): hows everything?

Kori: the negotiations are going pretty well...there’s always more to do but everything’s winding down

Dick (?): when will you be able to come home? Mar’i misses you!

Dick (?): okay, i miss you too

Dick (?): also Simon keeps knocking down our door….bring Jess back!!!

Kori: lol

Kori: i miss you too

Kori: have you been giving mar’i a kiss from me every day?

Dick (?): ofc!!! I’m a GOOD father

Kori: i know you are.

Kori: jess says if we leave in the next few weeks, we’ll be back on earth in november

Dick (?): omg they’ll all flip out if you make it back for thanksgiving

Kori: don’t tell them!! I want it to be a surprise

Dick (?):  i promise i won’t!

Dick (?): i might have to tell simon though

Dick (?): for my own peace of mind

Kori: don’t unless you absolutely have to

Dick (?): I won’t. Hey, i gtg--babs is calling & it’s mar’i’s bedtime. Ttyl

Kori: ok, have fun--see u at thanksgiving

Dick closed out of the thread. The next text was from Wally, and below that was Babs and then Gordon, and then Simon. Dick clicked on Simon’s contact.

Why would he be texting Simon Baz?

Dick was fairly sure it wasn’t amnesia, especially because the date lined up with what he remembered it being. He got up from the bed and pulled on jeans and a black t-shirt, both of which fit him perfectly.

He inspected his closet, and found a fake wall inside. It only took a moment to figure out how to open the wall, and inside he found a sleek grey suit with bright green detailing. It was similar to his Nightwing outfit and yet clearly wasn’t a version of Nightwing. Dick touched the mask mounted on the wall behind it and spotted his escrima sticks on the floor next to the boots.

He withdrew from the closet and left the bedroom.

He was in an apartment with two other rooms, with the doors closed. The bathroom door was open, and the living room was simply furnished and the kitchen yielded nothing. Dick retreated back to the rooms and opened the room that must be the master bedroom, as quiet as he could.

There was a double bed and a compter set, in this room. The computer set was large and familiar, in an Oracle-y way, and there was a wheelchair parked next to the bed, and someone sleeping, the covers drawn over them. Dick took a few steps forward, just to double check, and he saw red hair poking out of the top of the covers, glasses on the bedside table.

Babs, then, he assumed, seeing girl clothes in the open closet. He left the room--closing the door behind him--and crossed the hall, pushing open the last door.

The room was darker than the others, since the curtains were thicker. Dick lifted the phone still in his hand and shined the light into the room.

There was a dresser, and a toybox on the side of the room, with toys scattered on the floor, and a bed along the side of the wall. The light from the phone revealed a tiny shape on the bed, the blankets near the ankles.

Dick crept closer, careful not to step on the toys. It was the little girl from the pictures, the little girl who, when he squinted, looked a little like him and a little like Kori.

I’m a good father, the other him had said, in reference to her.

In this universe--for it must be an alternate universe--he was a father, and this little girl was his daughter.

Dick swallowed and left her room, guilt for stealing that little girl’s father away swirling in his chest.

He went to the window in the living room and peered outside; he was definitely in Gotham and Dick remembered apartment shopping in this building in the past. He was glad to know where he was, and he glanced at the time.

Finding his way back to his own universe seemed prudent, and since it was a Sunday and Dick was sure he didn’t have work, he left, taking the keys next to the door with him.

When he was outside, he texted Babs, in case she woke up.

Went on a little walk...didn’t wanna bother you. Be back later.

He hoped this universe’s Babs was like his own and liked to sleep as late as she could so that he’d have more time to figure out a solution, or at least find out how he got into this universe in the first place.

He knew where to look for answers, too, which was convenient.

He drove there, bracing himself for any possibility. Anything in this universe could be different. Already, this universe’s Dick was a father and a different superhero than Nightwing. Who knew what else would be off?

Dick parked on the road beside the long gate up to Wayne Manor. He was glad to see it was intact and not burned down or anything.

He pulled out his phone as he walked and googled Martha Wayne. She was still dead and had been dead for a while, and then Dick did a quick google of Batman to make sure he was around.

