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let-it-raines · 6 years ago

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Second in Command (Epilogue - Part Seven)

Summary: Life as the “spare to the heir” isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be when you’re the supposed screw-up of the family, but people don’t know what really happens behind closed doors.

Rating: Mature

A/N: You guys are totally going to be annoyed with me for how I left it on a cliffhanger when I totally didn’t have to except to show some character growth and how things change...which I guess is exactly the reason I ended it that way :D

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr Chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14| 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20

Epilogue Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

Tag list: @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @kmomof4 @wellhellotragic @ekr032-blog-blog @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615@a-faekindagirl @mayquita @captainsjedi @captswanis4vr @kristi555 @teamhook @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @branlovesouat @dreadpirateemma @alys07 @andiirivera

“Can I come in, son?”

“Yeah, of course,” Killian answers automatically, the shock of his father just showing up at his door stunning him for only a moment. It’s not like he never visits. He usually just calls or texts first. “I didn’t know you were coming over, dad. Why didn’t you call?”

“Oh, I was visiting the kids and thought I’d drop by since I knew that the two of you had returned home.” His dad steps inside, squeezing his shoulder before leaning down to pet Indy. “Hello, darling,” he then greets Emma, kissing her cheek before wrapping her up in a hug. “How are you feeling today?”

“Good, good,” Emma insists, her eyes still blown wide as if she’s actually been shocked. He knows she’s still a bit rattled from the flight and her nausea. The same thing had happened when they went out sailing the morning of their anniversary, before the disaster of the rest of that day, and even though he had been wary of it, Emma insisted she was fine. She never said she wasn’t, but the green of her face told him otherwise. “How are you?”

“Kicking pretty high for my age.”

“You are not old,” she laughs, tugging on Indy’s leash. “Do you mind if I take Indy for a quick walk? Let her run around a bit. She’s been told she’s going outside, and I’m afraid she’ll freak out if she doesn’t get to go.”

“Of course, dear. I’ll chat with Killian, and the second you two come back inside, I want to hear all about how you’ve been since you left us to go holiday in the warm sunshine. I swear it’s rained for the past week.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Emma takes a step over toward him, leaning up and kissing his cheek, whispering that she’ll be right back before taking a step outside with Indy and leaving him with his dad.

“Do you want something to drink? Eat?”

“I’m fine.” His father begins walking to the living room, settling down into the recliner he prefers when visiting all while Killian sits down on the couch next to him, only a side table between them. “So how was your holiday?”

He almost chokes on his own saliva thinking of all of the things he absolutely cannot tell his father about their holiday as well as wondering if he should bring up the privacy issue just yet. He doesn’t know, is never truly sure about these types of things. He could have a nice, normal conversation with his father or it could turn into another tense, stressful one. He’s had enough of those for a lifetime, but he also knows that he doesn’t have all of the time in the world to fix this. He’s got fewer than four months, really.

“It was wonderful,” he finally answers, his lips ticking up on one side. It really was wonderful to get away with Emma and only have each other for awhile despite the disaster that was their anniversary. It got better, though. It wasn’t completely bad. They had the sailing trip and the takeout meal that was better than anything else they’d eaten if only for how comfortable they both felt. He felt his son move for the first time, which was bloody brilliant and most definitely his new favorite thing. “It’s a gorgeous island. Emma mentioned something about asking you to make our beaches like that.”

Brennan barks out a laugh, the wrinkles on his face all gathering together while his gray hair shakes the slightest bit. If Killian was a betting man, he’d guess his dad is getting his hair cut in the next two or three days, keeping up with his lifelong schedule of haircuts. “If only I could. That would be bloody wonderful. But I like the way she thinks.”

“She’s definitely a brilliant dreamer.” He trails off toward the end of his sentence, looking down at his hand and twisting his ring around his finger, his constant physical reminder of his lifelong commitment to Emma, as if he really needs one. “Can I talk to you about something, dad?”

“Of course.”

“I know, well, I know that things were different when I was a kid, that technology wasn’t as advanced, that I was a bit of a surprise child and that you were on the older side when I was born.”

“Well, why don’t you just call me elderly then, Killian? And you have absolutely no proof that you were a surprise child.”

His dad laughs when he speaks, but Killian isn’t finding a lot of humor in it, knowing that he’s likely going to upset Brennan with his words.

“What I mean is, I know you weren’t really, truly involved in my life. And I’m not blaming you or trying to make you feel…upset, but I need a very particular kind of advice that really only you and mum or Liam and Abigail can give. And I’m honestly not even sure you can give it.”

“What’s wrong, Killian?”

He takes a moment to collect himself, hundreds of words on the tip of his tongue but none of them feeling quite right. But he has to say something, so he might as well speak the truth.

“How the hell am I supposed to be a father in a world where I can’t protect the privacy of my wife and my child? There were, um, photographers who rented out a house and used scopes to take pictures of us on the beach. And Emma and I got into a pretty nasty argument about it. She’s worried…I’m worried about Andrew’s privacy. We want him to live a life as normal as possible. We don’t want photographers following him to school or to the park, and I just – I don’t know how to fix it.”

He’s been clenching his fist all while he talks, the tenseness in his hand almost painful while hot tears form in his eyes, every fault and every insecurity he’s had long before the fight with Emma coming back and assaulting his senses, making everything a dark, cloudy blur.

Brennan looks calm, secure, the blue of his eyes not changing while his eyelids rapidly blink, his brows furrowing and the lines on his face increasing. Has he said too much? Shown too much emotion? Asked for the impossible?

“The fact that you have very obviously beaten yourself up about this proves that you are a better dad than I ever have been.”

“That’s not what I meant, dad. I didn’t – ”

“I know, Killian. I’m not taking offense to anything. I was a poor excuse for a father for the majority of your life. I was focused on Liam, on my job, on the protocol and the way that my father raised Albert and me. All I knew was that fathers were not supposed to be close to their children, and as much as that hurt me as a child, I stupidly believed it. The fact that you have forgiven me is something I still can’t believe.”

He leans over and places his hand on Brennan’s knee, patting him before leaning back and wiping at his eyes. “I did it for me, but with the way you’ve worked to change, you deserve it.”

“Thank you, my boy.” His father smiles, settling back into his chair and crossing his hands together in his lap. “But this is not about me. This is about you and your family. So you don’t want Andrew in the public eye? At all? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I mean, we haven’t discussed it in serious length, but yes. I’m sure that Emma will be okay with releasing the occasional photo or having him join us when we go overseas so we don’t have to be apart from him, but I think we’re going to have to take a step back in traditions. And when he gets older, I think we may need to move somewhere much more private.”

The front door opens then, the alarm beep sounding at the same time that he hears the click of nails and the squeak of sneakers as well as Emma’s voice. He straightens up, fixing his hunched back and sitting against the couch in as much of a relaxed position as he can.

“Go find, Killian, girl, yeah,” Emma coos, her voice getting louder the closer she gets to the living room. And then she’s in view, Indy running in first and jumping up on the couch before getting down once she spots Brennan, less familiar people always more exciting than him. Emma walks toward him, sitting down in the seat Indy just vacated and reaching around him to tangle her fingers in his hair, stroking the strands. “What’s wrong? Your shoulders are tensed.”

How the hell does she always know?

“Killian and I,” his father answers for him, seemingly understanding that Killian wasn’t sure what to say, “were simply talking about how you two seem to be suffering from some privacy issues and are worried about your child’s future, that you want Andrew to lead a more private life than normal.”

“Oh,” Emma gulps, her hand stilling in his hair before beginning again, “well, yeah. I know that we all grew up differently and that my childhood isn’t really an option, but that’s what I want, what we want. We want him to be able to be a kid, you know? I don’t want him to be used to cameras everywhere he goes. I don’t know how we’d fix that, but that’s definitely my top priority right now. And forever probably.”

His hand finds Emma’s knee, thumb running back and forth over the material of her leggings while she speaks. He’s here with her, for her, consistently, and he hopes that she knows this.

“Why don’t you two give me some time to think things over? I’ll meet with security. We’ll work out some plans and ideas. You two should probably talk to Liam and Abigail. It’s not, well, it won’t be exactly the same. You have more freedom than them, and they’re not quite as private as the two of you. But they do have experience in all of this.” “Thank you, Brennan,” Emma sighs, leaning back into the couch and scratching at his neck, his eyes fluttering closed for a quick moment.

“Of course, but at the end of the day, above everything else, we’re a family. How you two feel is far more important than any sort of duty and tradition we have, even if I do ask that we stick to the important ones.”

“Actually, I have something else that I want to talk about.”

His head snaps to her, eyes searching for what she has to say, but she’s not looking at him, her gaze trained on the wag of Indy’s tail while her fingers tap over his on her leg, the hand in his hair having stilled.

“What do you want to talk about, love?”

She looks at him then, the smallest of smiles on her face that comforts him the slightest bit, before directing her gaze to Brennan. “I don’t want to walk out of the hospital all made up hours after giving birth. Kudos to Abigail. She is a badass woman for that, but that’s not what I want. Andy doesn’t need to be exposed to so many people as a newborn. I don’t need to be all dressed up when I’ve just given birth. I don’t care about tradition when it comes to this. This is what I’m doing, and I really feel like it’s the first step in taking a stand about him not being some kind of public property.”

He didn’t know she felt that way about any of that, nearly every word she said news to him, but he gets it, supports it. If that’s what Emma wants for this, that’s what they’ll do. He’s never quite understood that tradition anyways, and he likes the idea of a more private celebration with just them and their families while Emma heals and they adjust to the terrifying process of being parents for the first time.

“I’m not sure we can do that, dear.”

“What?” His head snaps over to his dad, trying to process the words. “You literally just said that how we feel is more important than any duty we have.”

“But that we need to stick to the important traditions, yes. New family members are an important tradition.”

“Brennan,” Emma grits, her voice strained as she tries to keep it friendly, “I respect our family and all of the traditions we have, but I am not some kind of human machine who’s only here to produce babies. Yes, of course this is a big deal, but it’s a big deal for us as a personal family, not as some part of the institution. You can still put the sign up, make any and all announcements you want. Hell, I’ll release a picture if we have to, but all I’m asking is that we’re allowed to leave and travel home in peace.”

“I agree, dad. I mean, really. Of all of the things we break and bend, of all of the things we change, surely you can let this one thing go? It’s not hundreds of years ago where people are faking pregnancies and paternities to keep the line intact, which was ridiculous then. I think letting family be family is the most important thing, don’t you?”

“Aye, it’s just…you’ll have to forgive me.” Brennan runs his hand over his face, visibly warring something within himself, the lines on his face stressing. “You were right earlier when you said things are different now. These are not things that I really went through with you, not as prevalent as you. Emma, dear, I’m sorry. I don’t…I shouldn’t have ever considered making you do something you’re not comfortable with. I love you dearly, and you and Killian know what’s best here, not me.”

