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merryfortune · 3 years

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Blue since the day we parted

Written for 100ships on Dreamwidth

Prompt: #13 Blue

Ship: Ai/Shoichi/Yusaku

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS

Word Count: 1,745

Rating: T

Warnings: Choose Not to Warn

Tags: Canon Compliant, Angst with a Happy Ending, Missing Scene Fic

A tear glistened in the corner of Playmaker’s eye as he reached out into that cloudy, blue sky and touched Ai, plucking him from the digital space.

Ai convulsed inside his hand. Just an eyeball. Reconstructed, refigured, recantered and then he remembered. Playmaker’s heart lurched with worry as he cradled Ai, standing into the wind and letting it roll off him as he waited for Ai to say something. To do something. Anything. And then a tear to match the ones dripping slowly down the side of Playmaker’s face welled up on the rubber duct of Ai’s entire eyeball.

“Yusaku…?” he murmured. “Yusaku! Yusaku! My Yusaku!”

“Y-Yeah, it's me, Ai.” Playmaker beamed and Ai was happy that such a wide smile would be his first memory in this refreshed, new world.

“I thought… I thought I was a goner.” Ai mumbled, grateful to be alive but grim in his certainty that he was very much not so supposed to be alive.

“You know me,” Playmaker shrugged, “once I decide something, it becomes my purpose. Be it for three months or ten years, I just get absorbed in that one singular desire. Looking for you, piecing you back together, that was my one desire this time.”

“And I bet it was just as destructive for you than if was just plain ol’ revenge.” Ai replied.

Playmaker didn’t have a verbal response to that but the guilty look on his face spoke volumes. Ai nodded in his hands, moving himself up and down against Playmaker’s palms.

“I thought as much.” Ai mumbled. “You never really change and yet…?”

It, too, was written all over Playmaker’s face just as much as the guilt of having pushed aside so many of his connections just so he could reconnect to this one. Playmaker found it worth it though. Unbelievably worth it. He kept smiling, even if his initial grin had shrunken in on itself and steeped with guilt.

“I can’t help it, your right,” Playmaker replied, murmuring, “Ai means to love people but I feel like I can only do it when I have…”

“Ai?” Ai piped up hopefully.

“Yeah, exactly.” Playmaker told him.

“Oh, you incorrigible…!” Ai complained and he seemed rather cranky in Playmaker’s hands now, frowning and pouting but then he let up on it. “I love you, too. Thank you for bringing me back, for having hope.”

“My pleasure.” Playmaker replied.

“So, what now?” asked Ai. “Am I going to be stuck like this forever? My handsome visages? Gone, perished, truly a fate worse than death.”

“I’ve got that all figured out,” Playmaker assured Ai, “So let’s log-out.” He shifted slightly and an admittance followed, “There’s someone else I really want back now, though, as well. Its kind of co-linked to getting your body back, too.”

Ai had a sneaking suspicion that he knew what that meant so he perked up immediately, “Let’s get to it then, Playmaker! Seize the wind, already!”

Playmaker laughed and it was such a lovely sound to Ai. It was unrehearsed and croaky but it was laughter nonetheless. They logged out together shortly afterwards. A cavalcade of pale blue data turning into sparkling shards of data before disappearing entirely.

When they resurfaced, the location was not where Ai expected. He was still in the palm of Yusaku’s hands as he ventured out of a dark niche where his Link VRAINS rig was set up. It was familiar but it wasn’t home - or at least Yusaku’s apartment, even if it had never really felt like home until the end, when it was more about the emotions imbued in the walls than the walls themselves.

Looking around, the first thing Ai saw, through the guards of Yusaku’s fingers, was the ocean. It was about midday, early afternoon, and the ocean was sparkling. It was a rich azure through the silver railing and the framing of the huge doorway into this building that Yusaku had made his next hovel. Ai realised where they were; they were at the site of their final showdown, if not a warehouse or two either.

Ai wriggled in Yusaku’s hands so he could look up to him, “What happened to the apartment?” he asked. “Wh-Where’s Roboppy’s shell?”

“Somewhere safe, don’t worry,” Yusaku replied and then he shrugged, his gaze grew distant, “I’m not sure what happened to the apartment. Landlord never tried to contact me when I bailed, I left behind whatever I couldn’t bring with me so I could stay here. It was easier than trying to move all your stockpiles there. Mightn’t be the most luxurious of places but its quiet here.”

“Yeah, nothing more soothing than the sounds of construction.” Ai complained because he knew, for one, that he could hear the sound of jackhammers somewhere along the industrial pier.

“Okay, serene.” Yusaku corrected himself.

“But if there’s people around… how are you…?” Ai’s voice trailed off.

“It’s not easy but I’ve managed alright to hide out undetected. I think the workers enjoy having a ghost around. So long as it doesn’t touch anything important, they don’t care if some electricity is pilfered.” Yusaku said but he brightened up, returned his gaze to Ai. “But now that we’re together again, let’s try and find somewhere really nice to live, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Ai excitedly replied.

“So let’s get you into your not-meat suit.” Yusaku said. “I don’t have all the means to give you back your Ignis body but take your pick of SOLtiS bodies.”

Yusaku drifted through the vast, freezing warehouse like it was his home, showing Ai to one of the many stashes of cold, lifeless bodies that belonged to them. As eerie as it was to have so many empty SOLtiS androids around, Ai jumped into one enthusiastically. He wormed and wriggled his way into their shell and the eyeball became a beating heart. Yusaku watched, breathless, as a dressed and ready Ai appeared before him in the form of his dashing persona as a human.

Whilst Ai may have been groggy and vague at first upon revival, he was really in the swing of things now as he popped up on his two legs like he was born to walk. Yusaku smiled gently whilst Ai stretched out all his nuts and bolts, making sure his limbs hadn’t rusted and got as close to limber as a robot could be and at the very end, made a very satisfied sigh.

“Alright, what’s next?” Ai asked.

“I think you know,” Yusaku said and though his heart thudded in his chest, a beg not to, he reached out to take Ai’s hand, “let’s go.”

“Of course, partner.” Ai replied affectionately.

Their fingers intertwined and linked together and then they were off with the wind. Not forever, obviously, Yusaku wanted to circle back later to grab Roboppy and a few other things that would be difficult to replace retroactively but for now, he and Ai were really putting the blues of the warehouse behind them both. And they both knew where they were headed on the interim, following the winding, concrete paths that allied themselves with the ocean so down below at the base of the steep cliffs here.

When they arrived where they wanted to go, they still arrived looking like they ought to be dead. A corpse and a ghost: neither sure which was which but it was worth it.

Cafe Nagi’s van was set up to the side of the Stardust Road. The last of the lunch time rush customers were trickling in and out, a waiter with a fluffy ponytail darting around them, fetching them refreshments and the like who paused to stare, puzzled, as his brother abandoned his post behind the grill.

Yusaku smiled, tears in his eyes again that turned his smile creaky and all the more sincere, “Hey Kusanagi,” he said as Shoichi rushed towards him and Ai with a disbelieving smile, “I-I’ve missed you.”

Before Yusaku knew it, he was swept up in a big bear hug from Shoichi. His arms surged around Yusaku’s scrawny frame and were so warm, Yusaku couldn’t have been more thankful for it. He buried his wet face into Shoichi’s chest and wrapped his arms around Shoichi’s waist. He felt so cared for as Shoichi’s hand cradled the back of his head, his fingers in his blue hair - and Ai, Ai was involving himself in this hug one way or another, too. Trying to reach both Yusaku and Shoichi but Shoichi was hogging Yusaku but Ai didn’t mind.

“Never - and I mean never - do that to me again.” Shoichi growled. He was angry and sad and happy and relieved all at once. All that really broke through the barrage of emotions that he felt was love.

“I promise.” Yusaku replied. He hugged back tighter. “I absolutely promise, I - I don’t want to be separated from you or Ai ever again, both of you are my precious partners.”

“I believe you, Yusaku.” Shoichi consoled him. His head shifted to the left slightly, “And I mean it, Ai, I’m glad to see your back as well. I don’t want you running off either.”

“It’s good to see you again, too, hot dog man.” Ai mumbled very fondly and with something of a tint of sadness. “And trust me,” he added, “there’s nowhere I’d rather be right now with you two.”

“Same.” Yusaku mumbled.

“I’m glad,” Shoichi replied softly and though he didn’t want to, he loosened his embrace of Yusaku so he could see his face properly, his cheeks were red and he looked dishevelled, there were bags under his eyes, “Yusaku? Ai?” Shoichi murmured.

“Yeah?” Yusaku mumbled.

Shoichi tilted his head to the side slightly, “Do you want to come live with me?” he asked. “Me and Jin?”

“I’d love to.” Yusaku replied.

“Me too.” Ai added on.

Yusaku hugged Shoichi again. He couldn’t wait to move in with Shoichi and together they could get Ai his little Ignis body back too. It was all happening and Yusaku couldn’t be happier. He had been so depressed and angry since Ai died. Everything else became a blur to him. Lifeless, miserable. He didn’t want that anymore or ever again. So, he was determined to never let go of either Ai or Shoichi ever again and then, like an armory, the legendary spear and shield to pierce and protect and their tentacle monster too, they could go forward and progress. Reconnect and co-link. That’s all Yusaku wanted.

#100ships challenge #writing tag #aiballshipping #hotdogshipping #ai x shoichi x yusaku #mascotshipping #ai x yusaku x shoichi #yugioh vrains #vrains #yugioh #yusaku fujiki #ai (vrains)#kusanagi shoichi #shoichi kusanagi #fujiki yusaku

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peglarpapers · 5 years

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Sarah Steel, harried and distracted and dragging both her feet and her children, drops Benzaiten Steel at his first dance lesson when he is three and a half years old and forgets to pick him up for two hours afterwards. Juno is there too, of course, but since he bruises his knee partway through and spends most of his time sitting against the wall sniffling Ben counts the dance lesson only as his. He furrows his brow and copies the teacher’s moves as well as his little limbs can and, for once, doesn’t fidget or yell or get into any mischief at all. He’s just as well-behaved when the worried receptionist tasked with minding the twins when their mother doesn’t arrive at the end of the forty-minute lesson sits them both down, wedged in the corner of the mirrored walls of the ballet studio, as she makes call after unanswered call to Sarah Steel’s comms. When Juno tries, time and again, to get up and explore the old studio building to hunt for ghosts or check for secret passages, Ben tugs him back down by his right hand with a breathless ‘watch, Juno’.

Because the dancers in front of him are magic.

They must be, Benzaiten reasons, because even though they’re much more grown-up then he and Juno are he’s never seen any adults do things like this before. There is a boy who jumps so high that Ben has to crane his neck to watch from where he sits cross-legged, and a girl who swings another dancer over her head like he weighs nothing. Another girl throws her leg out and spins so many times that even Ben, who can count to fifteen which is five higher than Juno can, makes himself dizzy trying to count. When Sarah Steel arrives, heels clicking angrily on the polished hardwood floors of the foyer, yelling at the receptionist to fucking call her next time, she was working, how was she supposed to know the lesson was so fucking short, Ben lingers in the doorway to the ballet studio even as Juno throws his arm around their mother’s legs and squeezes tight, watching the magicians dance.

Sarah was entirely ready to badmouth the Halcyon Ballet Academy for the rest of her life and spend a few more creds on her rotating cast of babysitters, but after a stream of excited babbling from Ben and pestering from Juno after Ben promises to give him sole custody of the next toy their mother brings home, she keeps up paying for lessons, and is usually only late by twenty minutes or so remembering to collect them. Benzaiten cherishes those once-a-week lessons, and while Juno steals snacks out of the other kids’ bags and on one memorable occasion floods the bathrooms after trying to see how hard he can kick the water cooler, Ben mouths the names of the moves the instructor shows them and tries to copy the twirls and tiptoes of the older students without falling over too many times. The nice receptionist learns to tell the twins apart almost every time and calls him ‘Benten’ affectionately when she ruffles his hair.

When Ben runs out of Sarah Steel’s office and to the safest place he can think of, it is the nice receptionist who finds him crying on the doorstep of the studio and brings him home, hand in hand.

They move to Oldtown a few weeks later, and he never sees her, or Halcyon Dance Studio, again.

~~~

After Sarah gets… bad, the Steel twins very quickly realise that if they want things other than bare essentials (and sometimes those, too, depending on the month) they’re going to have to get them themselves. For Juno, this means shoplifting Andromeda dolls from Oldtown’s one tiny, well-defended toy store (he gives Ben a Draco figurine for their eighth birthday, with the roaring voice box removed so it wouldn’t bother Sarah) and getting paid pocket change after starting a lunchtime fight club with Mick Mercury. For Benzaiten, it means developing the galaxy’s best smile, and it is while flashing this charming, lopsided grin to a very nice elderly couple as he slips his hand into their pockets methodically in search of interesting things to pilfer that he hears the music.

Benten hasn’t heard music like this in a long time- the only songs he knows by heart are the ones he hears in commercials running on their fuzzy monitor at home- and it surprises him enough that he jerks abruptly away from the old man bending down to pinch his cheek, the creds clutched in his fist spilling out of his fingers and clattering loudly on the slick street. Before the very nice elderly couple can realise that the earnest little boy asking if they’d seen his mother was robbing them blind, Ben is running in the direction of the music.

He’s not in Oldtown anymore- he’d snuck on a bus this morning and gone a district over to Stitch, slightly less decrepit and with slightly more to steal. The downside to his master plan to collect all the riches Hyperion City had to offer was that he didn’t actually know where he was going. This fact hit him three unfamiliar blocks away from the scene of his near-perfect crime, and dissolved instantly the second he saw the dancers.

Benzaiten remembered vaguely that his long-ago dance lessons had been in ballet- some kind of old-Earth style, graceful and smooth and set to strange, ancient music. Whatever these dancers are doing, it’s not that- there’s an old comms hooked up to a speaker on the sidewalk blasting a neopop song so loudly Ben can feel it pounding in the tips of his fingers, and somebody’s battered cap lying haphazardly in front of it with a small pool of creds inside. It’s a far cry from bright lights and waxed floors, but he’s no less entranced by the six- no, seven- teenagers who slide and spin and one of them bends all the way backwards and flips back up again he thought they could only do that in movies- and suddenly, as usual when anything fun starts happening, the cops arrive.

Out of habit borne of bearing witness to many a fight (especially those started by his twin) Benten slips into the closest nook he can find- a narrow, sticky alleyway, which exist everywhere in Hyperion City no matter how nice the district is- and peeks out silently as a gangly HCPD officer waves a blaster after the laughing group of dancers, who have packed up and run quickly enough that this can’t be their first run-in with the cops. Ben waits, back against the damp wall, until the angry yells fade, then dashes in the direction of the faint, still-playing music.

These dancers have a studio too.

Ben almost didn’t expect it, not with how at home they all seemed to be on their stage of scuffed shoes and chewing-gum pavement. But there it is- an old warehouse, with grubby carbon-fibre walls and a section of the roof covered by cheap blue tarps. He watches as the teenagers scurry in, whooping and laughing and elbowing each other, music changed now to something quieter but no less energetic, and makes a very big decision very quickly. He memorises the street names on either side of the corner the studio is on, takes a deep breath, and turns to find the closest bus station.

Three weeks later, Benzaiten Steel stands at the open door of Stitch Dance Studios with resolve burning in his small face and weight bulging in his small pockets. When he marches inside, his footsteps echo with a vigour that can only be conjured by a very determined nine-year-old with a very big dream. He scans the room for an appropriate judge to whom he can plead his case, and finds one in the single biggest person he had ever seen sitting at a table, staring straight at him. Ben reaches into his pockets, and the resulting clatter of cash against the plastic of the desk is almost deafening- all four hundred and nineteen creds that Ben and Juno were able to scrounge from odd jobs and odd thefts and one nerve-wracking heist of Sarah Steel’s wallet after payday.

Benzaiten flashes the person at the desk the galaxy’s best smile, and asks for however many lessons four hundred and nineteen creds will buy him.

~~~

There is a run-down building in the heart of Oldtown.

Actually, there are many, many run-down buildings in the centre, middle and outskirts of Oldtown, but none of those buildings matter to Benten because none of those buildings are going to be the Steel School of Dance like this one is.

He has a vision. He’s going to buy the place off the city, renovate it within an inch of its life, hang all the awards its students are going to win along the wall of the lobby right next to the enormous trophy cases they’re going to need, stud the walls of every studio with speakers blasting every kind of music you can think of, hang polished mirrors from floor to ceiling and install barres made from real Earth wood. Then after he’s made a fortune and revolutionised the Solar system’s conceptions of what it means to be a dancer, he’s going to buy Mom a house and a therapist back in Halcyon Park and Juno a commissioner’s position in the HCPD and nobody will never have to deal with any bullshit ever again.

Benten knows all of this for sure, because he’s already halfway there. He’s close to what he needs for a lease on the place, and if he cuts back on groceries just a little more he should be able to start cleaning it up properly in a year or two. Staying with Mom had not been… fantastic, but it had kept him from paying exorbitant rent and, more importantly, kept him close to Stitch and to teaching to pay off his own classes. Teaching, working, odd jobs, the occasional minor felony… they added up. He was tired, but they were adding up.

God, he was tired.

As soon as he found the energy to stand up, to climb down from the roof of the dilapidated building that would become the Steel School of Dance, to go home and try not to snap at Sarah for one more night, he would get back to work. But right now? Benzaiten Steel watches the reddish Martian sunset, dimmed behind the pearlescent sheen of the dome that protects Hyperion City, and allows himself to dream for a little longer.

#the penumbra podcast #tpp #juno steel #benzaiten steel #alex's fics #listen i love benten with every fibre of my being and i wanted to try to do him justice #this fic has absolutely not done that but hey it's made me happy

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mybunnyparadenme · 4 years

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(This is my edgy blog btw) Ship: bunny duh Prompts: 3, 11, and 12 I couldn’t choose so you can pick one if you don’t want to do them all!

Sorry it took me so long! I managed to combine all three prompts and here’s the result! Hope you like it~

#2 Things you said too quietly/#11 Things you said when you were drunk/#12 things you said when you thought i was asleep

Kenny couldn't think of a better way to spend a Friday night. He and Butters were hanging out in Butters' bedroom, listening to sugary sweet pop music and drinking McDonald's iced coffees that Kenny had picked up on the way over. They weren't drinking just any iced coffee though. Butters had nicked a bottle of Kahlua from his parent's liquor cabinet, and the two of them had been adding it into their coffees all night. Kenny already had a good buzz going, and Butters had just gone past that judging by how loud he was talking.

"You can't hog it all, Ken!" Butters pouted, reaching for the bottle with grabby hands. "Give it here!"

"Dude you've had more than me by now." Kenny said, laughing when Butters pouted even harder. He handed it over easily though, Butters deserved a night to let as loose as he wanted.

Instead of pouring more into his drink, Butters brought it straight to his lips and swallowed down several mouthfuls before he pulled it back with a grimace. "Oh that's strong!"

"You should've mixed it with your coffee!"

"It's pretty much all Kahlua at this point." Butters said, swishing around the contents in his half empty cup. It was much darker now than when Kenny had presented it to him. He looked up and gave Kenny a wild grin. "Besides, I can handle it. Waterin' it down is for pussies!

Kenny laughed again, the full kind of laugh that only happened when you were drunk enough that every little thing became the funniest thing you ever heard. He was so glad Stephen and Linda were going to be gone until tomorrow afternoon. The two of them could enjoy this time without having to worry about getting caught with pilfered liquor. Speaking of being caught though... "Okay, so how grounded do you think you'd be if your parents walked in right now?"