He was, though Dick couldn’t find any pictures. He repocketed the phone and walked along the outside perimeter of the gate. In his universe, there was a cave-entrance in an old well behind the gardens. Dick scaled the fence when he neared the spot, and easily found the old well. In his universe, it was hidden by a low hedge, but in this universe, it was behind a dog-shaped topiary. Dick grinned at the sight and swung his legs over the side of the well, lowering the rope all the way down. He could see the bottom from where he was, so he felt confident in sliding down the rope. He landed on the boards that were holding up the bottom. In his universe, the bottom would be kicked out and then you free-fell until you either grappled away or caught the rope hanging on the ceiling. In this universe, there was a discoloration on the rounded wall and Dick kicked at that instead. It was a small door, about half Dick’s height but wide enough that Clark could get through and it opened inward. He sat down, putting his feet through the door and shuffling forward using his hands to walk. He closed the little door behind him and the tunnel fell into darkness. Dick reached for his phone and shined the flashlight ahead. The path seemed to slope downward, stretching farther than he could see.

There wasn’t anything to do but go forward, so he did, tucking his chin under his phone. He got a few feet ahead and then his phone buzzed wildly, and Dick startled, falling on his butt and dropping the phone into the ground beside him. Dick scooped up the phone and grabbed it, turning the screen to face him.

Wally was calling him. Dick debated not answering, but he figured if he knew Wally it must’ve been through heroing, and maybe Wally could help him out, if the Batman thing fell through. Dick answered, deciding to play it neutral until he figured out what Wally knew.

“Hey,” Dick said.

“Hey!” Wally said, chirping cheerfully. “Whatcha doin?”

“Just taking a walk,” Dick said, looking around the damp cave.

“Sounds nice,” Wally said. “Hey, listen, I’m really sorry but I’m gonna have to cancel dinner tonight. Apparently it’s an important anniversary for Iris and we’re having a family thing or whatever. I can’t get out of it and I suggested that you come along since you’re basically family at this point but for whatever reason Barry thought you’d bring the whole of the GL Corps with you and you know how he gets.”

“Yeah,” Dick said. “Sounds fun, man. Don’t worry about dinner. You can make it up to me some other time.”

“Thanks, babe,” Wally said, sounding relieved. Babe? “Have fun on your walk, I gotta go. Love you!”

“Love you too,” Dick said automatically and Wally hung up. Dick looked at the lockscreen. Hm.

Dick put the phone back under his chin and got back on his hands, inching forward. The ground was curved into a steep decline and after about ten minutes, the path ended and Dick tried to put his foot down and it fell into the air, the ground gone. Dick caught himself and the phone, scooting back. He sat down, shining the light at the hole in front of him. There was nowhere to go but down, and there was nothing he could find to see how deep the drop was nor was there anything to slow down his fall.

Well. Dick always thought it was better to just jump right into things.

He pocketed the phone and dropped from the side, free-falling and calculating. The above-cave entrance was lower than the one in his universe, and assuming the ground was around the same distance--Dick tucked into a flip, rolling onto the floor and bracing his back against the landing.

He sat up and heard running water. He stood, rubbing his back. He got back out the phone and shined it all around, the light cutting through the darkness. He was in a pit about ten feet deeper than the regular cave floor, with sand on the floor and an underground river thirty feet to his right. Dick went to the pit walls and scaled one easily. The cave’s lights were motion-detected, and once he was on the main floor they turned on, and he turned off the phone’s light and pocketed it.

This Batcave looked mostly the same as his own, although as Dick walked to the computer he noted a few changes. The chair behind the computer, for one, was different, and the training mats on the side were much bigger than the ones at home. Dick spotted the tell-tale signs of heat-vision damage along the walls and there were colored towels stacked in a cabinet next to the training mats. The dinosaur was painted all over in purple graffiti, and the giant playing card had a hole burned through the face of the Joker. Jason’s display case looked different. Dick went over to it, curious about this change above the others. The costume inside looked like a mini version of the Batman suit, although it was sleek and mostly black, with white highlights. There was a domino mask instead of a cowl, and the plaque at the bottom read: BELOVED SON AND BROTHER.

Dick thought that that seemed much better than “a good soldier”. He touched the case and wondered what happened to this universe’s Jason, assuming that even was Jason.

