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ilguna · 3 years

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Redamancy - Chapter Three (f.o)

summary: it’s time to forgive and repair.

warnings; swearing, drug use/mention, alcohol use, hints at prostitution and I bend the Capitol to my will.

wc; 9.9k

NOTES; I give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

This morning, you’re up and out of bed without a single complaint. You sit on the bed for a while, staring out the window and watching as the city slowly comes to life. Traffic is light for the first hour or so, but it doesn’t stay like that. You can imagine that everyone is anticipating tomorrow, the last day before the games start.

One breather day before it all goes downhill.

You get out of bed after that, taking your time inside of the shower, mainly trying to find what Annie and Marsh will be like during the interviews. There’s nothing that the Capitol hasn’t seen before, seventy years worth of the Hunger Games--they’ve experienced it all. The most you can do is put a twist on an adjective.

New approaches are always hard, you’re competing with ten to twenty other mentors. Most of them have been at this longer than you have--mainly Haymitch. But to be fair, Haymitch gave up on this whole scheme a while ago. The only thing he does anymore is drink and make a fool of himself on television all the time.

Sad to say, but District Twelve isn’t a threat at all. They didn’t even really post a threat during your games, either. That’s a conversation for a different day, though. You’re not really willing to get into it anymore. Your focus needs to be on helping Annie and Marsh.

By the time you’re dressed and in the dining room, you’ve still come up with nothing. The only other person at the table this morning is Finnick, which is a pleasant surprise. Elysia is always the first and last person out of the dining room. Not to mention, you’re pretty sure she sits out here and waits hours for you guys to appear. It explains why she has the tv on all the time when you get out here.

“Looks like you’ve got an early start going on too.” you say, heading down the steps.

He hums, head dips and then he’s shooting upright in his seat.

“Okay, maybe not.” you stop next to him, grabbing his chin with one hand to make him look up at you. His pupils are dilated, bags beneath his eyes. He looks much older here, not the same guy he was yesterday, “How about you take today off?”

“I’m fine.” he murmurs, moving your hand away, “Just a late night.”

“Go sleep while you can.” you tell him, “Hopefully some of the drugs will wear off by then.”

“They already have, they don’t work anymore.” he yawns, and then moves the plates out of his way so he can rest his head on his arms.

You count in your head how long it takes for him to fall asleep. At five seconds, you get your breakfast, at ten his closed eyes aren’t as tense. When it hits fifteen, his mouth parts and body slumps. He’s out cold by eighteen, nice and steady breaths. It’s going to be a quiet morning after all.

“Can I get something to write on?” you ask the avox.

She gives you a curt nod and disappears. In the meantime, you eat your breakfast and stare at Finnick, who looks like he’s never had a tense moment in his life. The only times Finnick truly looks relaxed is when he’s not awake. As if he’s never been in the Hunger Games, his family isn’t gone, and he’s never worked every night in the Capitol since he turned sixteen.

Your stomach churns, heart squeezing painfully. You try not to frown, but it’s hard not to. A part of you wonders if this is what you look like to your family when you accidentally fall asleep on the couch or in the study, working on paperwork for the boarding school. You’re just a pair of overworked kids, who have never had a peaceful moment since the Hunger Games.

The avox comes back around, you quietly thank her and ask her to clean up Finnick’s plates. She doesn’t disturb him, clearly good at her job. You chew on the inside of your cheek while writing down different adjectives that could describe Annie and Marsh’s personalities right now.

Annie is quiet, she doesn’t speak unless it’s a dire situation or you’ve asked a question. She’s smart and trusting, she can work her way around problems and read into cryptic messages. She’s kind, you’ve seen the way she helps the others in the boarding school, but she’s easily deadly, the way she fights is completely mesmerizing. She’s the last person you’d expect to betray you, which is why she could easily have an advantage over a large alliance. People wouldn’t expect her to sabotage them.

As for Marsh, he’s nearly the opposite when he isn’t feeling anxious. He’s loud, he’ll easily let someone know what he thinks about them, especially if it’s not good. He’s strong, you’ve seen him pick up people twice his weight, but that doesn’t make him a good fighter, exactly. He wrestles pretty well, can get anyone into a position that’ll bring them to tears because of the pain. He smiles a lot, cracks jokes when he can.

You hum lightly, feeling it all come together. Marsh is fun, loud, he can make a show out of the interview. Three minutes would be enough to have the entire audience in stitches. It might even surprise the audience a little, since they always expect the careers to be brooding and quiet, always banking on their training scores. But if Marsh is constantly moving and interacting with the audience, they’ll be taken off guard.

Same thing with Annie, but she isn’t as naturally smooth like he is. She can be friendly and compassionate on stage, the complete opposite of deadly. The Capitol has been holding onto stereotypes for years, and the tributes have been feeding into it. Even you did the same, by promising your family that you’d come home. If Annie just acts as the definition of kind, she’ll be turning it around.

You write this all down, as well as some notes and starter questions that could test their act. You want them to completely avoid conversations about their scores and how well prepared they are. Their scores already say that about them, now it’s time for the citizens to see that they’re exciting.

Around noon, Elysia finally comes through the door. She barely spares you and Finnick a glance at first, but then she pauses on the stairs to take a look at him, “Is he sleeping?”

“Late night, apparently.” you look at her, “I’m ready to get started when you are.”

“Give me a couple of minutes.” she smiles, and then leaves into the hallway.

Unfortunately, this means that Finnick can’t sleep any longer. At least he got a couple of hours while it was possible. You lean against the table slightly, “Finnick.”

He doesn’t move, not even stirring. You wonder what else he took on top of the regular ‘fun’ drugs. Maybe he drank along with it, and knowing the Capitol, it’s not as dangerous as it sounds. You call his name again, but he’s still pretty out of it. A part of you wonders if he’d actually care letting the tributes see him in such a vulnerable state. But if it were you, you’d hope that he’d wake you up.

You slide out of your chair, letting it scrape against the wood floors. You grimace at the thought of touching him to wake him up, you know for a fact that you hated it when your brothers used to do it. It took for that one time when you accidentally went overboard for them to realize that you meant what you were saying about it being a bad idea.

They tried to tell you that you’d never hurt them. But you had to emphasize that it wasn’t you that was waking up first, it’s the scared girl that spent an entire month in an arena that was trying to kill her. She’s going to come out offensive and on the move, you’re going to be right behind her.

Even reminding them about the time someone came up behind you after the games didn’t convince them either. It was right after the Hunger Games too, before the Victory Tour. Some idiot reporter came up behind you as a surprise, and it took half a second before the world went grey and you thought the reporter was the District Twelve boy.

And since in the Hunger Games, the only way to get home is to kill, you nearly murdered the reporter. It would’ve happened if it weren’t for your brothers, who took a hit in the process anyway. If you remember correctly, Mox came out with a bruised rib, which isn’t easy to do considering that he’s pretty much muscle. And you almost broke Reed’s nose, there was blood leaking from it for a good ten minutes afterward.

You guess that they were trying to give you the benefit of the doubt, but after a while, you’re just intentionally getting burned, you know? There’s only so much you can do for a person before you need to take their word for it. It’s fine if you’re not perfectly healed just yet. Time does not heal all wounds, some of them will be open forever.

You gently place your hand on Finnick’s back, rubbing it, “Hey, Finnick?” you try your motherly voice, but it still doesn’t seem to be working. Maybe he’s dead.

“Finnick.” you apply more pressure, hearing him take a deep breath.

His arms stretch out beneath him, head slowly raising. You back off, and run a hand through your hair on your way back to your place at the table. Finnick’s got red lines from his clothing across his face, eyes automatically in a squint. His eyebrows push together, looking at your first.

“What time is it?”

“Noonish.” you say, “Tributes are gonna come out in a minute, Elysia is back.”

“You just left me out here?” his nose scrunches.

“No, I actually sat out here the entire time.” you sit in your seat, and then frisbee the notepad across the table for him to look at.

He rubs his face, which is still twisted as he tries to read what you’ve written, “Creep.”

You roll your eyes.

As he reads, Elysia comes out looking more refreshed, “Tributes will be down here in a moment.” she joins you and Finnick at the table, “Am I starting with Annie first?”

“If you want, our plans go either way.” you say, watching as Finnick tilts his head, “What do you think?”

“It’s a twist.” he says, “I’m not sure how they’ll like it, but we can definitely try.”

“Everything’s worth a try nowadays.”

“Can I see?” Elysia asks, Finnick hands it over to her. She reads over it silently, a smile coming to her face as she nods, “Yeah, I think this’ll be good. I’ll try to work that into what we normally do.”

Elysia hands it back to you, Marsh and Annie come out of the hallway. They’re not dressed in anything fancy, not even in something that the stylists have picked out. Normally what the tributes wear are totally up to the stylists, starting from the tribute parade, to the training days, to the interviews. Today is the only day where you’re able to see how they want to be dressed.

Annie’s laid back, a pair of leggings and a loose tank top. She’s got her hair tied back, and gives you and Elysia a polite smile on her way over. Marsh is more casually dressed, jeans, a shirt, a pair of tennis shoes, his hair styled. It says a lot about personality and how they think.

“Good afternoon, hope you guys slept well.” you smile, and then give Finnick a side-eye. He’s not very amused.

“I definitely felt a lot better last night.” Marsh nearly skips down the steps, he’s a lot more confident now, “Since we have good scores, it’s hard to think otherwise.”