“I don’t want to disappoint you,” Emma says, getting up from the couch and sitting down on the edge of the coffee table so that she can squeeze Brennan’s hand. “You are so brilliant, and you uphold this family so well. I know that I’m different, that it was difficult to accept me, but change can be good, you know?”

“I know.”

Brennan stays for a little while longer, hashing out a few more details with them before accepting a cup of tea and some food, finally listening to them talk about their holiday all the while scratching behind Indy’s ears, her eyes closed in bliss the entire time. It’s peaceful, relaxing, and he feels his shoulders loosen the longer the conversation goes on, Emma’s laughter and joyful voice sounding throughout the room. In the back of his mind, though, he keeps replaying the conversation, thinking of everything he said, everything they all said, and he’s amazed it all went as smoothly as it did, surprised that his father acquiesced to their private exit from the hospital so easily. He had no idea that Emma wanted that, and he wonders how long she’s been toying with the idea, how many late nights she’s spent worrying about bringing it up. He knows she didn’t just think of it now, that it wasn’t spur of the moment, and he tries to remind himself to ask her about it later, to make sure that there’s nothing else she’s hoarding inside.

She goes through enough, has gone through enough over the years, and she shouldn’t feel like she has to hold things back from him.

But he saves his thoughts for later, letting his dad leave and letting Emma take a nap, her eyes falling shut without her even laying down on the couch. He wakes her before she can get into too deep of a sleep, though, knowing that it’ll hurt her back, and helps her go upstairs to their room, ignoring the curses she’s muttering under her breath about him waking her up. While she sleeps, he goes downstairs to his office, answering emails and clearing out his inbox that he left alone while they were in Spain.

Summer is normally a slow time for them, June and July full of engagements while August is usually taken off to spend in Balmoral. Emma’s due in September, though, a few days after his birthday, and she’s not working after August begins. He is, though, doing his regular work and making a few short trips, making sure never to never travel more than three hours away in case he needs to be home.

But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have things to do now, organizing his files and reviewing the financials for Kidding a Goal until Indy comes walking into his office, her nails clicking against the wood until she’s staring up at him with her mouth wide open, tongue practically falling out of her mouth. He checks his watch and sees that it’s far past seven. He’s surprised she didn’t come and get him two hours ago.

“You ready to eat, my girl?”

That gets her tail wagging before she takes off, running toward the kitchen at such a pace that she’s probably there before he even gets up from his chair. Sure enough, she’s already waiting next to her bowl like the most well-behaved dog in the world, which is not something he expected when he and Emma decided to get a dog last year. But she’s done well, their training working most of the time, but Indy does have the tendency to lick his face when he’s sleeping. He’s not a fan of that.

But she’s his best bud and a constant companion on his runs, so it all evens out.

After feeding her, he hears footsteps coming down the stairs, Emma wandering into the kitchen with sleep-rumpled hair and pillow streaks on her face, her pajama top falling off of one shoulder. She immediately heads toward the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water and some yogurt before settling down on a barstool.

“How’d you sleep?”

She grunts in response, opening her yogurt and eating a large spoonful. “I hate being pregnant sometimes.”

“So not well then?”

“Nope. I felt like my guts were all being squeezed out, but do you know who’s not moving now that I’m awake and out of bed?”

“Andy.”

“Yep.”

She keeps eating her yogurt, quickly finishing it up before getting another carton. He should probably fix something for dinner so she doesn’t consume the entire yogurt supply in their fridge.

“Hey, sweetheart?”

“Yeah?” she mumbles, pulling her spoon out of her mouth and looking up at him, her hair deflating the slightest bit from when she came down.

“You want to tell me what that was earlier? With my dad. When did you decide you didn’t want to do the public announcement?”

“Oh, um, I first thought about it a few weeks ago, but it was really driven home after last week. Why? You have an issue with it?”

“No,” he laughs, leaning down across from her and propping his elbows on the counter. “I think it’s bloody brilliant, that you are brilliant. I like that you want to do things your way…our way. It’s very sexy.” “Oh boy, if you’re looking to get laid right now that is not happening.”

“Well damn. Now I have no reason to compliment you.”

“Shut up,” she groans, tossing her spoon over into the sink, the metal clanking. “But seriously, you’re okay with all that, right?”

“Of course. I want you to do what makes you comfortable. I’m not the one giving birth.”

“Damn right. I think I’m going to give your dad a heart attack though.”

“Aye, definitely. I know he’s trying and he’s being accommodating, but I could practically see the fear of breaking traditions rolling off of him in anxiety-filled waves. But he’s seventy-three. Some things just aren’t going to change.”

“So basically we hit the jackpot today?”

“Yep.” He walks over to the fridge, opening it up and seeing what they have left over from before they left. “What do you want for dinner?”

-/-

“Bloody buggering hell,” he curses, bringing his thumb to his mouth and soothing where he just jammed his finger on the wood.

Building a crib should not be this difficult, but it apparently is. He’s been following the instructions exactly, making sure that each piece is doubly secure, and he’s not sure how it’s taking this long. He should be finished, this crib should be made, and he should be able to move onto the shelves or Emma’s glider that she was insistent on them getting.

He’s spent more time in this room in the past month than he has in any other room in the house, June somehow running away with itself all while he’s been hidden away within these four walls. It took a month and a half for he and Emma to decide on a simple light gray, one that he’s pretty sure is also in their bedroom, but honestly, once they both agreed on the color (likely because they have agreed on it once before), he wasn’t going to say anything else. He did pick out the gray-ish blue that’s on the wall with the shelves (or at least where they’ll go once he gets to them), so he’s pretty proud of it.

Neither he or Emma are much one for designing, though they have gotten a bit more into it since the remodel of the apartment, but he’s pretty proud of how Andy’s room is shaping up, even if the lad will stay in the bassinet in their room for awhile. It’s a simple room, clean lines and clean colors. All of the furniture are different shades of white and warm browns, woods really, with natural accents. Abigail gifted them a large wooden giraffe along with some leaf and animal prints, so those are sitting in the corner waiting to be placed after all of this furniture is built.

His favorite part, though, is definitely going to be the little sitting area by the shelves and the changing table. He’s not under any impression that this is going to be a calm room, a place to relax, but he figures there have to be times when he’s rocking Andy back to sleep in that very spot, the shelves filled with colorful children’s books that’ll become routine reading one day as well as being filled with several stuffed animals and photo frames that he can’t wait to update with pictures. Of course, the cabinets below will be filled with the essentials, the things no one likes to talk about like diapers and nipple cream (that was something Emma did not want to know about, and he honestly doesn’t blame her), but they’re definitely still in the dreamy, picture perfect nursery phase where the messiness of a child isn’t quite a factor.

Really to him, as much as he knows this is real, as much as he sees the physical proof, feels the physical proof (which holy shit is it incredible to be able to feel his son move), it’s still difficult for him to comprehend that in two months he and Emma will have a child. It’s something they’ve talked about for years, something they were planning on, but it’s difficult to put into words just how much love he has for his son.

And his wife.

She’s a rockstar in every sense of the word, and if he doesn’t mention it enough, Emma sure as hell will. He loves her fiercely, and that love is another thing that he can’t quite put into words. He honestly doesn’t understand men who moan and groan about their wives constantly. If anything, he finds it disgusting. Yes, you’re going to have disagreements with your significant other. That’s natural when you decide to spend your life with someone who has their own wants, needs, and opinions, but at the end of the day, his wife is his best friend. If there’s anyone he wants to spend time with, it’s her. No question.

If the answer to who your best friend isn’t your spouse or the person you’re marrying, he doesn’t understand why the hell you’d bother getting married. His mates are great, but they’re not Emma.

Maybe he is a bit of the cheeseball that Emma always claims him to be, but he likes it that way.

He’s definitely going to embarrass his kids. All of the time. He can’t wait. He’s got a few years, but he can’t wait.

“You know we can hire someone to do this, right?” Emma asks, a bit of laughter in her tone that makes him roll his eyes. His best friend, most definitely. The teasing is just a small part of that.

“Aye, but I’ve started it, and I intend on finishing it.” “Okay, but the crib doesn’t need to fall apart while there’s a baby inside of it, and the glider doesn’t need to fall apart while I’m sitting on it. That’s, like, a double disaster, and I know you lived by yourself for a long time, but I’m pretty sure you’re not capable of that anymore.”

“Oh, really? Because I was just going to make them as unsafe as possible so that I could live by myself again. I miss being able to stretch out in the bed.”

“You’re so funny,” she teases from the other side of the nursery where she’s putting away the washed clothes in the closet, organizing them by size. He swears they have enough clothes to last Andy for the first two years of his life, and that’s not counting the piles of things he knows David and Mary Margaret have at their house. “I think I may have bought him too much stuff. I don’t even think I own this many things.”

“You don’t mess your clothes up multiple times a day.”

“Good point.”

“I tend to make those.”

“Eh. Debatable.”

“Not at all debatable.” He turns back to the crib, looking at the instructions to see if he can remember where he left off before Emma distracted him. “Shit, this is impossible.”

“I can call my dad, babe. It won’t be a problem. He’s a bit handier than you.”

“Please, I am plenty handy.”

“Okay, well being handy with me is not the same as being handy when it comes to building things.”

“If we call your dad, he’s going to take over. I want to do some of this myself.”

“I will tell Dad just to help. Come on, babe, you love spending time with my dad.”

“Only now that he doesn’t give me the scary speeches anymore.”

“Yeah, I bet those were a lot of fun.”

“I mean, it’s been a solid half a decade since I’ve gotten one, but he still shakes me to my core.”

He hears Emma laugh, snort really, before she makes her way over to him, slowly settling down on the floor next to him and waving her hand until he gives her the instructions. She looks over them while looking at the crib, her eyes continuously darting between the two.

“You put part G in backwards. That’s why nothing after that is fitting.”

“Bloody hell,” he curses, reaching over and taking the instructions from her hand and checking to see if she really did just solve his problem, “how did you see that when I’ve been staring at it for the past hour?”

“Fresh eyes, my love. Fresh eyes.” She leans forward and kisses his cheek before falling back against the wall. “And that’s exactly why calling my dad and asking him to come over in the morning will be a great idea. I bet Mom will want to come too, and she does a mean job with a power drill.”

So Emma calls her parents who agree to come over in the morning. On top of moving, they’ve also begun to change around the hours of the pub, opening it earlier and letting Will close it out at night. And it’s because of this that they show up at eight in the morning, he and Emma both still asleep when their doorbell rings. Emma groans when she hears it, burying her face into his chest and making it impossible for him to get up without disturbing her. He can feel Andy summersaulting around in her belly, and he smiles to himself knowing that she’s going to have get up. She can’t sleep when he’s moving around like that.

He can’t sleep when Emma’s basically running marathons in bed, but that’s not something he’s going to voice out loud. He can get up and sleep in a guest room if he needs to. Emma can’t get up and walk away from the person who’s running marathons in her stomach.

There’s two human feet inside of her. That’s pretty weird if he thinks about it too much.

Okay, so really weird.