The smattering of vehicles near the cave’s entrance were obviously different but Dick didn’t go inspect them, choosing instead to go to the display cases along the wall by the changing area. The first one was obviously Batman, even though all the yellow was replaced by dark grey. Made for a darker Batman, Dick thought. The second costume was nearly identical to Clark’s, except it was slimmer and fitted for a woman. He wondered what Kryptonian woman would have her super suit in the Batcave. Kara, maybe?

The next costume was a deep purple and black one that Dick recognized. Sure, Spoiler looked a little different, but Dick knew her when he saw her. He was glad to see her. The next display case was empty. The one next to that one was a sleek black costume with a hooded jacket overtop, and a red mask that pulled over the face and had stitching like Cass’s Batgirl mask across it. The main costume had a deep red outline of a bat, and it was fit for a slimmer person, probably a girl. Dick squinted at it. It looked like Red Hood, to be honest, but it also looked like Cass. It made him vaguely uncomfortable so he moved on to the next one. It was a Supergirl outfit. Dick raised his eyebrow and looked back at the other Kryptonian suit. Both had the crest of the House of El on the front, but the second one had a skirt and was very clearly Supergirl. Dick was sure he’d seen his own Kara wear a suit just like that one before.

The next one down was again Kryptonian. The body of it was like Clark’s, except there was no cape, just a leather jacket. Instead of red boots, there were combat boots that matched the jacket. Dick smiled. It reminded him of Kon’s old suit, and he wondered again why there were Kryptonian suits in the cave. He moved on to the next suit, which was like the one he’d seen in Jason’s display case, although it had a cowl that covered up the entire face--like Cass’s Batgirl suit. There were only two costumes left, and Dick nearly felt tears well up when he saw them.

They were, very clearly, Nightwing and Flamebird, and they were both very clearly around Damian-sized. Dick was sad to think that none of these suits matched the one in the other him’s closet--clearly Dick didn’t belong here. But Nightwing still did, and somehow that made Dick feel a lot better. He reached out for Nightwing’s suit. It had a cape and full face mask, which was a little ridiculous, but it was still clearly Nightwing. Dick smiled at it.

He found a pair of latex gloves with the medical stuff and went to the computer, powering it up. It asked for a password and Dick paused. He know his own Bruce’s password, of course, which was PENNYWORTH, with each letter changed to whichever one reverse alphabetized it--KVMMBDLIFS--then each letter changed to the corresponding number--11-22-13-13-2-4-12-9-6-19, and then seven added to each number. 18-29-20-20-9-11-19-16-13-26. The number added to make the final password changed every time Bruce adopted another kid, and over the holidays it was the same thing but MARTHA instead, and sometimes to jazz things up it was MARY or CATHERINE or JANET or CRYSTAL or SHIVA or TALIA or ELAINE instead of that. Dick had all of those memorized and could run a new one in a matter of minutes, but he didn’t know what this Bruce’s password would be. He tried the MARTHA and the PENNYWORTH variation, then the TALIA one. None worked and Dick knew that he wouldn’t be able to get into the computer until he either figured out more about this Bruce or asked someone. He tried WAYNE and THOMAS, which also didn’t work. Dick huffed and considered fingerprinting, then dismissed it because this was Bruce he was working with.

He leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms. He remembered the Kryptonian suits and leaned forward, trying KRYPTON, KAL-El, JOR-EL, KARA, ZOR-EL, KRYPTO, and everything else he could think of. He tried CRYSTAL because he remembered seeing Spoiler, then he tried JASON because that had been the password while Jason had died. Nothing worked and Dick had overrode the lock-out system but he thought an alarm would sound if he did it wrong anymore. Stupid paranoid Bruce.

Somewhere above him, Dick heard the telltale sign of the clock opening. He jumped to his feet and grabbed a grapple from where it was laying next to the keyboard, grappling up to a ledge near the top of the wall. He laid on his stomach and hoped the area would be shadowy enough that nobody would see.

Two people slid down the clock pole, one after the other. Dick recognized them with a jolt.

“He’s not even down here,” Damian complained, jumping off the pole and crossing his arms.

“He’s probably at work even though it’s Sunday, the asshole,” Duke said.

“He’s the worst,” Damian said, and Duke nodded.

“We’ll have to surprise him at work,” Duke said. “Call up Lois.”

“You call up Lois!” Damian returned. “She probably already knows where he is, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Duke said. “He’s probably moping somewhere.”