"Um." Butters paused, looking worried for a split second downing the remainder of his drink. He shook his head and raised his fist in the air with a shout, "I don't know and I don't care! You're looking at a guy who doesn't give a fuck about getting grounded!"

"Holy shit, drunk you is a badass." Kenny said, a slow smile forming on his face. He felt more attracted to Butters in this moment than he ever had before, but then again being attracted to Butters wasn't really new to him. Still, he couldn't deny Butters saying he didn't care about getting grounded was really fucking hot. He grabbed the bottle of Kahlua, hoping a strong shot would clear his thoughts, and found that it was almost empty. "Damn, we almost finished the whole thing, Butters. We're gonna have to fill it up with something before your folks come back."

"Do we have to?" Butters asked, his eyebrows furrowing together. "They get enough from me already, fuck them and fuck their booze!"

"Hell yeah, fuck those tyrants!" Kenny said, but mentally he told himself to brew some coffee and vodka together later. As much as he loved this new side of Butters, there was no way he was letting Butters get grounded into oblivion over one night of fun.

"And if they try anything we could run away together!" Butters said, looking excited now. His eyes were bright and dreamy. "That would really show 'em. Ooh, we could really piss them off and leave a note sayin' we went to Vegas and are getting married!"

"Huh?!" Kenny had been about to tip the rest of his iced coffee into his mouth, but hearing that last bit shocked him so much he ended up spilling it all over his sweater.

Like a light switch flicking off, Butters' bravado fell away into concern. "Oh no, I'm sorry for getting so carried away and startlin' you Kenny! We gotta get that sweater in the wash before the stain sets in."

"It's... it's not that bad." Kenny murmured, hoping the heat rising to his cheeks looked more like a drunken flush. "I can just rinse it off in the sink when I go home."

"And catch your death of cold? Uh-uh, we're getting that cleaned right away. Give it here." Butters leaned over and started to lift it off of Kenny's body.

It took his alcohol addled brain a minute to realize that Butters was actually undressing him right now. Kenny couldn't help the long 'nice' that went through his mind as the sweater went over his head, but immediately afterwards their eyes locked and the full awkwardness of the situation finally hit them. Kenny's arms were over his head and tangled up in his sweater's sleeves, Butters' nose an inch away from his. He was close enough to a kiss...

"Oh sweet Mary." Butters breathed as he pulled back, his cheeks blazing. "I-I'm sorry, I shouldn't've done that."

"No big deal!" Kenny quickly reassured him, his heart was slamming against his ribcage. He slipped his sweater the rest of the way off and held it out in front of him, keeping his eyes locked on the ground. "Here."

"Thank you!" Butters squeaked, standing up way too fast. He swayed on his feet, but managed to stay upright. "Y-You can go ahead and grab one of my shirts while I get this washed okay?"

"Okay, I will. Thanks." Kenny said, standing up awkwardly. He felt so exposed without his sweater, goosebumps rising all over his arms. He could feel Butters eyes on him even without looking up.

"I'll be back soon!" Butters said before bolting out of the room.

Kenny let himself wallow in embarrassment for a few seconds, but then the cold got to him and he made his way over to the dresser on the other side of the room. He picked the first long-sleeved shirt on, a pale green one that smelled like citrus detergent. His heart skipped a beat when he recognized it as the scent that always seemed to cling to Butters' skin. He brought the sleeve up to his nose and inhaled deeply, then buried his face in his hands when he realized what he was doing. The alcohol, he blamed this on the alcohol.

A few minutes later Butters came back into the room, still looking a little flustered. "O-Okay, it'll be ready in a little while."

"Cool." Kenny said from his spot on the bed. The tension was still thick between them, and it was high time they brought the mood back to what it was before. He put on an exaggerated grin and casually asked, "So what'd you think of my tiddies? They were pretty great right?"

"Oh my god!" Butters giggled, all of his nervousness fading away as he laughed. He let himself sink onto the bed next to Kenny, their shoulders brushing casually. "My honest opinion? They were a little flat for my tastes.

"You wound me, Butters." Kenny sighed, placing a hand over his heart dramatically.

"But I thought your freckles were neat. I never realized these were an all-over thing." Butters said, tapping the tip of Kenny's nose.

"Yeah, they... they're usually hidden underneath my clothes." Kenny said, his heart leaping at that easy touch. He hoped it wasn't just the Kahlua making him do that.

"You should show them off more often." Butters smiled at him. He said the next part softly, almost too low to hear. "They're really cute on you."

Cute? Butters thought he was cute? Kenny chewed the inside of his cheek, fighting back the smile that was threatening to give away how happy hearing that made him. Holy shit, Butters Stotch thought he was cute!

"I feel like dancin', don't you Ken?" Butters asked, as he rose to his feet again. He moved over to his nightstand where his phone was still playing pop songs. "Pick something fun for us to dance to!"

"Uhhhh, play some Katy Perry!" Kenny blurted out as he stood up too. "The earlier the better!"

"Got it!"

A minute later the two of them were belting out lyrics about getting hitched in Vegas, laughing and jumping around so much that Kenny was sure the floor was going to collapse underneath them. The room was spinning and the Kahlua and coffee mixture was sloshing around in his stomach, but Kenny felt better than he had in a while just being here with Butters. He always felt better when they were together.

They danced for half a dozen songs, shouting gibberish when they forgot the lyrics or just plain didn't know them in the first place. They were out of breath by the time they shut the music off and fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, giggling from both exhaustion and the alcohol still coursing through their bodies. Butters had a smile so wide his cheeks had to hurt.

"That was a lot of fun, Kenny." Butters said, reaching up to brush Kenny's hair from his sweaty forehead. His eyes were shining. "Thanks for coming over today."

"Thanks for inviting me." Kenny said, leaning into the touch with a sigh. "Hanging out with you is the best."

"Yeah?" Butters closed his eyes, a sleepy smile forming on his face. "I feel the same. You're my best friend, you know."

Had he known that? Kenny thought back to all the time they spent together, just the two of them. They were close definitely but... best friends? God that was freaking profound. Was that just the alcohol talking? Would Butters even remember saying it in the morning? God he wanted Butters to remember this.

"Butters do you-" He started, only to cut himself off when he saw that Butters' eyes were closed, his breathing even like he was fast asleep. He reached up and waved his hand in front of his face, holding his breath until Butters' eyes fluttered open.

"Mm? What is it, Ken?" Butters murmured, his eyes soft with slowly fading consciousness.

"You meant it right?" Kenny swallowed down the nervousness from earlier that threatened to steal his words away. God his eyes were the palest shade of blue. He wanted to tell Butters how beautiful they looked.

It was silent for a moment, long enough for Kenny to worry that Butters had fallen asleep with his eyes open, but then he reached up and patted his cheek softly. "'Course I meant it. You're my sunshine guy."

Kenny wanted to melt into this moment. Butters' fingers were warm on his heated face, and surprisingly rough with callouses. Probably from all the chores his parents had him do, but it was comforting all the same. Butters eyes drifted shut, and without the eye contact Kenny felt brave enough to reach up and place his own hand on top of his. He could feel his whole body relax as this quiet moment stretched on, and sleep started to overtake his consciousness. Just before he drifted off, he let himself murmur, "You're my best friend too Butters... light of my life. I love you so much."

He was asleep before he could hear the soft gasp that followed his confession.

#south park #sp bunny #bunny sp #butters stotch #kenny mccormick #my fics #south park fic #answered #promptfic

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incoherentbabblings · 4 years

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An Endless Hope (1/9)

After a horrendous blizzard falls over Gotham, Tim undergoes a sharp change in character before disappearing. Upon discovering what has become of him, Stephanie sets off on a solo journey in a magic realm to bring him home, meeting some faces which seems awfully familiar along the way.

New fic time! Archive Of Our Own Link Click Click!

“Can’t believe he’s gonna be forty-five.”

“I know, right?”

“Bruce’ll be an old man soon.”

Tim tutted, herding Stephanie down an aisle with the metal cart he was pushing. “Don’t tell him that.”

Stephanie scoffed. “What? Has he got a younger clone of himself in a giant egg somewhere ready to pop when someone utters those words?”

Tim stopped pushing the cart, turned ninety degrees, and gave Steph an indescribable look.

“I was being sarcastic, Tim.”

Tim said nothing, then slowly rotated back to push the empty cart, Stephanie trailing behind.

They’d gone to the garden centre because Stephanie was willing to look everywhere and anywhere for inspiration for Bruce’s upcoming birthday. Tim, ever dutiful, followed along. It was a rubbish time of year to go to a garden centre – late January – as the entire place was filled with on sale Christmas decorations and half dead flowers that would no doubt complete their journey to the grave if buried in the frigid soil. The poor choice of plants was reflected in the number of customers, of which there were maybe three others trailing up and down the greenhouse aisles.

“I guess that’s not fair,” Stephanie continued to voice to the relative silence, only the distant tinny music and the dodgy wheel squeaking as they rolled along filled the lulls in conversation. “That would make Alfred positively decrepit.”

“And that he is not.” Tim said very firmly.

“No…Oooh?” Stephanie became distracted. “Oh, Tim look at these!”

Heaving the cart round the corner after her with an almighty sigh, he found her standing next to small potted flowering plants. Stephanie was pilfering through them, looking for particular colours.

Tim peered at one of the little cards slotted in the soil and chortled.

“Roses? Really? Steph I’m not sure roses are gonna cut it for Bruce’s forty-fifth.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that you big baboon—”

“’Scuse you.”

“– I’m looking at these for us, not him.”

Tim gazed at Stephanie. Stephanie, in her bright blue hand knitted beanie that she had made for herself over the Christmas break to distract from finals. Stephanie, in an oversized fluorescent plastic jacket (the kind that belonged in an early episode of Power Rangers) that somehow managed to make her look twice as wide than she truly was. Stephanie, with her flushed cheeks from the cold and little pearly teeth showing off in a big grin, golden hair bunched up into two pigtails that fell down her back.

Tim couldn’t help it; he melted a little at the sight of her.

“You’re staring.” She murmured, not looking away from her task.

Tim sucked on his teeth. “Maybe I want to. That allowed?”

“Sure. You have my permission.”

“Gracious.”

Tim pecked her on the cheek, causing Stephanie to laugh like a snorting pig. With a little happy noise, she found the two plants she wanted. One lilac and one deep red bunch. They didn’t look like ordinary roses to Tim, not like the kind you would pick up from a convenience store in a small bundle for an anniversary. No, these roses were flatter and broader, and he could see a number of buds on both sets of plants.

“I want these.” Stephanie said. “Help me pick two nice boxes to put them in?”

“Do we have space on the windowsill?”

They didn’t have a garden. Not truly. Though Tim’s apartment did allow roof access, it was not really the place to be growing a little garden. They also didn’t really have a balcony to fill with plant pots. Places for greenery were limited in their home.

“They’ll fit.”

Tim nodded, and she sat them down in the cart. A moments silence passed, and she pouted.

Sighing, Tim breathed, “What is it?”

“Ask me why I want them.”

Nodding with his entire torso, Tim moved off, heading towards glazed plant pots and boxes.

“Why do you want them?”

“’Cause they’re pretty.” She skipped after him and saw as he ran his tongue along his teeth, amused at her glib nature. “Aaaaaand, I wanna do an experiment.”

“Experiment?”

“Yes. I gathered you like those.”

“Steph.” His tone was a gentle warning.

“’Kay, ‘kay. Sorry. I just thought…” She paused, tapping her nails against a terra cotta pot. The sound was nice to listen to. “Well, you know how people say you should live together before you get married? To make sure you can actually stand being around each other twenty-four-seven?”

Tim clenched his jaw and nodded. “Yes?”

Stephanie said nothing, gnawing her lip. Tim tried to comfort her, to reassure her, by smiling, but even he felt it come across more like a grimace. Setting the empty pot back down, Steph leaned over and selected two narrow glazed boxes, ones long and slim enough to slot on their windowsill.

“It’s the same with kids. You gotta do a test run first. A proper test run. And I don’t mean what I did when I was fifteen.” She laughed uncomfortably, then looked very sad. Tim went to grab her hand, but she snatched it back and snorted, bravado back in place. “It’s a challenge. We can’t have a kid until we can keep a pet –”

Tim couldn’t help it, he finally butt in, exclaiming, “Who said we’re having children?”

But Stephanie soldiered on, “—And we can’t keep a pet until we can look after a plant. Both of us.”

“I… I’m nineteen Steph. We can get a plant in ten years or so.”

Weird conversation.

Stephanie sighed, setting the plant pots in the cart. “I feel old. Much older than twenty sometimes.”

“We’ve been through more than what some people experience in a lifetime.”

She patted his cheek. “I guess so.”

“You can still be a kid.” Tim said later as they loaded up his car. No luck with finding anything for Bruce, but at least their living room windowsill would look nice. “There’s no timeline for this kind of stuff. Well, in your own head at least… society may side eye it but honestly –”

Stephanie slapped the trunk down with a loud slap and changed the subject. “I’ll think of something else. Don’t suppose he’d want a scarf or anything?”

“If you made him one Steph, I’d think he’d like that.”

“Huh.” They both got in the car, Tim in the driver’s seat, Stephanie googling nearby craft stores. “There’s a thought. I can pick up some nice wool round campus on Monday.”

Tim paused after he lit the ignition, eyebrows furrowed in thought. A moment passed, then he turned the car back off, and rotated to look Stephanie in the eye. Warily, she watched him.

“You mean it,” He asked, “about the whole plant thing?”

She growled, growing defensive. “I want to look after something and do it well. Sue me that it’s just starting off with a plant.”

“No, no. I get that. I mean do you not feel like a kid anymore?”

The bubbling anger melted away, and she cooed sympathetically. “Do you?”

“Did I ever?” Huffing, he tapped the steering wheel, then he looked distinctly guilt ridden. “No. That’s not fair. I did. Especially compared to you.”

“My childhood was mediocrely bad, Tim, but I did have one.” She tugged his earlobe. Tim frowned at her downplaying her pain, as always. It was impossible to get her to be serious about herself nowadays. Tim’s pain she took seriously. Cassandra’s pain she took seriously. Damian’s pain she took seriously. Her own pain though… “No comparing hurt. How does that help you or me?”

“I know, I know,” He conceded. Then he was silent, musing something still.

Stephanie’s hand moved from his ear to his jaw, cradling it. Lowering her tone, she asked,

“Where’s your head taken you?”

“I’m gonna be twenty this July.”

“Mhhmm! It’s a big one. The end of your teenage years.”

“I just… don’t know if we’ve got to do everything we should have done. I mean, so much of our adolescence was taken up with…” He trailed off. “And what makes an adult an adult anyway? I mean, look at Bruce.”

“I try not to.”

Tim actually giggled. “I just mean, he has the emotional maturity of a ten-year-old.” A sudden idea came to Tim, and he perked up in his usual manner once hit by his clever notions. “Hey, how about we travel over the summer?”

“What?”

Tim started the car back up and began the drive to his apartment on Park Row.

“It’s your final year at college, and you’ll be turning twenty-one in August. I’ve got my twentieth in July. Let’s do one last hurrah. Go to Disneyland.”

As they exited the parking lot Stephanie burst out laughing.

“Is that what childhood is? A trip to Disneyland?”

“No!” He exclaimed, face red. “No, that’s not what I meant… I just mean… I just mean…”

“Be selfish for a while. Forget all those responsibilities for a few weeks?”

“Yeah. You deserve that.” Breathing a sigh of relief, he smiled. Stephanie had a knack for cutting through to the bone of an issue. She understood what he was trying to say.

“So do you.” She smiled and tapped his cheek fondly, then settled in for the drive.

They got stuck for twenty minutes trying to cross from one island to another, but it didn’t bother either of them. Stephanie playfully being bad at singing at whatever nineteen eighties anthem came on over the radio. Tim knew she was just playing. She was as good a singer as she was a pianist – unpractised and a little clumsy – but it caused Tim to stop and watch every time. Her screeching to Take on Me was not her best effort, but it made Tim smile all the same.

She snatched the keys and rushed inside when they got back, leaving Tim to trundle behind her, balancing pots and flowers in his arms.

“I seriously have to look after this plant?” He moaned. With a grunt he got down on the floor by the window, setting everything out in place.

“Yes,” muttered Stephanie, throwing towels on the floor and reading instructions online of how to transfer plants from pot to pot. She had thought ahead – for once – and realised that maybe flinging dirt around would damage the living room rug.

Stephanie had moved into his apartment last August, about four months after they had returned to being a couple. For honest and goodness for real this time.

Dick and Babs had made many a teasing (but fond) comment. Cassandra and Duke had been happy, but largely unaffected by the decision. Damian had not been impressed. Jason really didn’t care.

Bruce had said nothing, which was somehow more worrying than his usual disapproving grunts.

So they had, for the most part, been left to it. Stephanie had swiftly turned the apartment (and the Nest) into as much her space as Tim’s. He didn’t mind, as she had a knack for clutter which made the town house feel less like a base and more like a home. Nothing made him feel more happy than coming home from Wayne Enterprises to see Steph sat on the floor, battered laptop on the coffee table, highlighted pages and mugs scattered everywhere, as she screwed up her face trying to write another essay on John Locke and Jean Jacques Rousseau’s theories on social contracts. The normality was an anchor, one he had so desperately needed in recent years.

Stephanie, meanwhile, had relished the chance to have her own space. To leave her mother had been hard, harder than she had realised at first, but it wasn’t like she wasn’t on the phone with her twice a week, and still compelled to attend scrabble night every Friday (Tim semi reluctantly in tow occasionally). She just hadn’t realised how difficult it would be to leave again. Even if it was, this time, under totally normal circumstances. Every kid has to move out, right? And it’s not like she’d never see her mother again, right? Stephanie’s mother was an adult, she could take care of herself. Steph wasn’t needed to watch her night and day.

But still, there were days when she craved her mother’s morning waffles, or warm shaky hugs.

Tim was a pretty good substitute though.

Speaking of, Tim crawled over to her, snuggle bug that he was, not so subtly looking for affection. He grabbed one of her pigtails and tugged the elastic off so he could braid her hair. She really had let it grow to a ridiculous length, long enough for Bruce and Babs both to chide her. One day it would get caught, or someone would grab it, or it would catch fire or something. The honest reason for letting it grow was…well it was embarrassing and shallow.

Steph sat quietly, letting Tim very carefully and methodically Dutch braid her hair, as she read. Even now, after several months reunited, she could tell he was still testing boundaries. Not just with what she was comfortable with, but also himself. Casual intimacy. Frightening stuff. Well, maybe for him. Steph adored the attention and giving attention in return. Tim’s affections were not to be tolerated, or even endured. They were something to enjoy and indulge in. They were something to grow obsessively fond over, especially after the dry spell of their late teen years. She had got it back and was not going to let it go again so easily.

So, she let him hold her hand whenever he reached for it. She let him lean against her during long hours of stakeout during patrol. She let him kiss her whenever he wanted. She wanted it too. Constantly. Like she was playing catch up with the last three years.

Tim finished one braid then shuffled around so he could start the second. Stephanie sat still until he finished his task, then signalled for him to pay attention as she moved her lilac roses into their new home. He observed carefully, as Tim never half-assed anything, then he cautiously began to pack fresh soil into his glazed box. Stephanie watched him and his concentrated face. Furrowed brows, chewed lips, unsure but steady fingers. Very slow. Very methodical. Textbook job.