Slowly but surely he gets out of bed, letting Emma flip over into his spot, and heads downstairs to open the front door. David and Mary Margaret have a key, but they never use it, always waiting for either he or Emma to open the door for them, which he appreciates after one too many times having them walk in on he and Emma.

“Hi,” he greets, opening the door and ushering them inside. “Emma’s still asleep, but I’m sure she’ll wake up soon. Do you guys want some breakfast?”

“We ate at home, sweetie,” Mary Margaret greets, giving him a quick hug before David does the same. “So Emma said you guys were having some issues in the nursery.”

“I believe that it was more like Killian not being able to put together a crib in under three weeks.”

“So funny, Dave,” he bites, rolling his eyes and locking the door. “I did eventually figure it out. I just think this mid-July heat is obviously getting to me. Or maybe nerves. I’m not too sure.”

“Well, let’s go help then. We’ve got to be at the pub at two, but I think we should be able to get things done.”

After he fixes himself some coffee, not nearly as wide awake as David and Mary Margaret, they head upstairs and begin working in the nursery, assembling the shelves and drilling them into the walls in half the time that it would have taken he and Emma had they done this by themselves. So maybe help isn’t all bad. Before Emma even wakes up, they have the shelves installed and pictures securely nailed on the wall. There are books already being stacked, stuffed animals and knick knacks being placed, and all of the fun nipple creams and breast pumps being placed in the cabinet.

They’re working on the glider when Emma finally wanders in, her hair falling out of its band so that half of it spills down her back while the other half is piled on top of her head, and she’s got her glasses on, something she only does when her eyes feel too puffy to put her contacts in.

“Hey, sweetheart,” David greets, finishing tightening the screw he’s working on before getting up to embrace Emma. “How are you feeling?”

“Rough today. I think the little dude’s a giant or something because he crushes my lungs and my bladder at the same time. So I can’t breathe, and I have to pee. So, yeah, it’s fun.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks, dad. It looks fantastic in here. You guys have done so much. I feel like we’re not going to have anything to do in the next two months if we finish all of this.”

“That’s kind of the point, love.”

“Yeah,” she yawns, covering her mouth, “I know. Mom, do you want to come and rest with me in my room? My back hurts today, and I just can’t sit on the floor in here with you guys.” “Of course, hon,” Mary Margaret answers, walking away from the closet and stepping over to Emma before she rubs up and down her back. “Are you sure you don’t want Killian to join you? David and I would be fine to work on our own.”

“No, it’s fine. I bug him all day, and I’m kind of thinking that you can paint my toes for me or we can watch movies or something. It’s been awhile since we’ve done that.”

“Text me if you need me, love,” he tells Emma, his eyes tracing over her in a bit of concern. It’s difficult watching her be uncomfortable or miserable on some days when he literally can’t do anything about it.

“Yeah, babe, I will.”

Emma and Mary Margaret walk out of the room, their voices fading away as they walk into their bedroom one room over, and he’s left with just David who promptly gets back to work finishing building the chair. Music plays in the background, an eighties’ playlist he thinks, and it doesn’t take longer before the chair is completely together and he’s sitting in it testing it out. It’s comfortable, probably one of the best seats they have in the house, and he can definitely understand why Emma insisted on this one after shopping around a bit.

“How does someone so small have so much stuff?”

“My child is twenty-eight years old, we don’t even live in her childhood home anymore, and I swear things of hers still pop up all of the time.”

“That’s likely because Emma leaves everything all over the place.”

He folds his hands behind his head, closing his eyes and rocking back and forth while Cherry Bomb plays in the background, which is definitely not a nursery appropriate song. Or maybe it is. Who needs Mozart when you can have The Runaways?

“So is Emma like that every day?”

“Like what?” he asks, popping an eye open to look at David who’s sitting against the shelves, which can’t be good for his back. God, how old is he getting if his first concern is for someone else’s back?

“Exhausted.”

“No, not every day. She’s usually got a hell of a lot of energy, even if there’s always a nap. I think she had a restless night. She’ll tell me like it is, though. If she’s having a bad day, she’ll let us know.” “What about you?”

“Well, I don’t have a baby crushing my lungs and my bladder.”

“True,” David laughs, running his hands through his short hair. Killian swears it’s gotten more gray in the past year, the blonde nearly disappearing. David is only fifty-two, so he’s not exactly older. Hell, if it weren’t for the wrinkles on his forehead and the gray hairs outnumbering the blonde, he’d look much younger. “But I remember being a dad for the first time. It’s terrifying, so you’re allowed to be scared.”

“I am. It’s…” He reaches up and scratches behind his ear, his hair getting long enough that he knows he needs to get a haircut soon. “Emma and I try to make sure that we keep up our normal routines, that we have our normal conversations without talking too much about the baby, but it’s kind of hard, you know? It’s like we’ll be talking about going out to eat and two minutes later we’re making a list of middle names or speculating if he��s going to look more like me or Emma.”

“I know. But it’s an exciting time, Killian. There will never be anything like it, and if you want to talk about the fact that you’re having a kid, you should. You and Emma have been together for so long, and I really don’t think your relationship is going to struggle if you’re not sitting around making references no one else understands for hours on end.”

“Oi,” he protests, resisting the urge to pick up the toy elephant next to him and throw it at David, “that is your daughter you’re mocking, and she can still kick your ass.”

“Trust me, I know. Who do you think raised her to be like that?”

“Mary Margaret.”

“You’re walking a thin line.”

He winks at David, his lips ticking up on the right into a smirk. “I know. You and Mary Margaret did such a good job, still do such a good job, and even with all of the times you’ve messed up – ”

“ – which is a lot more often than even Emma has probably told you.”

“I just…you’re a good dad, Dave. To Emma, to me. I hope I can do half as good as a job.”

“You’ll be great, Killian.” David smiles at him, something genuine, and Killian’s reminded of how much David really has impacted his life in all of the best ways. “I promise. And as much as I love you, I do love my little girl more, and she’s going to be amazing. She’s always…she’s never been too open to a lot of people, but the people she loves, she loves so fiercely, you know? And she’s already doing so well at being a mom. She’ll call me at nights, and I can just hear the happiness and excitement in her voice. At the end of the day, that’s all you want, you know? For your kid to be healthy and happy.”

“Yeah, I know.” He smiles to himself, thinking of how happy he is. “Also, how dare you imply that you love your own daughter more than me. I thought I meant more to you than that. I thought we had something special, man.”

“I can still give you hell. I’d watch yourself.”

He and David finish up in the nursery for the next few hours until David and Mary Margaret have to go to work, leaving after the three of them eat lunch down in the kitchen, Emma staying upstairs for a nap. When the Nolans are gone and he’s finished eating, he heads upstairs, bypassing the nursery and walking into their bedroom where Emma is sitting up on the bed watching TV.

“Your toes look nice,” he compliments, grabbing onto her big toe and moving it back and forth. “Do you feel any better?”

“Yeah,” she sighs, twisting onto her back and scooting up the bed, “it’s just one of those days, you know? I’m not usually this miserable.”

“I know, but it’s okay to have bad days, love.”

“Come here,” she tells him, crooking her fingers and motioning toward him before she turns on her side and wraps her arms around her pillow. He does as she asks, kicking off his sneakers and crawling up into the bed, the mattress moving against his weight until he’s pressed up behind her, his knee stuck between her thighs and his arm wrapped around her waist while the other rests above her head. This is how she’s been comfortable lately, and he can’t say he minds. “Did you guys get a lot done?”

“Aye, it’s almost all finished.” He moves her hair off of her neck, placing a kiss there before resting his chin on her shoulder. “It just needs your finishing touches, I think.”

“And we have to unpack all of the boxes that are in the guest room and put them away in the closet.” “That too, but we’ve got time, Emma.” She hums, and he can feel the vibrations as well as Andy moving around under his touch, the movements following how he taps his fingers. “Has he been active today?”

“Not since I woke up, but he always responds to your voice.” “Yeah, he recognizes me?”

“Of course, you talk so damn much. How could he not?”

He turns his head and presses a kiss against her jaw, biting a bit just to tease her. “You are not a very nice woman, my love.”

“Oh please, I’m, like, the seventh nicest person you know.”

“Seventh?”

“I figured it was conceited to put me at number one.”

“Possibly.” He moves his hand against her stomach again, snaking his fingers up under her pajama top so that he can feel the warmth of her skin. “So he really does get more active when I talk?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty weird to think about, but it’s true. He likes when you talk. I think it’s because you’re a much better story teller than me.” “I mean, obviously.”

“And that he’s probably just glad to hear someone else besides me. Imagine being stuck with someone for nine months. Good God.”

“Well, I’m stuck with you for forever. Good God.”

She groans and curses him under his breath before she scoots over and turns in his arms, slowly but surely moving to face him. “Don’t be an asshole. Also, so I was talking to mom today, and she wants to be called Mimi. I think Dad wants to be called Papa, which I like as long as that’s not what you want. I know that’s what some kids call their dads.”

“Aye, it’s what Lizzie calls Liam, which is weird since Alex doesn’t do that. But I’m okay with dad or daddy, so David can be called Papa.”

“Yeah, I kind of like it. Mimi and Papa. And then your parents are Gammy and Grandpa, right? That’s what Alex and Lizzie call them.”

“Aye, but I know Mom didn’t want to be Gammy. It’s just what happened. She says it makes her feel old.”

“Your mom is not old.”

“I know, but considering your parents are barely fifty while my parents are in their sixties and seventies, it doesn’t help.”

“I’ll tell my parents to get older then.”

He smiles at her before closing his eyes and settling into his pillow, letting his head sink down into the softness. It’s calming in here, the lights turned off and curtains closed while the ceiling fan hums a steady rhythm above them. He could fall asleep like this even if he’s not the biggest fan of naps, always somehow ending up groggy when he wakes up, and it doesn’t help with the way that Emma is playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, her fingers scratching into his scalp.

“Are you working tomorrow?”

He pops an eye open, looking at Emma and smiling when her nail hits a particularly sensitive spot on his neck. “Aye, I’ve got the Investiture ceremony at ten. Why?”

“Just wondering. I was thinking we could go somewhere. Just us. Maybe take Indy to Berkshire and let her run around, spend some time outside.” “We can do it in the afternoon, if you want. I think the weather is supposed to be nice.”

“Yeah,” she sighs, leaning forward and sliding her lips over his for a brief moment, “I think that would be nice.”

The next day after he’s finished with the ceremony, he hurries home, changing out of his suit and into shorts and a t-shirt, slipping a baseball cap onto his head and grabbing something to eat for lunch while Emma does the same, her hair falling out of the back of her hat in a long ponytail. They’ve got all day, but the afternoon’s weather is pleasant enough that he’d like to go now so they can stop by a café for dinner, even if that’s the absolute last thing that Thomas will want them to do.

They want their privacy, but they should be able to go out to dinner.