“He’s always moping somewhere when Lois is gone,” Damian scoffed. “They make me sick.”

“They’re married, weirdo,” Duke said. “Jeez. Come on, let’s go back up.”

Duke turned and Damian leapt onto his back, hanging on like a monkey. Duke screeched and tried to hold him up, but Damian climbed up higher and swung his legs around his shoulders, holding on to Duke’s head. Damian was laughing like a maniac and Duke spinned around, Damian’s laughter turning to joyful shrieks and Dick heard Duke’s own laughter underneath.

He smiled at the pair of them, wished he could leap down and swing Damian over his shoulder or give Duke a noogie or something.

Instead, three people came pattering down the stairs. Dick recognized Steph and Kara immediately, but the third person...he seemed familiar but a little off, somehow.

Damian brought the spinning to a stop and pointed at the trio.

“Duke! Invaders!”

“What kind of invaders?” Duke asked.

“Sisters!” Damian cried, and Duke charged at them. All three sidestepped.

“I take offense at the ‘sisters’ comment,” the other guy said.

“Sorry,” Damian said, and he sounded genuine. “Sisters and Kon.”

Kon? That person didn’t look like Kon, but Dick supposed that if the cloning process had been different, somehow….

“Thank you,” Kon said.

“Sure,” Damian said, and he made to climb down Duke’s back. Kara was there in an instant, basically picking him up and setting him down. She pat his head and he hissed at her, then he pointed at Steph.

“How dare you come down here without the love of my life?” Damian said accusingly. “Where is she?”

“Olive got to her first,” Steph said, her voice sing-songy, and Damian cried out in outrage and charged up the stairs. Kara high-fived Steph.

“Anyone get in contact with Cass?” Duke asked.

“Last I heard, she was in Korea,” Steph said. “Something about Slade or Shiva or someone.”

“Awesome,” Duke said, his tone saying the opposite.

“Don’t worry,” Kara said. “Today will still be special.”

“I know,” Duke said. “But it’d be cool if she could be there.”

“Yeah, well,” Kon said. “You know.” They all nodded and Dick was reminded of how his family talked about Jason in his universe. Was Cass their Jason? Was Cass Red Hood? It would explain the costume Dick’d seen, and actually--if Steph was Spoiler, Kara was Supergirl, Kon was Superboy, Duke was that other one, Damian was Nightwing or Flamebird, and the other person--Olive?--was the other one, that fit. And the last one--Lois and Bruce were married. If Lois was Kryptonian--Dick squinted back down at Kon, and yes, he looked like Lois’s twin brother but fifteen years younger. Explained why he looked different than Dick’s universe’s Kon. Dick wondered where Tim was, wondered if the display case he’d assumed to be Jason’s was actually Cass’s. No, no, it had said “son”, hadn’t it?

Regardless, the idea of Cass as Red Hood twisted inside Dick. His Cass would rather die than kill, and barely even got along with his Jason. What could’ve happened to her that would make her into Red Hood?

From upstairs, Dick heard Damian yell, “Baba’s anniversary surprise isn’t going to surprise itself!” and the older siblings looked at each other and went up above, ribbing each other and laughing, the tone shifting considerably.

Dick wondered if there was something he could do to get Cass to show up to this thing, because he knew how much Bruce appreciated it when Jason went to family functions, but it wasn’t Dick’s place to interfere and moreover, Cass was in Asia.

When he was sure he was alone, Dick flipped back down from his ledge and went back to the computer. Knowing what he knew now, he tried ELAINE, LARA, ELIZA, ALLURA, and ELLA. Then he typed in SIBYL, remembering that they’d mentioned an Olive and the only Olive in Dick’s universe that was around Damian-sized was the daughter of Calamity. None of the passwords worked. Dick contemplated going upstairs and trying to look around a little, but they were all up there and who knew how different the manor was in this universe. He tried SHIVA idly, not really thinking it would work, then he tried the names of all the dads he could think of. Dick was forced to conclude that he’d have to go upstairs to get anywhere. He crept to the stairs and started up, but then the door from above opened.

Dick froze.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m doing it,” the guy in the doorway said. His voice was vaguely familiar but Dick couldn’t see his face, until the guy took a few steps down and saw Dick, who was just standing there, useless.

The guy--Klarion the witch boy (what)--reacted before Dick could, in that he pointed his hands at him and then everything went black.