He looked at her when he was done though, expectant of some sort of comment. Still desperate for approval.

“Good.” She said, raising her eyebrows. She sat the two boxes on the windowsill, slotting them into place. “Now don’t let it die.”

*****

“Before you all head out for the night, I believe you have some gifts that require opening Master Bruce.”

Bruce peered over the half-eaten slice of cake Alfred had baked yesterday evening and swallowed dryly.

“Right.”

Tim could tell Bruce was just a little disappointed at the showing for his birthday. He would never admit it, no, no, but still. Dick, Jason, and Babs’ absence was noted. They had been good though and posted their presents ahead of time. Well, Dick and Babs had. Jason had sent a card. Which was both more than he had done some years and less for others, so the family all took a card as a good thing. Babs had wrapped up a large basket of bat memorabilia that would unironically get usage up and downstairs.

Dick had forwarded a photo album. Bruce’s lower lip had wobbled (once) on the first page, then he did not look any further into the album and shut it. Probably would cry over it at four am later this morning bundled up in bed. Or at least that’s what Tim imagined he would do.

Cassandra had made an actual teapot during her day classes. It was very cute, albeit just a little lumpy. Damian had done a painting. Duke had bought a pair of nice cufflinks. Tim had been as subtle as a brick to a glass greenhouse and had bought two vouchers for a fishing trip. Bruce had noted to check his diary tomorrow, hearing the pleading in the present for alone time.

Stephanie rested her present reverently on the table in front of Bruce. He eyed it and her a little suspiciously, which Tim tried not to get offended over on Steph’s behalf. He knew she had worked stinking hard on the present. Harder than anything she had ever made for herself. Not as hard as the gloves she had made Tim late last year though. No, he had seen her cursing up a storm trying to get those black and red fingerless mittens right, but she had – just in time for Christmas.

Point was, Stephanie worked hard when she sewed/knitted/embroidered, and Tim hoped Bruce wouldn’t do anything too callous when he opened the gift.

She had indeed knitted a grey-blue zig zag patterned scarf. It was thick, warm, and long. She had carefully embroidered the edges with golden thread. It was nothing short of a labour of love.

Bruce saw this, did the thing where his lip quivered, and quietly thanked Stephanie.

“Happy Birthday!” She replied, smiling brightly.

“It’s very well made.”

“I tried.” She teased gently. Tim squeezed her hand.

“Can I see?” Duke asked, to which Bruce handed it over. Duke whistled. “Can I get one too?”

“Sure.” Stephanie shrugged, still grinning. “It will cost you though.”

“Aw, no fair.”

The wind picked up then, howling louder than it had all day. The windows of the manor creaked, and even in the dark, everyone could see the sudden blizzard that had begun.

“Snow?” Cass asked. “Since when?”

“The weather does that. It changes.” Duke noted with a shrug. Even so, he seemed to regret speaking the more the wind screamed.

“No. Not like this. Rain sure. Sleet sure. Not a blizzard.” Tim peered out the window. “That doesn’t come from nowhere.”

Tim watched as there was already a solid layer of ice on the floor, the snow less like fluffy crystals and more like hail. The skies above churned rolled up clouds. It was harsh and ugly.

“No way.” Duke murmured, seeing the weather deteriorate.

Stephanie did not miss Bruce silently sigh at his pile of presents, the physical proof of how fortunate his life had become in recent years, despite the sometimes oppressive setbacks. It was just a moment, then the Bat was in place.

“Let’s head out. This doesn’t look natural. Split up and hunt for causes. Manmade or otherwise. Help anyone who seems stranded.”

Damian finally piped up. “Are we splitting into pairs?”

He crept towards Stephanie. Without Dick in Gotham she remained the person he was most keen (if Damian could be such a thing) to work alongside. Bruce notwithstanding.

“Damian go with Duke. Cassandra with me. Stephanie and Tim.”

Well never mind.

Stephanie pinched Damian’s cheek, and he groaned and twitched away, running downstairs.

They all made their way to the cave, Alfred opening up the clock, when Stephanie looked back, seeing Tim was still stood, still as a statue, watching through the glass.

“Tim?” She called.

His right hand twitched, hanging limp next to his thigh, at the sound of her voice. Almost reluctantly, he replied,

“…Yeah?”

“Ready to go?”

She held out her hand for him to take, though he was still looking out the window. Slowly he turned at the hips, head remaining still, staring at the storm. When her hand found his, he shuddered, like the warmth of her fingers and palm shot straight through his arm and up through his chest and head. He finally whipped round to look at her and smiled tightly.

“Ready. Sorry.”

Stephanie said nothing and pulled him away from the window.

#dc #tim drake #stephanie brown #timsteph #my fic tag

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jpstandsforjustpatches · 4 years

Note

📰 - I will write a drabble that’s happened in my muse’s past or a memory.

Patches was young but had seen plenty of hardships. Being a rare magical creature in a world where magic wasn’t commonplace led to more than her fair share of demonic accusations. Even more so in the late 1700s when most maladies were still blamed on the supernatural. Particularly harsh winters or poor harvests? Well, they had seen that clown demon around, it was obviously her fault.

Of course, she never did anything to try and dissuade the rumors. Why would she? She never knew anything else. All she knew was that she was a scary monster with sharp claws and sharper teeth. Those claws and teeth were how she managed to scrape by and survive. With no guidance, she raised herself on stolen goods and eavesdropping. It was no way to learn. Through this she learned to speak, to read, all the basics that could have been a great foundation for growth. But she also learned that magic was evil, it was to be feared, anything magical was the work of the devil. Which naturally must have included herself.

She clothed herself in pilfered scraps of fabric cobbled together into clothing. Her favorites were always the ones with patterns on them so she took as many different patterns as she could. It was her literal patchwork clothing that earned her the name “Patches”. A name that quickly grew in notoriety over the years.

Most of her early interactions with other living things tended to be food related. Either she was chased for stealing food, or she was doing the chasing, hunting down her prey. Sometimes the two overlapped. Sometimes, she would be cornered, and the butcher had such large knives. Sometimes they managed to catch her by the tail and tried to kill the evil monster. It was only natural for a cornered monster to defend itself, right?

Patches had learned quickly where to bite to disarm, where to bite to slow something down, and of course, where to bite to kill. The last quickly became her preference. Whenever she just fled, there tended to be people looking for her. When she didn’t leave the person alive? She could move on before anyone came to hunt her down. Plus she had the added benefit of more free food.

So it was that she developed a routine. Patches would find her way to a new town, somewhere she didn’t have a reputation yet. She would hunt and steal whatever food she could. Her favorites were pies cooling on windowsills, but those were a rare treat. Usually it was small animals or whatever morsels she could take from pantries without getting caught. She slept in dark alleyways or up in trees, very much like a feral cat. Eventually, as winter would start to creep up, supplies would run thin and temperatures would drop and she would be forced to grow bolder. Winter was when fresh kills were the best, but also when they were the hardest to find. Unless of course, she hunted prey other than wild animals.

In her early years when she killed it had been more based in self defense, but the self hatred of “evil” magic was deeply rooted. She had known killing to be wrong, but... She was wrong wasn’t she? She was an evil monster. Wrong is what she’s supposed to be doing. She was a monster, a wild beast. Besides, was it wrong of the wolf to kill a deer? Not at all. As she reached her teenage years, it became easier and easier to embrace being the wolf, the monster, the thing they feared in the dark.

When she embraced it, it became so much easier to hunt. Who needed to keep to the shadows to steal just enough to get by? Not her. The drunkard sleeping off too many drinks in the alley? That was an easy way to make off with a week’s worth of food. The wandering merchant, stopped on the side of the road to repair a broken wagon wheel? Nobody knew him, nobody would notice him missing. It could have just been a robbery gone wrong, after all. And if it was food they had been transporting? Even better.

Winters became easier. Patches stopped fearing her own magic as much and learned to utilize it to its full potential, discovering new tricks as she practiced. Shape shifting was the most fun. Nobody ever expected that one.

Eventually, enough of the townsfolk would grow wise to her tricks. Whispered rumors of a demon turned to warnings, everyone had a sighting and knew it to be more than a rumor. It wouldn’t be worth the trouble to remain and she would move on to the next unsuspecting town.

Patches should have known that eventually her reputation would precede her.

---------------------

Magic was a big secret and if anyone found out, they’d be ostracized or worse. It was only natural that those with magic would band together to form communities and look out for each other. Word of some magic clown beast that could pull itself back together after being sliced up? Oh yes, word of Patches made its way to them very quickly. They were ready when she drifted their way.

At face value, the small town looked no different from any other. Why would it? They didn’t want to attract suspicion from outside. When Patches arrived, nothing seemed amiss to her. It was a quaint little community, perhaps more friendly than anything she’d encountered before. The few adults she ran into on the streets didn’t seem to fear her like usual, if anything, they were polite, downright hospitable. It was... Weird. Different.

Patches felt uncomfortable. She didn’t trust it. Nobody had shown her real kindness before, they always wanted something out of it, why would it be any different here?

Her usual hunting tactics weren’t successful there. Everyone seemed to be watching out for each other, nobody was ever alone for long. Why were they so nice to each other? Why were they being nice to her? Sure, nobody was falling over themselves to offer her food, but even the bare minimum of not chasing her away with pitchforks was something she considered a nice action. When she did get caught snitching food, she got scolded, but never chased down. Even the children in town seemed more interested than afraid. Still, she did notice a few suspicious looks, whispers as soon as she was out of earshot. That seemed more normal to her.

When one of the children approached her in the nearby woods, it caught her off guard. The boy was alone, he’d be easy prey. No different from a stumbling fawn who wandered too far from mother. But the way he walked right up to her, no fear in his eyes, just wonder. It was enough to give her pause.

“What do you want? I’m busy.”

“You’re spooky.” Was the boy’s very astute reply, “Momma said to stay away from you cause you’re a monster.”

Patches stared down at him, unsurprised that parents were warning their children against her, even if she hadn’t done anything yet, “Then why are you here?”

“Cause you haven’t done anything bad... And you’re neat.”

Patches was sure that stealing food was something they’d consider bad, but no, she hadn’t done any murders or hurt anyone in the town... Yet, “Neat?”

The boy nodded before looking around to make sure they were alone. Once he was sure he motioned for her to bend down so he could loudly whisper, “Can you do magic too?”

This was the first time Patches had encountered anyone who wasn’t afraid of magic. He wanted to see it? Well... Maybe it wouldn’t hurt. What was a toddler going to do anyway? She straightened her back and tilted her head in thought.

Oh she had the perfect idea! Her cat-like tail twisted around, splitting into a cartoonish mouth with chunky, sharp teeth. Instead of terror, she was met with a delighted shout and clapping. It was nice...

“Can it eat?” He sounded so excited to test this out.

Patches laughed, it was one of the few times she’d ever genuinely felt amusement like that, “Of course it can!”

The boy had already scampered off to pick up leaves even before she’d given him an answer. Why leaves? He returned with fistfuls of them and a hopeful look in his eyes.

Well okay then. Patches’ tail mouth opened wide. Please deposit leaves.

The first fistful of leaves was tossed in and he giggled in excitement as she comically crunched on them. They didn’t taste good, of course, but this was just a game wasn’t it? It was good harmless fun. Maybe.. If she met the right people, people who weren’t afraid of magic, things wouldn’t be so bad. It was a nice thought that warmed her heart.

“Again, again!” The boy hopped up and down, waving the other hand full of leaves around.

This time she danced around him, making it more of a game. If he wanted to feed her tail more leaves, he was going to have to catch it first. He obliged, chasing around her tail with delight. For once, the game of chase was an actual game, she wasn’t afraid of being hurt, unafraid of what happened if she got caught. It felt good to let go and just play for once.

The boy practically threw himself at her tail, the sudden extra weight threw her off balance and sent her tumbling to the ground. She just laughed as she got her reward of more leaves pushed against her tail’s jaws. Okay, okay. She parted the jaws and accepted her leafy fate.

A distant shout interrupted their fun. The boy’s name, she guessed, based on how he reacted.

“Can we play again tomorrow?” He didn’t even hesitate to ask as he scrambled up to brush the dirt and leaves off his clothes.

Patches smiled, this was completely new, but didn’t feel uncomfortable at all, unlike all the adults being so weirdly polite. It didn’t feel forced, it felt genuine, “Yeah.. I’d like that.”

The boy ran off with a wave, leaving Patches alone in the woods yet again. She was still hungry, he’d interrupted her hunting, but for a change, she didn’t mind. They probably scared off any nearby animals with all the ruckus, though. Ah... She realized she’d have to seek food elsewhere now.

---------------------

The next morning, she meandered back to that same area of forest, hoping to see her new friend again. He didn’t show. She waited through the afternoon, ears perked at every young voice shouting and playing in the distance, but still nothing.

Patches started to think she’d been lied to. Just as she was about to give up and leave, a rustling caught her attention followed by a whisper, “Miss spooky clown?”

“It’s.... Patches.” She hesitated to give it, but it was the only name she’d ever really known. Patches crept towards the brush. That sounded like the boy from yesterday. “Miss Patches you gotta run.” The warning was urgent but something sounded off.

She didn’t heed the warning and pulled the brush back. She needed to know more, “What are you talking about?”

There she found the boy, huge tears running down his cheeks, “I told my momma... T-That you weren’t bad and we played and stuff. I- I thought if she knew you were nice that she wouldn’t be so scared.” He sniffled and rubbed his nose on a sleeve, “But she got really mad and said I couldn’t come play with you anymore. And- And there’s people looking for you. I think they wanna make you go away.”

Sure enough, Patches heard voices in the distance. They sounded like that of a hunting party, nothing she hadn’t dealt with before. She wasn’t afraid, she knew she could handle herself. It wasn’t like they could kill her anyway.

“I’m sorry... I- I gotta go. Before momma knows I’m not home.” The boy scampered off and just like that, she was alone again.

The voices drew nearer. They had heard the boy running through the underbrush and followed the sound. A shout rose up as one of them spotted Patches, her loud wardrobe giving her away easily in the greenery, especially when she was just standing there.

Patches locked eyes with them, taking note of her current predicament. Four townsfolk stood there, she recognized them as the ones she saw gossiping about her the most Each of them came armed with a rifle and each had theirs pointed right at her. That would hurt a lot, if they managed to hit her.

If they managed to hit her.

One member of the group spoke up, “We know what you’ve done... The trail of destruction you’ve left behind in every community whose doors you’ve darkened.”

“We’re not going to let you ruin what we’ve built. This is a safe haven. You’re not welcome here.” Another agreed.

Patches frowned. How did these people know what she’d already done? Did someone guess where she’d go next and warn them? She only did what was necessary to survive.

It wasn’t wrong of the wolf to kill a deer... But a wolf hunting sheep or cattle tended to come to a head the same way things had now, angry people with guns.

“I’m just trying to survive...” She took a slow, careful step forward, hands raised placatingly, “I’m-”

A bright glow flashed down the neck of the rifle as one of them pulled the trigger. In an instant, half her vision went black, much like the blood that dribbled from her face. The pain that blossomed in her skull was unlike anything she’d felt before. Sure, she’d been shot, it hurt, but not like this.

Patches fell to her knees, her head was spinning and her vision swam. She could see smooth fragments of white in the dirt among the globs of black ichor. A shaky hand reached out to them, was that..? Were those pieces of her face? Her remaining eye frantically fixed itself on the hunting party, terrified. What did they do to her?

One of the others held up her hand. It glowed with a light Patches had never encountered before. As fire sprung forth, it clicked. Magic. This was magic. Different from her own, but magic nonetheless, and it hurt. The flames burned worse than any candle or campfire she had ever touched.

Patches knew now that she had to leave. She knew how to handle the mundane, the weak. This was a whole new animal and she was so scared. As she turned to run, another shot rang out behind her. It missed, but she could see the faint glow on the tree it struck as she passed by.

A few more shots sounded off behind her as she ran. Though she couldn’t tell anymore if they were trying to hit her or run her off. It had worked regardless. She found herself scared out of her mind, half-blind, and running like a bat out of hell.

The clown didn’t stop until she ended up miles from the town. She slumped against a tree to try and catch her breath. Blood and tears trickled from her respective eye sockets. Her eye hadn’t come back yet. Why hadn’t it come back? It never took this long before. A knot formed in her stomach as realization dawned on her.

Magic.

That town had been full of magic folk. That was why they didn’t attack her immediately. That was why the boy had asked if she was magic too.

That boy.. That child. He had been so young and innocent, he hadn’t feared her. For one brief moment, she had known what it was to just be another person instead of the monster everyone wanted to destroy. But then... That same child had led those others right to her. All his innocence and kindness got her hurt... It took her eye.

The cold bitterness that dwelled within her grew.

The only time she had ever let her guard down and she ended up literally burnt and half blind.

Kindness never led to anything good.

And children? Well clearly they couldn’t be trusted, not even the ones who meant well.

#manwhospeaksinshitposts #blood #gore #eye trauma #head trauma #guns-#(( i think that's the common content warnings tagged but lmk if there's anything else i missed ))#drabble #(( held onto this idea until after i'd developed her backstory more 8>c ))

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hunter-the-sad-skeleton · 4 years

Text

Darkwing Duck Fanfic Chapter 2

Summary: “Hunter and Bushroot learn more about each other. But at what cost?”

Warnings: Implied swearing, implied abuse, implied depression, self deprecation, implied self-harm, stim shaming, ask to tag.

Final word count: 4757

Tag list:(Feel free to ask to be added or removed!) @pidayforpi

Chapter two “Full disclosure, I am a monster!”

Hunter woke up early, almost sneaking out before remembering she hadn’t gotten the new passcode for the door yet. Hunter looked around for another exit, eventually sneaking out through a sewer grate. Getting into hiding, Hunter oriented herself, eventually pinpointing where she was in the city. Hunter remembered the city layout, reaching into her backpack and pulling out a list and her wallet. Taking a deep breath, Hunter walked off to the flower shop to replace the flowers she’d lost the night prior.

Hunter read the flower shop’s sign, boasting bright, colorful letters saying “Flora’s flowers and bouquets!”. Hunter took a deep breath, walking in, trying to occupy as little space as possible, despite the shop being relatively empty. “Can I help y’all?” A voice asked from behind Hunter.

“O-O-Oh, I-I-I-I-I uh….” Hunter stammered, fumbling for her list. “Flowers…?” Hunter asked sheepishly.

“We have those in excess, or else we wouldn’t be in business right now!” She joked.

“Duh! Sorry, don’t people well…” Hunter apologized.

“Oh, don’t worry hun, you’re fine!” She chuckled.

“I, uh, ooh…” Hunter stammered.

“I’m Flora, this little shop’s owner!” Flora said, holding her hand out.

Hunter drew back a bit, but eventually took her hand in a handshake. “I...H...n...Hunter…!” Hunter stammered.

“Hunter, huh? What’re ya lookin’ to pick?” Flora asked.

Hunter stumbled to look at her list, listing off a few flowers. “Do ya have any of those…?” Hunter asked sheepishly.

“Yeah, we have Roses, Chrysanthemums, Carnations, Hydrangeas, Daffodils, and gardenias!” Flora nodded.

“Where might they be…?” Hunter asked nervously.

“Right this way, Hunter!” Flora said, gesturing for her to follow.

“Okay..!” Hunter nodded, following sheepishly.

“Say, do ya happen to know Elmo Sputterspark by any chance?” Flora asked, grabbing the flowers Hunter requested.

Hunter froze, weighing her options. She couldn’t say she knew him through the fearsome five! “Uh….I...did, in like, High School.” Hunter stammered.