He takes his spot at the table, Annie takes hers, “I’m still nervous,” she admits.

You don’t have to say a single thing to her. In fact, Marsh seems to have it all handled this afternoon. He’s definitely had a change of heart. You finish eating, leaving the table to go down to the living room to rearrange chairs and set things up properly. It’s not long until your tributes are full and ready to get started.

“We’re taking Marsh first.” you click the pen, Finnick joins your side.

Elysia guides Annie towards her room, Marsh comes down to where you are. You motion for him to take his seat, which is opposite of the one that you’re sitting in. Finnick takes the role of audience, leaning his head against his fist. He’s got tired eyes, still not awake. You can’t really blame him.

“How do you feel about being in front of an audience?” you ask.

He hesitates, “Is this an interview question?”

“No, not yet.”

“Oh, well…” he thinks for a moment, “I mean, I don’t mind them. The parade wasn’t all that bad. But I think that’s because I was being compared to others, I knew I wasn’t the best or the worst out there.”

You give him a smile, “Well, we’re going for the best here. So, here’s what we’re going to do--”

It’s simple, and Marsh seems to understand it the first time around. No matter what happens on that stage, Caesar shouldn’t ever get the opportunity to make enough tension to ruin the light mood. Marsh needs to be confident, exciting, funny and relatable the entire time.

Which means that if Marsh needs to spend time lining up jokes, then he needs to get to it. You suggest jokes on the expense of District Four--or any of the districts, really--his family if he’s comfortable, and spin it. Make the Capitol look grand and amazing, like kings and queens compared to peasants. However, he needs to be careful not to make him sound sarcastic and overbearing.

There’s a whole list of things that Marsh needs to avoid at all costs; certain family topics, token significance, if he misses home, his training score, what he thinks of the competition, etc. He’s not at all allowed to give the Capitol enough information on him to run with. Tributes in the past have been mysterious, but mentors have combined it with brooding.

Marsh is going to be memorable, fun-loving. Caesar might even reference him in the future when it comes to seeing District Four tributes. What twist will the mentors have to give this year? Stay tuned to see, and if you blink too much, you’ll miss it.

And since it’s not really a coaching lesson without some practice, you and Finnick take turns drilling him. Marsh is clearly a natural at this, he starts off a little stiff, jokes dry and shy smiles. You had to tell him that he needs to stop looking at you as a mentor and as a Capitol citizen who is so unimpressed by how boring he is.

After that, he took it more seriously, and even had you and Finnick cracking up some of the time. Only a few times do you have to remind him not to go too hard on District Four, and how he barely scrapes by with questionable statements about the Capitol. In the end, he’s at a different standing point.

Elysia comes out with Annie, ready to trade. Annie’s flustered, standing at the top of the stairs. She must have done something inside of the room to get scolded, or maybe she was praised? You don’t care, you push Marsh up the stairs and let Annie take a quick snack break before you start the process over.

“Marsh’s interview is going to be a comedy skit.” you tell her once she’s sat down. You and Finnick have switched spots so that he can ask the questions, “We figured that you wouldn’t be as comfortable with a job like that. So, we want you to be as kind as possible.”

Annie’s eyebrows draw in, “If you’re trying to go for unique, you’re going to be failing with me. Plenty of people go for kind.”

“Not the careers.” Finnick says, “Careers always sneak in some aspect of dangerousness. You’re not going to, at all. You got a nine, but Annie Cresta is going to be a kind girl from Four who’s absolutely beguiled by the Capitol.”

A small smile is forming on your face, “You’re going to have to be an actress for three minutes on stage. Do you think you can do it?”

Annie gives a curt nod. Finnick’s smiling now too. You can’t launch straight into the interview, instead you have to give Annie a few pointers beforehand. She catches on quickly, just like Marsh. However, with her, she’s got the act down on lock, she doesn’t even need to be corrected.

And when Finnick alludes to her training score, she easily redirects the conversation somewhere else. Maybe it’s a compliment on the experts inside of the center, or maybe it reminds her about the food she’s eaten! Either way, Annie’s a brick wall, and not even you two can get through to her on the sneakiest questions.

At dinner, Marsh, Annie and Finnick are exhausted, you think that you’re starting to feel it too. Needless to say, it makes for a calm and quiet evening. Annie and Marsh pack it up and head to their rooms around seven, there’s not a single sound that comes from their rooms after.

You sit on the edge of a table next to Elysia and Finnick. You’ve got your arms crossed, Elysia has her fingers perfectly laced in front of her, and Finnick is rubbing under his eye.

“Tomorrow’s the big day.” Elysia says, “I think that you two will be able to sleep in and get up later on, since the prep team will have them.”

“We still have to get up with enough time to dress nicely. Sometime in the afternoon, then?”

“That’ll probably work.” Finnick says, you watch as he twists the loose rope on the bracelet into small loops big enough to slip his pinky through.

You tilt your head up towards the roof, eye following the cracks along the ceiling, “Are you busy tomorrow night?”

“After the interviews?”

You think you can see a stain on the ceiling, a faint red color, like someone scrubbed the ceiling, “Yeah.” you look back at him.

“No, I don’t think so. The festival knocks out anything that would happen.” His eyes find yours, abandoning the bracelet, “Why?”

Elysia shifts on her feet, “Do you need me for anything else?”

“Uh,” you pause for a moment, thinking. You don’t think so, tomorrow you’ll probably have trouble sleeping past ten, so you’ll be up and doing something. The interviews always have you nervous, no matter how well prepared your tributes are. And as always, this year is no exception, “I don’t think so. I’ll find you if I do.”

She looks at Finnick next, who gives her a slight head shake, “Goodnight, don’t exhaust yourself.”

The last sentence is directed towards you, “Goodnight, Elysia. Thank you for your help today.

She leaves, giving you and Finnick privacy. His eyes are back to being trained on your face. A part of you wonders if you should even bother with an offer like this, you’re sure that he would much rather stay here, or go wherever he used to when the festivities came around after the interviews.

You know you used to shut yourself in your room and be absolutely quiet. Quiet enough to hear every single thing that would happen outside of your door, sometimes extended to the living room if Elysia, Laurel and Pleurisy were gathered together. You couldn’t handle it. The night before the games is always the worst, it makes your chest ache at all the second thoughts that had run through your mind.

The what-if scenarios, the thousands of possibilities of what the arena could look like. The different ways you could die. Would it be in the bloodbath after one small mistake? Would it be by the hands of your allies after realizing they were stupid to invite a fifteen year-old to join them? Would it be by your former ally and friend, Finnick, to get you out of the way?

Even trying to project the image of you winning the games didn’t work. You were overwhelmed and anxious and completely unknowing of what your future would be. You didn’t want to end up like all those other kid tributes that end up dead after a few days. You didn’t want to make the same mistakes that you used to make fun of back home.

You can’t imagine how that’s going to go for Annie and Marsh, who volunteered to be here. You know you would be regretting it about now, especially since they’re so close to the cut off age. They could be back home, with their families. But they’re here instead, about to be thrown into an arena to fight for their lives.

This apartment is a cage to tributes, you’re lucky that it doesn’t extend the same way to victors.

“After the interviews, the group and I normally go and hang out around the festival.” you uncross your arms, placing them on the table behind you to lean back, “We eat at a nice restaurant, I normally watch them get drunk. You can come with, if you want.”

Finnick doesn’t say anything, face relaxing for a moment. Maybe he thought you were going to say something else? You stop leaning against the table, “You don’t have to go. They’re not your friends, I just thought I’d offer.”

“Why do you go out with them?” he asks, eyebrows drawing in, “You don’t seem like the type to go out there anyway.” he presses his lips together, “Actually, you don’t really intermingle with the Capitol unless you really have to.”

A couple of things come to mind, one by one. The first one is that Finnick has obviously been paying attention to you over the past couple of years. He just gave that away with telling you how your own mannerisms are. However, he clearly doesn’t follow you that closely, because you go out a lot more when you have the time. The other mentors are a getaway when you’re feeling particularly in your head.

The second thing is how his whole demeanor seems to have changed after you told him he didn’t have to. Maybe it’s because you’re backpedaling, but it’s not because you don’t want him there. You know that you’ve been taking up his time over the past couple of days, which has been conflicting with his needy Capitol schedule. You wouldn’t blame him if he just wanted to be alone or something.

The third is how he’s redirected it to you, not answering the question. Normally people will assure you that they’ll go or they have plans before asking you something like this. You don’t want to say he’s getting defensive but it’s hard not to.

Your voice is a lot quieter, a lot softer than you expect to come out, “They’re my friends, Finnick. And they make me feel normal again.” you squint for a moment, and then let out a sigh, “If you don’t want to go, you could’ve just said so. Forget I said anything.”

You slip away, Finnick doesn’t say anything. When you get back to your room, you silently peel off your clothes and get dressed into something more comfortable. You have a feeling that you’ll sleep pretty soundly tonight, considering how exhausted you are. You drop your ring into the small bowl on the bedside table, and then roll over in bed until you’re comfortable.

You wake up a little after ten, but don’t leave your room until eleven. The dining room is empty, your tributes have already eaten and are experiencing their own version of chaos inside of their bedrooms with the prep teams. Who knows where Finnick is, after what happened last night. And Elysia is probably off with Pleurisy and Laurel since she has the free time to, and you told her that you wouldn’t need her at all this morning.