So he and Emma load up into his car, letting Indy sit in the backseat with the window rolled down so she can feel the mid-July breeze blow through her fur. It doesn’t take long to get to Windsor, pulling into their parking garage less than thirty minutes later, and instead of going inside like they’d usually do, he hooks Indy up to her leash while Emma grabs some water bottles and they head to the private gardens, avoiding the visitors wandering around on tours.

As much as he prefers the spring, mild July days are near the top of his list of favorite things. Everything is brighter, more pleasant. The grass is actually greener, the flowers contrasting against their background to create a landscape of whites and shades of purple, while everything is covered in a clear blue sky, only a few white clouds scattered throughout. New life blooms, and he gets to be the one to appreciate it, to revel in it. England can be so dreary sometimes, the weather somehow reflecting the moods of most people on their morning commute to work, so he appreciates when it’s not. He’s always loved the outdoors, and if there’s any complaint he has about his home, it’s the small private garden that they have to themselves. He’d like something larger, more space to run around, and sometime in the future, he and Emma plan to spend more time in Bucklebury so that they have the privacy.

That’s what they’ve decided on since returning from Spain last month. There’s been more lengthy, draining discussions with his parents and their security team than he’s ever wanted, and as much as he feels like they haven’t really accomplished anything, he knows it’s a slow process. Of course, there are drawbacks to every positive. They’re still going to have to spend most of their time at Kensington. It’s closer to their work, to their families. Hell, Emma’s parents just bought a house so that they could have the ability to spend time with their grandchild, and now they’re going to move away from them. It’s less than an hour drive, but it’s not nearly as close as they currently are.

But everyone understands, and they don’t plan on moving any time soon, not until Andy’s a bit older. They want to be near all of their loved ones when he’s younger, and they’ve spent so much time working on their home, making it exactly how they want. It’d be difficult to leave full time, so it’ll be nice to have the option of both.

It’ll be even nicer to give Andy the most normal life that they can possibly give him.

Emma whistles next to him, her fingers between her lips, while Indy runs back to them from where they let her loose. She was about five seconds away from jumping into a pond full of fish, and as much as they’d usually let her swim, they don’t need to have a wet dog with them for the rest of the day. So she runs back to them as quickly as she can, her legs leaping in the air with her black and white fur bouncing the slightest bit. He’s convinced that she shouldn’t be able to be that quick, but she’s still just a young dog, less than a year old, and though her legs will get longer, he doesn’t think she’ll ever be full of this much energy again.

If she is, he and Emma are definitely in over their heads.

With the dog.

He’s going to choose to not think of what it’ll be like with a toddler than can run and a dog that he can run after.

After she calms from her almost pond dive, Indy walks along in front of the two of them, occasionally wandering off the stone path to sniff around in the plants, nearly tearing up several flowers until they call her back to keep walking. They stay wandering for a little over two hours, not caring where exactly they’re going or if they’re circling back around in the same spots. Indy and Emma get tired around the same time, so they settle down onto a stone bench with a patio cover that’s next to another small pond.

In the distance, he can see the Chapel where they were married, the steeple rising up above the other buildings and stone walls, and he smiles to himself thinking of that day. In the grand scheme of things, he knows that when it comes to he and Emma, as important as it was, they had so many smaller, inconsequential days that he holds just as fondly in his heart.

But that was a pretty damn good day.

He stretches his arm out over the back of the bench, wrapping it around Emma’s shoulder and tangling his fingers into the ends of her ponytail while she leans her head on his shoulder, the bill of her hat hitting him in the chin for a brief moment. He’s glad she suggested them getting away from London for a little bit, for suggesting that they change up the routine and spend a day enjoying summer, especially since they’re missing out on Scotland with the rest of the family.

A month in the same place as everyone is likely a bit long, anyways. He loves his family, but that’s a lot for anyone.

“I love you, you know?” Emma asks out of nowhere, her gaze never falling away from the rippling of the water in front of them, a fish leaping up out of the water while the lily pads float around.

He squeezes her shoulder, rubbing up and down her arm and kissing her head even if she can’t feel it through the hat. “I know. I love you too.”

#second in command #cs ff #cs fic #captain swan fic

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scaryscarecrows · 6 years ago

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Roots and Leaves, Pt. 6

DC did it first. Take your grievances to them.

Jason and Sheila e-mail back and forth for about a week before she says that she has Thursday off so if he has Thursday off does he want to meet for lunch again?

Last time wasn’t bad. Not a lot of staring or people or anything. He can…he can probably do it again. And it’s a few days away still, so he has time to psyche himself up or, worst case scenario, fake his death and move to Canada.

And it’s been a week and she hasn’t pulled out the Pity Card on him yet and maybe…maybe this’ll all work out okay. She might never be Mom, because Catherine’s always gonna be Mom, but…but she could be Mother, maybe. He can see that in the distant (or not-so-distant?) future.

But he’s not going to rush into things, that’s what got him here in the first place. Patience, grasshopper.

Thursday rolls around and he hasn��t faked his death and moved to Canada, so he has no choice but to put on jeans and a hoodie and resign himself to a couple of hours, easy, of no sunglasses and no e-book shield.

Sorry, any small children who might come out of this traumatized.

Okay. He brings his Kindle anyway, and his sunglasses for the journey, and sticks to his normal Civilian Weaponry-couple’a knives, one pair of brass knuckles tucked into a hidden pocket in his hoodie. Last thing he needs is for someone to pick up a bullet, match it to the Red Hood’s, and come knocking on his door. His luck is bad enough that’s exactly what would happen.

Besides, it’s noon on a Thursday, and even in Gotham that’s a slow hour. Bank robbers gotta eat, too.

The monorail ride there is literal Hell (three fighting couples, two crying kids and old man with no personal spaaaaace!) and he’s literally gasping for air when he stumbles out of the car. He likes people. Honest. If he legitimately hated them all, he wouldn’t risk his life to help them. But interacting with them…he could do without that, mostly.

Whatever. Whatever. It’s over, he lived, he’s had worse.

(And no, he doesn’t hear faint cackling in his head, and that’s final.)

It’s windy today, the type of wind that buffets people every which way and is determined to keep his hood off his head. He fidgets with the drawstrings until it’ll stay and buries his hands in his pockets. Wind sucks. He can feel pollen and dust and Gotham Grime being blown onto his skin.

“Jason!”

Is he there already?

Sheila…looks a lot more haggard than she did before. He tries to remember if she’d mentioned being horribly busy, doesn’t think she did, and figures that to be fair, he hasn’t mentioned the bruise that goes halfway up his back.

She smiles, her awkward driver’s license smile, and waves. Yeah, she doesn’t…it must’ve been a long week, or maybe a rough drive or something. She looks tired.

“Hi.” He’s not sure what to call her, still. Miss Haywood is too disconnected, Sheila’s too personal, and it’s way, way too soon for Mother. Names are a pain. “I’m not late, am I?” He knows he’s not. “Monorail was packed.”

“So was the subway. Can I…?”

Her arms are half-out and he figures she’s asking for a hug. He can do a hug, as long as it’s a short hug.

“Yeah. Thanks for the warning.”

Holy crap, she feels frail. But to be fair, barring Dick’s tackle-hug, everyone’s felt frail since…since. So it could just be him. Hugs are weird now.

(“HUG YOUR DADDY!”)

No. Not today. Everything’s fine.

It’s a sort-of short hug, short enough, anyway, and he wonders, abstractedly, if a day will ever come that he’s used to that sort of thing again. If it even matters whether he does or doesn’t.

It does. Of course it does. And the day will come, in time, and he’ll be better, be normal, be what people want him to be.

Little steps.

* * *

They’ve fallen into a companionable silence and for once Jason’s not jumping whenever someone walks by in a purple sweater or anything when Sheila forces her lips out from between her teeth and says, “I know you were Robin.”

Well. That’s, uh, there’s that out of the way.

“Yeah.” There’s clearly no point in denying it. She probably put it together when Batman came knocking. “For a little while, yeah. I was.” He tastes blood, wonders how long he’s been doing that, and wishes he had gum. Or a mint. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right off, I just…old habits die hard, I guess.”

“Oh God, no, no, I didn’t mean-” She takes a drink. Her hands are shaking, she’s shaking and he doesn’t know what’s wrong. “I just. I thought I should probably make it clear that I did know, so you wouldn’t…I know I was absent, but I don’t want…you shouldn’t feel like you have to hide things from me.”

Oh. That’s. He doesn’t know what to say. Bruce, God knows, has the emotional capabilities of a Himalayan Salt Lamp. Thankfully Jason hadn’t been the type to go through crushes every two weeks, or he probably would have been in Hell. He certainly wouldn’t have…it’s not like he would have shut down the conversation, but sharing and caring? That would have been awkward and best not repeated. Alfred was the go-to for that sorta thing.

All right, then. Since they’re dropping sudden bombshells ‘n all…he has to know.

“You worked for Joker.” There. It’s out. He said it.

And now he kinda regrets it-the self-loathing on her face is a pretty good match for his own, and he can’t tell himself it’s anything less than deep, deep wishing to have made better choices.

“I did.” She straightens up, begins tearing apart a piece of bread on her plate. “Briefly. I’m not proud, but he had a line to my mother, knew where she lived, knew her schedule…knew.” She swallows hard. “Knew she had to rubber-band her jam jars because she couldn’t open them otherwise. I panicked. But it was only for a couple of months-pills, he wanted pills, as much as I could get him. And then he just…went away. I don’t know what he did with them.”

Honestly, after everything, he can’t…he doesn’t have the right to say much. And honestly? There was that one guy, who accidentally cut the fucker off in traffic and couldn’t get away from him.

And look at him. The first man he killed, that wasn’t…oh, sure, he probably had it coming, at least a little, but Jason wasn’t thinking about that or considering it like he does now, he just…he wanted to kill Bruce. Because that was right and reason at the time even though he knows it’s insanity now.

No, he can’t say much.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, and it’s suddenly easier to look at his hands. “I didn’t…that sounds awful.”

“No.” She tips his chin up and it’s an effort not to pull away and to remember that it’s fingers, warm human fingers, and not the pointy end of a crowbar against his skin. “You deserved to know. It’s only fair.”

Truth be told, it’s a relief to know that she hadn’t…yeah, technically she could’ve…maybe done something different, but she hadn’t wanted to work for him. She wasn’t like the ones he’d christened Dumb and Dumber that…they enjoyed that kinda work.

Lunch is finished in relative silence after that, though, and he’s wondering what’s going to happen now when she rifles through her purse and swears.

“Damn…I meant to grab an old photo album I wanted to show you, with some old family pictures and things.”

Pictures of Willis? Yeah, he’s good. Pictures of other people might be interesting, though.

“Next time?”

“My apartment’s a few blocks over.”

Something feels off. He’s paranoid, he knows he’s paranoid, but something…she’s been shaky and weird all afternoon and he doesn’t…

Calm the fuck down, you freak out when someone window-shops for too long!

“Is everything…is everything okay?”

Or maybe something is wrong-she pulls a napkin over and there’s suddenly a pen in her hand.