“I thought as much; ya have some of the same mannerisms as him!” Flora beamed. “You’re nervous around people, ya stumble over your words, ya fidget, I sorta figured you ‘n’ him knew each other!” Flora said, finishing up the bouquet, walking over to the counter, Hunter following behind, pulling her wallet out to pay for it.

“How much?” Hunter asked.

“$25.89, Hun!” Flora said.

Hunter nodded, paying for the flowers.

“Have a good day, hun!” Flora said, waving goodbye as Hunter left.

Hunter walked out, putting the flowers safely in her backpack and getting ready to head home. “I’m telling you, Gosalyn, flowers are going to make home seem more homey!” Drake sighed. Hunter moved out of the way, letting the three walk inside.

“Yeah, yeah-wait, Dad, did you see that?” Gosalyn asked, realizing that Hunter was outside.

“See what? You trying to get out of an errand?” Drake asked sarcastically.

“No, Dad! I saw one of the Fearsome Five outside the store!” Gosalyn protested.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s nice hon-WAIT WHAT?!?” Drake gasped.

“Yeah, I saw Hunter outside putting something in her backpack!” Gosalyn explained.

“No doubt stolen goods! Come on, crew! Home decor can wait!” Drake said, walking back out.

Hunter smiled softly, making sure the flowers were safe inside her backpack. “I hope he likes ‘em…! I picked ‘em out just for him!” Hunter smiled softly.

“I AM THE TERROR THAT FLAPS IN THE NIGHT!!” A voice announced, instantly filling Hunter with dread.

“Oh, come ON!!” Hunter groaned.

“I AM THE DANDELIONS YOU CAN’T REMOVE FROM THE GARDEN OF CRIME!!” Darkwing continued, Hunter rolling her eyes.

“I AM DARKWIIING DUCK!!” Darkwing finished.

“Look dude, I ain’t here to cause trouble; I’m JUST getting flowers for my friend.” Hunter scoffed.

“Getting in ILLEGAL ways, I’m certain!” Darkwing announced.

“Nah. Paid legally.” Hunter shrugged.

“As I-wait what?” Darkwing asked, confused.

“I. PAID. LEGALLY. FOR. THESE. FLOWERS. SIR.” Hunter annunciated.

Darkwing shook his head. “Surely not, villain!” Darkwing announced dramatically.

“Look, if ya want evidence, ask Flora inside, arright? I have somewhere to be.” Hunter scoffed.

“Exactly!” Darkwing said, grappling onto a nearby object and preparing to swing towards Hunter. “Behind bars!” Darkwing finished, swinging over and knocking Hunter over.

“Ow!!” Hunter yelped, holding her left arm as she landed on it. “Why you little-” Hunter started before getting decked in the face. “What the Helenium, Cactus?!?” Hunter snapped, cradling her arm.

“Did you just swear in PLANT NAMES?!” Darkwing gawked.

“What the FICUS did you just say to me, you Moluccella?!” Hunter snapped.

“Okay, this is just getting weird.” Darkwing groaned, pulling out his gas gun. “Suck gas, evildoer!” Darkwing announced, firing before Hunter could cover her beak.

“Hey!! Kaff kaff!!” Hunter coughed. Darkwing saw his opportunity, taking it and landing as many hits on her as he could.

“Your petal pilfering is past its prime, you puny problematic private parasite!” Darkwing smirked.

Hunter looked up, seeing that the flowers fell out of her backpack and were once again, destroyed in the skirmish. “Daisy it!!” Hunter growled. “I was SO CLOSE this time!!” Hunter lamented.

“You’re finished!” Darkwing announced.

“No…..I’m not.” Hunter growled. Hunter slowly got up, picking up her backpack and standing up straight before collapsing onto one knee. “FAGUS!!!” Hunter yelped, dropping her backpack and practically collapsing.

“Whoa, what happened there?” Launchpad asked, confused.

“I...Don’t know, LP.” Darkwing shrugged.

“I know what it is!” Gosalyn said, looking around in the Ratcatcher for something.

Hunter tried standing up again, collapsing again as pain shot through her leg. Hunter tensed up as Gosalyn walked over with a small suitcase. “What are you doing?” Hunter asked suspiciously.

Gosalyn held up the small suitcase showing that it was a first-aid kit. “I’m not gonna hurt ya, even if you’re a bad guy. When someone’s hurt, they’re hurt, and I highly doubt ya have health insurance.” Gosalyn explained.

Hunter remained cautious, Darkwing pulling Gosalyn away. “Gos, what are you doing? She’s a VILLAIN.” Darkwing lectured.

“Darkwing, she’s HURT! You’re supposed to help people!” Gosalyn scolded.

“UNless they are a VILLAIN. Which she IS.” Darkwing scolded.

Gosalyn looked between Darkwing and Hunter, noticing how badly Hunter’s leg looked. “Darkwing…” Gosalyn whined.

“I don’t wanna hear ANY OF IT, young lady, back into the Ratcatcher with you.” Darkwing warned.

Gosalyn huffed, stomping over to the Ratcatcher and plopping down inside it. Darkwing turned to look at Hunter. “As for you, VILLAIN, you’re coming with me.” Darkwing scowled.

Hunter shook her head, getting up and almost collapsing again, picking her backpack up and hobbling back to the hideout. “Come on, LP, let’s-” Darkwing started.

“DW, come on, she’s hurt! Let’s leave her be!” Launchpad said.

“What!? You too?!?” Darkwing bawked.

“Yeah, DW. Ya may be a hero, but a true hero knows when to leave things alone!” Launchpad advised.

Darkwing grumbled to himself, eventually giving in. “FINE! I’ll leave her alone!” Darkwing sighed heavily.

Hunter hobbled back to the hideout, despite the sheer pain shooting through her leg. Hunter sat down on a bench near the hideout, resting for a bit. “Fagus, my leg hurts…” Hunter whimpered. Hunter looked down at the water below her, tearing up at what she saw; a complete and utter FAILURE. She couldn’t even get FLOWERS properly. What made her think she could work alongside Bushroot and the others? Hunter rubbed the tears away, only for them to be replaced tenfold.

Before she knew it, she was sobbing heavily, not in the right mindset to pay attention to her surroundings if anyone was around or watching. Hunter hiccuped, blowing her beak in her hoodie. “Why am I such a failure…?!” Hunter hiccuped, beating herself up. Hunter sniffled, wiping her eyes again.

Hunter froze, hearing a familiar sound; tiny leaf-paws hitting the ground. She perked up slightly, but the happiness was gone as soon as she realized that Bushroot would most likely be disappointed in her for sneaking out again. Hunter felt something bump against her leg, but didn’t respond, she didn’t have enough energy to. Hunter heard something whine; she didn’t respond. She didn’t have enough energy to.

Hunter jumped slightly as she felt something plop into her lap, looking down at Spike’s head looking up at her. Hunter teared up, gently grabbing Spike and pulling him into a hug, sobbing heavily. “I’m so sorry-hee-hee, Spi-hi-hi-hiiike!!!” Hunter sobbed, hugging Spike tightly.

Spike whined, gently nuzzling Hunter in an attempt to make her feel better. Hunter sniffled, slowly starting to calm down. “Oh! Spike! You found her! Good work, boy!” Bushroot sighed in relief, speeding over.

Hunter hiccuped, standing up and struggling to make eye contact. After a few moments of silence, Hunter hugged Bushroot, apologizing heavily. “Hey now, it’s okay, I was just worried is all! You didn’t leave a note or anything!” Bushroot assured, patting her on the head. Hunter looked up, worry and sadness wrought all over her face.

“Y-You’re not mad at me…?” Hunter asked sadly.

“Oh goodness no! I typically never get mad! Especially over something as little as this!” Bushroot smiled softly.

“Bushy, I’m gonna cry again…!” Hunter chuckled dryly.

“That’s okay, get it all out!” Bushroot nodded, not getting that Hunter was sort of joking. Hunter chuckled, eventually breaking out laughing. “There’s that sound I like to hear!” Bushroot beamed.

Hunter went to stand alone, but collapsed back onto the bench, yelping in pain as pain shot through her leg. “OW!!!” Hunter yelped, tearing up again.

“O-O-O-O-O-Oh my goodness, are you alright?” Bushroot asked, rushing to her side.

“L-Leg…” Hunter whimpered, tears running down her face again.

“Wh-What happened?” Bushroot asked.

“Dorkwing….” Hunter grumbled, forcing herself back up and ignoring the pain shooting through her leg, not allowing herself to give up until she was somewhere safe.

“How did you even get out? I didn’t tell you the new door passcode, did I?” Bushroot asked, staying close by just in case Hunter collapsed again.

“There was a sewer grate a little whiles away that I snuck out through.” Hunter explained.

Bushroot sighed heavily. “I know you probably had a good reason, but I feel...a little...Hurt,” Hunter’s heart HURT hearing that. “That you sneak out so often.” Bushroot lamented. Bushroot stopped Hunter, making eye contact. “You can talk to me.” Bushroot started.

“Did I do something wrong?” Bushroot asked sadly. Hunter’s heart shattered.

“N-No-N-No! Not at all, Reggie! I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I promise!” Hunter stammered, breaking eye contact on accident as anxiety started settling in.

“.....I did, didn’t I…?” Bushroot asked, remembering that breaking eye contact typically meant the other party was lying.

Hunter stumbled for words, unsure of what to say. She couldn’t tell him why she snuck out, that would ruin the surprise for him! She didn’t wanna do that! “A-Any plans for the day, B-Bushroot?” Hunter asked sheepishly.

“No, not really. I’m...not really feeling up to it today.” Bushroot sighed.

“A-Are ya sure…?” Hunter asked gently.

“Yeah, pretty sure.” Bushroot said, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe ya just need to get out there…!” Hunter said, smiling nervously.

“Hunter. NO.” Bushroot warned, frowning slightly.

“I mean, it always makes me feel better…!” Hunter urged gently.

“N. O. NO.” Bushroot warned darkly.

Hunter, still ignoring the pain in her leg, tried pushing Bushroot away from the hideout. “C-Come on, bud…!” Hunter urged.

“Hunter, NO. Why are you being so WEIRD recently?!” Bushroot asked.

“I-I just wanna help ya out, Bushroot! You help me out, I wanna return the favor!” Hunter explained.

“Hunter, stop it.” Bushroot grumbled.

“Come on, Bushroot, one crime and you’ll be back in a good mood…!” Hunter said sadly.

“Hunter, I said NO. Give it a rest.” Bushroot warned.

“Bushroot, please…!” Hunter whimpered.

“Hunter, something’s going on, and I, quite frankly, want to know WHAT. Now SPILL.” Bushroot growled.

Hunter whimpered, biting the bullet and pulling the long past dead flowers out of her backpack. “............Dipwing screwed it up...AGAIN.” Hunter whimpered.

Bushroot sighed, running his hands through his petals. “You went off to grab flowers AGAIN?” Bushroot asked, trying to stay calm.

Hunter grimaced, tensing up. “I know it’s stupid and I KNOW I should give up on it, but it’s so important to me that I do it and….” Hunter took a deep breath, calming down. “And...I wanna prove that I can get tasks done, if I put myself to them.” Hunter finished, making eye contact again.

Bushroot froze, all past thoughts of anger and frustration gone and replaced with understanding and sympathy. “Why don’t you ask me for them?” Bushroot asked.

Hunter shook her head. “No, I wanna show I can perform simple tasks like going to the flower shop to buy flowers.” Hunter declined.

Bushroot hummed, holding his chin in thought. “I can see how I’m feeling later, but I’m not promising anything.” Bushroot said.

“Gotcha, Bushroot!” Hunter nodded.

“Good. And Hunter?” Bushroot asked.

“Yeah, Bushroot?” Hunter asked.

“Go back to calling me Reggie, it feels weird hearing you call me Bushroot.” Bushroot said, laughing gently.

Hunter sighed in relief. “Okay, Reggie.” Hunter said, smiling tiredly. Bushroot ruffled Hunter’s feathers, earning a squeak of protest as Hunter tried swatting his hand away.

“Sorry if I got a little heated there, it just hurts is all…” Bushroot apologized. Bushroot could have sworn he saw Hunter’s smile drop for a moment, but when he looked again, she was still smiling. Weird.

(Later, in a hidden room in the hideout.)

Hunter shoved herself in a corner, Anxiety, Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria, and self hatred all hitting at once in an all-out-assault on her psyche. If this were any other occasion, she would have asked Bushroot for his help, but that’s any other occasion. Bushroot was the reason Hunter’s psyche was being destroyed by itself.

Hunter hadn’t had an anxiety attack this bad in ages, why was it so bad now? She wanted to ask for help, but she’d already inconvenienced Bushroot once, she didn’t want to do it again. Even if she was on the brink of blacking out.

Hunter tried stilling her breathing, but only made her hyperventilating worse, Hunter falling forward onto her hands and knees, gasping desperately for breath. Hunter mentally screamed at herself to call out for Bushroot, but nothing more than choked breathes were heard.

Tears rolled down Hunter’s face. Why’d she have to be so selfish?! Why couldn’t she just let it go?! Hunter coughed and wheezed as she tried to calm down, but her breathing didn’t improve. She noticed her vision start to go blurry and her panic only furthered.

After a while, Hunter’s arms and legs gave out and she fell to the floor, blacked out cold.

(Elsewhere.)

Spike looked around the room, whining as he noticed Hunter wasn’t in the room with them. “What’s the matter, Spike?” Bushroot asked, looking over from his experiment. Spike whined, gesturing that Hunter wasn’t in the room.

“Hmm...that is odd and concerning…” Bushroot hummed. Spike whined, worried about her disappearance. “She probably isn’t outside...Spike, go look around for her, would you?” Bushroot asked. Spike nodded, setting off to find Hunter.

(With Spike)

Spike sniffed around, picking up Hunter’s scent quickly. Picking up Hunter’s scent, Spike sped up, following the scent to a dark, hidden room, whining before going in and finding Hunter blacked out.

(With Bushroot)

Bushroot perked up at hearing a far off barking, but shrugged it off as Spike finding a butterfly or something. “Spike, stay focused!” Bushroot scolded.

The barks kept going, but seemed more panicked than distracted. “Spike, calm down!” Bushroot called. Bushroot grew worried as the barks were more frantic and set everything he was holding down to go run over to Spike to see what the problem was.

“Spike, what’s happened that’s causing you to cause such a ruckus?” Bushroot asked, walking in. As soon as Bushroot saw what was in the room, he froze dead in his tracks. He held onto the doorframe to remain standing, shock trailing through his cells.

“Sp...Sp...Spike…? What happened…?” Bushroot asked, legs slowly moving him closer. Spike whined, trying to wake Hunter up, but not succeeding. Bushroot collapsed next to Hunter, taking her pulse. He sighed in relief; something was still there.

Bushroot assessed the situation, deducting that she just had a really bad Anxiety attack and passed out due to lack of oxygen. Bushroot whistled for some of his smaller trees to come into the room so Hunter could regain oxygen quickly.

After a while, Hunter eventually shifted, Bushroot feeling hope well up in his chest. Thank goodness she was okay. “Mm…” Hunter groaned, rubbing the extra sleep from her eyes.

“You’re okay!” Bushroot exclaimed, wrapping his arms around Hunter in a tight squeeze of a hug. Hunter wheezed as the air was squeezed out of her, but quickly gained it back.

“R-Reggie…?” Hunter peeped.

“Are you okay? Do you need anything? Water? Food? Backpack? Spike? Flowers? Notebook?” Bushroot asked, worried that his friend may have gotten hurt.

Hunter was astonished; after everything, he still wanted to be friends with her? “Reggie...I….” Hunter stammered. Hunter rubbed her head where she landed when she fell. “Ow…” Hunter grimaced.

“Hmm...looks like it’s bruised...Hold on, I think I have some Arnica around here somewhere…” Bushroot hummed. As Bushroot thought, an Arnica bush hopped up to him. “Oh! Why, thank you!” Bushroot smiled at the bush, making an ointment for the bruise.

“Wow...You’re a real plant whisperer…” Hunter gawked. Bushroot gave Hunter a look like ‘bud, really?’

“I should hope so,” Bushroot started, rubbing some of the concoction on the bruise. “I AM a plant duck hybrid after all.” Bushroot finished, wrapping the bruise so it could be covered until it was fully gone. “There we go! Should clear up in a fairly good time frame!” Bushroot smiled gently.

Hunter smiled back, saying a silent thank you. “Just one question though…” Bushroot started, Hunter’s heart dropping. “I know you approved us being Best Friends Forever and all, but…” Bushroot sighed.

“Why didn’t you ask me for help?” Bushroot asked.

Hunter grimaced. “Before you say ‘I didn’t wanna burden you, I’ve already bothered you once today’, I don’t care about that. We’re Best Friends Forever...Best Friends help each other out more than once a day. Be as blunt as you need for explanation.” Bushroot said sternly.

“I…...I felt super guilty about earlier today…” Hunter admitted.

“What? Why?” Bushroot asked, gobsmacked.

“Because….B...Because...I hurt you...Not physically, but...emotionally...That’s not a thing Best Friends Forevers do…” Hunter frowned.

“Hunter..” Bushroot gawked.

“When you said I hurt you, I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I felt so horrible…! I-I-I-I felt like I was the worst person on earth…! I felt like scum…! I felt less than scum, I felt like a worthless fungal parasite…!” Hunter frowned.

Bushroot frowned, sympathy washing over him. “I’m sorry I hurt you, I felt SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO bad afterwards that I holed up here to deal with my whole Anxiety attack cause I didn’t wanna bug you again…!” Hunter rambled. Hunter continued rambling, only to stop when Bushroot put a hand on her shoulder, turning her to face him.

“Hunter Artemis Puddles, you are one of the most brilliant people I have ever met. I understand not wanting to bother me, really, I do! But when it’s something this horrible, it’s not a bother at all. We’re Best Friends Forever. We’re here for each other. Through thick and thin, through hardships big and small. We can be there for each other through it all.” Bushroot said seriously.

“R...Really…?” Hunter asked.

Bushroot nodded. “Hm...You mentioned your memory works better with song...How about a little melody to remember?” Bushroot asked.

“Nah, dude, I can’t sing!” Hunter said shyly.

“Well, I can, if you would like.” Bushroot informed.

“O….Okay…!” Hunter nodded. Bushroot took a deep breath, already thinking up lyrics.

“Best Friends Forever, bothersome never...shoulder to cry on, here together to get by on...Thick and thin, hardships big, hardships small, together we can make it through it all…~!” Bushroot hummed.

Hunter hummed along, thinking up a beat. “Hmm…” Hunter hummed. Bushroot raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Best Friends Forever, you’re my first one ever...All alone I feel dry as bone, but with you I feel brand new….~!” Hunter added.

“Wowza, you’re good at this!” Bushroot smiled.

“Oh, no, I’m-I’m really not!” Hunter blushed.

“I think it’s a lovely little melody!” Bushroot nodded.

“Yeah, short, sweet, and to the point!” Hunter nodded.

“You know, you said you can’t sing, but you sang pretty well!” Bushroot complemented.

Hunter chuckled shyly, rubbing the back of her neck. “Aww...You too..!” Hunter chortled.

Bushroot chuckled, mood lighting up.

Hours passed and the two eventually decided to spend the night just planning instead of doing stuff.

“By the way, Hunter,” Bushroot started, pausing the planning. “Do you know what those flowers you picked up meant?” Bushroot asked.

Hunter froze. “They...look...Pretty…?” Hunter lied.