You don’t eat much, a little hung up over how you left things last night with Finnick. It’s hard not to think about it, and the mistake you made with your choice of words. Not only did they come out more mean than you intended, but you’re also pretty sure you just ruined whatever progress you’ve made over the past week.

You don’t know if you can stay inside of the apartment all day today. It’ll still be a few hours before Annie and Marsh are ready to be brought to the stage. Until then, you can just disappear and come back in time to go. You decide to go with this, heading back to your room.

You shower, let the machines take care of your hair. It goes from wet and tangled to dry and smooth. You take your time with styling it, after being with Beth for this many years, you’ve learned a thing or two. A majority of your hair is out of your face, you’ll be sure to let it down later. Sometimes during the interviews, the cameras will pan to the mentors or stylists depending on the question.

You brush your teeth while finding what you want to wear. A pant suit could be nice, but you have a feeling that Laurel is already going to go down that path. Still, you can’t help but to run your fingers over the beige and white fabric. The only other real option you have is a dress, but they’re tricky and there’s certain rules you have to follow when wearing one.

You settle for the suit, carefully putting it together one item at a time. White high-waisted underwear that doesn’t show the seams through the pants, a matching bra. You go with a v-neck white shirt, since it’s not going to be seen after the blazer is buttoned. The slacks just barely stop at your ankles, you pull out new white heels that don’t go super high.

In the bathroom, you think you look sophisticated. You think that you might even keep your hair up the way it is, since it doesn’t really matter anyway. You apply the silver jewelry that you think will go with the outfit, and spare a lot of rings so that you aren’t clunky.

Makeup is the hardest part, so you end up calling Leo to come and help you. He’s impressed with the way you look, and works quickly so that he can get back to Annie. By the time you leave the apartment, you’re practically skipping in confidence. You take the elevator down to the lobby, a place already in mind.

Coincidentally, your friends are already gathered in the lobby. Cashmere notices you immediately, a smile spreading over her face. The others look over too, but Wade isn’t as thrilled as the rest of them. They’re dressed just as nicely as you are, you guess you just caught them on their way out too.

“Hey! Long time no see.” Cashmere greets, you snort and settle between Gloss and Enobaria.

“Hey, what are you guys up to?” you smile.

“Pre-gaming.” Gloss says.

“Pre--huh?” you look between them, they let out a small laugh, “The interviews are that torturous for you guys?”

Enobaria nods, “Yeah, I’m tired of sitting through them.”

“Can’t blame you. So, you’re going out to a bar?”

“Something like that.” Gloss says, “Want to come along?”

You tilt your head, giving him a face, “I am not going to drink.”

“Then don’t!” Cashmere grins, “You coming along is going to be good enough. We’ll be back before the tributes are done.”

“Promise me.” you point at her.

She uses her finger to draw an x over her heart, “I promise.”

“Alright, let’s go then.”

They cheer, you laugh and follow behind Enobaria and Wade, making a line with the Ritchson siblings. They place you between them so that you’re more included, and this way they won’t be tempted to fuck with each other. The last time you all hung out before the interviews--or anything important, for that matter--they had to have a last minute costume change because there were rips and dirt smeared everywhere.

Unlike them, you’re wearing light colors, so you’ve got to be extra careful when it comes to touching anything. Gloss and Wade are wearing black, Enobaria’s wearing a dark maroon dress, and Cashmere has got a muted purple dress. You guess that Cashmere’s going to have to be careful too because the purple is kinda light.

They’re all pretty animated, fairly loud when they’re excited. You go along with conversation--which really doesn’t have a range. It can be about Enobaria’s boyfriend drama back home, or how Cashmere had to scold her tributes over their training scores. And since she started that topic, you decided to go ahead and ask questions about it.

“They were supposed to be prepared!” Cashmere rolls his eyes, picking at her nails slightly with a frown, “They told me that they’d been working hard in the gym and I believed them. The one year I try and slack so it doesn’t seem like I have a stick up my ass, and this is what I get.”

You breathe out a laugh.

“I’m serious! The tributes are always calling us names because of how strict we are, and then shit like this happens. It sucks that it takes a problem to prove to people that you’re right.” she looks at you, “Congrats on your tributes scoring nines, though. I can’t imagine how happy you guys were.”

“Extremely.” you say, “It’s fixed how they’ve been thinking for the past week, so thank heavens for that.”

Gloss shrugs one shoulder, you look over to him, “I bet we’ve lost sponsors.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous--” Enobaria glances over her shoulder at you three, “--they could’ve scored ones and they’d still end up with plenty of sponsors.”

“She’s right.” you say, shaking your head, “You have nothing to worry about. I’ll be lucky if we even get a couple since we’re not with you guys this year.”

“Which is a bummer, I like hanging out with you.” Cashmere sighs, she twirls a ring of her blonde hair around her finger before letting the curl drop. She looks at you, “We’ll still be friends no matter what happens in the arena, right?”

“Our tributes have killed each other plenty of times, Cashmere. And still, here we are.” you give her a smile, and then share one with Gloss, “You’re my best friends… except for Wade, he’s an asshole.”

He glares over his shoulder, he’s the exception to the group laughter that follows after your statement. It’s his own fault that he’s alienated. You’re half-surprised that he didn’t leave as soon as you showed up at the lobby.

Enobaria leads you all to an expensive bar, you vaguely remember going here before. It was only once, you think. And it’s because of the prices, the alcohol here is strong and expensive. You come here to get drunk, not to dance around the idea of being tipsy. Although, you wouldn’t think that initially.

The entire bar is made up of two colors: a gentle pink color, and pure white. Straight out of some sort of fantasy. And despite its expenses and the fact that it’s the day of the interviews, it’s full of people. For a moment, you’re sure you guys will have to be put on some sort of waiting list, with no empty seats visibly available. But Gloss knows the person at the door, and you all get led to a special room in the back.

Which looks nothing like it does out there. Sleek black couches, dark hardwood floors, minimalistic lamps and succulent plants on tables. There’s one clock on the wall, and absolutely no windows. Enobaria pulls the door shut behind her.

You sit on the second couch, the one that faces the tv better. With you sitting flush against the arm, Gloss sits on the other end. There’s still plenty of space between you two, so you stretch out enough to be comfortable. When you’re done, you’re still not touching him.

Cashmere picks the standing up menu off of the coffee table, flips it open and sits back. Enobaria sits next to her, turning on the television, which is defaulted to Claudius and Caesar. A part of you wonders if the people here watch anything else. They could have hundreds of channels, and yet they default to the news? Wade sits by himself in a distant chair, one leg crossed over the other.

If he’s trying to appear older than he is, all he’s doing is looking like an idiot. It’s going to be hard for him to redeem himself after the show he put on a couple of days ago. Talk about being classy.

“You guys hungry? Looks like they serve food.” Cashmere says, passing the menu to her right, Gloss takes it.

You lean into him, nothing really sparks your interest. Besides, you just ate, “I’m good.”

“Well, I’ll take whatever the hell a ‘Ritchson Siblings’ is.” Gloss says, face scrunching, “Why did they have to use our last name?”

“I bet it’s probably some fruity drink.” You smile slyly, earning glares from both of them. Enobaria’s laughing under her breath.

“I’ll take one too.” Cashmere says, taking the menu from Gloss, and then passes it to Enobaria.

“Do they have a Golding special?” She jokes, and then her eyebrows raise, “Oh shit, do they have all of us? Mine looks like a Bloody Mary.”

You lean forward, hand outstretched, “Give me the menu.”

“I thought you didn’t care.” Gloss teases, you mock him slightly, earning a laugh.

Enobaria hands over the menu, allowing you to get a good look at the menu. At the top is the name of the bar, which explains it all; The Victory Speech. Under it is a fine print on how the drinks are supposed to get you blackout drunk so that you don’t remember anything. And when people get shitfaced, they tend to talk about things they’re not supposed to.

It’s cleverly designed, they switch colors every year. This year’s theme is to support the female victors. When you ask about this, Cashmere says: “Misogyny.” And that practically sums it up.

Anyway, you go down the list. Victors before the fiftieth Hunger Games have a section called ‘Old Timer’s’ because they’re all over the age of sixty at this point. Under this section is Mags and Luther since they’re both pretty old. But it’s vague, and they don’t really name names.

However, after the fiftieth games, it starts with names. Haymitch’s is called ‘Blackout’, and you can’t imagine what that entrails. For all you know, there could be a fucking roofie to ensure you don’t surprise. It probably tastes like literal acid and poison. But knowing the Capitol, they likely found a way to make it taste enjoyable.

Anchor’s is called ‘King of the Sea’ but you also remember people calling it ‘The Sailor’. The drink is twenty different shades of blue, and the foam on top makes it look like the ocean. The ice is in shapes of boats, fish and tridents to make it as appealing as possible.

Enobaria was right about hers looking like a Bloody Mary. It’s blood red, but it doesn’t look like it has tomato juice, more that the alcohol itself is red. The ice in hers is milk white, and you recoil at the thought of it. The title to hers is ‘Bloody Mistake’.

Cashmere and Gloss share their own with ‘Ritchson Siblings’, which isn’t a very fun name, considering all the ones before theirs. If you were to retitle, you think you’d go with ‘Infamous’. The Capitol absolutely loves the hell out of them. Their combined drink is yellow, but it’s shimmery in the picture. And you were right about the fruit, because the fruit is the ice.

And then it’s you and Finnick, separate names and drinks but it’s tied together with a special font that says ‘Complementary!’ and right beside it is a discount offer if you’re ordered together.