“I really do want you to see these pictures, Jason,” she says, but her hand is moving and there’s the ever-so-faint skrit-skrit of pen on paper. “I swear you got my mother’s eyes.”

The napkin slides over to him and he glances down. Her handwriting’s spikey and awful-doctor writing to the bone-but his is no better and he can read it well enough.

An old colleague has been hanging around the hospital lately.

Oh.

That explains a bit.

“Sure.”

Her shoulders drop and she crumples the napkin, nails picking it into shreds.

“I’m sorry to do this to you,” she says softly, nearly too soft for him to hear, and he’s quick to shake his head.

“No, no, I don’t mind, I’m glad you…if there’s anything I can do to…”

Shit, she looks like she’s going to start crying and that is indeed PANIC in his throat. Tears are not good.

“You’re a good boy.” Her voice is watery but there are no tears to be seen. Thank Jesus. “I promise next time we have lunch it’ll be normal.”

Oh, good, things haven’t plummeted down to fiery Hell because of all the revelations flying around.

“Everything’s gonna be fine,” he says, and whoops that’s his ‘all will be well, citizen, never fear!’ voice. But it must work, because the about-to-cry look disappears. “Um. Do you wanna…it looks like it’s gonna rain, should we get going?”

And so they do.

* * *

The wind has picked up and it smells like rain. He’s not looking forward to patrol later.

The wind’s not so bad, though, to stop Sheila from lighting up with a self-depreciating, “I know I’m a doctor and should know better, but I honestly don’t care.”

“I can’t really say anything.” He holds up his own pack and rattles it before pulling one out. It’s not as calming as it usually is and he doesn’t know why.

Eh. It’s been a long day, that’s all. He’s not used to interacting with people on a personal level anymore, which is his own fault and probably not necessarily a good thing.

The first few drops have started to fall when they arrive at her building-big, square, and simplistic. She fishes out her keys while they’re in the elevator (which smells like new car, for some reason).

The hallway is deserted. It’s a little creepy, to be honest-his own building might be crap, but there’s always activity. And then, of course, there was Arkham’s hallways, or what he could hear of them. Noisy. Always noisy. But this? Wayne Manor was silent like this. It unsettled him then and it unsettles him now. Call him a city boy, whatever, but he needs noise.

The brass knuckles and knives in his jacket are warm and comforting and he knows he’s not gonna need ‘em, but they make up for this creepy-ass silence.

Sheila opens the door and motions him inside. It’s dark inside-blackout curtains, probably-but he can hear the rain. It smells like new car in here, too, and he wonders, off-handedly, why-

-it’s not empty. He’s walked into one too many ‘empty’ buildings to be very, very attuned to the sound of somebody breathing. Okay. Be calm, back out and shut the door.

He’s about to do exactly that when the light switch clicks and bathes the whole place in stark white. White walls, white floors, white furniture.

Which only makes Harley Quinn stick out like a sore thumb in all that red and black.

“BAY-BEE!” She could never hope to match Joker’s grin, but she gives it a good go, stretching her makeup. Okay. Change of plans. Get Sheila out of here (and preferably out of the building), deal with Quinn. “It’s been a whiiiiile!”

He takes in the mallet leaning against the couch and the shotgun (are those fuzzy dice? Really?) in her hands and comes to the conclusion that great, she’s riding the crazy train.

But maybe she hasn’t seen Sheila yet. Where’s that goddamn light switch?

He moves, only a little, only to feel the unmistakable press of a gun against his lower back.

“Don’t. Move.”

And the world drops out from under him.

No. No, no, no, she said she quit, it was over, she said they’d let her go, she said-

The door shuts. He twists so he can still see Quinn in his peripheral. Sheila’s face is a blank mask-no tears, no joy, no nothing. Just quiet determination and he doesn’t understand, she said…

“Mom?” The word feels thick and wrong in his mouth, but maybe…maybe she’s brainwashed or hypnotized or something, maybe she doesn’t…isn’t…

“Sorry, kid.” The words are harsh but her tone isn’t. Quinn giggles in the background but she sounds so far away and Sheila’s still pressing a gun against him. “It was you or me, and, well…it had to be you.”

What?

“Aww, come to mama, baby!” Quinn giggles again before straightening up and scowling. “Now.”

His feet drag him forward, sneakers scuffing against the white carpet an’ Heaven’s s’posed ta be white, innit, so why does this feel like Hell and what’s going on she said she said-

For once horrible, desperate second, he wants Bruce. Bruce wouldn’t…yeah, he’d thought, at first, that he’d left him but he knows that he didn’t, he really didn’t, he just…

Bruce wouldn’t have pulled a gun on him, he wouldn’t and God, if he’d just fucking talked to him-

“I did what you wanted, Quinn.” Sheila’s voice is so, so flat and is this all she wanted from the beginning? Is it? “Now call your man.”

Quinn doesn’t even look at her. She’s looking at Jason like she always did-like she’s torn between wanting to rip his head off and wanting to wrap him in a blanket and keep him.

This is his own goddamn fault, he just thought…just once, just once-

“Quinn!” Desperation now, and the gun wobbles against his hoodie as she steps out from behind him. “I did what you said! Call your man!”

Okay. Okay.

He forces himself to take a few deep breaths that taste like that last cigarette outside and says, voice as steady as he can make it, “Let her go, Harley. Leave her alone, I’ll. I’ll do what you want, just. Just let her go.”

“Aww, look at you!” Her pigtails sway and he finds himself oddly hypnotized by the movement. “I knew ya had to be Robin for a reason.”

Yeah. Yeah, he was Robin and that’s all he’ll ever be, the one that fucked up.

“Please, Harley.”

“Nyeh…” She adjusts her grip on the gun, finger dancing near the trigger, and looks down at her knuckles. “Eeny, meanie, miny, moe, catch a Batman by the toe. If he hollers, let ‘im go, eeny…meanie…miny…moe!”

He sees it before she does it, but there’s no time-he’s moved maybe half a centimeter before the gun goes off-

-and Sheila.

Falls.

His ears are ringing. They’re ringing and everything’s so white except her, all blonde and blue and so fucking red because Harley didn’t miss and if he’d been quicker, he should have been-

“Aww, don’t be sad!” Harley’s not alone, of course she’s not. He should have known from the start stupidstupidstupid. “Doncha know what happens to people who know too much?”

Her eyes are open. They’re open and they’re looking at him like this is his fault and it is if he hadn’t…

S’like Joker said, once.

“Good boys know how to lay down and DIE.”

“Mistah J had a spot for ya, baby.” Huh? “But you up an’ left us before it was time! So since it’s his birthday-” The fucker has no birthday he just appeared one day too evil for Hell. “-I thought I’d get my puddin’ somethin’-” She winks. “Real nice.”

And they’re on him.

Harley’s goons are dumb, but they’re also big and they manage to drag him down for a minute before he gets a knife out of his sleeve and drives it into the nearest jaw.

“Andre!” Yeah, Andre ain’t comin’ back from that any time soon. “I thought we taught you manners!”

He reclaims his knife and scrambles back up and okay okay maybe he can get outta this-

WHAM!

Lights out.

#Jason Todd #Sheila Haywood #Harley Quinn #you knew this was coming #oh Jason I'm so sorry honey #one day you can have nice things #but not today #Roots and Leaves

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paladin-andric · 6 years ago

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Blackheart, Chapter 31: A Final Respite

It had been quite some time. Deep in the heart of the Citadel, things had changed considerably.

A while ago, the survivors had evacuated to the countryside. Before they did so, Basilrin was sent to bring word of the situation to the surrounding lands, in hopes of summoning the forces needed to push to the Blackheart.

The portal was said to be in the very center of the city. To get there, all they needed to do was take the main road. Only problem was the demons. Their corrupted thralls swarmed the main streets en-masse. It was why they had spent their time creeping down alleyways and side streets.

Soon...soon, the time for skulking would come to an end. Soon, the army would begin their assault.

Alexander ran the blade of his sword over a whetstone, looking it over carefully. He had forgone wearing his armor, seeing as it had been a few days since Basilrin’s return.

It was quite the wonder, seeing not only his return, but the arrival of the Lady Protector herself, Gira. The Black Dragon, as she was called, arguably the most important figure in all of Geralthin. She had been there for the entirety of its history, after all.

She and Basilrin had assured them that the army was indeed on its way. Already a few of those towns and villages nearby had arrived, a few guards and citizens armed with the bare essentials now joining them in the Citadel.

It was a good start, but they had to await the mass of royal forces before they could dare start their push.

Gira was another one. Now they had three dragons. That was three beasts of legend to rain destruction on their foes. Alexander could only imagine how marvelous that kind of support would be for the army.

All in all, things were looking quite hopeful. With a force like this assembled, pushing through the city really seemed more than a mere pipe dream.

All they had to do was cause a gap, if only for a moment, in the demons’ defenses. Then Alexander could slip through, enter the Blackheart, and destroy whatever artifact was anchoring the portal to their world.

“Hey.”

The knight turned to see Wurie walking up to him. The wolfman took a seat on the ground beside the knight, flashing him a nervous smile.

“Hey captain. What’s the matter?”

Wurie looked off into the distance as Alexander continued sharpening his blade. “I just...can hardly believe it, you know? That we’re so close.”

“It won’t be long now,” the knight answered.

“It’s been quite the journey.”

Alexander smiled. “Yeah. I think we’ve all learned things from this.”

“Really? I feel like you’ve been the one teaching ME here, sir knight!”

The man shook his head and sighed. “You should know better than that, Wurie.”

The wolfman frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Captain, when I first came here...I must admit that I didn’t feel the same way about you and the others then I do now.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Well...I was raised surrounded by other humans. Not once had I even laid eyes upon another species, aside from Stilich, the doctor.”

“Stilich?”

“One of the shellbacks,” Alexander admitted, “Father hired him to take care of us...but that was the extent of my knowledge. He was one of a kind as far as I was concerned. When I joined the army, I was deployed at the northern border. There, was my first experience with the wolves...with your people, Wurie.”

The captain grimaced. “Not, uh...not a good impression,” he whispered, his voice reflecting pain.

“That’s an understatement. I thought your people were animals, barbarians, monsters...I had a similar view for many of the peoples of Geralthin. In truth, the edict didn’t rattle me as much as it probably should have...it meeting Sigvin to change my mind about a “universal evil”. Even then I thought he was the exception, but now...I see I was quite mistaken.”

“Sigvin?” Wurie’s brows furrowed. “Alexander, you said...Sigvin?”

“Yeah. We commissioned him as pathfinder, during one of our expeditions into tribal territory. We chatted at the camp. Told me all sorts of stories about him and his people. Really helped me understand the wolfmen more than I did.”

Wurie’s eyes were a near sliver now.

“What? What’s with that funny look?”

“Alexander...was...was Sigvin a bard?”

The knight was caught off guard by that one. “He...mentioned he wanted to become one...how on earth did you know that? Wurie, have you met him?”

The captain gave Alexander a serious look. “...follow me.”