Bushroot chuckled. “No, no, no! They have meaning! Chrysanthemums symbolize happiness, longevity, joy, and loyalty, light red Carnations symbolize admiration, white Gardenias symbolize purity and gentleness, Daffodils symbolize rebirth and new beginnings, and purple hydrangeas symbolize a desire to deeply understand someone!” Bushroot explained.

“O-Oh…! I just thought they looked pretty..!” Hunter lied.

“Oh, they do! And then the roses you picked yesterday, dark pink roses, symbolize thankfulness for appreciation!” Bushroot added.

“Huh…” Hunter hummed, despite knowing this already.

“Oh! Oh, oh, oh! If you wanna show someone admiration, just give them a good old fashioned Camellia! Those babies mean love, affection AND admiration!” Bushroot rambled.

“Really?” Hunter gasped, humoring the other duck, seeing as he listened to her for a good portion of the day.

“Oh yes, yes, yes! And not to mention they’re beautiful, too!” Bushroot nodded eagerly.

Hunter smiled softly, listening to him infodump about plants and flowers and the symbolism some of them had. “What’s your favorite flower, Hunter?” Bushroot asked.

Hunter was taken back by the sudden question. Someone wanted to know more about her? Normally, she never was able to hold a conversation! “Well, uh, I, uh...I like violets and bluebells…” Hunter said shyly.

“Ah! Some good picks!” Bushroot beamed. “Those two have WONDERFUL meanings!” Bushroot nodded.

“What do they mean?” Hunter asked.

“Well, Violets symbolize truth and loyalty while Bluebells symbolize gratitude and humanity! But, they could ALSO symbolize constancy and everlasting love!” Bushroot informed eagerly.

Hunter’s eyes sparkled like sapphires left out in the rain as the sun came out, sunlight bouncing around on each cut. “Whoa…” Hunter gawked.

“Sorry, have I been rambling too much?” Bushroot asked nervously. Hunter shook her head.

“No, no, no! This is interesting to me! You’re WAAAY better than my english teacher was with teaching me this stuff!” Hunter explained.

“Oh, really?” Bushroot asked, surprised.

“Yeah! Like, he was nice ‘n’ all, but nothing he taught me stuck with me for dirt!” Hunter chuckled.

“Oh my!” Bushroot smiled softly. “Would...Would you mind if I rambled for a little bit longer? Sorry, it’s just I never really get to talk to anyone about this stuff and I don’t know what to do with the information and-” Bushroot worried.

“Reginald, I’d love to hear you ramble more about plants! You listened to me, why don’t I do the same?” Hunter asked gently.

Bushroot’s eyes sparkled with joy, excited that he could talk about plants as much as he wanted-and someone would LISTEN to him! “Well, if you’re so sure…!” Bushroot grinned, vibrating in excitement.

Hunter smiled softly as Bushroot launched into an excited ramble about plants, flora, whatever plant crossed his mind. Hunter felt something she hadn’t felt in ages. She felt...Genuinely happy. And all it took was two days of failure, an Anxiety, Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria, and Panic attack, a leg injury, a mutant-no, a duck, and a cute venus flytrap that had a good sense of smell.

But even so...Something was still in the back of her mind. Something was telling her that she didn’t deserve this, that she was too horrible to be happy. Others were in worse straits than her, why should SHE be happy?

Hunter snapped back to reality, paying attention to Bushroot again, hoping she didn’t miss much. Hunter smiled again, glad that Bushroot didn’t notice she spaced out for a bit there. “Wow, that felt...Amazing!!” Bushroot squealed, hopping in place.

Hunter chuckled, a genuine smile crossing her face. “Oh! Look at that! You’re happy too!” Bushroot beamed.

Hunter froze a moment, realizing that he was right. She felt her face for a moment. He...He was right. The smile...It wasn’t forced! It was a real smile! She felt a rush of energy and-”no, stop, stop flapping, that’s weird, people are going to laugh at you.” Hunter’s mind screamed.

Hunter froze, shoving her hands into her hoodie pockets and mumbling out a ‘sorry’.

“What for? That was adorable!” Bushroot smiled.

Hunter had to do a double take. “Really? It’s not...Weird?” Hunter asked.

“No, of course not! If anything, it adds to my understanding of you!” Bushroot said.

Hunter chuckled dryly. “C-Can I…?” Hunter trailed off. Bushroot nodded.

“Yes indeedy!” Bushroot nodded.

Hunter squealed, flapping to get the extra stim energy out. Eventually, Hunter got it all out and her smile was wider than before.

“Aw...You’re happy! And you thought today was a bad day!” Bushroot joked.

Hunter didn’t know why, she didn’t know how, but she just...Burst out laughing. She had no reason to, she just...felt like it. “Why do I feel so fuzzy?” Hunter laughed.

“Oh! You’d be feeling ‘Euphoria’!” Bushroot explained.

“Euphowhat?” Hunter asked.

“Euphoria! It’s a state of feeling intense excitement or joy!” Bushroot explained.

“Huh?” Hunter asked, confused.

“Basically, you feel really happy!” Bushroot simplified.

Hunter squeaked, eyes brighter than earlier. “It’s so weird how you make me feel so...so..s-so…” Hunter stammered.

“At peace? Happy?” Bushroot asked.

“Yeah! Why is that?” Hunter asked.

“Well, it could be that the excess of trees is helping to clear your mind and make it easier for endorphins to pass into your mind!” Bushroot suggested.

“What…?” Hunter trailed off.

“The extra air is making you think clearly, so you are able to feel happiness easier!” Bushroot explained.

“Oooh!” Hunter drawled. “I get it!” Hunter nodded.

Bushroot chuckled, finding the sudden mood shift from Hunter adorable. “Why don’t I see ya this happy often?” Bushroot asked innocently.

Hunter hid a flinch, returning to how she was acting. “Oh, I dunno! Maybe I’m just having a good day or something!” Hunter grinned. Bushroot nodded, unaware of the reaction Hunter had.

“You should Smile more.” Hunter’s brain lectured. “Frowning brings everyone down.” Her brain added. “Why aren’t you happy more often?” It asked.

Hunter kept up the appearance despite wanting to break down then and there.

The two talked a little longer, Bushroot eventually heading off to get some rest, leaving Hunter alone. Hunter sighed, not quite feeling tired yet, so she headed out to stargaze for a bit.

Hunter sat outside, despite the cold temperature, watching the stars intently. She felt like she was greeting an old friend, since the stars were practically all she had to talk to aside from her stuffed animals as a kid. She knew the constellations by heart, as that was the only thing she learned in school aside from art stuff that interested her.

As Hunter stargazed, she started spacing out and thinking about things. How large was the universe? How many people were in it? How FEW people were in it? Are they living in a pocket dimension? Is existence meaningless? She shook herself out of it; she didn’t need to be thinking about that right now. She already went down that road once earlier, and it still hurt a little bit, thanks to the cold.

Hunter sighed in relief, staring up at the night sky, taking it all in. It was beautiful, almost like a painting. As she scanned the horizon, her vision settled on the docks and the water surrounding it. She wondered how long she could be down there before she had to give up. She shook it off again.

Eventually, she started to feel the exhaustion of the day start to hit and she slowly started drifting off to sleep, too tired to walk back inside. She let her eyes shut and her body relaxed.

She felt slightly warmer, but didn’t bother to check why, at least she was warm.

Then she heard a Splash.

#My writing #Darkwing Duck Bushroot #Darkwing Duck Ocs #My Ocs #Hunter Puddles #Flora Peonia #Darkwing Duck Drake Mallard #Darkwing Duck #darkwing duck gosalyn #Darkwing Duck Launchpad #Ask To Tag #Tw: Implied swearing #Tw: Implied abuse #Tw: Implied depression #Tw: Self deprecation #Tw: Implied self harm #Tw: Stim shaming #sorta #Darkwing Duck Spike

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myemotionalsupportcharacters · 4 years

Text

Mission #5

Type: One-Shot Series

Pairing: (Kingsman)Merlin x Female!OC

Summary: To celebrate their new start, the current Kingsmen take a night off to hold a small party.

Warnings: A little fluffy, drinking games, thirst

{Disclaimer: I do not own any characters except those marked as OC, I hold no rights over anything from the Marvel universe. Otherwise all content is my own and any similarity to real people, events, or any other fiction is unintentional. Please inbox me if you believe anything within my work violates this disclaimer.}

AN: Enjoy some random Merlin content on my Marvel blog because I’m going though yet another fixation faze. PSA: Mark Strong got jacked and I’m weeping at this gif.

It had taken a few months, but everyone was now settled in at the new Kingsmen Headquarters, and after all that work, they reasoned that a party was the next logical step. A small affair, just the eight of them (of course Tilde was invited) before they began their recruitment phase, once again headed up by Merlin. They had all agreed it was only right that Harry should head up the new Kingsmen, and had subsequently ascended to the title of Arthur. Eggsy had married Tilde and was now a Prince by title. Roxy had made a full recovery from the missile attack on the old headquarters and was feeling (a little like Merlin) lucky to be alive. Tequila, Ginger (she was technically now Whiskey, but as she was currently on loan from Statesman to help Merlin rebuild the technical and medical departments, decided to go by Ginger), and Vermouth had all found their groove.

Tequila mostly did what he wanted (just less recreationally) until it was go time for a mission. Vermouth walked around all day seeing where she could lend a hand and popping in to see Merlin when she could. They had developed a pattern. Harmless flirting, and secretive winks, although it was mostly Vermouth having all the fun. Merlin was a tough shell to crack, and with the lack of agents he'd been stepping out to do some recon in person. It was a party to celebrate many things.

So they gathered in the 'ballroom' as they had decided to call it. A large space in the centre of the new mansion that no one had really known what to do with until Vermouth suggested they let her do it up and make it into a ballroom. It was excellent and reminded Eggsy of his new parents-in-law's house. They'd all gotten dressed up, and hired Wilhem from the Tailors Shop to man the bar. A large jukebox in the corner linked up to the speakers and slowly they milled around, each picking a song of their own.

Vermouth had chosen a long wine red dress, with a gold belt, thin straps, and a slit that ran up the front of her thigh. Merlin had braced himself on arrival, but he hadn't been prepared for that. He still wasn't as she sauntered over to him at the Jukebox, a glass of Single Malt Scotch in one hand, and a darker liquor in the other.

"Penny for your thoughts?" She held out the scotch, and he took it, raising it with a nod to thank her.

"I wanted to pick a song, but I'm a little spoiled for choice." He mused.

"Well, a little birdy told me that you had a thing for country western music, so I just couldn't resist loading it up with a couple of classics...and a couple of new ones." Her shoulder brushed against his as she peered into the machine, he chuckled turning to face her.

"What would you chose, Ma'am?" She smiled, bumping her shoulder into him, pressing a few buttons to bring up the next songbook.

"Hmm, the ladies choice. If I pick a song, will you dance with me?" She never took her eyes away from the machine, fingers hovering over the play button.

"I think that depends on the song." He smiled, taking a sip from his drink. She chuckled, before hitting the button, the intro to Darius Rucker’s Wagonwheel playing over the speakers. She took a couple of steps back, before holding out her free hand for his.

"Care to join me?" He took her hand, neither putting their drinks down to move to the free space and face each other. Meredith changed hands, placing her right on his shoulder, and Merlin placing his right around her waist. Slowly they began to sway and spin. "Not to be the one to break up the party, but someday, we're going to have to do something about this."

"I think you might be right, lass." She looked up into his eyes, for once without glasses, and saw the smile lines next to the frown lines, the way his eyes seemed to speak for him. She smiled before stepping a little closer and resting her right cheek against his firm chest. He looked good tonight, a white shirt, unbuttoned and tucked into black slacks. His legs were so long, and she wasn't sure what it was about that, but there was something. "Good song choice." She felt his chest rumble as he spoke, and suddenly all she could imagine was falling asleep on his chest and smiled.

"Alright, that's about enough of the easy drinking. Time to get the party really started." Tequila joked. Vermouth had to give it to him, he looked good in a suit. She, however, had swapped out her denim jacket for a black leather one, not quite ready to start wearing a blazer yet.

"What you got in mind?" She asked, familiar with most of his self-created party games.

"I was thinking, Winner Takes All." Vermouth chuckled and nodded.

"What's Winner Takes All?" Eggsy asked, curiosity piqued, Tilde right with him.

"A game of my own design." Tequila bragged. "A question is posed to the group about something within the group, the group votes, and the losers take a shot." He explained.

“You’ve missed out a crucial detail, T. Bets on.” Vermouth points out as she and Merlin slowed their dancing. She quickly pilfered some bottles from Whilhem who smilled and starting collecting shot glasses.

“Right, right! So if someone calls bets on, you have to prove it.” He beams at the group, arms open as if expecting applause only to be met by confusion and amusement.

"Plead the fifth!" Tequila hollered, and Meredith smiled, placing the assorted alcohol on the table before flopping down onto the sofa next to Merlin.

"Let's get started." She grabbed one of Eggsy's empty beer bottles and spun.

“I’m not sure I understand how this works.” Merlin leant over to whisper in her ear.

“You’ll see.” She whispered back, and for a moment he got a scent of the sweet alcohol on her breath. It landed on Tequila, who whooped again.

"Alright, let me show you how it's done. We'll start tame. Which of the girls can do the most push-ups? Men vote." Slowly the votes trickled in. Tequila for Vermouth, Harry and Eggsy for Roxy, and finally Merlin also for Roxy.

"No offence Roxy, but y'all are fools. Bets on." Tequila laughed as the two women stood up, moving to the dance floor next to the couches, and onto their knees. "All right ladies, nice clean push-ups from both of you. Highest wins. Go." A quick fist bump and they were off. They both kept as even a pace as possible, not wanting to wear out too quickly, until Roxy started to slowly fall behind, the lads cheered them on, but it was too late. Vermouth beating out Lancelot by fifteen.

"Bloody hell, Di." Roxy gasped, shaking out her arms, Meredith mimicking her with a laugh.

"Alright boys, drink up and think of a question for Tequila over there." The two women stood, making their way back to their seats.

"Alright," Tilde's eyes narrowed as she looked around them. "Who is the most buff of the guys? Girls vote." Suddenly, a devious smile settled across Meredith's lips, not going unnoticed by a few of the group. All the votes pointed to Tequila, Tilda giving Eggsy an apology kiss who argued he'd say the same thing. Everyone looked to Meredith, who took a little sip before leaning back.

"Merlin." Harry chuckled from the other sofa and seconding her, and Tequila puffing out his chest.

"No way." He argued, the others joining in on the confusion. "You agree?" He asked Merlin, who sized up the other man before giving a nod. "Bets on."

Merlin gave a resigned sigh before shooting Meredith a look that sid ‘i’ll get you back for this’. Both men stood, Tequila shrugging off his jacket as Merlin unbuttoned his shirt. By the time he was done, Tequila was shirtless and waiting. Merlin shrugged off his shirt, tossing it onto the couch next to Meredith, and she got the sudden urge to crawl inside it.

"Holy shit, Merlin. You're jacked." Eggsy spluttered, Harry laughing and tipping his glass to his old friend.

"How did you know?" Tilde asked, eyes narrowing at Meredith.

"I flew out to patch him up in Columbia. You can't apply an Alpha-gel patch over clothing." She explained simply. Tequila held a hand out to Merlin who shook it, and Meredith never looked away from the rippling muscles of his back. Slowly he sat down and pulled his shirt back on, leaving a few buttons undone like before, but opting to roll up the sleeves, and suddenly Meredith's legs felt weak. "Sorry Tilds, but I think that counts as my question." She smirked. The questions were a little tamer after that, and soon got so silly that Roxy and Harry slowly began to diffuse the situation.

Merlin waited as Meredith closed the ballroom up, and walked to the residential wing together. Whilst he still had his own house, Merlin wasn't currently in a state to drive and didn't fancy the journey anyway, so was staying in one of the guest rooms. He walked Meredith to her room like a true gentleman, holding her heels for her as she clutched the nearly full glass of Dissorano she had insisted upon taking bed with her in one hand, and her now slightly too long skirt in the other. Halfway up the second staircase, she had almost dripped, catching her self on her knees, Merlin's hand under her right forearm to steady her as she peeled with laughter. Once they finally made it there, they stared at each other in silence for a moment, assessing.

Merlin made the first move, weaving a hand into her hair and cupping the side of her head as he pressed his lips to hers. She lost her breath at the sensation, strength pouring through, whilst he was met with soft and yielding. He pulled away, stroking his thumb across her cheekbone, before moving away. Meredith reached out and grabbed the front of his shirt and pulling his back to her. It was a far more intense kiss, her tongue slipping out to run across his lower lip and he nipped at hers in response. Her back pressed against the door, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she reminded herself not to drop the glass. She tasted sweet, like marzipan, where he tasted of something woody, and strong. Remnants of alcohol brushing over her tongue. They parted, panting, eyes wide and panting breaths. amidst this moment she managed to mumble out,

"That's how you say goodnight."

#merlin #kingsman #kingsmen secret service #kingsmen #kingsman secret service #merlin x oc #series #oneshot #mission

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tightropenuzlocke · 5 years

Text

Tightrope: a Y Storylocke

Chapter One: Life Is Just A Play With No Rehearsal

They could hardly wait until they got back to the privacy of Serena’s room to snoop. Their own kits lay discarded on the bed to be opened later, because the identity of the final member of their program was far more interesting. The lab assistant who delivered their gear hadn’t known anything, but the packages they had to distribute were of course addressed to their recipients, and that was something to go on.

Xoana was surprised to find an address just down the lane from hers in Bourg Croquis, no doubt belonging to the new neighbors her mother had mentioned, and she suddenly wished she hadn’t volunteered to go with Serena to the pick-up two towns away. Teasingly, the name on the package kindled a faint flicker of recognition in the back of Xoana’s mind, and she rolled the Q around in her head to try and stoke it to life. It wasn’t a common name, at least not in this region, yet she’d heard it before. An old classmate? An acquaintance?

“A Rhyhorn rider!” Serena declared, beaming at her phone and her own cleverness. She read off her screen. “Grace Emer Quinn, born in Éire but a naturalized citizen of Kalos, holds the current world record for both time and obstacles cleared in a Rhyhorn race. Mme Quinn and her partner Rhyhorn, Morrigan, set the record at the twentieth bi-annual world championships. We watched that as kids, remember?”

It was always easy to find her on the track, emblazoned in bright red and charging recklessly ahead of the pack. Maybe that was why everyone was so taken with her. Xoana and Serena were far from the only ones who had cheered for her against their home region. In fact, she seemed to recall the whole viewing party, aside from her stubbornly loyal stepfather, had worn something red the day of the championship race. Serena had helped tie crimson ribbons in Xoana’s hair and pilfered a scarlet scarf from her mother’s closet for herself. Xoana’s mother had let them drag a blanket onto the floor so that the adults could occupy the surrounding couches and chairs. Xoana had watched the screen on her stomach, pillow squeezed tight in her arms and legs waving behind her.

Or perhaps it had been that force of personality which took the racing world by storm. She had always given interviews in the language of the region hosting despite all the extra effort because she hadn’t wanted anyone to speak for her. Xoana remembered the surety behind her words despite the reaching, the expressiveness despite her limitations, the hearty laugh over her own stumbling that was her trademark. And who could forget that shock of glowing red curls? Xoana had never seen hair like hers on TV before. Then there was that dense smattering of freckles and big, brilliant smile. Maybe Xoana had kept a picture. It was so long ago that she couldn’t quite recall.