His is called ‘Prodigy’, probably a jab at his age when you guys won. It’s completely see-through, you’re not even able to see a chunk of ice in the picture. It comes with a silver trident that sticks out of the cup, blades up. On the end of the points is a lime. The drink is likely brutal if it has an offer of a chaser.

And yours is called ‘Traitor’, which you can’t even be surprised about. It’s clever marketing though, because the appearance is a light blue, with white foam on top. The alcohol is shimmery too, the ice cubes shaped like fish. Sticking out the top is a gummy palm tree, you think. You just know that it’s going to be strong-tasting.

Finally, the last one that you least care about is Wade’s. The moment you read the name of the drink, you’re cracking up. You then remember what his personality was like in his interviews, which was full of intellectually big words to impress the audience and make him look smart. The name is probably the biggest insult, ‘Know-It-All’.

It’s a lime green, there’s chunks of something inside of it, you can’t tell what. Maybe it’s flavored ice? There’s no way to find out unless you actually drink it, and you think that you’d pass. Besides, the name alone is a dead giveaway that this one is going to be strong too. It’s probably a good representation of the whole bar, actually.

“Maybe I will have a drink.” You snort, holding it out for Wade to take. He silently slips it from your fingers and flips it open to read.

“That’s the spirit!” Enobaria says, grinning.

“Oh, great.” Wade rolls his eyes, folds the menu and tosses it on the table, “I’ll pass.”

“Kid needs to learn to loosen up.” Gloss mutters.

“I’ll go and get the drinks.” You push your rings back into place, “What do you guys want?”

“I’ll take my special.” Enobaria says, and Gloss and Cashmere agree on their own. It takes some convincing, but Wade eventually comes around to the idea of taking one of the older victor’s drinks.

You don’t really need to jot it down, so you promise them that you’ll be back in a moment and slip out of the room. The main room is a nice between of loud and quiet. You can hear the private conversations of others, but just barely.

And it seems as if it’s only gotten busier since you first came here. Must be a popular place to go before certain events. You can’t imagine what it’s going to look like after the interviews. Probably packed from front to back, and you can imagine them transforming it into some type of club. It’s got the capabilities of doing so.

You move your hair behind your shoulder, leaning up against the counter while you wait for the bartender to come around. You’re not the first here, and it doesn’t look like you’re going to be the last. If you were to take a guess, you think that The Victory Speech is going to empty out when the interviews come around.

As you wait patiently, playing with one of your rings, you feel a gentle pressure against your lower back, and then feel the presence of someone. Before you can turn, the person is leaning in, “Hey, what are you doing here?” It’s Finnick, and he’s speaking directly into your ear.

You look over your shoulder to see him leaned in close. He’s dressed as nicely as you are, and it looks like you think the exact same way. He’s in a brown suit with a white undershirt. Your eyebrows draw in, one of you will have to change this evening, unless he doesn’t mind matching with you.

You’re about to answer, but your eyes find that he’s got quite the audience that’s watching him. You wonder what he’s here for, and if it concerns any of these people.

Either way, you shrug slightly and try not to be too bothered by where his hand is, “I’m with Gloss and them since they wanted to drink before the interviews.” You give him a little smile, “I’m getting the drinks, do you want to join us?”

Finnick doesn’t answer your question, “Are you sure you should be drinking?” He asks, as if you’re the irresponsible one here. With him avoiding your questions, you must have done something to set him off like this.

Nonetheless, you shake your head, and turn so that you’re halfway facing him. Because of this, his fingers ghost your waist and he has to rethink his hand placement. He goes for your arm now. Why is he so touchy all of a sudden?

“I’m not drinking.” You tell him.

“What can I get for you?” The bartender asks. You give him a smile, listing off the drinks that everyone agreed on. Finnick doesn’t move, patiently waiting. The bartender leaves, but you know that he’ll be back around.

“You should be at the apartment.” Finnick says, there’s a slight frown on his face.

“Doing what?” You ask, face twisting, “Waiting for the tributes to be done? Why aren’t you there?”

He doesn’t get the chance to answer, you’re being interrupted. The bartender tells you that a waitress will come around to the back room to give you and the others your drinks. After that, you know for sure that he won’t be coming back.

One last time, you look at Finnick, “Coming or not?”

Finnick watches your face, pressing his lips together for a while, and then says: “Not.”

“I’ll see you later, then.” You say.

His arm drops, allowing you to go. You give him and the crowd one last glance, suddenly feeling weirded out that they’ve watched you the entire time. You get a couple of steps in to leave, and then stop. He said that he didn’t have anything to do today, didn’t he? Or did you only ask for after the interviews?

You turn slightly to see that Finnick hasn’t stopped staring yet. There’s a look on his face that you can’t shake. A secret message? Wordlessly, you find yourself extending your hand for him to take. This seems to be what he wants, face relaxing and fingers gliding against your palm. You squeeze his hand, pulling him along. He needed an escape, that’s why he approached you.

You bring him around to the back, free hand reaching for the doorknob when the door opens. Gloss is at the door, laughing at something the others must’ve said. He gives you a bright smile, “Hey guys.” and moves on without really acknowledging Finnick.

“Heading to the bathroom?” You ask.

“Yeah, I’ll be back in a minute!” He says, and then disappears.

You bring Finnick inside, he gently closes the door behind him. Now that he’s safe in here, you feel comfortable enough to let go of his hand. The other three victors in here are already leaned forward, making comments about what’s happening on the screen.

“Hey, Finnick.” Cashmere says, giving him a quick look, “You’re gonna have to sit on someone’s lap.”

“Gloss.” You and Enobaria say together, immediately laughing afterwards. Even Wade cracks up, rubbing his face slightly.

“I think I’ll pass.” Finnick says, you take a seat in your original spot, and then pat the arm of the couch, “Or you could try and squeeze between me and Gloss.”

He goes ahead and takes the arm of the chair. Gloss comes back a few minutes later with the waitress. She serves the drinks, Gloss pays for it all, and then you’re free to drink and watch the Capitol tv until you want to go.

It turns out that the drinks all taste different, with Enobaria’s tasting sweet with the aftertaste being sour. She ends up liking it enough to keep drinking. Cashmere and Gloss are obsessed with the fact that theirs tastes like cotton candy and french vanilla. The fruit that’s floating in their drinks are miracle berries, which turns anything sour into something sweet and sugary. Wade thinks his tastes like peppermint and chocolate.

You pick up yours, the Traitor, “This is going to be horrible.”

“You don’t know that.” Cashmere says, but even she looks apprehensive.

“Thought you said you weren’t going to drink.” Finnick says, you give him a look and hold up the glass for him to take, “This isn’t what I meant.”

“Too late, you dug your grave.” Enobaria sips on hers, already used to the sour taste.

Finnick sighs and takes a gulp of it. Then, his face twists and he holds out the cup as if there’s something wrong with it. You raise your eyebrows, “What’s the matter?”

“It tastes like saltwater.” Finnick says, and even smells it to make sure.

“Bullshit.” You take a sip of it, and find out he’s right. The salt aspect isn’t all that overpowering, thankfully. But it does taste like water, “Huh.”

You pull out the sour gummy palm tree, taking a bite out of it to find that it’s practically flavorless too. You’d bet all of your money that people tend to mistake the drink for water and that’s how they end up hammered. You smell it too, expecting it to have at least some aroma, but it’s bland. You set it on the coffee table.

“I think that one sip for each of us is enough.” you laugh, Finnick does too.

“It’s probably a painless way to get drunk.” Cashmere says, leaning forward, “Can I?”

“It’ll be you who gets alcohol poisoning.” you motion.

The drink gets passed around, with everyone being surprised that you two weren’t lying about it. By the time it’s back on the table, it’s almost gone. Cashmere shares her drink with you, but you’re very light when it comes to sips. Not because you’re afraid of ending up making a fool of yourself, but because the sugary aspect of the drink is making your teeth and the back of your throat hurt.

While playing games with each other, mostly trying to get to know Finnick more since they don’t know that much about him, you all keep track of the time. The atmosphere inside of the room easily lightens up, Finnick relaxes enough to constantly have a smile on his face. Your mentor friends are charismatic enough to keep a conversation going and to keep it from getting tense.

Even Wade seems to open up too, but you’re fairly sure that it’s his drink that’s making him do it. Either way, you all end up in stitches, red-faced and wiping tears from your eyes. At least you know that Finnick isn’t mad after last night.

“I’ve finished my drink.” Cashmere says, pushing her glass onto the table, “It might be time to go.”

Finnick glances at the clock, you think it’s about thirty minutes back to the Tribute Center, “Yeah, guess so.”

You yawn, stretching your arms. It feels good to stand from the couch after sitting for so long. The others place their glasses in the middle of the table to make it easy for clean up. You dust your clothes off, pick up the door card that’ll say the room is dirty.

“So, was the matching outfits intentional?” Wade asks, leaning against the wall while you wait for the others to be ready.

“Actually no, we’re just psychic.” you give him a slight smile.

“Right.” he rolls his eyes, it’s quiet between you two for a moment as you watch Gloss try and fuck up Cashmere’s dress. She settles for punching him in the middle of his chest, “I’d like to apologize for what I said the other day.”

You look back at Wade, “Just be careful next time. You’re lucky it was me, otherwise you probably would’ve had your shit rocked by some other mentor. They’ve got pent up frustration, and they’d love to have a justified reaction like mine.”