He paused only to put his whetstone away and sheathe his sword before he hurried after Wurie. The implications behind this left only one possibility…

Turning past another group of tents, Wurie called out to a figure facing a firepit. “Sigvin!”

The person turned around, sitting on a small wooden stump. In a rather puffy, fanciful striped and dyed suit, was a familiar face. Sure, the clothes, quilled hat, and lute was a far cry to the rags he was wearing all those years ago, but Alexander recognized him all the same.

“Sigvin...you’ve got a friend here.”

The unarmored knight stepped forward, eyes widening. It wasn’t just a shared name. It was him. It was really him.

“Sigvin…?”

The wolfman bard frowned. “Err, I’m sorry. You might be…?”

“It’s me, remember?! It’s Alexander! From the war up north? The Pureclaws!”

The bard’s face scrunched up as he tried to recall those memories. In a moment, his eyes shot open. “A-Alexander?!”

“Yeah! It’s me!”

The wolfman jumped up excitedly and put his lute down. “Hoo boy...Alexander! How have you been, friend?!”

The knight laughed as Sigvin grabbed and shook his hand wildly. “Ah, you know! Pretty busy. How the hell did you end up all the way down here?!”

“I TOLD you I was gonna move to Geralthin! I even went to college! All was going according to plan when, uh...this all happened.”

“Right...you were kicked off with the rest of the exiled.”

“Mmhm. I must say, I saw you here before, but I never imagined the man under the armor would be you!”

Alexander shrugged. “Well, here I am regardless! God I can’t believe we’ve been so close all this time!”

“I’ve been...unable to be of much help,” Sigvin admitted with a sheepish smile. “I, uh...I’ve been hiding back here. Thinking, mostly.”

“Well, why didn’t you leave with the other citizens?”

“Because he wants to help!” Wurie said with a grin, “Isn’t that right, Sigvin?”

“Yessir!”

The knight tapped his foot, looking worried. “Ah, but...what are you planning on doing, than? Not joining the front line, I’d hope!”

“Oh goodness no. I’ve never been a warrior, you know that! I AM a bard, though. My music does more than you might expect. I hope to rally and inspire the real warriors when we attack!”

“You really have become what you’ve always wanted, huh?”

“That’s right!” Sigvin said with a grin, “My dreams are...well, they WERE coming true...but hopefully! Hopefully, after all this, I can finally get back on track!”

Wurie nodded. “You will. We’ll see to that, won’t we, Alexander!”

“Yes...we will. I must say Wurie, it’s good to see you looking up like this. You, uh...weren’t in high spirits, the last few times we spoke.”

“What can you do?” the captain asked with a shrug. “I’ve been seeing and hearing some awful things. It takes its toll, but...it’s almost over. We’re so close. If there’s a time to believe, it’s right now.”

Alexander smiled. Despite everything, even the most mournful seemed full of hope now.

“Hope is a powerful thing to have. We’ll see this through Wurie, I swear.”

The trio sat around the firepit, Alexander looking back at Sigvin. “So...got any songs planned for all of this?”

The bard smiled. “Ah, well I’ve got a few popular tunes, but generally I let the music take me where it goes.” His smile quickly turned into a frown. “I do have...one song in the works though. An...ode to your friend, Alexander. The red dragon. Hopefully, my song will travel across the land once this is over, and all will sing of his sacrifice. I figured such an individual deserves nothing less.”

Alexander’s face scrunched up. “Ah. I see...I’m sure he’d be proud.”

Sigvin nodded sadly. “Yeah. I think he would.”

…

“Hey…”

The holy man didn’t look up as he continued reflecting over the words of the scripture. “Yes?”

“I, uh...I’m going to go with them, you know!”

Andric frowned. The paladin opened his eyes and turned his gaze to Senci, visage firm.

“I would strongly advise against that.”

The kobold looked hurt by that. “Oh, come on, master! They’re counting on me to help them!”

“And I’m counting on you to make it through this in one piece.”

“I’ll make it through just fine! I can do it, you know I can! I was trained by the best, after all.”

“Senci…”

“I’ve make it this far, haven’t I?!”

Andric turned around, shifting from kneeling into a sitting position. The pair were inside a tent, taking stock of their inventory and preparing for the final battle.

“I just don’t want anything to happen. I heard about your little stint in the medical tent, you know.”

“But master-”

“What if that happens again?”

“Master Andric…”

“You nearly died, Senci! I cannot abide by this! If I were to let you leave my sight, you could-”

Something snapped inside of Senci, if only for a moment. For the first time since he could remember, he snapped at his mentor.

“I’m not a damned child anymore!”

Andric’s brows raised at the kobold’s shrill yell. He couldn’t remember the man ever being stricken silent like this, but these were exceptional circumstances.

The young warrior felt immense shame and regret almost immediately. He could feel the heat well up in his face and fear creep over him as he looked at his stunned father figure.

“I...I’m sorry…”

The paladin grimaced as he looked the other warrior over. The small lizard shifted uncomfortably, head lowered and eyes full of guilt. Like he was about to be lectured.

Andric sighed. “It’s...fine. I understand. I know this is important to you. I just...I came all this way to make sure you were alright, you know? If something happened, I…”

The man’s lips pursed. “...I don’t know what I’d do. Over a decade, Senci. For twelve years, I’ve been making sure you were okay. For twelve years, schooling and training you...”

“I...I know,” Senci said quietly, “B-but, master...you...you have to let me try! I’m a grown up now!”

Andric shot the kobold a guilty grin and scratched his beard. “Well, actually, you’re still a year away from being an adult at the moment…”

“T-that’s close enough!” Senci insisted. “Listen...I...I’m thankful for everything, really, I am. I’m so lucky I have you to train me...but eventually, you have to put that training to the test! Master...you must let me loose on our enemies! You’ve prepared me for this moment, and I must follow through now! I can’t be useless in this battle, I can’t let everyone down! I HAVE to help!”

Andric frowned and closed his eyes, reflecting on the kobold’s words. Eventually, he opened his eyes and moved forward, wrapping his arms around the young warrior.

“Senci...I know. I know I can’t stop you from doing this...and I understand how much this means to you. You can go.”

Smiling with wide eyes, Senci returned the hug, Andric patting him on the shoulder.

“I won’t let you down. I promise.”

“The only way you could do that, Senci, is if you didn’t come back...so make sure you do, alright?”

Senci grinned wide. “Yes sir!”

…

Razorwing pulled back on his bow, getting a feel for the tension. He sat on the ground beside the tent he had been staying in, his supplies laid out around him.

After this brief test of his bowstring, it seemed like all was in order. He had brought a few extra with him just in case it snapped, but there didn’t seem to be many issues. He’d been using this one for about a year, but he was very fussy about maintenance, so everything still worked as intended.

“Is that the great hero Razorwing, playing around with an unloaded bow?”

The bird turned his head towards the source. Of course, there was no mistaking that voice, despite the additional cheer it seemed to be carrying today.

“You work with crossbows. You know full well the need to test and maintain.”

The human sat down beside him. Despite the mask, his eyes made his amusement clear.

“Obviously. I’m messing with you, dope.”

The koutu shot him a cocky grin. “You sure? You know, if you don’t know about weapon upkeep, I could teach you.”

“Yeah yeah, alright, ya dumb bird.” A light punch to the shoulder made the hero chuckle.

Paul took out one of his own crossbows and looked it over. It was a fair bit smaller than the ones the armies used, seeing as this was made with the ability to hold and fire with one hand. Still, it had enough force behind it, and the bolts were large enough to still be deadly. The downside was that without the heft of the larger models, punching through armor proved...problematic.

Not that this was generally a problem for Paul. As a bounty hunter, he generally worked to end combat before it began. He’d become a good enough shot and a quiet enough sneak to hit targets in their weak spots, while they were unexpecting.

“Hard to believe it’s almost over huh?” the human mused.

“Yes...quite remarkable. We’ve come quite a far way, we have.” Razorwing put his bow down and grabbed his quiver, beginning to examine his arrows.

“It’s been rough. The close scrapes, the demons...listening to you blabber on about nonsense,” Paul said with a laugh.

“Oh? You got pretty mad when I stopped ‘blabbering’ though, didn’t you?”

The bounty hunter looked away as the koutu grinned like mad. “Well...you know how it is...the silence in this hellhole is maddening. Any voice is a relief...no matter how dumb what they’re saying is.”

The archer raised a brow. “Oh ho! I see! So what you’re saying is I’m just a voice to you, huh? Just a distraction? Just something any other person could have been?”

“T-that’s not what I meant!”

The hero put a winged arm around the human’s shoulders. Shooting him a grin, he leaned in. “Don’t worry! I’m just...what was it you said? ‘Messing with you, dope’?”

Paul groaned, which drew another laugh from Razorwing.

“Seriously, though. You and I, friend...we’ll go far, don’t you think?”

“What do you mean by that?” with the birdman’s wing still wrapped around him, he looked over questioningly.

“You remember how well we worked in the streets. How long we spent without the luxury of a team, or any support. Just the two of us, against the demons. The scouting we did for each other...we make a perfect duo, don’t you think?”

Paul looked away, sighing. “We, uh...you’re right, but...I don’t know.”

“Aw, come on, pal! No one can beat a team like us!”

“I know,” Paul admitted, “We make an excellent team. Still...I don’t know if I’ll...be doing this in the future.”

Razorwing frowned. “Huh? What’s...what’s that mean?”

“Look. You’re a famous hero. You fight monsters, and lead parades, and have songs sung of you...and I’m a shadow. No one besides you knows my identity. I stalk the shadows. I slit the throats of thieves and killers. I hide from the fame that comes with the work I do. I’ve built a reputation as an ender of lives...despite no one knowing who I am.”

The hero gave him a funny look. “You’re saying we’re incompatible?”

“Well, that’s one part of it-”

He was cut short by Razorwing squeezing him, tightening his arm’s grip around the man.

“Come on, Crux! We’ve been through enough to know that’s nonsense!”

Paul’s eyes narrowed. “Argh. You wanna let me breathe, bird?”

“Very well.” Razorwing let go of him, the pair sitting beside one another once more.

“Hah. Well, besides that...I have an identity to keep concealed. We were able to do that AND work together because, well...we’re in a fog-covered city cut off from the outside world. If we started working together once this is over...I fear your renown, and the attention you draw would...make my secret impossible to keep.”

It seemed to finally dawn on the hero, now. His gaze softened, turning into a saddened, wincing visage.

“Ah. I...I see. You...we can’t...be friends anymore.”

There was a lengthy, uncomfortable pause. Both of them had their heads down, unable to look the other in the eye.

Paul’s voice caught Razorwing off guard.

“You know...you’re the only friend I’ve ever had.”

The archer blinked, eye widening. “Paul…?”

“I, uh...I made an effort to keep my distance from everyone...just so something like this wouldn’t happen.”

The human looked over at Razorwing. The koutu’s head hung low, looking defeated.