----

Dick woke up.

The first thing he noted was that Klarion, Steph, Kara, and Kon were gathered around him, arms crossed. The second thing he noted was that everyone was in costume. The third thing he noticed was that he was tied up.

He groaned.

“I hope I didn’t ruin your surprise for your dad,” he said, and everyone exchanged a look.

“What are you talking about?” Spoiler asked.

“I thought about asking you guys for help to get into the computer but I didn’t wanna take away from your dad’s anniversary present,” Dick said, aware that he wasn’t really explaining anything.

“Shut up, Gordon,” Superboy said.

“How long have you known our secret identities?” Spoiler demanded.

“Dick Gordon doesn’t know your identities,” Dick said. He felt like the last little question about this universe’s Dick was answered, the why wasn’t he a Wayne? Well, he still didn’t know why he wasn’t a Wayne, but at least he knew this Dick had grown up with a good father. “I mean, he might, I certainly don’t know, but that’s not the point. The point is that I’m from an alternate universe, and in my universe I’m Nightwing, and the first Robin, and Bruce Wayne’s oldest son.”

“Who the hell is Robin?” Superboy asked.

“It came from me!” Dick said. “My mom used to call me that.”

“Okay, well, why should we believe you?” Supergirl asked.

“Could Klarion, like, magic test me, or something?”

“I could try,” Klarion sniffed, and he sent a little stream of black sparkles at Dick, who ignored them.

“Please, I’m just trying to get back to my own universe, and I really don’t wanna disturb your anniversary thing.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Spoiler said. “None of your concern.”

Dick frowned--in his universe that would absolutely be his concern--but he didn’t say anything.

“Yeah, his energy signature’s way off,” Klarion said. “I’m pretty sure Z could do something about it, but I don’t know how to do that.”

“It’s fine,” Spoiler said. “We can call up the JLD and see if they can help.”

“Sure,” Dick said. “Anything.”

Superboy frowned at him and Supergirl and Spoiler started up a silent conversation. Klarion crossed his arms. Teekl meowed. A swirly light appeared behind them and Dick started.

“What?” Superboy asked.

“Turn around,” Dick said, and Superboy glared but Spoiler and Supergirl turned, just as voices started coming from the swirl.

“Are you sure this is the right one?”

“Absolutely. I matched your energy signatures. This should do it.”

The first voice was one Dick recognized--his own. The second voice Dick also recognized--Zatanna, maybe.

“Untie me,” Dick hissed, and Supergirl slashed the ropes with her heat vision. Dick stood and went to the swirl. He could vaguely see shapes on the other side, as if looking through tinted glass.

“Zatanna?” he called.

“Dick?” she responded. “Dick Grayson?”

“How do we know it’s the right alternate universe?” Spoiler asked, standing behind Dick. “I mean, what if it’s a third universe, and it’s all screwy?”

“I’m pretty sure it was an even exchange,” Zatanna said. “Go on, Gordon, step through.”

The other Dick came through the portal, and Dick sized him up. His hair was long, like Dick’d seen in the pictures. It was pulled back in a man bun. He was wearing a Metropolis Knights shirt that Dick recognized because there was a spot of discoloration along the bottom of the shirt from when Dick’d stained it.

The two Dicks looked at each other.

Dick Grayson took the phone out of his pocket and handed it over.

“This is yours,” he said.

Dick Gordon looked at it and smiled, handing Dick Grayson his own phone back. He recognized the lockscreen, and the little crack in the corner of the phone.

“Time to go back to reality,” Grayson said. “Did you have fun in my universe?”

“Not really,” Gordon said. “I don’t love how your dad operates.”

Grayson laughed, and Zatanna said, “Dick! I can only hold it open for a little longer.”

“I’m coming,” Grayson said. “Say hi to your kid for me, yeah? I didn’t talk to her, but….”

“I will,” Gordon said, smiling. Grayson moved closer to the swirl, then turned back to the three superheroes and Klarion, still standing there awkwardly.

“Hey,” Grayson said. “What was your password, underneath the code? I couldn’t figure it out.”

Spoiler looked at her siblings, then she said, “It changes, obviously, but, today it’s Pancake. The name of my dog.”

Grayson nodded and grinned, waving one more time and stepping through the swirl, and into his own Batcave.