The others start coming your way, you open the door and slip the door card on the outside handle so that a waitress can see that the room needs to be cleaned before it’s used again. You find Finnick towards the back, but end up pulling him to the middle after Enobaria and Wade start to lead you guys out.

You wrap your arm around his, “Let me repeat what I asked last night,” you look at him, “Are you busy tonight?”

His face falls slightly, “I’m not supposed to be.”

“And going to a restaurant might change that.”

“Going out in general, but if we can find a place like this one--with a closed door and a group then it’s less likely.” he frowns, and bites his cheek, looking away.

“Are you going to get in trouble for today?” you ask, he shakes his head.

Outside on the street, you can see that things are beginning to get busy. You don’t let go of Finnick, just in case something does happen. It’s a good thing that you’re with others, though, because again, they easily lighten the mood and have you guys giving soft smiles and some comments if it’s really needed.

You all have to split up in the lobby. You give gentle hugs and wish them good luck with their tribute’s interviews. Gloss and Finnick have their own kinda moment, which you quietly joke with Cashmere and Enobaria about.

“You’re lucky that Gloss doesn’t have a crush on you, otherwise he would have challenged Finnick for the alpha male status.” Cashmere says a little too loudly, which earns a nasty glare from him. Cashmere initially suppresses her laughter, but you crack up and it’s all over.

You and Finnick take the elevator up, deciding not to change what you’re wearing and just be matching for one night for nostalgia’s sake. You make it back just in time, with Elysia coming out of the apartment, face lighting up when she sees the two of you. She quickly readjusts some stuff on the two of you, but stands off to the side in the end to wait.

Marsh comes out with his team first, dressed in navy blue and black. He gives you guys a bright smile, and then laughs slightly, “You guys twinning on purpose, or--?” He trails off slightly, but it only lasts a second before he’s laughing, covering his mouth. You and Finnick must’ve had the same reaction.

Annie comes out a couple of minutes later, wearing a seashell pink dress. The bottom of it is layered so that it resembles the inside of a shell, with spiked shoes and pearls wherever the prep team could fit them. She shines in the light, and the red on her cheeks is to exaggerate blush.

“Absolutely stunning!” Elysia starts, which triggers the other prep team to follow in her suit. You give an approving nod to Laurel, who gives you a slight smirk.

“You two matching on purpose?”

“For fuck’s sake--” Finnick breathes out a laugh, punching the elevator button.

“I think there’s time to change.” Laurel says.

“We’re good, thanks.” you shake your head, heading inside of the elevator.

One by one, everyone crowds in. Five prep team members, Laurel and Pleurisy, Elysia, you and Finnick, and Annie and Marsh in front. Elysia presses the button to bring you all down to the base floor. All the tributes are already lined up against the wall, dressed in their own fancy ways.

You stop the tributes a little bit out of the elevator, “Look at me.” they do, Finnick stops beside you, “You’re amazing, your act is unique, you’re going to blow away the competition. There’s no doubt about it, so don’t even worry. If you two get nervous, we’re all in the crowd. Find your favorite and talk to them like they’re your best friend. Got it?”

They both nod, and you give them a smile, straightening up. Finnick speaks next; “Just remember that you’ve already shown them you’re good at fighting. Now it’s time to show them that you’ve got a winning personality, and you do.”

“Take deep breaths, guys. You’ll do fantastic.”

Sitting in the crowd with the rest of the Capitol is always a weird feeling. You cross your legs and lace your fingers together while you wait for the room to fill. They’re always going to be nervous, it’s just what they do with it that matters the most.

“Do you guys know any restaurants that’ll have closed doors?” Finnick asks, leaning over.

You give him a look, “Finnick, we’re victors. All you have to do is whisper it and they’ll get us a private room. You have nothing to worry about, I promise.”

He smiles, “As long as you promise.”

The tributes come onto stage, allowing everyone to get their first looks at the competition. Some tributes are dressed more expensively, others are loose and laid back. Annie and Marsh are pretty much the standard when it comes to dressing up for the interviews. They represent their district in some aspect while also looking like themselves.

Caesar starts off with a few jokes to get the crowd in their regular mood, and then he’s introducing the girl from District One. You silently pick apart their personalities, she’s sexy and dangerous, and the boy isn’t as smooth when it comes to instincts. He nearly trips over a small crack in the stage, it’s a dead giveaway why he scored so low.

The girl from Two is bright, with big smiles and animated talking. She seems genuinely interested in conversation, you’d like to say that she’s going for a nice aspect, which will totally flip inside of the arena. The boy is brooding and quiet, hardly opening up at all. He’s absolutely huge too, bigger than Finnick for sure.

District Three isn’t all that important, they’re geeky, shy and stutter a lot when they try and answer. When Annie is introduced, she gives a cute smile and stops next to Caesar, and from the very beginning of her interview to the very end, she’s got the Capitol absolutely wrapped around her finger. So much so that the tributes behind her are rolling their eyes, fed up with it. At the very end, she curtsies and gracefully takes her seat, crossing her legs and leaning back smugly.

Marsh walks up with a wave and a grin. His first few jokes don’t land properly, but it doesn’t discourage him. His eyes find you and Finnick, you give him an encouraging smile. After that, he seems to find his footing, eyes occasionally coming back to you two if he needs reassurance. Once again, he’s swept the entire audience away, they want more when his time is up.

When he sits down next to Annie, he holds his fist out, and she bumps hers against his.

The end of the interviews come around quickly, and since neither of them have allies, they don’t have a reason to mull around the floor talking to others. You give Cashmere and them a wave before the elevator closes, and then suddenly everyone’s buzzing all at once over your tributes.

Annie immediately flushes red, Marsh taking all the compliments like a champ. There’s assurance that they’ll be remembered for a while because of their acts, and how there’s absolutely no way that they didn’t gain traction. Tonight, the attention is probably placed on them and their new perspective on interviews.

Dinner is loud and lively. Tonight’s meals are delicious and filling, but you and Finnick eat scarcely because you’ll be eating out with Enobaria and the rest of them in an hour or so. The avoxes bring out a giant three tier cake modeled around District Four. When Elysia takes the first slice, candy pearls fall out of cake, all varying colors. You guys go ahead and watch the interviews one last time, pointing out details you hadn’t noticed before and cracking up at Marsh all over again. Needless to say, they’re pretty proud of what they’ve done today.

Annie and Marsh part with whatever tokens they want inside of the arena. Laurel, Pleurisy and the prep teams hug them goodbye. Although, the stylists will be the only people seeing them tomorrow. You, Finnick and Elysia are left with the tributes, and you have a faint sense of deja vu. You’ve been here plenty of times before, after interviews with two tributes that you’re too fond of.

But unlike before, these two are special pearls.

Elysia is the next to say goodbye, eyes a little watery like they are every year. She’s not allowed to wish them good luck, or say anything nice. She mutters out the insult that she’s required to say, and then disappears into the apartment.

It’s up to you and Finnick to finish off strong.

“We’re on your side.” you tell them, “We’re always working behind the scenes to pull strings. Look for hidden meanings in things.” you fidget with the engagement ring, “You can always change your mind when it comes to allies. The careers offered you a place the other day, but we turned them down. You can use that to your advantage, if needed.”

“If you find yourself in sticky situations, act on your instincts and worry about the repercussions later.” Finnick says, “Sometimes it’s better that way, but not all the time. If you’re unsure of anything, it won’t hurt you to change. Whether that be eating, drinking, finding a place to stay--any of that. If a situation feels weird, then it is weird.”

“Find water first.” you say, opening your arms. Annie’s the first to take the hug, you squeeze her shoulders tightly, “Remember, these are your games. You decide the outcome here.”

You hug Marsh too, “Go to bed, order herbal tea if you have trouble falling asleep. You’ll need every wink you can get.”

“Thank you for everything.” Annie says.

“Thank you.” Marsh echos.

You give them a smile, “Thank me when you come back.”

“Yes ma’am.” Marsh jokes, him and Annie go up the stairs and to their rooms.

You let out a deep breath of air, pressing the heel of your hand to your head, “There was so much more to say.”

“It’s okay, (Y/n). You said so yourself, they’re smart.” Finnick elbows you slightly.

“I know.” you calm yourself slightly, and then stand up straight, “Alright, let’s go before they think we’ve ditched them.”

“Can’t wait to have a second dinner.” Finnick snorts.

“Get ready to pop some buttons.” you grin cheekily, “And maybe make a fool of yourself.”

REDAMANCY IS PART 2 OF A TRILOGY //MASTERLIST//

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solalunar-eclipse · 3 years

Text

Scars You Can’t See - Chapter 8

Chapter title: Countdown

Word count: about 3500 words

Author’s Note: I tried to make this one slightly more light-hearted, but we’ll see if that worked out! Also writing fight scenes is difficult.

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...

At this rate, it was honestly a miracle that Tails hadn’t had to buy a new carpet yet.

Thankfully for Sonic’s sanity, his little brother’s determination to preserve their house meant that he’d been given lots of free rein to run around outside whenever he felt like leaving. He’d also been given fewer chores lately, as Tails knew from experience that Sonic did not thrive on order and routine like he did.

It had been three days since their visit from G.U.N. and their last contact from Omega- and Team Dark in general. Though he never said as much, Sonic was really having an issue with the fact that Tails had gotten to contact his friend twice by now, while he hadn’t heard from Shadow in ages. He tried his best not to worry, but it had just been such a long time since he’d spoken with the other hedgehog.