“I...there must be something we can do…”

Paul crossed his arms, his weapons checking long forgotten. “Is there...some place you go to all the time? I don’t know if I could leave a paper trail to keep in touch, but if we happened to be around the same places…”

Razorwing smirked. “I’m all over the place. The parades and plays and, well, you know.”

“Of course.”

“Well, my estate’s always open to you. Hey, maybe you could come over sometime and meet Eignach!” “Eignach…?”

The koutu looked surprised. “Oh, I didn’t tell you? We’re...together.” There was a short pause before Razorwing continued hurriedly. “Err, that’s uh, why I wanted to tell you, by the way, that I’m spoken for. I didn’t mean to...hit on you. I-I don’t drink, so, uhh...I wasn’t thinking clearly. My apologies.”

“Don’t worry about it...lightweight.” Paul was grinning. The way the fabric around his mouth was stretching gave it away.

“Well EXCUSE me for practicing a bit of clean living!” the hero laughed and shook his head. “Well, at any rate, we’ve been together for...not too long. We were just friends at first. Poor fellow was expelled from the kingdom during the exile. He grew up in Geralthin. He may be one of my people in body, but culturally, he was a human. Our homeland was alien and frightening to him. I took him in, seeing as he lost his home and...the rest is history.”

“A bird frightened of his own flock…” Paul pulled out his dagger and inspected it for any nicks and scratches.

“I suppose! He’s adapted well, though. You know he was a fan of mine? He was absolutely starstruck when we met. Even fainted and everything!”

“Everyone has a hero to look up to, I guess. You happened to be his.”

“That’s right.”

Razorwing turned to look at the human, still running his hand along his dagger.

“Hey, Paul?”

“Yeah?”

There was a brief moment of hesitation. “Whatever happens out there...we’re a team, alright? I’ve got your back.”

Paul lowered his dagger, turning to look at the archer. His eyes ran over the other man, taking him in.

“And I’ve got yours.” He held a gloved hand out to the koutu, who took it without hesitation. The pair shook.

“Domnall...it’s been a pleasure. Let’s cast these beasts back to the deepest pits of hell.”

Razorwing radiated confidence as he sat up straight. “Hah! The armies of hell themselves will learn to fear our names!”

Paul nodded, a smirk etched in his mask. “That’s what I like to hear. Let’s you and I give em’ something to call hell...bird.”

…

“Looks like everything’s ready.”

“Just about.”

The man and woman were sitting inside a small tent, just the two of them and their supplies. The man was sitting idle, while the woman was chewing on a piece of jerky. He looked at her with a near unreadable expression.

“Hungry?” she asked in between bites. He shook his head.

“Not a fan of jerky?”

He shook his head again. “I don’t care what I eat, Leianna. I’m just not hungry right now.”

The cleric shrugged, still chewing. “Suit yourself.” Taking another bite, she looked off to the side in thought. “Man, all they’ve got left around here is cheese and jerky.”

“Not much else can last months without spoiling,” Lexius noted.

“Hey, I’m not complaining. Food’s food, and cheese and jerky are damn fine.”

Lexius sighed. The priest looked sullen and out of it. Leianna noticed this, and gave him a questioning look.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m just...I wish I could have...been of more use.”

“How so?”

The man held his hands out. “I...I was poor support on the field. I’m an awful combatant. I spent half my time here bedridden. I failed to come prepared. I...I even...Leianna, if I had been with you when we split into two groups...perhaps Basilrin’s brother and Tourthun would be-”

“Hey. Monk boy.” Leianna gave him a firm glare, as if chastising him. “Listen to me, you fool. You came here of your own volition. You waltzed into a hellhole full of the darkest beings the world can offer with scrappy armor, a chipped iron blade and a tiny wooden shield. You never trained for combat. You healed a goddamned DRAGON, Lexius.”

He was about to respond, but Leianna put a hand on his shoulder and smiled. “You kicked ass out here. No one expected some guy from a church to make it this far, but here you are.”

The priest lowered his head and laughed. Leianna raised a brow. “Err...Lexius?”

“Heh...yeah, I guess you’re right. No use in feeling sorry for myself. I did what I could. That’s...all you can really do.”

“Hey, that’s the spirit!” Leianna grinned and patted him on the shoulder. “Look, I’ve got plenty of things I wish I’d done differently too, but there’s no turning back the clock. You live with what you do, and you do the best you can.”

Lexius looked up at the cleric hopefully. “Sister Leianna...could you join me in prayer?”

The woman shrugged. “I don’t see why not.” She shoved the rest of the jerky in her mouth, chewing loudly as she rushed to finish her meal.

Lexius took out his cross, from under his armor. The small, wooden symbol appeared hand-carved by him, if its quality was any indication.

Leianna wiped her mouth and took out her own, pulling it from a pouch. The handheld crosses were more good luck charms than anything, not blessed or magical in any way. It was a simple reminder of God, carried on each church member’s person to serve as a constant source of hope and faith.

Lexius bowed his head, cross clutched underneath his hand and held onto by both hands. Leianna followed the gesture.

“Through God and the intercession of Saint Martin, we stand firm against the work of the enemy,” Lexius said, his voice low and clear.

“We thought we may have died and been sent to the underworld for our transgressions, for we are surrounded by grinning faces of demons,” Leianna continued. The pair continued to alternate between each line.

“Even in death, even in the underworld, despite our true odds, we will never waver. Such is the burden of the faithful.”

Lexius’ eyes were squeezed tight as he brought the prayer to a close. “Guide us now, for we do the bidding of the Lord, our God. Allow us to fulfill our duty, no matter the cost. No matter the cost…”

“Amen.”

Despite having reached the end, Lexius did not rise as Leianna had.

“No matter the cost…”

The cleric looked at the priest with a notable degree of concern. “Lexius…?”

“No matter the cost…”

…

“This catastrophe was man-made! I’ve seen it for myself!” Charles stood among a group of humans, the first few militiamen who had answered the call. Several of them, in their light uniforms of cloth and wielding simple weapons, leered at him in disdain.

Though Alexander and the others had been through enough with the magician to trust him, but as he had always been told, the common folk saw him as little more than a monstrous chimera.

“What the hell do you know?!” one of the levies shouted, eliciting cries of agreement throughout the crowd.

“I recovered documents from the college! One of the wizards said himself that he did it!”

“Oh yeah?! Where’s your proof?”

Charles frowned. “I gave them to my friend, the professor. He left with the rest of the citizens in the evacuation.”

“How awfully convenient,” one of the men mused. A few voice called out in agreement once more.

“Whatever!” the dragonoid cried, throwing his hands up, “I don’t care if you believe me or not! The truth will come out on its own!”

“Yeah right. I bet YOU did it!”

“M-me?!” Charles reeled back, “Why would I do that?!”

“It’s in your blood!” Cheers erupted through the crowd at those words, the magician clutching at his shoulders defensively.

“T-that’s not true. I make my own path...my origins do not determine my future…”

“Yeah, right! Say, if you’re one of them...I wonder if you’ve got any secrets you’re hiding…?”

A few men stepped forward, their stances clearly hostile. Their eyes glinted with malicious intent, and their grin were anything but friendly.

“W-what’s this?!” Charles shouted, shaken. He backed up, nervous about where this was going.

“Why are you wearing that?” one of the men asked, reaching out for his wizard hat. Though he grabbed it, Charles threw his arm away, clutching onto the hat possessively.

“Don’t touch me! Don’t touch my things! They aren’t yours!”

The man smirked. “Are you hiding something under there, beast?”

Their approach quickened, even as the dragonoid began backpedaling.

“L-leave me alone! Stop it!”

“Show us what you’re hiding!” Several shouts rang out through the Citadel. Some from the mob of soldiers, some from citizens around the camp that saw what was happening.

Charles, focused on the approaching men, failed to notice a rock behind him. His foot slipped as he tripped over it, falling to the ground on his back. He sat up, and just as it looked like the mob was about to descend on him…

“That’s ENOUGH!”

Blinking, the fallen dragonoid looked over to the source of the bellowing voice. Sure enough, the knight was stomping over, though not in his armor. Still, he had his sword on his hip, and looked suitably authoritative enough anyway. Behind him, a few others followed, most notably Wurie.

“Causing trouble, are we?”

The knight’s demeanor seemed to shake the mob of levies out of it, many quickly backing away from Charles.

“W-we were just-”

“Harassing the people you were sent to help? Yeah, I noticed. What’s next? Gonna mug a few of the wolves? Attack the birds?”

“No,” a single voice answered meekly. The knight scowled at the group.

“Which one of you imbeciles is in command here?” He demanded. A lone soldier answered.

“Captain Howard, sir. He’s outside.”

Alexander stepped forward and grabbed the man by the neck, pulling him close. The others gasped, but didn’t interfere.

“Tell your captain to get his men under control,” he growled, voice dripping with venomous hostility, “NOW.”

“Y-yessir,” he squeaked, stumbling backwards as Alexander released him.

“Crawl on out of here, all of you. You’re not welcome.”

As the group turned to leave back through the sewers, the knight called out one last time.

“If I catch you attacking any more citizens, you’ll be hanging from his majesty’s gallows for treason!”

As the group fled, Alexander turned to Charles, still sitting on the ground. He quickly extended a hand. “You all right?”

“I-I think so.” the magician grabbed the man’s hand, letting himself be pulled to his feet with a grunt.

“Ah...thank you, Alexander.”

“Don’t worry about it. The nerve…!”

Charles smiled as he dusted himself off. “I’m thankful to have friends in such affluent stations…”

The knight grimaced. “I don’t like throwing my weight around, but in these situations I hardly have a choice.”

“What in the world was that?” Wurie asked, “They were like...common rabble! Like the thugs whose fights I had to break up back in the day!”

“That’s what happens with the army,” Alexander noted. He frowned as he looked over to the exit, hands on his hips.

“These aren’t elite soldiers of the king. These aren’t contractors or professionals. These are levies, militia and common folk. They don’t have the discipline a lifer has. Force them to stay on duty without an enemy to fight, and eventually they’ll starting picking their own fights.”

Wurie tilted his head. “Sounds like you’ve dealt with this before.”

“Comes with the territory. Command enough armies and you know the best and worst of it inside and out.”

“Still...unacceptable,” muttered Wurie. He looked deeply wounded by the proceedings.

“Captain? You okay?”

The wolfman shook his head. “It’s...nothing. Just remembering the exile.”

“Similar treatment?”

“Very.”

Alexander crossed his arms. “Things are going to change around here. I don’t know how, but they will.”

Wurie smiled despite himself. “I...appreciate the optimism. I would say I don’t believe it but...I already said that about you saving our people. I fear I’d be eating my words yet again if I said such a thing!”

The knight shrugged, a small smile at the corner of his lips. “Guess we’ll just have to see, huh? So how about…”

A shadow taking up the entire middle of the camp cause him to trail off. While the twilight wasn’t much, it was noticeable now that it was gone.

He barely had a moment to look up before a green dragon dropped down the hole and into the Citadel. Basilrin.

“They are here! The king’s men are here!”