But Xoana did remember how her heart had drummed every time she watched her. Kalos had never been so invested in Rhyhorn racing before or since. For a moment it had been almost as big as battling.

“So you think it’s her daughter?”

“Says here she has a daughter our age. And it would explain that Rhyhorn you mentioned.”

That was a good explanation. Rhyhorn weren’t really pets after all.

“Maybe it is her.”

…

“Look alive, Rough Rider!” Cináed tweeted at the top of his damn voice. Aisling groaned and pulled the sheets over her head before he could blast her with the full force of dawn.

There was a soft thump as he dropped from the string of the shade to the windowsill, then a series of softer ones as he hopped his way from her knees to her shoulder. The tapestry above her bed flapped in the sudden gust as he tried to wrest the covers from her iron grip.

“Come on, Aisling!” he whined.

She pretended to be dead.

He fluttered over to her pillow and tunneled into her hair. “Nice nest you have here.” He shuffled his feathers—settling in. “Think I’ll take it.”

“Be my guest.”

“Sure is warm in here,” he chirped pleasantly, snuggling closer to her scalp. It was gonna take a lot more than his scorching chest to get her up. “Do you smell something burning?”

Aisling leapt out of bed right onto her feet. “I’m up!”

A smug twittering drifted from her hair and she stumbled, grumbling, into her bathroom. Cináed poked his bright red head out over her brow and she grudgingly offered him the middle finger, which the Fletchling used to pull himself free.

She turned on the tap and splashed water over her face. Cináed beat a hasty retreat to the towel rack.

“You told me to get you up this morning!” he complained.

She scowled at his reflection. “It’s 6AM!”

He waved his wings in his best approximation of air quotes. “Don’t let me sleep in, Cináed! I need the extra time to get ready!”

“Fuck, that’s today!”

Aisling tripped out of her pajamas and Cináed slipped out the door to avoid the steam. The Fletching stayed close, though, and whistled an old gaelic ballad through the crack as she washed and rinsed and toweled off. As always, he came back in for the hairdryer and she shot him up to the ceiling a few times.

He perched on her bedpost while she threw half her wardrobe across the mattress, trying to get her outfit right. Yes, the jacket is absolutely a power move. Eh, I think we can do better than that skirt. Absolutely wear the boots!

Once she had the clothes, makeup was simple: gold eyeliner, some glitter on her cheekbones, and lip color to match her belt. She bound her hair back with the strongest tie that money could buy, smoothed the front and teased the back.

“How do I look?”

“Ready to cut ’em up!” Cináed chirped, flashing his white wingtips for emphasis.

Aisling grinned but something anchored her feet to the floor. She felt the weight of keen, black eyes watching her.

“Maybe I should come along,” Cináed offered. “I can scope out this starter pokemon for you.”

“Naw.” She waved him off, going for her clutch.

“Then at least take a few feathers!”

He swooped over to her vanity and snatched some of his shed feathers out of the tiny vase she kept them in. She held still as he landed on her head and poked them through her hair tie one by one, five in all. She watched his tail bob in the mirror and he caught sight of her face when he turned.

“They’re good luck!” he chirped before jumping ship.

“I make my own luck,” she reminded him, but her first smile of the day crept across her face as she checked his handiwork. Satisfied, she sprung out the door. “See you later Cináed!”

A scone from mam and a sleepy chuff from Raleigh, still resting in his sand bed, sent her off.

…

The morning was ever so slightly chill and Xoana hugged her warm cup of tea to her chest while she waited for the sun to warm the café patio where the group had gathered. Serena and Tracie nursed their coffees while Tierney finished off her pastry. They had pushed two of the little round tables together and left one seat open for the final member, who had yet to arrive. Xoana’s mother had confirmed via text that the new neighbors were indeed Grace Quinn and her daughter. Everything was squared away and Xoana let things fall quiet.

Tracie’s Pikachu grew bored and tapped her on the arm. Tracie pulled an old, handheld console out of her backpack and set up the kickstand case so Spark could play next to her on the table.

Tierney’s Hawlucha shuffled her wings before spreading them back out to sun some more. Tierney rolled the case of pokeballs idly back and forth on the table in a rhythmic drone.

The sound of bootheels on the cobblestones pulled Xoana out of her stupor. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but the young woman that approached them still caught her off guard. For one, Xoana had probably expected someone pale and firey like Grace. Instead she was dark with kinky hair bound tightly back and adorned with Fletching feathers. A little closer, she was almost more freckle than person and the clicking heels belonged to a pair of embroidered riding boots, which fit the picture of famous-Rhyhorn-jockey’s-daughter a little better. The leather jacket she had on emphasized her already broad shoulders and the well-fitted, indigo jeans drew attention to other assets Xoana probably shouldn’t be taking note of.

“Best behavior,” said Serena, which felt very pointed even though it wasn’t.

“Bonjour!” she called out to them.

“Bonjour!” they all answered, standing to greet her.

“You must be Aisling,” Serena continued, offering her hand. “I’m Serena Pascal. It’s lovely to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Aisling purred, taking her hand.

The greeting lingered a little before she turned to Xoana, smiling even more broadly if possible. Her mouth was a bit large for her face, but in a nice way, and Xoana made a mental note to ask where she got that shade of purple lip color.

“Xoana Bellamy,” she said before Serena could do it for her. “Great to meet you.”

“Likewise.” It was nice to have someone sound like they meant it.

“We’re actually neighbors. I live in Bourg Croquis too.”

“Really? Maybe you could show me around sometime?”

“Of course!”

Aisling didn’t shift her gaze but thankfully Tierney stepped in to rescue Xoana’s heartbeat from its precipitous climb.

“Tierney Fitzroy.”

Aisling matched her hearty shake with ease. “You got folks in Éire too?”

“Yeah, my father’s family. Éire and Galar.”

Aisling dropped from her light, south Kalos accent into a heavy Éirinn brogue. “The traitors!”

That made Tierney laugh and Aisling moved on to the final member of their group.

“Tracie Chastain,” she said stiffly. Predictably she couldn’t meet Aisling’s eyes, but she did manage a greeting and brief handshake.

“Nice to meet you, Tracie.” If Aisling was off-put or offended by Tracie’s curtness, she didn’t show it. “What’s your Pikachu playing?”

“Dirby and the Crystal Shards.”

“Classic.”

Tierney’s Hawlucha shuffled over and Aisling greeted her as well.

“That’s Valériane,” Tierney explained. “She’s my starter.” Aisling offered her hand, which the Hawlucha patted awkwardly with her claws before waddling over to Tierney’s side. “And Spark is Tracie’s starter.” Tierney tapped the cylindrical case on the table in front of her. “You three get to pick one from Professor Sycamore.”

“But before we do,” said Serena, polite but officious as usual, “there are a few things we should go over. Do you have your trainer license?”

“Just got it yesterday!” Aisling whipped it out of her pocket to show before setting into the chair set aside for her between Xoana and Serena.

“Good. Tracie?”

Tracie already had her backpack in her lap and was pulling things out of it. She slid Aisling’s pokedex, holocaster, and provisional pokemon science licence across the table. Aisling took them wordlessly, practically radiating excitement as Tracie caught her up to speed. She registered, transferred her data and added them all to her contacts.

“Excellent,” said Serena. “Now that that’s sorted, we had a bit of a proposition for you.”

“Oh?” Aisling asked, perking back up.

Xoana spoke first this time. She could feel Serena about to be blunt instead of easing into it as Xoana had suggested. “Well, we thought—since we’re all in the same program—it might be fun to travel all together, as a group.”

“Oh,” said Aisling carefully, “did you all have a chance to meet up earlier?”

“We knew each other before we got into the program,” Serena jumped in.

Xoana could smack her.

“We all went to school together right here in Quarellis!” Tierney added cheerfully.

“Oh.” For the first time Aisling’s face closed and her posture stiffened.

This was exactly what Xoana had wanted to avoid. She swooped back in, leaning a bit over the table to get Aisling’s attention and smiling as bright and friendly as she could while also wanting to strangle her friends just a little.

“So we all get along and thought ‘the more the merrier’ you know?”

“We won’t all be working on the same projects of course,” said Serena, “but we all need to travel around to earn badges and so forth. It might be safer and more expedient to do so in a group.”

“No pressure to accept, obviously,” Xoana added, “but we would really love to have you.”

There was a pause while they all waited for an answer. Xoana could feel her face straining.

“That… sounds great!” Aisling declared, smiling again. “You seem like a good bunch. I’m so happy to have friends up north.”

Xoana stifled a sigh of relief. “That’s great! I’m so excited! This is going to be so much fun!”

“We were really hoping you’d be down for it,” said Tierney.

“Fun fact about me,” said Aisling with another big grin, “I’m down for most things.”

“Good to know!”

“Maybe we should do some icebreakers!” Xoana said. She was back in her element now. “How about we name our goals for the program and a hobby?” She paused, but she couldn’t exactly take that back. “I want to be a pokemon professional of some kind, but I’m not sure about my field. I volunteered at the Center in town and now I’m gonna use this year to look at training and research. Oh, and I like to make accessories and stuff in my spare time.”

“Did you make that bracelet you’re wearing?”

“Yeah!” She fiddled with it. “And the hair ties.”

Aisling surveyed them. “You’re good. They’re cute as anything.”

“Thanks!” She had to elbow Tierney so Aisling would stop looking at her.

Tierney talked about her dance moves project, which Aisling thought was a cool way to combine her passions. Tracie had to be prompted again, but Aisling saw to it this time. She even got Tracie rattling on about fossils until she abruptly clammed up, which meant she had gone back to counting her words. Aisling gave no signal of discomfort and that was as good a sign as any that this might turn out well.

“My goal is to be a professional trainer like my mother,” said Serena. “I hope to do well enough to be considered for Prof. Sycamore’s mega evolution project.” It was amazing how she just did that. Xoana would never be over it.

“And I like running,” she tacked on awkwardly. At least Xoana had something she lacked.

“I hear that helps clear your mind. A bit like riding that way.” It was impressive how she managed to make a connection with all of them right away, whether it was simple appreciation or common ground. “Anyway, my mom’s a big Rhyhorn rider and I’m going to get even more famous for battling. So I’m aiming to slide over into the mega evo project too. As for hobbies, I’ve done all sorts of things and I’m always in the market for a new pastime.”

Serena was measuring Aisling with her eyes, which was not a good sign.

“Since we’re all friends now,” Xoana began pointedly, “why don’t we come up with some nicknames for each other?”

“I like it!” Aisling nodded in approval.

“How about Ash?” Tierney suggested.

“Not bad, but I think I’d prefer to be addressed as My Queen.”

“My Queen?” Serena demanded, incredulous.

“Exactly,” Aisling confirmed, as if Serena had trouble understanding rather than believing. “Or perhaps Your Majesty, if you prefer.” Then she smirked.

Xoana couldn’t remember the last time someone doubled down after Serena challenged them like that. And neither could Serena if the way she pulled back and blinked was anything to go by. Serena’s tongue moved in her mouth, trying to work out a response, and Xoana scrambled to think of something to head her off.

“If you’re Queen, can I be Baronne?” They all looked at Tracie, surprised that she was following the conversation.

“But of course!” said Aisling magnanimously. “All of you are welcome to be nobles in my court.”

“Nice!” said Tierney, once again before Serena had time to process. “I’m feeling Vicomtesse for me. Has a nice ring to it.”

“An excellent choice,” Aisling declared.

“Hmm, I’m thinking Marquise,” Xoana threw in to keep the momentum.

“Perfect.”

“Are we really doing this?” Serena demanded, set back in her chair with her arms crossed.

Xoana smiled. She couldn’t help it. Even with Serena glaring at the both of them, she couldn’t keep it in.

“Aw, come on!” chimed Tierney good-naturedly. “It’ll be fun!”

“Yeah, Ser,” Xoana piled on.

Serena looked to Tracie, but she was researching something on her pokedex and predictably failed to notice the call for backup. Alone, tacit refusal was Serena’s only polite recourse. “I can’t think of one.” Can’t think of a rank higher than queen, more like.

Aisling tapped her lip a few times, looking Serena in the eyes, then pointed at her with a flick of her wrist.

“You seem like a Comtesse to me.” She didn’t wait for a response. “Alright, nicknames assigned! Let’s see these starter pokemon!”

Tierney leaned over and placed the case in the middle of the table before opening it, revealing three pokeballs.

“Before I let them out, who’s picking first?”

Xoana watched Serena squirm for a moment. She so obviously wanted first pick but she couldn’t be the one to suggest it. But they had both agreed to let Aisling pick first before she arrived, so Xoana elected to ignore this new development.

“Well if you’re Queen, maybe you should pick first, Aisling.”

“Makes sense,” Tracie agreed, failing to look up from her pokedex.

A muscle in Serena’s forehead twitched.

“Alright then. Let’s do it!”

Three small pokemon emerged in a flash of red light. The first was a Fennekin, who looked around at the assembled and scratched one of her enormous ears. The second was a Chespin who peeked at them before staring down at the table and nervously clasping her forepaws. The last was a Froakie, who glanced placidly around and smiled before using his tongue to clear one of his eyes. They were all so fucking cute. Xoana couldn’t decide which she wanted more.

Serena had decided though. Her eyes were fixed on the fire-type as if the other two didn’t exist. Aisling’s gaze was drawn to the Fennekin as well. Xoana began to brace herself, but then Aisling glanced to either side, catching Xoana’s eyes for a moment before delivering her choice.

“I think I’ll take… the Chespin! Chesnaught are the shit.”

The Chespin looked up, ears at attention, then glanced away and looked back again. Aisling held her gaze, grinning. The Chespin touched a paw to her chest in question.

“Yes, you!” Aisling answered with a snort of amusement. “Get over here.” The Chespin took a few paces forward and sat down in front of her, little nose twitching. “You got nice guns there, short stack.” She flexed one of her own, patting it for emphasis. As if to mirror the motion, the Chespin scratched at her thick arm and smiled tentatively. “You look like a Bree to me. How’s that sound?”

She looked down at a paw, taking a moment to carefully manipulate her digits, then gave Aisling the thumbs up. Beyond her, Serena was slightly irate that the Chespin apparently got more say in her nickname than she had been given.

“Welcome to Team Aisling! Can I get a fist bump?”

Bree closed her paw and tapped it against Aisling’s offered fist. Aisling drew hers away, splaying her fingers and making a sound effect out the side of her mouth. Bree wiggled her claws back experimentally.

“Yeah! You got it.” The Chespin smiled again at the encouragement. It was then that Xoana noticed Serena staring across the table at her.

“Go ahead, Ser—Comtesse. I can’t decide anyway.”

“I’ll take the Fennekin then.” Serena beckoned and the pokemon approached her. “I’ll call you Félicité, alright?”

The Fennekin nodded primly and sat down in front of her, curling her bushy tail over her paws. Serena stroked her fur, almost vibrating with happiness.

Xoana forgave her minor sins.

Aisling smiled too and there was a hint of satisfaction in it. So she had guessed which pokemon Serena wanted and let her have it. That was interesting.

The Froakie shuffled around to face Xoana. He blinked one eye and then the other at her. She melted onto her hands.

“Hi Froakie!” He blew a bubble from both nostrils and sucked them back in. “You are so cute! I love your bubbles! Can I touch them?” She reached out, but waited for him to nod before putting her hand on the ruff of pale, semi-translucent globes around his neck. They were moist and gave a little but didn’t burst.

“That’s so cool!” The Froakie smiled his big froggy smile at her. “Can I call you Froabble?”

The Froakie answered with a ribbit that expanded his throat sack a little. A noise of utter glee escaped Xoana.

The others all grinned at her, even Tracie, albeit with half her mouth. Aisling was leaning on her elbow to get a better view. Xoana could feel her face heating up. Tierney—bless her—rescued her by handing out the pokeballs.

“So, if we’re all going together, what’s the game plan?” Aisling asked, spinning her pokeball on the table like a top.

“We thought it would be best to work out of Neuvartault until it’s time to check in with Prof. Sycamore in Illumis,” said Serena. “There are three adjacent routes to train on and that way we could all earn our first badge before the meeting.”

“Sounds good to me,” Aisling replied.

“We can walk there together tomorrow if you want,” Xoana offered.

“I would like that.” That mouth of hers was deadly and shouldn’t be allowed. “Where are we staying?”

“Xoana and Tierney are staying with Tracie and me since we live close by,” said Serena. “But there’s a nice bed and breakfast in town.”

“Excellent. Send me the name and I’ll put in my housing request.”

Serena was a bit taken aback but couldn’t gracefully decline so reasonable a request, so she picked up her holocaster and texted the info.

“Thanks! All in order now?”

“That’s everything on the checklist,” said Tracie.

“Bree and I should probably get going then. Of course I’d love to stay and get to know you better, but alas, I have other appointments.”

She stood and gathered her things, motioning to her new Chespin to follow. Bree hopped from the chair to the ground and waited right by her ankle, which seemed to please her. She looked back up at them.

“It’s been the utmost pleasure meeting you Baronne, Vicomtesse, Comtesse, Marquise.”

The way her lips curved upward as she lingered on that final word—like she enjoyed the feel of it in her mouth—made something in Xoana’s chest flutter.

As she turned, she revealed to them what resembled a biker gang’s emblem splashed across the back of her jacket. It was a pokemon Xoana didn’t recognize—white and soft yellow with a third eye taking up most of its torso and blue tags hanging from each of the three points on its head. A furling banner below the pokemon’s delicate streamers bore the message: Try My Luck.

“Au revoir!” Aisling called without turning back.

And with that she was gone, pokeball at her belt, Chespin at her side, and even more bravado in the clicking of her boot heels against the cobblestones. Xoana didn’t want to stop staring after her, but that seemed imprudent, so she yanked her eyes back to the café table. Her new Froakie smiled tentatively up at her and she smiled back.

Aisling had been a surprise start to finish, but not an unpleasant one. The meeting certainly hadn’t gone quite as planned either, but perhaps that was to be expected. Serena was slumped in her chair with her chin tucked and no one else took it upon themselves to restart the conversation, so Xoana filled the gap.

“Well, she seemed nice.”

“Nice?” Serena countered, head cocked to the side and one immaculate eyebrow raised. “You call waltzing in like she owned the place and completely taking control ‘nice’?”

Xoana brushed this aside. “She was probably just nervous.”

“Nervous?” Serena was incredulous now. “What part of that display said insecurity to you?”

The Fennekin glanced back at her trainer and then expectantly at Xoana.

“This is a region-wide program. She had no reason to expect that we would all already know each other. It’s intimidating.”

“But—”

“Cut her some slack,” Tierney finally contributed. “You’re the one who was lecturing us to be friendly.”

“So did Xoana!”

“She’s nicer about it,” Tracie muttered, engrossed in her pokedex. Spark played with her handheld, feigning disinterest, but her ears gave her away.

“She told us to call her ‘My Queen’.”

Valériane hopped up and down, beating her wings each time in an attempt to see over the table.

“The nickname thing was my idea!”

Serena rolled her eyes and Xoana’s narrowed. Serena leaned back in her chair and spread her arms.

“So now we’re all lackeys in her court.”

“You’re so dramatic!”

“I’m dramatic?” Serena demanded, hand splayed on her chest like she was performing for a crowded theater.

The total lack of irony was more than Xoana could take.

“Stop repeating everything I say!”

Serena opened her mouth to argue the point, but from the look on her face, realized she was about to shoot Xoana’s words back again and thought better of it.

Xoana considered leaving it there, but she couldn’t.

“I liked her.”