And Omega had said that Shadow was struggling...had practically had to relive one of his most traumatic memories….

Sonic decided that he didn’t care about any of the hybrid’s usual thoughts about expressing emotions or vulnerability- the second he got to see Shadow for real, that guy wouldn’t be able to escape the hug he had coming. The hero was practically determined to drag his friend (because they were friends, no matter what Shadow might say) to a therapist, too, since Chaos knew the guy needed it.

The blue hedgehog slowed down considerably and began to stalk through the forest instead, trying to get the majority of his anger out through his legs and movement. It wouldn’t do for Tails to see him like this…

Sonic’s thoughts circled back to how his hands were tied by what he’d promised Shadow- the hybrid had been so insistent, but now Sonic regretted agreeing not to go after G.U.N. Truthfully, the only reason he hadn’t broken his promise already was because while Tails was an incredibly clever and talented person, he could never forgive himself if the young fox got hurt. Otherwise, he would absolutely have long since blasted into G.U.N.’s headquarters, grabbed the commander by the front of his military uniform and told him in no uncertain terms that he had better stop hunting Team Dark and he’d better do it immediately. The hero had had enough of his friends suffering while he was forced to sit safe at home and wait.

His phone buzzed then, pulling him out of his tangled web of thoughts. Tugging it out of his windswept mess of quills, he saw that it was Tails calling and of course picked up immediately.

“Yeah, lil’ bro, what’s up?” he asked, hoping that most of the frustration had left his voice by now.

“Uh, Sonic?” the fox said, sounding pretty tense himself. “Since those agents came to our house a couple of days ago, I managed to hack into G.U.N.’s main server and now I can see some of what they’re doing- mostly where the organisation's sending people and all that.”

“Epic!” Sonic cheered. He began to wonder- could they use this to help their fugitive friends?

“Well, yeah, it would be...except that they’re sending an entire squad to our house. Like, right now.”

His grin froze in place. A squad of soldiers? The hero almost felt a grim sort of delight in that- finally, he’d be able to vent some of his frustration on the organization that had caused this whole mess. He hoped the house would remain standing, though. Tails had built it around a tree from scratch and was really proud of it.

Sonic decided he’d work that out once he got home, and just a moment later, a sonic boom exploded across the landscape as he took off.

…

Once the hero arrived at home, the duo began to set up the house’s various defense mechanisms- since they were a) very famous, b) hated by one of the most powerful supervillains in the world and c) one of them was an engineer, it was only natural that the house would be at least as well defended as a high-security bank vault. Sonic practically bounced around the house as he helped activate certain parts of their machinery, nervous tension running high. G.U.N. wasn’t going to be pulling any punches this time, he was sure of it.

Tails, by contrast, was absolutely calm. The fox was ridiculously mature for his age, and Sonic suspected that he instinctively knew by now when he needed to counteract his elder brother’s wild energy. Once everything was set up, the two built a makeshift barricade as a last resort at the front door, and waited.

Thankfully for Tails’s sanity, it didn’t take long for the trucks to arrive.

As the three trailer trucks parked outside his house, ten soldiers poured out of each one, while several technicians began to set up some sort of weird-looking prototype laser device. The fox laughed for a second at the sight of it in a way that sent a few chills down Sonic’s spine. His brother could be downright terrifying at times.

Tails scoffed. “Please. That laser doesn’t have the power output to break my shields….wait.

“What the heck?”

The four technicians had begun to hook up the laser to- of all things- one of Eggman’s old power cores that he usually used in his bases.

The young engineer tugged at his tails in frustration. “That’s so dumb! Sure, it might boost the laser’s strength, but there’s at least a twenty percent chance it’ll blow up in their faces! A small machine like that wasn’t made to withstand the amount of power it takes to charge an entire Eggman base!”

Sonic blinked and looked at his brother. “Those aren’t bad odds….”

“They aren’t good ones, either! I’d never let someone use a creation of mine with a one in five chance of failure. It’s just embarrassing! And it shows how far behind their engineers are!” Tails’s fur was fluffed up in outrage and irritation.

The hero almost laughed. “That’s what you complain about first? Not the fact that they’re gonna try and blow up our house?” he asked, his tone light. He snatched up the fox and rushed them both away from the front door as a precaution- that was definitely going to be their first target.

Sonic pushed Tails into the highest room in the house, before launching himself out the window and curling up into a deadly sphere of razor-sharp spikes. He vaguely heard one soldier yell something in a panicked voice, but didn’t pay much attention to it. He slammed into the ground, still in a ball, and tore off towards the laser cannon at top speed, leaving a cloud of dust behind him as he went.

Irritatingly, the soldiers’ gunfire spattered all around the cannon, making it impossible to tear the thing apart. Sparks flew across the ground as Sonic careened around it before jumping up into a running stance and taking off in their direction. The air snapped around him as he broke the sound barrier and landed a furious kick on one of the trucks, denting the heavy steel and flipping it onto its side.

Sonic stumbled as a loud explosion rocked the ground, but kept sprinting after a glance assured him that Tails’s shields had held against the blast. The hedgehog smacked one man’s rifle out of his hand, the sheer speed of the blow bending it in half (and was almost certain he heard a distinct ‘why do we keep fighting this guy with guns?’) before he moved on.

A dozen soldiers were on the ground either unconscious or groaning in pain by the time someone thought to radio for reinforcements- which they’d apparently had on standby ready to be helicoptered in. The blue blur wasn’t sure whether this high estimation of his fighting skills was something he should be proud of...or not.

The fur prickled on the back of Sonic’s neck as a humming noise filled the air.

A moment later, he threw himself to the ground as a red-hot laser carved a wide arc above him, slicing through the area where his midriff was a few seconds ago. He heard a faint yell of outrage from inside the house above all the noise, and stuck out his arm for a quick thumbs-up to Tails.

A couple of seconds later, one very familiar and well-used earpiece landed in the dirt next to him as the laser swung back across the battlefield to refocus on their shields. Sonic shoved it into one blue ear before running up the side of the second truck and backflipping to land behind several soldiers. “Miss me, guys?” he asked smugly, before smirking and delivering several well-placed blows to said soldiers’ kneecaps that left all three doubled over on the ground. None of them had even seen him as he moved, which was really a testament to Sonic’s skill.

Tails’s voice crackled to life in his ear as he sent another person flying. “Awesome job! By the way, they’ve already fired the cannon three times, so either their luck is going to be great with this next one, or else…”

The cannon’s shot breached the shields, but Sonic noticed as he ran that its casing was burning red-hot, and-

A shockwave blasted out from the cannon, making all four of its attendants fly into the air, yet in the seconds before they hit the ground, Sonic had time to:

Heave a lengthy sigh at their overestimation of the cannon.

Decide that even if they were working for G.U.N., a life was still a life.

Run around and safely place all four of them inside of a truck...

And avoid the explosion as it tore up the ground within a ten-foot radius of the machine.

(The hero had known for quite some time that being the fastest thing alive meant that he could do some really cool tricks.)

Dirt exploded in all directions, leaving a crater and a smoking lump of metal on the ground. Unfortunately, though, the house’s main defenses were down, and any second now, the helicopter would be there with enough soldiers to take out the rest. And his little brother was still inside...

As though he’d heard the hedgehog’s thoughts, Tails’s voice crackled to life through the speaker. “Sonic! The reinforcements are almost here- we can’t take them all, even if I come out there!”

“Not happening, pal, not unless you’ve got your mech.” Sonic insisted, putting on his ‘big brother’ voice. “Hey, wait- where’re they going?” he asked suddenly, watching as the remaining soldiers retreated to take cover behind one of their trucks. That wouldn’t really help them, but Sonic knew that they knew he couldn’t take the whole organization on by himself.

“They’re waiting it out until the rest arrive...but we won’t be here by then.” Tails said, sounding confident.

“And why’s that, pal?” He folded his arms, keeping one eye on the soldiers.

“Because-” and here Sonic suddenly heard a loud roaring noise coming from the back of the house, “-we’re going to get out of here!”

That was when the Tornado soared directly over their heads.

The G.U.N. soldiers certainly tried to shoot the plane down, but of course, they couldn’t keep up with Tails’s expert flying. Bullets embedded themselves into nothing but trees as it flew away into the forest, a blue streak taking off after it at top speed. Sonic kept up with the red biplane easily, just waiting for the right moment to...there!

He launched himself off a particularly well-placed branch, flinging himself high into the air before landing perfectly on the wing of the plane. “Alright, Tails,” he yelled, trying to make himself heard over the roar of the engine, “where to now?”

The kitsune winced and tapped his ear. “Earpiece, remember?” he asked, and Sonic cringed, realizing that he had forgotten what it was like to wear the little speaker while on the Tornado.

“Ahah, gotcha.” he said sheepishly. “So?”

Tails sighed, but not in an irritated manner. “Angel Island- nobody can find it if Knuckles wants to stay hidden. I called him up while you were out front and he said we could crash there.”

“Oh, sweet!” Sonic said happily. “It’ll be like a sleep...over…”

He trailed off weakly, suddenly remembering their home. “Sorry about the house, pal...I know ya worked hard on it.” The hero ran a hand through his quills, unwilling to meet the other’s eyes.

“It’s okay.” Tails said bravely. “I brought a few things-” he gestured to the backseat- “including all my blueprints, so I can always build us another. And besides…” here he leaned forward, catching Sonic’s eye, “home is wherever we are, so long as we’re together.”