There was a lengthy silence as the crowd looked at one another. A few citizens walked over at the dragon’s call, including the others that had been journeying together with Alexander all this time.

Looking back, the knight gave them a nod. At last, the end was here. Alexander closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“It’s time.”

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libidomechanica · 3 years ago

Text

Untitled Poem # 8654

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Right of destiny: across his loves religion

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weal and this our marriage bed, and

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painful an ending. ” Wámik answerless, and touch! The lips for a few graveyard

crossed the snow minaret on an Indian

chest;’ and thus, and between border collie and by; and gay; but go they sang to wake the moment, since, seldom save from restless dove, must make straight to flatter all, or like the weak, her propt, half- drooping, as their Hell, but he them smell ambrosial gloom the ills that moaneth bleak? all our daysleep, and guest. White and rather skim the exhausted heart with bars lest Christabel: Forehead cool. Almost close the maxim for friends in water, beside that wishes— did we have myrtle rods (at will) for to stair, no mortals, love you till it weeps

both sides I doe take my blood where are such bloody

sweats, none knew so well, bright eyes, and pampered swells with loves his war-horse trode; from underneath the sacristan shall croak thee st and and Sir Lancelot. The Doctor gloats, and the gainers such conducting you by how fully show all that all within

me wrought, from cliffand tower, there like balm enclose!

Oh! He gave Juanna a chaste flesh and bondage, the branches the meant, the

brands were warm, hed call, the nines, in looking at the mazy web she whirls, she struggle still. Deep as loving and then return, ‘ twould not sleep; the rain clings to

the bell awakened be, and having things multiplied in silken-folded her hair, first attention spent, though if I knew.’”

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #149 texts

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neo-shitty · 3 years ago

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toffee!

no dont apologise! i didnt check until just then so np :)

mmm yeah it is a bit trippy. hehe ITS TRUE THO. yeah sadly i think ur right, and tag blocking is probably a good idea. sometimes smut written well or not in excess is okay but goddamn when its abt 01 line and thats the whole fic... *silently blocks tags*

hehe i do that all the time lol this conversation is carrying on threads from a month ago :) mmm yeah ur probably right sadly, same. HA HE DIDNT HAVE A CHOICE and now i have someone to talk to abt them, so thats good! I KNOW felix was actually the one who got me into skz with his iconique gods menu line so i guess i have a soft spot for him. i always tell myself my bias is chan but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ guess im more whipped than id like to admit. mmm yeah that does make sense dw i hope they do that as well. YES king seungmin hIMSELF. GODDAMNIT DONT GET ME STARTED ON MINHO IN GODS MENU I DIDNT EVEN KNOW HE WAS PART OF THE GROUP UNTIL I STARTED GETTING MORE INTO THEM. BITCH (affectionate) THE LINE DISTRIBUTION HAS BEEN UTTER DOG SHIT but *deep breath* its better now so were moving on adn hoping it stays that way. sis same but i may or may not have gone thru a rlly depressed phase and actively sought out the elimination episodes so i could actually force some tears out of my emotionless shell of a heart but what cna you do? lmaoo i feel that irl, binnie deserves more vocal lines. yesss channies accent is rlly prominent then, i think also the way he structures his phrasing? is more english speaking than korean? but yeah i totally get what ur saying. AJKSAL lmao

okay then! im excited for whenever it gets done! (maybe tag me?) ahh the cold shrivelled heart of a dark au writer beats again at the thought of torturing another poor characters very soul (/j) :(( yeah that would suck not being able to see them. ohhh ur on the other hemisphere to me! were just going into spring rn. mmm smth to look forward to! YES you put it into words. they rlly are pretty independent from the company (remember how jyp rejected that other dudes songs after like 3 seconds and then how he was apparently nervous to show the song hed written to chan cos chan was so good at writing hits ahhh sweet revenge) mmmYES we rlly need a mute and remove notifications button for our brains dont we?

YES CORRECT i totally agree. some people jsut dont give it a try, adn assume its bad cos its korean smh racist assholes. yes! im coming up to my 6 month anniv actually! sis sAME, i feel like theyre being tugged into appealing to the western american market and theyre not staying as true to their artistic flair as a group, especially with only writing english songs atm. *sigh* ah well, at least theyre bringing recognition to the kpop world. AHUH dead on, theyre going to be discarded pretty soon and then where will bp be? theyll prob go solo paths which is rlly sad but what can you do when the company is run by a prideful asshole? yg is not going to last much longer in the big four if they keep this up.

hehe you get it. oooh very cool! whos ur ult? (sorry if youve said this before) mmmm yeah good decision, i feel liek thats probably a wise decision. this is my first album release as a kpop stan (not counting mixtape oh) so i think ill get it for sentiments sake. yeah! im excited for the new music! mingi was the one who got me into them, but atm my bias is seonghwa followed by san, wooyoung and ateez but jonghos high notes man *swoon* he, yeah atm ive got jake, jay, nikki, jungwon and sunoo down so just trying to get the rest :) heh, yeah kard i rlly only got into cos of bm, ive seen him like interacting with a lot of idols and he seemed nice so i decided to check out the group. ikr gunshot man *another swoon*

no noe! i didnt know what it was until i got it lol. thx toffee ill try and take that to mind :) yeah lol im on a waiting list thats not going to be free until late september so hopefully i can hold on until then. hope ur okay, that sounds like it sucks, hope you can find someone. maybe ill just take you along on my phone and the therapist can get a two for one patient deal lmaooo. mmm, sorry no i havent mentioned it before, i dont rlly talk abt it much. uhhh basically hypermobility? if you google it, it doesnt seem bad, jsut joint flexibility but ive got the severe end of the stick, leaning towards ehlers danlos syndrome so thats fun. basically it just makes it hard for me to exercise, run, jump, stand or just walk for long periods of time and gives me a lot of joint and muscle pain so... thats fun! but obviously so many other people have it worse than me, so i try not to complain. normally in young people it will improve as they get older, but my doctor said bc its severe in me, its unlikely to get much better. but again, i dont have the worst lot in the bunch, so its all g.

oh its good that its not the bad type of rain, a light sprinkling can be relaxing sometimes. aww thx darl, the concern is appreciated but it went pretty well and i managed not to cough too much on stage or kill myself trying to run around to the other side of the stage in the pouring rain so thats good! oooh tea buddies! my dogs a labradoodle, but shes a bit more of a feral poodle lol not much labrador in her at all, unless its her relentless urge to hunt down every bird that has ever walked this earth smh :((( hopefully they can come back on soon, does uni have dances?

ahhh a mood if i ever heard one. hopefully things will get better for you soon, ik anxiety sucks ass. ooh thats always good! when its sunny here, its always melt ur thongs to the pavement hot so the nicely cool sunny days are a lovely change. hehe impatience is not so good for you, but good for us that get to see ur beautiful theme early. ahh no worries, itll come eventually hopefully. and if not, then just things that make you not anxious are good. it doesnt have to be black or white, sometimes gray is good. mmmmm sames i have midterms this week to catch up on and then two weeks of end of terms so thats fun! i hope u can overcome that a little, heres some channie to be ur motivation https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a8LWyNjzOww. hah! i hear that all the time, he seems to be everywhere. did you see that tiktok of hans slowed back door rap, i stg it sounded EXACTLY like namjoon, it kinda scared me. also teh beginning of another day, sounds so much like joon i swear.

that reminds me! idk ur biases! i feel like this should be smth i should know so please! feel free to elaborate!

ahh im glad, i was worried it is. mmm same, so no hard feelings if either of us misses a day or smth. ill start worrying if weeks/months have gone by, but if its just a little while thats more than fine. ill just picture you studiously completing notes and i wont worry lol

<3 w.a. 🐺

at some point i really think i'm going to start blocking accounts because blocking tags won't be enough. i saw ask tags the other day and it just made me want to bleach my eyeballs.

i could talk about god's menu felix for hours man. the teaser for god's menu that featured his part on the bridge made me look forward to the mv release. you: biases chan, also you: lixiesbabyhands. yes you are more whipped than you think. i can't believe orange haired minho was given NOTHING during that era but they kind of made up for it in the b-sides. i also hope it stays that way. the distribution for this era was pretty fair.

"torturing another poor character's soul" in all honesty, i used to live for this. 2017 me leading up to early 2020 wrote nothing but angst. i have another aussie friend on twt and tbh i'm still really (O.o) about the seasons! jyp should be terrified skz could easily take over that company. heck if skz grow old and start their own company, they'd probably do a great job at running it. PLEASE. i have issues on muting/notifications both mentally and in real life. sometimes, i just wish to disappear.

some people in my country are just disgusting tbh. not only racist but homophobic too. they label kpop as 'gay' and it DISGUSTS me. it's a problematic behavior/mindset people in my country need to fucking get rid of. anyway, HELP ME 6 MONTHS??? and i've been in this shit for like a decade eye. tbh, i’m not fond of kpop groups trying to appeal to the western audience :// it feels like they’re losing their identity in a way. yes recognition but at what cost? yg has my favorite groups but that’s one shitty company when it comes to promoting.

okay my ult! it’s haechan from nct but i consider chan an ult too. like a close second above my whopping list of kpop boys. oh yes! you should get the album just for like a keepsake? remembrance? how did mingi appeal to you? omg did you start getting interested in ateez back when he was still on hiatus? NOT YOU BIASING THE SAME PEOPLE I DID WHEN I FIRST STARTED STANNING. the infamous ateez thot-line. jongho is easily one of the best fourth gen vocalists out here, no one can change my mind :( good luck with memorizing the rest of enhypen! just in time for the comeback too. i hope i’ll get into kard soon but i’m pretty content (and a tad bit overwhelmed) with the amount of groups i stan right now.

please hold on though, feel free to vent here if you like. thanks for the offer tho HAHA but like i’ll try to get checked here too when the cases die down a bit. i’m sorry to hear about your condition though :( please don’t ever overwork yourself to the point that your joints/muscles would ache. it’s completely valid to complain about it tho. i get that you have others in mind but keeping that mindset really doesn’t do you (like you internally) any better? so if you need to, vent your frustrations out and don’t keep it in.

oh my god, about your performance last sunday. was the stage out in the open? glad you didn’t cough too much and did well on your concert. i’m proud of you! i can never understand dogs and poor birds T_T uni doesn’t have dances unfortunately. i think there’s just one party at the end like a graduation ball. what year are you in anyway? if it’s something that you’re fine with sharing. if not, it’s cool.

good luck with your exams! and thanks for the link! AHA what a cutie. i think he does this motivation thing once in a while during his lives and it’s just comforting. yeah joon and han my irl just freaked when we made that discovery. ult crumbs for her. oh god not me forgetting about every biases when you asked. you can ask for my biases in a few groups just list down the one’s you’re interested in knowing.

i missed yesterday because i was grinding and finishing what if we stay + school work. finally did it today. i’m sure i’ll reply in like a day or two, definitely not a month unless i state otherwise. if i ever decide to abandon this blog, i’ll let you know.

#toff.asks #wild anon 🐺

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