“Of course you did."

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Xoana demanded—as if she didn’t know exactly what it meant—as if they all didn’t know. Xoana’s cheeks flushed. Just once she wanted to hear her say it, but of course she wouldn’t. She never had. “You just don’t like her because you’re used to being the alpha friend.”

“Wha— That’s not true!”

Serena looked to Tracie and Tierney but neither met her eyes. Then she had the nerve to pout. Fuck her and her adorable face.

Serena’s Fennekin hopped off the table into her lap and she stroked her absently.

Valériane made an inelegant attempt to haul herself up onto Aisling’s now empty chair. Xoana leaned over to offer the Hawlucha a hand and chewed the inside of her cheek as Valériane pulled herself up and settled into the seat.

“Listen,” she said at length, “you’re being a Skiddo about this.”

Serena grunted—as if to illustrate Xoana’s point.

“It would make everything easier and a lot more fun if we could all be friends.”

“That is almost exactly what you said an hour ago, Ser.” Tierney reminded her. Tracie nodded in agreement.

That only made Serena’s brow set even further. Time to change tack.

“We’ve got a whole dynamic going and it’s weird to shake it up, but maybe it’ll be good.”

Serena grunted again.

“If you don’t want to see sense, could you at least give her another chance as a favor to me? If you’re feeling generous, that is.”

Serena tried not to smile at the dig, but couldn’t help it. “Fine.” She scratched Félicité between the ears and the tension flowed off her. “First impressions aren’t everything.”

…

“Raleigh, I’m home!”

“So I see,” he said dryly, but he was waiting for her at the gate.

“Meet, Bree, my starter!” The Chespin ducked behind Aislings legs. “Bree, this is Raleigh. He’s a racer.”

Bree gave Raleigh a tentative wave.

“A plant-type, huh? Don’t ask me to spar with her.”

“Cináed’ll keep her in line, ya big calf.”

Bree made herself small so Aisling shoved the Rhyhorn aside to show her he was all bulk and no bite.

Grace came out of the house with Cináed and Aisling snatched up her starter.

“Look mam! I got a Chespin! Brawny and tenacious! Her name’s Bree.”

“Nice ta meecha there, Bree!” said Cináed.

“Welcome to the family!” said Grace and shook the Chespin’s paw. “How’d the meeting go?”

“Great!” Aisling bounced up on her toes and then hastily put her starter down so that she could emote more safely. “They were all girls! And two of ‘em were black! I miss the ranch already, but it’s so nice to be closer to the city.”

“I know what ya mean. I’m so happy for ya, alanna!”

“And they were all so nice! Serena might be a bit stuck-up, but she’s cute and kinda fun to mess with. Tracie’s shy but she was trying really hard and ya can just tell she’s smart. Tierney—”

“Tierney now?” Grace interrupted with a grin.

“Oh-aye!” Aisling confirmed in kind. “She had a fun vibe to her. Really interesting project too. And then Xoana—gods is she ever winsome—was so sweet and friendly. Made sure I was comfortable and all that. And you should’ve seen her when she got her Froakie.” She was gushing now but couldn’t help it. “They’re a bit odd, yanno? But she just thought he was the most precious thing in the world, moist skin and all.”

“Even the gooey mons deserve a fan I suppose.”

“But that’s not even the best part! We’re all going to travel together!”

“What a relief!” Grace made a big show of wiping her brow.

“I woulda been fine on me own!” She pouted for a moment but her mother only laughed. “This’ll be more fun anyway. They really are a nice bunch.” Aisling was bouncing in place now. “I can’t wait to start!”

“I’m so happy and so proud of you,” said her mother, voice as warm as the bread she could smell baking.

“Aw mam, you’re always proud of me.”

“Too right! And I always will be no matter what happens.” She brushed Aisling’s cheek with her hand. “But I also know you’ll do well. Us Quinns are women of action—adventurers through and through! There ain’t nothing we can’t do if we set our minds to it!” Raleigh snorted with approval and Cináed nodded vigorously from his perch on Grace’s shoulder.

“Yeah, alright,” said Aisling with a roll of her eyes.

Bree looked heartened and excited by all the enthusiasm, even though she probably didn’t catch much of what was said. Pokemon had a knack for getting the gist of things even without the understanding.

“Though I would like to tack on an addendum, which is that there are certain things we perhaps shouldn’t do… Like our coworkers, for instance.”

“Mam!” Aisling flushed and Grace tried not to laugh. “I’m not an idiot!”

“Nor am I, but you only have to be a fool once.”

“I know,” Aisling sighed.

“O’course, sometimes it can be the best thing that ever happened to ya.” A grudging smile wormed its way onto Aisling face. “Are ya leaving soon or hanging around for a few more days?”

“Heading out in the morning. We’re all going to stay in Neuvartault until it’s time for our first evaluation.”

“Sensible,” Grace sighed. “You’ll call me though, won’t you?”

“O’course I will. If you get a holocaster, you can see my beautiful face in glorious 3D.” She waved her new device at her mother.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“But you’re coming with me, right Cináed?”

He bobbed. “I promised, didn’t I?”

“Yes!” She pumped her fist.

“But just until you beat the first gym,” he reminded her. “I’m a songbird, not a battler.”

“Yeah yeah, ya coward. We’ve got a deal.”

Team Aisling:

Team Xoana:

Team Serena:

Team Tierney:

Team Tracie:

#nuzlocke #storylocke #pokemon y #Kalos #starter pokemon #Tightrope #chapter

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loquaciousquark · 7 years

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17th Bloomingtide. Spring winds are blowing, and with them they bring...

All sorts of whispers in the city these days. Particularly, rumors that a ship with piratical ties is on its way to Kirkwall, to dock within the week.

I can’t pretend I’m not hoping, but I can’t say the hope aloud, either. It’s been almost three years since she left. There’s hardly any anger left, thank the Maker, but I still haven’t figured out the hurt.

Speaking of hurt, Meredith and Orsino nearly came to blows this morning in the Hightown square. I gave a good effort at impartiality since I’m apparently considered respectable now, channeling my inner Elthina and so forth (for you, Sebastian, and no other), and in the end everyone left angry and unsatisfied. I believe this means I was a success.

21st Bloomingtide. Beautiful sunny day, almost warm

She’s here. Isabela’s come back to the city. We had a terrible fight when I went into the Hanged Man--the wench had been there for two days without either her or Varric breathing a word to me, so when I came in as blithe as a daisy only to see that cocky smirk at the bar with Corff, as if she’d been gone three weeks instead of three years, I couldn’t decide if I ought to kill her or kiss her.

She blamed (blames?) me for ruining all her plans. For making her stay, or want to stay, instead of letting her live forever without a tie to solid land. She’s given up her charter, let it expire when she docked and dismissed her crew. She sounded so bitter... she said I made her feel less than what she was by caring about her. Well--not in as many words, but that’s what I took away from it.

If she didn’t want me to care about her, she shouldn’t have come back. Serves her right--I’ll love her whether she likes it or not, and piffle to the rest. Even if she’s brought another Arishok on her heels again--I’ll fight him, too, if I have to.

Belatedly occurs to me that I shouldn’t tempt the Maker, especially as I’m already down one kidney

We had a drink after we fought, and she told me a little about her journeys & why her hair’s two inches shorter than when she left. She has a new scar, too, right across the meat of her right arm. I’m so very glad she’s back. I’m even looking forward to the pot of coin I’ll be losing next week at cards.

Maker, how can I be so happy and sad at the same time?

30th Bloomingtide. Still sunny, warming up both here & the Coast. In Ferelden there’d be daisies covering the fields

Isabela’s been everywhere. Everywhere! Antiva, Rivain (briefly), stops in Orlais, Gwaren, Alamar--she even went far enough into Denerim to see the king & queen, long may they reign etc, etc. Because apparently Isabela’s the kind of person to know reigning monarchs of neighboring countries on a first-name basis. She even says she trained the queen in daggers a long time ago when she was only a Warden, which is probably the most unbelievable part of the whole tale.

Varric won’t admit it, but he’s as pleased as I am that she’s back. We played cards last night and everyone came (except Aveline, who’s still in Orlais), and he was so quietly satisfied I could swear he was stacking the deck in his favor, except he’s been scrupulously honest in his cards lately (a long con, I’m sure) and he hardly won anything anyway. Isabela cleaned out every one of us, except Anders who folded nearly every hand, and not a single person complained.

Reminder: take Merrill out... somewhere tomorrow. Anywhere. She’s looking awfully wilted lately, and Varric said he hasn’t had to pay street protection in over two months. She’s just not... going anyplace. I’m hoping Isabela’s coming back will bring her out a little more, but she did look awfully distracted more than once tonight.

That damned mirror!

4th Justinian. I have never been so charmed by a doodled dick in my journal, thank you, now stop reading and go pilfer something shiny

I’m a perfect fool sometimes.

I was reading letters in the study. Pelarie’s asked me to come by--that’s beside the point. I was using Fenris’s little penknife to open them, the one he gave me, and as Orana came by to water the rhododendron she said something about it being rather pretty. I showed it to her with the feathers and the engraving on the blade, and I was laughing about how he’d had it engraved with the Tevinter word for sadist, as he’d called me ages ago when he was so ill.

Except she only looked perplexed when I said that, and I...

I still didn’t understand, not until I asked her directly. She carefully sounded out the word to be sure she’d read it right (which she had).

Avis doesn’t mean “sadist.” It means “bird.”

I’ve never felt so peculiar over a word in my life.

11th Justinian. Cool for the season, warm for my taste. Stormed a bit this morning but it’s cleared up nicely since

Aveline’s back tomorrow and the city is more than ready for her return. The templars are--well, Meredith is become the sole seat of power in Kirkwall, and I hadn’t realized how absolutely she’s claimed it until I passed by a pair of templars heckling a young man in Darktown this morning. They had him up against a wall & were trying to bait magic out of him with sheer fear, and it wasn’t until I casually came up between their muscly shoulders that they seemed to care the entire alley was watching.

I asked if they needed any help. I recognized them, too--they used to run with Alrik and his sort, though I hadn’t seen them in the streets in years and frankly, journal, I’d hoped they’d just gone off and walked off some high cliff somewhere together. The taller one looked ready to hit me until he recognized my face, and then they both gave up a grudging respect and went on their way.

I still don’t know if the boy was a mage. I didn’t ask--I don’t want to know. I don’t want to be in the middle of this war. Anders fights enough for the both of us, and that’s not even including the war he’s waging against himself.

(Sidebar, now that I’ve brought it up: I went to help him with that little task of his, possibly the most disgusting thing I have ever done in my life, and he started it off by calling Fenris a wild dog to my face. I was already annoyed; at that I was angry, and I told him so. He apologized, though I’m not sure he meant it, and on we went to the precious shit. I can’t say the splashing wasn’t intentional; if nothing else, I am excellent at recognizing my own mercurial spite. He did apologize again as we left, much more sincerely, and by then my temper had cooled enough to accept it.

I must say, given all my vast years of experience with spirits and possession and indeed several personal anecdotes involving general bad behavior on the part of Fade denizens, that Justice has not been a good influence on that man.)

24th Justinian. Drizzly all day, and even the hood my father magicked is struggling to keep up its spirits

Dicks, but when it rains it pours. Someone’s after Gamlen for bad debt, something to do with some Gem of Ker...what is it? I have the note. Keroshek. Sounds like one of those scheming letters that pretend to be some investor or tax collector and threaten to bring the guard unless you pay them a hundred sovs, except that in this case someone really did try to kill him.

I’m not so rich with family that I can let this happen again. I won’t allow it. If I have to tie him to a post in my basement to keep him safe, I will. I’ll even risk the smell soaking into the walls.

Varric’s looking into it for me. In other news, Aveline’s back safely, and she and Isabela had a reunion I still can’t quite find words for. I think they were both happy, though the words didn’t show it, and when Isabela draped her arm over Aveline’s shoulders at the end she didn’t shake her off for nearly a minute.

Flames, Toby has just brought in a whole chicken. Where did he it’s alive

Later

One soggy chicken extracted, returned to the butcher down the street, and Toby thoroughly scolded. He’s curled at my feet now, sulking. Serves you right, you overgrown thief. Just because the chicken ran didn’t mean you had the right to chase it.

One more thing, and then I need to help Orana--I finally met with Pelarie and Jule. Pelarie’s worried about her little sister, the one in the Gallows. She says she’s fine for now, that her name’s been enough to protect her so far, but she’s worried that the city might not remain safe for her forever. She wanted to know if I could quote-unquote help should she need it in the future.

I can. I will, if it comes to it, and she knew it before she asked. How irritatingly transparent I am, and how well she knows my regard for little sisters.

1st Solace. Stifling, yet dank. Remarkable city, Kirkwall

Two very interesting things happened today. First, a qunari arrived in Hightown (and the brass balls on that one for lingering, despite the stares!) and stated he wanted all those old swords I collected after the assault on the Keep. There’s a handful missing, it seems, and since qunari have such a strong belief in their swords and souls being tied together, he’s here to bring them all home again. Only a few more, and then he can leave safely. (Good, I think--Kirkwall won’t tolerate his lingering long.)

The second thing, journal, is that despite a year of assurances to the contrary, stubbornness almost as great as my own, and various diatribes on Hadriana’s general mendacity, it turns out that someone has been exchanging letters with Tevinter for almost two months.

More than that, he’s found his sister. She’s a real person, named Varania, and (how annoyed I am!) Varric was the one who helped him find her. All this time she’s been a tailor in Minrathous (Hadriana did not lie about this, as it turns out), and Fenris has sent her money so she can come to Kirkwall to meet him.

Journal, he says she’s here. She’s come all this way to meet him and he’s more nervous than I’ve ever seen him. He’s even straightened the more useful rooms in his mansion, just in case. Maker knows he’s saved enough coin over the years to spare a little on curtains now. He wants to go as soon as he can, and he wants me to come with him. Puppy eyes, as Merrill would say, and I was putty. We’re to go first thing in the morning.

I confess I do wonder what it must be like to meet one’s sister for the first time as a grown man. Except, she’ll remember him, won’t she? (He never said as much, but I’m certain he’s wondering about his own memories, too.) Forgive the optimistic dreaming, but if this meeting stirs even one memory out of that black morass of his past it seems like it would all be worth it.

I’m going to sneak in a few sachets of potpourri, though, just in case.

2nd Solace. Afternoon

Well.

Well, journal.

I’ve a thousand thoughts storming in my head, and I don’t know where to start.

It was all a trap, and I’ve finally had the extraordinary pleasure of meeting, maiming, and murdering a magister of Tevinter in my favorite bar.

Varania is gone, for better or worse.

Fenris is free, in a way that’s deeper than the lyrium, and I’m afraid...

I don’t know where to start.

He recognized her as soon as we went in. Aveline came too, since Donnic was on patrol, and the moment we all passed Corff at the bar Fenris’s head snapped over to an elf with red hair and stooped shoulders. He knew her name, and she called him Leto, which is what he was once called before Danarius remade him.

But she was... she was so bitter. Bitter and broken and she wasn’t ten words in before all the hair on my arms started standing up, because she was wrong and something was wrong. And then there he came, sailing down the stairs I’ve trampled twice a week for ten years, his hand on the railing Isabela carved tits into before the Arishok, his pristine magisterial silk trailing over the place where I threw up three tankards of Corff’s horrible beer last week after cards. The violation was quite unlike anything I’d felt in years, not since the foundry. How dare he come into this place that is ours, and all that rot.

(Only it is ours. Mine and Fenris’s and Varric’s and Isabela’s and even Aveline’s. It’s ours, paid for in blood and ten years of card games and sneaking Norah extra tips at the end of the night, and I was glad to destroy the creature trying to take it from us.)

He said beastly things to Fenris. Terrible, hideous insinuations, and he spoke as if he were proud of them.

I could hardly help snarling back before I realized Fenris was pale as parchment and his lyrium was going off like lightning. He is a free man. He’s been a free man--I told Danarius--and any worthless scrap of paper a thousand leagues away saying differently might as well be the mud caked in my boots.

Ten years he’s been chasing Fenris, with Fenris killing everyone he’s sent, announcing at every possible turn how he’d like to kill Danarius (often quite loudly), and that fucking man walks in with an outstretched hand for an errant dog, a helpless, starving stray yearning for the kind touch of its master. How delusional! How desperate! And yet...

And yet for one awful, awful moment, I thought Fenris might agree to go with him. If I never see such blank horror in his face again it will be too soon.

Worse, it was Varania who brought him. Fenris’s sister, who is a desperate, untrained mage in absolute poverty in the cruelest city in Thedas, who found the promise of power more palatable than reunion with a long-lost brother. If I-- if Bethany

The magister raised shades out of the floor of the Hanged Man. One broke through the floorboards right next to Grimmet’s chair, where Merrill once dropped a little pot of paint and stained the wood in the shape of Orlais. Isabela and Varric and Aveline ripped through most of them--I helped--and at the end of it Fenris reached up and tore out Danarius’s throat. Would have taken Varania’s, too, if Varric and I hadn’t spoken our doubts. I still don’t know if I should have said anything. It’s hardly my affair, and yet... even the chance. Even the chance seemed worth it, if there was mercy...

He spared her. She told him he’d competed for the honor to be branded by Danarius, and left her and their mother begging in the streets, and then she left. Mercy, I said.

Fenris said he was alone after, but I refused to let him entertain that thought for even a moment. He has everyone--he has me. Mostly me. Fine--all of me, damn it. He’ll never feel alone an instant for the rest of his life if I have my way, even if I have to walk ‘round with my hands in his pockets to prove it.

He left while the blood was still warm. Needed air (understandable), and by that time Aveline had gone into full Captain mode and was pulling guards off every post in earshot and a few more besides. Norah was already scrubbing at the blood by the time I left. She didn’t look more than annoyed, but I’m making a donation to the rebuilding fund anyway, for their pains.

I do seem to bring tempests in my wake, don’t I? Or perhaps it’s Fenris stirring up the storm this time, and I’m the twig caught in his gale for once. I suppose it hardly matters at this point.

It’s been long enough, I think. I told him I’d come by later once he’d had a chance to breathe, and as my own has become short with concern, I’m determined to be neighborly and see to his well-being.

I’m afraid he’s going to leave the city. Terrified, really. What’s holding him here but us?

Flames. All I can do is ask, considering tying him to the house by his laces might send the wrong message at this point.

Solace. 3rd, I think. Might be 4th. Might be 5th. Does it matter? Does anything matter when one has a warm fire, an overfull heart, and a lover who tangles tighter than a cat when he’s asleep?

Fenris is not, as it happens, leaving the city.

Fenris is not, as it happens, satisfied with our previous friendly arrangement.

As it happens, journal, Fenris is also not inclined to surrender my hand to this page, and any errant blots may be blamed entirely upon him. I’m forced to abandon this all sooner than I meant, but I imagine the memories are vivid enough to be recounted at a later time. (That is, assuming some nebulous future exists where I don’t have the most handsome elf I’ve ever met letting me run my fingers down his back at leisure. Horrors!)

Andraste and all her stars, but I love him. How lucky to be able to show it at last!

(Also--remembered more of the lyrium pattern than I’d thought. Ha!)

#fenris #hawke #fenris/hawke #dragon age #quark writes #hawke's journal tag #happy valentine's day :>#yes this does in fact mean the next part will be ENTIRELY fluff #or well mostly anyway #can't break the streak completely #funnily enough this journal started a little over three years ago #it seems very fitting to get to this point now #anyway enjoy!