The blue blur quickly nodded before looking down pointedly at the biplane’s wing, hoping strongly that Tails didn’t notice that his eyes had begun to glisten just a little more than usual.

(He did, though.)

…

Knuckles was happy to see them, of course, if a little less obviously so than usual due to the circumstances that had forced the two into this situation. The guardian immediately began to move the island to a new area where it would be hidden from view, while Sonic and Tails just relaxed and looked through the various items that the latter had thought to bring: a spare pair of shoes for Sonic, a toolbox and the aforementioned blueprints for Tails, plenty of food for the three of them, and of course lots of important technology.

As Tails left to go check on Knuckles, the blue hedgehog stretched out on the grass and heaved a deep sigh. What he’d give to know how Team Dark was doing right now…

…

Two days later, he found out.

The very moment that the team released the video, all three inhabitants of Angel Island sat down to watch it on Tails’s screen. The fox had been constantly monitoring the Internet for anything about the other team, especially their social media, so of course he was alerted the second anything came up.

Before they started the video, the hero had been vibrating with energy.

By the end of the section about the ARK, he was completely still, his eyes as wide as they could go.

Tails paused the video there, as the massive wave of responses was already starting to flow. Sonic blinked back to reality to discover that his nails had nearly torn holes through his gloves- that was how tightly he was clenching his fists. He rolled his shoulders, trying to get the tension to leave his body, but he couldn’t stop thinking.

How in the name of Chaos did Shadow watch that?

They agreed that Tails would watch the rest while the other two stepped up to support their friends, and support they certainly did. Both of their tempers were running hot, and more than once the fox, glancing over their shoulders, had to remind them that caps lock was not going to be helpful right now.

Not long after Team Dark had stopped responding to questions, Sonic and Knuckles sat back down to view the other part of the video. They watched in shock as the peace and power of that meeting was violated, people arrested just like that, and yet neither of them had heard anything about this event.

Immediately afterwards, the latter got right back onto his phone and started typing out absolutely vicious responses to some of the more ridiculous conspiracy theorists. His violet eyes were narrowed in anger as he tore into their ideas- while he might not be able to convince the people themselves, he could hopefully stop more from being sucked in.

Sonic, meanwhile, just lay half on his side in the grass for a minute, trying to restrain the urge to scream. Why hadn’t he done more damage to G.U.N. when he’d had the chance? Why hadn’t he been able to see that this ran so deep?

Sonic turned his head to the side to look at his brother. “Tails?” he asked, trying to keep his voice under control. “Where’s Team Dark gonna go next, d’ya think?”

The kitsune frowned. “I don’t know...but if I had to guess, they’re probably trying to figure out how deep this whole problem goes. That’s what I think we’d do if we were in that situation, at any rate. To find that kind of stuff, though, they’d have to head straight to Central City and hack directly into G.U.N.’s mainframe...which would be incredibly risky on a good day.”

Sonic shot upright. “What if they are gonna do that next?”

Tails shook his head vehemently. “After running away from the entire organization for so long? That’d practically be a suicide mission! Even if they somehow managed to escape with the information, G.U.N. would be able to hunt them down in no time!”

The two brothers stared at each other. “But that sounds like them….doesn’t it.” Tails sighed, looking down at the grass.

“Knux!” Sonic yelled, rushing over to where the guardian sat. “We have to hang around Central City, man. If the team’s gonna head anywhere, it’ll be there. And if they’ll be in that much trouble by the time they get out of there, we have to be there to pick them up.”

Knuckles leveled him with a stare so flat it put sheets of paper to shame. “Sonic. Literally three days ago, I helped you guys escape G.U.N. and we have been hiding ever since. And now you want me to move my island, with the last ruins of my tribe’s temple and my Master Emerald, within reach of an organization that would give anything to be able to take it all for their scientists to look at.

“No. Way.”

The hedgehog widened his stance. “Knuckles.” he began, stabbing a finger at the ground for emphasis. “Literally ten days ago, Team Dark escaped G.U.N. all by themselves and have been on their own ever since. And now you want us to leave our friends, and remember, your girlfriend at the mercy of that organization, for the sake of a giant rock.

“Yes way. Absolutely.”

Knuckles scowled and blushed, avoiding Sonic’s stare after that mention of Rouge. “I guess….if we stayed away from the city itself and out of sight….”

Tails decided that this was a slightly safer moment to chime in. “I’ll try and monitor the airwaves in the area- we can move away if we think they’ve noticed us!”

“All of this is assuming that they’re even actually there.” the echidna replied, seeming slightly irritated at being outnumbered.

“It isn’t the most logical place for them to go.” Tails agreed. “It’s ridiculously dangerous, and G.U.N. probably knows that. But, it’s also their most powerful building, which means that it’s going to have all of the more recent files there.

“While this video is some damaging evidence, it’s not nearly enough to permanently damage their standing overall...they definitely have the cash to sneak out of this level of bad press. A bigger release- now that we know this isn’t a one-time event- is definitely the best way to deal with them. And what better way to do it than to find all their super-secret files at the source?”

Sonic sighed. “Plus, I’ve got a feeling G.U.N.’s gonna underestimate that team’s habit of suffering to save others.” His shoulders sagged slightly at the thought, but he felt a little bit of the weight lift off of them when Tails leaned against him slightly with an understanding look.

The echidna watched them sympathetically for a moment before remembering that he was supposed to be arguing against them. “Well, why don’t they just go back to whatever place they busted first? That sure wasn’t in Central City.”

Sonic rolled his eyes. “It’s ‘cause they’d be expecting them there, knucklehead. Never return to the scene of the crime. That’s what they say in all the TV shows, right, Tails?”

“Well, while this is not a TV show, Sonic, you’re right.” the kitsune said, sighing. “That’s another reason for them to go to Central City.

Knuckles gave a mixture of a sigh and a growl, stalking back to the altar where the Master Emerald floated. “Fine. But if this goes south, I am blaming your-” he pointed a vicious finger at Sonic- “spiky butt for all of it.”

The hero grinned at his friend in a way he knew got under his spines, and was rewarded with a huff and another grumble. Yet the island still began to move, shifting eastward from the center of the country towards Central City.

Hold on, guys. Sonic thought, feeling properly hopeful for the first time in over a week. We’re on our way.

#shadow the hedgehog #rouge the bat #e 123 omega #team dark #scars you can't see #sycs #i tend to imagine certain scenes from fanfics as movie scenes #and i think that shows in the fight in this chapter #by the way #i'll try and release a new chapter every two weeks #but that schedule is very #very #VERY tentative #there should probably be about 13 chapters in all #give or take #hope you're having a nice day! thanks for reading!#(and i hope this chapter turned out alright too)#sol’s fanfiction

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sprnklersplashes · 3 years

Text

the midnight raven

ao3

AN: as of now this is a one shot, but if people express interest in a bigger story about this, I’d give it a go

janis+damian, implied beginning of romantic cady/janis. rated teen for mentions of violence.

Taking punches, kicking ass, that she can do. Letting people in? Less so.

Her back hits the window for the third time, and all she has time for is a simple “oh shit”.

The glass gives way beneath her body and she’s falling, nothing beneath her but empty space or beside her but rushing wind. When her back hits the concrete, the little air she had left escapes in one heavy puff of white smoke. She coughs heavily, her whole chest rattling with the effort, and feels something wet splatter on her lips, followed by a metallic tang on her tongue. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and doesn’t even need to look, only be grateful that she chose black all that time ago for this very purpose.

That’s just what she needs.

She rolls over onto her side, only for every muscle in her body to protest, rather loudly. Somewhere in her dazed mind, she realises that must’ve been quite the fall, for her to feel like this. She also realises that it’s possible she might have a concussion. She’ll add that to the list of things she has to work with after tonight. Her arm screams out in pain as she attempts to push herself up, twice buckling under her weight before she can stand. Her legs are only slightly better, though still not as steady as she’d like them to be. She coughs heavily, wincing at the strain on her sore body, and heaves up another mouthful of blood onto the pavement. It glistens sickeningly in the faint glow of the nearby streetlamp, almost like it’s mocking her. Somehow, Damian’s words echo in her mind-you’re extremely durable, not indestructible, Janis-and they feel particularly potent now. Carefully, she presses two fingers against her chest, moving them slowly and steadily until she finds the worst spots, which she does with hissed breath and gritted teeth.

At least four broken ribs, and it’s not even midnight yet. That’s got to be a record.

The hair on the back of her neck stands up, a prickle of cold sweat running down her back, and she turns around just in time for yellow light to blind her for a second before fading. The backdoor swings open, and at first it appears a living shadow steps through. Until her eyes adjust, and she sees it’s just a man. The same man who just drop-kicked her through the window, now looking at her with equal parts confusion and anger. Judging by that expression, the gun in his hand is merely a precaution. It normally is when it comes to this. After a 100 feet fall, a bullet to the head would just speed up the inevitable for anyone else.

“So it’s true,” he tells her, and his mouth curves into a grin. His voice is smooth, a little too smooth, like it’s been ironed out, lest he give anything away. There’s only the faintest hint of an English accent left. It’s no doubt a learned trick, and he does it well, even though he can’t quite manage to disguise the slight fascination in it. She can’t say she blames him. “You cannot die.”

“No I can,” she tells him. “I just choose not to. I find it a little inconvenient and I have plans next week.” She straightens up, despite the ache in her spine, and squares her shoulders, her bloody chin raised at him. “So, are we doing this the easy way or the hard way? Because trust me, I think you’d prefer the easy way.”