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stillthewordgirl · 7 years

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LOT/CC fic: A Little Trouble, ch. 5 (of 6)

In a universe where the Legends returned to their earlier lives after Savage's defeat, Sara Lance is bored out of her mind. And then a certain crook turns up...

SO many thanks to @larielromeniel for helping me work this bear of a chapter out--multiple times! This wouldn’t have been possible about her. (Or would have made a lot less sense...)

Can be read here at AO3 or here at FF.net.

The black book, to the best of Leonard's information, is kept in a safe in Kay's office on the penultimate floor of the building, just underneath his penthouse.

The first problem: The building's elevators won't go to either of those floors without a fingerprint and retina scan from Kay himself.

Now, lifting a fingerprint is doable, Sara knows. The retina...a little tougher. And while there's probably a high-tech way or two to get around it (or a few brutal low-tech ways that don't fit in at all with the Leonard Snart way of doing things, although she'll make no comment about the League of Assassins), he'd worked out a way to make Kay, himself, essentially work for them.

First, take the building's cameras down, all at once, with a device pilfered from S.T.A.R. Labs.

("What?" He'd asked mock-indignantly, when Sara rolled her eyes at him. "Can you tell me this won't be useful for missions on the Waverider? Ramon would love contributing to the safety of the timeline. He's dealt with Barry too much. He'd have given it to me if I asked."

"Did you ask?"

"What fun would that be?")

Kay, who's glad-handing his slimy way through the ballroom, frowns as a security guard speaks to him urgently, then turns for the nearest elevator, motioning for the guard and another to accompany him.

Once inside, they know, he scans his index finger, then peers into the retina scanner.

And the elevator begins to rise.

Perched on the top of the car, Sara glances over to watch Leonard, who's staring off into the distance and counting to himself silently, lips barely moving. If she didn't know him and how he works, she wouldn't even have seen it.

He catches her watching after a moment and gives her a half-smile, but continues to count.

Eventually, the car shudders to a halt at the penultimate floor and the pair in the elevator shaft move quickly as the doors slide open, shifting to the side of the elevator shaft, where the plans had shown them a small, recessed space, presumably for technical support. They loop their safety straps around a hook in the wall and, watching each other in the darkness, they wait.

Meanwhile, in Central City...

"So, where's Snart? He usually doesn't miss an opportunity to do the whole 'locks? what are locks?' routine." Taking a sizable slurp from his soda, Cisco plops himself down on his chair, spinning around to face S.T.A.R. Labs' latest member…and guest. "I mean, I know he finds us all boring, 'cause he keeps telling us so repeatedly, but really, I think we'd better be keeping an eye on him."

He's not looking at Barry, so misses his friend nearly choking on his own drink at the words. Ray, who misses it too, frowns a moment in consternation from the work station he'd commandeered as his own.

"I don't know. Haven't seen him in a couple days," he admits, a look of concern crossing his face. "I knew he was bored. Well...I think so. He wasn't even insulting me anymore, and that's just weird."

"He probably went to see Blondie."

All three men turn to look at Mick, who shrugs, leaning back farther in his chair and taking a lengthy pull from his beer. While he might not be part of Team Flash (he laughs when Ray even suggests the notion), he keeps showing up with the other Legend, and even Cisco's long since stopped jumping at his every move.

Especially since he keeps bringing food and booze.

" 'Blondie?' " Barry, recovering, queries, looking at the bigger man. "Do you mean...?"

"Sara?" Ray's perked up. "Really? That's nice. I told him I thought she was lonely." He grins. "I think we should all go visit! Have a reunion!"

That gets a bark of laughter from Mick. "I don't think that's really what he has in mind, Haircut." He shakes his head and sets his empty bottle down, rising to cross to the mini fridge for a new one.

"What do you mean?" Ray looks puzzled. Barry looks like he's just been struck by lightning--again. And Cisco, after a moment, chokes on his soda like Barry did earlier.

"You're saying..."

"I'm saying the Boss's had the hots for Blondie since the day he met her. And not only that, he likes her." Micks nods as Ray makes a squeaking noise. "Not too observant, are you? Now, they're probably just doing the same shit they did before...the eye sex and all that...” Cisco chokes again, having barely caught his breath back, “but that doesn't mean either one of 'em's gonna want you showing up." He eyes Barry, who's now sitting at his desk, his head in his heads. "Somethin' you want to say, Red?"

"Nope." Barry's voice is muffled. "Nope. Just..." He raises his head and stares at Mick a moment. "What would you say an actual...date...would constitute for Leonard Snart?"

Mick pops a new beer and sits back down, putting his feet up. "Don't think the man's ever done anything that normal in his life." He takes a drink. "Prob'ly a heist or something. Why?"

Barry just puts his head back in his hands, while Ray helpfully pounds Cisco on the back.

The good guys, Mick reflects, taking another drink, are weird.

Not that much time passes while they're tucked in the small space in the elevator shaft, really. Just enough time for Kay to bark a few orders (Leonard, listening intently, picks out what he’s listening for), presumably dispatching one of the security team to remain on guard in the office.

It feels longer, though, he thinks, watching Sara watch him in return. They're secure enough—heaven knows he's been in more precarious positions in his life—and they both know the plan. All they have to do at the moment is wait. And watch.

It's not awkward, precisely, the near-silence. But feeling her eyes upon him, he keeps feeling like he should say something.

"You ready?"

Sara's lips curve as she studies him. "For what?"

What does she think he's asking? "The...that."

The elevator, a fairly well-maintained specimen of its kind, starts to move again. But contrary to their expectations, it starts to move up.

Sara'd started to lean out just a little at the first sound, and while she'd quickly moved back into the alcove, Leonard can't help but throw an arm out to make sure she's safely inside. His hand catches her elbow and, glancing down at it and then back up at him, she smirks.

But she leaves his hand where it is. And so does he.

"Why...?" he mutters, glancing upward. "The only thing up there is the penthouse."

"Maybe he wanted to get changed?" Sara shrugs. "Shouldn't matter."

"Yeah..."

It's not long before the elevator car begins to move again. The two intruders in the elevator shaft stay motionless while the car moves down past them, continuing toward the ground floor. After a moment, Sara—casting Len one more thoughtful glance—moves carefully downward, secured by her straps, until she's level with the door. After a moment's consideration of the safety panel by its side, she taps a button, then swings herself inside as the door slides open, releasing one end of her straps and then dragging them in after her.

Leonard follows, landing neatly in the hallway and gathering his own safety equipment. They exchange a glance, and head for the door at the end of the hallway.

Leonard picks the lock silently, save for one tiny “click.” There’s no sound of alarm from the room, so they exchange another look…and then Sara takes a few steps back and, with a deep breath, gets a running start.

She barrels through the door and the guard never knows what hit him.

Leonard, following, nods as he sees her trussing the man up. He takes stock of the room, then crosses to the safe behind the desk, lock picks in hand.

“You got that?” Sara’s voice from across the room is teasing.

“Hmmm…it’s a good one.” He smirks. “But not as good as me.”

Sara says something else, but he’s focusing now, and nothing else exists but the lock and his tools.

And, after a minute or so, the “click.”

“Got it,” he says in satisfaction, tucking the picks away. “Ahead of the game.”

“Don’t you always tell Ray off for saying things like that?” Sara joins him by the safe, crouching down to put a hand on his shoulder.

That warm touch is distracting, but… He’s a professional, he reminds himself. “Please. Don’t mention Raymond in the middle of a heist. You’ll jinx it,” he says as he carefully opens the safe door.

For a moment, they’re silent.

“What did I tell you?” Leonard says finally. “Jinxed.”

The safe is empty.

Sara, watching Leonard, can pretty much hear him thinking. She stays silent, and after a moment, he glances back up at her.

“He took it upstairs,” he says simply. “To the penthouse. He knows someone’s after it. He knew as soon as the cameras went down.”

“Well, that was the idea, right? So he’d give us a ride up here?”

“Yeah, but this is…” A pause, and she can pretty much see the wheels turning. “It’s a trap.”

Sara stares at him. “Um, come again, Admiral Ackbar?”

“Not for us.” He carefully shuts the door, then rises. “The lousy security company, the timing of the party…he knows someone’s coming for it. Not us in particular, because how would he? But someone.”

“With one lousy guard?” They both look at the trussed-up and blindfolded man unconscious on the office carpet.

“No,” Leonard decides. “That clown was here just in case, but he thinks someone’s going for the penthouse first, for some reason. The real trap will be there.”

“So do we…?”

Len catches her eyes. “I still want to get it. Do you?”

“Yes.” Sara’s eyes are determined. “Any thoughts about how to do that?”

“We could scale the shaft, but if we're caught without a recess if the elevator comes back....” He glances back toward the elevator. "Not really."

“Well, I have an idea.” Sara takes a few steps over the windows, then looks back at him.

“No.”

“Yes.” Grinning, she springs the latch. “Come on, Len.”

Against his will, he moves closer. “You’re kidding me.”

“Nope. I’ve done this plenty of times.”

“As part of the scary assassin group.”

“As part of the scary assassin group.” Sara slides the window open. There’s no alarm, presumably because of the fact that it’s 20-odd stories above the ground. Moving quickly and gracefully, she climbs up on the wide sill, extending a hand to Leonard. “Come on.”

“Um.”

“How much time do we have? I know you’re keeping track.”

“He told Sleeping Beauty over there to check in every 15 minutes. So, just under 11 minutes, plus approximately 45 seconds before the elevator gets here.”

“Then we need to move. Come on.”

He moves.

Sara, moving outside onto the tiny ledge that hangs out over the city, has somehow secured her safety straps above them. As he tentatively emerges too, she grabs his straps, grins at him, and clips them around her securely before starting to scale.

What can he do? He follows.

The night is still, fortunately, and the rough stonework on the building makes the climb relatively simple. Sara squirrels her way up the level easily, then turns offer him a hand up as he carefully picks his way toward her.

Leonard allows her to haul him over the edge, then looks behind him with an expression of distaste. The city looks beautiful from up here, the usual music of sirens and traffic rising from below, but if he never had to be do that again, he’d be OK with it.

Then he looks back at Sara.

She’s grinning at him, her eyes shining. Her hair is coming out of its nest of braids, and there are a few tendrils around her face. She’s completely unfazed by the climb; she seems energized, in fact, bouncing on her toes and watching him, looking completely at ease.

He’s seen her in multiple ways, in multiple settings, in white leather, in jeans and a T-shirt, in a slinky dress. But, he decides, she’s never looked quite as gorgeous as she does at that moment. It’s beyond physical; it’s her soul shining through, still a thing of beauty despite everything she’s gone through, sparkling with the love of a challenge.

He considers, just for a second, saying so. But this probably isn’t the time for confessions.

“We don’t know what he’s left up here,” he says quietly, moving closer. “Hell, he could be in there himself, waiting. There’s something we’re still missing here, and I don’t like that at all.”

“The cameras are still off, right?” Sara settles a little, but moves closer herself, standing so near he could put his arms around her if he wanted. And that’s also not a thought he should be having right now.

He checks the device. “Yep. Unless he has someone who’s smarter than Ramon, which I doubt—do not tell him I said that—they’ll be down for the count until I shut this off.” He glances across the broad span of space that borders the penthouse, the well-tended greenery, the small gem of a pool, its waters reflecting the lights of the city and the moon overhead, the chairs and lounges padded in rich fabrics. “There could be alarms all over here. I’m a little surprised we haven’t already set something off.”

“I’ve done my share of breaking and entering.” For a moment, a something darker than usual hovers in Sara’s eyes. “People almost never think of the roofs like this; they count on the height to keep them safe. Now, getting inside, that’s different.”

“Don’t I know it.” They share a grin, then start carefully for the penthouse itself.

There's a motion detector in the pool—and Sara makes a crack about going for a dip, which doesn't do his overactive imagination any good—but otherwise she's right: Kay relies on the height to protect his patio.

Leonard frowns, but then they’re at a wide set of double doors that lead out onto the roof, and it’s show time again.

It’s a keypad, which makes him frown…but it gives to the third tactic he tries, the system default for most doors of its type. Which makes him frown more.

Still, no point looking a gift horse in the mouth. He steps inside quickly, motioning Sara to follow, listening for the presence of someone else or the elevator.

He hears neither. Sara, moving quickly into the other rooms, whispers “clear” a few moments later.

But Leonard doesn’t like this. Not at all.

“Hmm. If I were a billionaire asshole,” Sara says quietly as she rejoins him, “where would I hide it?”

Len briefly considers suggesting she ask her ex, but dismisses the idea. “He wasn’t up here long.” He walks into a room that seems to be a sort of study, but shakes his head. “Desk is too obvious, but given that something’s wrong here anyway…”

There’s nothing in the desk, even though he tests for hidden compartments. And time is ticking away

He turns to eye the bedroom behind them.

“You don’t think…?” Sara whispers, amusement in her tone.

“I do think.”

Yup. Right in the bedstand drawer, right next to any number of…implements…that make Sara snicker. The cover of the so-called black book (which really is a black book, actually) is worn and well-used. The pages, when he flips through it, are soft, well-thumbed, and filled with small, precise writing: Names and dates and the details of hundreds of crimes and indiscretions and secrets.

It's not a decoy being left to steer thieves away from the real deal, which he'd partly expected. That makes him frown all the more.

Still, he tucks the book into a pocket on the suit, catching Sara's eye. She nods.

"Elevator shaft?" she asks quietly, citing their original plan.

"No. If he immediately heads up here instead of checking the office, we're screwed." He rolls his eyes at her smile. "Yeah, we're going to have to take your route. Don't gloat."

They leave the penthouse, pausing just outside despite the time constraints. Leonard can’t hide the growing feeling of “Alexa” that’s nagging at him. He’s pretty sure Sara feels the same, given how she’s frowning.

“He did this on purpose,” he says. “It was far too easy. He wants someone to take it. Why would he want someone to have this information?"

Sara looks thoughtful...and then stills.

“Len,” she says, staring at him. “Who would he be trying to lure with that book? Who’s known for going after Star City’s high and mighty? Who’s known for lurking around rooftops? Who…”

And that's when an arrow thunks into the walls right between them.

Leonard stares at it for one long moment, for once caught completely off guard. Sara, however, is not. She grabs his arm and, tugging at it, makes for the edge of the roof. He follows, because really, what else is he going to do?

"He doesn't know who we are," she tells him breathlessly as they run, "not from that distance. That was a warning. Sort of 'Don't make me come over there.' "

"A warning?"

"Trust me, if he'd wanted to hit you...he'd have hit you!"

They get to the edge. Sara turns to him and he catches just a glimpse of the look on her face before she steps close, slings one of her safety straps around him, snapping a carabiner closed, then turns back to the edge—and jumps. Taking him with her.

Len's pretty sure he yells some sort of profanity, but it's snatched away by the wind. Sara almost immediately checks their downward progress by bracing her feet against the building, but the straps—which she'd somehow looped around an outcrop--pull at them anyway and for a moment, he can't breathe.

Sara carefully maneuvers them into a recess and they find some footing, pressed up again the building and each other. Len, who's on the inside of the ledge, puts his arms around her. For safety reasons, of course.

After a second, he whispers, "Where..."

Sara frowns, and he realizes she's calculating trajectory in her head. "The big, dark building to the north," she whispers after a second. "The one owned by Wayne Enterprises. He must have heard something, about Kay's security and something going down."

"The Arrow...can't go after everyone," Felicity Smoak whispers in his memory. He should have known better. Apparently Smoak hadn't told her...whatever he was at the moment...about her meeting with a thief--and he hadn't told her his plans for the evening.

"You think he's after it?"

"Might be." Sara shakes her head. "Might just be surveillance at the moment." She peers up at him. "Kay set a trap for the Green Arrow."

"More than that. He set a trap for the mayor.”

Sara stares at him. “Do you think he knows?”

Leonard considers for a moment. “No. I think he wants to be able to claim that the Green Arrow took it. We messed with that by screwing with the cameras, but I’m sure he’ll work around it.”

Sara catches his drift. “Kay wants to start dabbling in politics. We both heard that earlier. He wanted Ollie to get that book...and start using it. And then he'd know..."

"He might be able to figure out who the Green Arrow is. And even if he can’t, he can target Oliver Queen for not bringing in that hooded menace to society. And he has the plausible deniability that comes with no longer holding the actual book." Leonard shakes his head. "Interesting plan...but too many holes. Sloppy."

"High risk, high reward," Sara retorts. "We have to warn him."

He stares at her incredulously, as a breeze tugs at her hair and causes him to try to pull her back in the recess a little more. "Queen? Now?"

"No. I think he's probably realized someone beat him to the punch." Her lips curve. " That was just a warning shot. Give it a few minutes, he'll go away. We're safe here for now. I don't particularly want to get hit by an arrow again; it hurts."

"Not funny, Sara!"

That just gets a snort from her. And then a moment later, another. And as her shoulders start to shake, Leonard, looking down at her in disbelief, realizes that she's laughing.

"Is this really the time?"

"Oh, Len." Sara halts her bout of hilarity just enough to grin at him. "Is it ever the time? Really? For me? For you?"

There's a vigilante known for putting pointy objects through people watching not far above them, and they're tucked against the side of a tall building hundreds of feet over the city, with only a few safety lines in place.

She's looking up at him, smiling, and there's only one thing he can think of to do.

Leonard Snart, he thinks briefly, you're in so much trouble. And then he ducks his head and kisses her.

As stolen kisses go, the setting is memorable, but then, so is the kiss. Sara immediately stops laughing and makes a sort of purring noise, tightening her already considerable grip on him and pressing closer. There hadn't exactly been much space before, but now she's pretty much molded to him, and his body is reacting completely predictably.

Which Sara, hooking a leg around him, seems to appreciate, really.

She's moved one hand to the back of his head, and she's holding him in place as her nails scratch lightly across his scalp. With a sigh, he tilts his head a little and deepens the kiss, because if he's going to be doing this here, now, he's damn well going to be doing it right.

After a few long, heated minutes, Sara abruptly pulls back, panting a little, and shakes her head with a laugh. Len lets her go, blinking at the reality of their location and the situation sets back in.

"I think he's gone," she whispers. "We should get out of here."

"What? Who?" Oh, right, he remembers, as Sara snorts. The Green Arrow. "Right. Ah..."

It takes a few minutes to get their safety lines sorted out, but Sara gets them safely back down to the correct window without incident. The guard is awake now and working at his well-tied hands, unsuccessfully; Sara waves cheerfully to him—despite his blindfold—as they rush past, jimmying the elevator doors to get out and into their hidey hole even as they see the elevator rising from below.

Given that his careful count of time has long since been blown out of his head, he's just glad that everyone in the building hasn't long since gone home.

They have a little while to wait, tucked into their nook as the car first stops at the penultimate floor and then rises to the top again. Leonard keeps his distance, this time, as much as he can, but they're still watching each other, and enough of Sara's thoughts are showing blatantly on her face that it's... difficult.

He keeps his head in the game enough to successfully make the transfer over to the elevator as it moves downward, but only just.

Once the elevator's safety down on the ground floor and empty again, they emerge into the car itself, then out the service doors in the back, hurrying down the hall to the storage room, where... still carefully not watching each other...they change back into their fancy party clothes.

As they emerge, Sara tucking the folded-down packet of her jumpsuit into her purse, she turns to look at him...and smiles.

It's a different sort of smile than it was when this evening started.

"Come on, crook," she whispers in his ear, going up on her toes. "Let's go celebrate."

#captain canary #a little trouble #sara lance #leonard snart #legends of tomorrow

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