She hears the cocking of a gun, the sight disguised by the shadows, and for a moment, she tenses. Janis has tested herself a lot, done all sorts of crazy shit just to see if she could, but a gunshot has been the one boundary she’s not dared to cross yet. She doesn’t feel like crossing it tonight either.

“Hard way then,” she sighs and she raises her fists.

Shots ring out and her brain instantly tells her where to go, ducking and dodging the raining bullets as quickly as he can fire them. Every cell in her body feels like it’s buzzing, her nerves anticipating his moves before he can make them. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches the end of the alleyway, where the dark criminal underworld meets the city streets. Not a lot out this time of night, in this part of town, but that doesn’t mean no-one. Anyone could hear this, from a well-meaning citizen to a curious drunkard, and the last thing she needs is someone who shouldn’t be here. Keeping herself safe is hard enough, even with her added protections.

“Well that was a nice little show,” she calls out as she backs away, further into the shadowy corners of the back alley. “Want to go get some more bullets and try again? I don’t mind waiting, honestly.”

“You know I’ve heard all about you,” he tells her, and his voice follows her. She sighs in relief, only because she knows he can’t see her. “The great protector of this city. The champion of the underdog, so they say. Some call you an angel, sure you are sent from above. Others are not so sure. There are some in this city who believe your origin is far less noble.”

“If I wanted to know my reputation, I’d check Twitter,” she tells him. “Is that all you’ve got? That some people don’t like me.” She keeps walking, her hand stretched out behind her, feeling for a back wall. Nothing so far, but it’s close. “Because frankly, I don’t even like myself, so it’s not a burn.”

“No, no, not that,” he tells her. “I was going to tell you that despite everything people have said about you, they have all failed to mention how god damned irritating you are.”

The voice is closer now, and when he lunges at her, it’s with a frustrated snarl. She blocks it with a kick to his stomach, a punch to his jaw. He swings at her and she ducks, hooks her leg around his to topple him to the ground. It’s one of the first moves she learned, and one of her best. Unfortunately, it’s also one of her signature moves and people have come to know it. To expect it. The guy grabs her by the back of her shirt and pulls her to her feet, his grip not once loosening despite her hardest kicks, to his legs, his stomach, to the place the sun doesn’t shine. Up close, under the dull porch light, she can see the fury in his eyes, making him look more animal than human, and he doesn’t once let up. Instead, there’s the coolness of a blade against her cheek, and she stills. She’s no stranger to knife fights, and nine times out of ten they amount to papercuts, but this guy did his homework. The blade is jagged, long, and capable of far more than a mere pocket knife.

Time to be smart, she tells herself.

“Who do you work for?” he whispers. “The police in this town don’t like you, so it can’t be them. The FBI? The Bureau, is that who it is?”

“I don’t work for anyone,” she tells him. “With them, occasionally, not for them.” His grip on her top tightens and a strangled cry escapes her lips. The blade presses closer, and further down this time, against her side, and she realises. He means to torture whatever information he wants out of her.

Good fucking luck, buddy, is all she can think.

“Okay, so you don’t want to talk about that,” he breathes. His voice shakes slightly, like a taut string being plucked at. “Fine, I don’t need to know.” Behind him, Janis notices a metal stairwell, probably a fire escape. Too dark for him to see, but that’s what she’s here for, and she swallows her smile. At least, until the knife pushes through her shirt and she feels blood running down over her skin, down along her abdomen and into her leg. And with it comes dull, throbbing pain, and she bites back the cry. “What I do need to know is where you sent my cargo.”

“You mean the kids?” she spits back, and he presses the knife harder. She almost feels something, almost. She shakes her head and allows the smirk to form on her lips, unable to resist the satisfaction. “Like I'm telling you. They’re free, and you can run and tell your boss that.”

“No.” His voice is deep, throaty, almost a growl and certainly not intentional. She wonders if she should enjoy this, watching a man like him come undone. Damian would say she shouldn’t, but that’s the good part of not having Damian here. Even when he pushes the knife further into her, and the sharp pain flares up, she doesn’t drop it. “You will tell me. You will. Or-”

“Or you’ll what? Kill me?” She shakes her head, despite the way her mouth runs dry at the motion, bile creeping up and stinging the back of her throat. “No, you won’t. You can’t kill me when I know what you want to know. And I’ll go through anything before I tell you where those kids are.” She grins, and knows he can see the blood on her teeth. “So you can suck it, asshole.” She coughs again, but does him the courtesy of avoiding his face. “Now I am willing to offer you a deal here.”

“What kind of deal can you possibly offer me?”

“You tell me where your base of operations is, and I don’t call the cops on your bitch ass,” she tells him. “That seems like a more than fair deal, don’t you think? I get what I need and you get to go home.” His face hardens at her offer, and his hand moves from her shoulder to her throat, pressing down until her gasps are strained and thin. “Okay so I’ll take that as a no?”

“You can take that as a go to hell,” he tells her. For a second, something flickers behind his eyes, something beyond the cold, calculated mask she’s fought with all night. A forced reminder that the monsters she fights with aren’t entirely monsters, and it threatens to drag up that stupid empathy she sometimes has. “You know what Hayden would do to me if I told anyone about him?”

“So it’s a definite no, then?” she asks. He only glares, and that’s all she needs. She’s grown bored of pleading with them, trying to gently coax them to the light. She’s done with offering them deals none of them want to take. She only ever did it for Damian’s sake in the first place and since none of them want the light, it’s far more efficient this way. “Okey dokey.”

Her knee hits his stomach and his hand jerks from her throat. Once she’s free from that it’s a simple one-two to his stomach and kick to his chest to disorient him. And as he stumbles backwards, she aims her wide swing right to his temple, and his eyes widen just before she makes the blow.

It only takes one punch, and next thing she’s handcuffing him to the fire escape. She did consider letting him dangle there, because honestly he deserves to, but she opts for letting him sit crumpled against the wall, cuffed arm raised up high. She scribbles down the location, straining her eyes to make out the name on the street sign, and that’s her done. All in a day’s work, and now she can clock-out, as it were.

Right after she gets this to the nearest cop.

With the paper safely folded into her pants pocket, she begins making her way there. The map of the city is almost perfectly clear in her mind-she can attribute both her enhanced memory and many nights of studying it to that-and if she’s right the nearest cop lives only three streets from here. Well, that’s not entirely true. The nearest one actually lives in the next street over, but he’s a dick and so even with her fun array of injuries, she’s willing to take the long way round just to not give him the satisfaction of her visit. Besides, she’s fine, really.

Completely fine.

Her feet hit the ground on the other side of the wall, silent but not steady. She actually comes close to hitting the ground again, stretching out her hand just in the nick of time. Dimly, she realises she’s normally better than that, but her instincts feel muted right now. Like a picture drawn with a blunt pencil. She keeps her body low as she makes her way through the streets, not wanting to find out what might happen if she attempts to stand up any further than she already is. Best case scenario, vomit on the sidewalk and the nice citizens of Chicago could do without that. She keeps her head ducked too; the normally-faint streetlights suddenly exceedingly bright tonight, glaring down intensely at her. Or maybe that’s just her. Didn’t she suspect something about a head trauma a minute ago? She’s fairly certain she did.

She’s made it to the bottom of Cop Dickhead’s street before she realises she’s probably not getting any further than this. She pauses for a moment, one hand on her knee, her chest heaving. She’s still in the darkness; she’s learned where the safest shadows of this city are, mapped out routes for her to sneak back home undetected. Except now she’s accepting that she likely isn’t making it home, not in this state, and instead might have to settle for one of their safe spots; the abandoned phone booths all over the city. Just call her Superman. But instead of changing, she can patch herself up there, as long as Damian can grab what she needs. She should be reaching for her phone, but that can wait, she guesses. She needs… What does she need? Painkillers, definitely. Water, that would be good. And bandages, some for her face, some for her arm. A voice whispers needle and thread but she shakes her head, wondering why she’d need those. She’d only need those for stitches, and she’d only need stitches if-

Oh right. She was stabbed. She glances down at herself, barely making out her hand pressed against her side. Her gaze is blurred and unfocussed, and growing steadily darker the longer she looks at it. Slowly, and with monumental effort, she lifts her hand up to her face, and watches it tremble, the glove stiff and cold.

I should probably sort that out, she thinks, and perhaps says out loud. Then she hits the ground and the last thing she feels is the soft breath escaping her mouth.

******

The warmth is the first thing she registers when she wakes up. If you can call it “waking up”. More a slow, gradual, ‘waking up and falling back asleep and then waking up and then vibing in this little grey area for god knows how long’. And given the crap she just put her body through, she’s more than happy to rest while she can. But when her senses do catch up with her mind and drag her further away from sleep, the first thing she registers is warmth. It’s nice, and it holds her in sleep-or whatever this is- a little longer.

Slowly, she begins becoming aware of everything else, even with her eyes closed. The pillow beneath her head, the slightly scratchy wool of the blanket over her, the slight angle her body sits on as she rests on the couch, her feet just touching the edge and-

Wait. No.

Her eyes fly open, her body bolting upright. Her hands tremble this time not from pain or overuse, and her eyes fly everywhere. Her already-heightened senses work overtime, taking in each and every detail, and she falls further into anxiety with each one. She tosses the blanket off her, recoiling from it like it’s alive. Everything is so, so unfamiliar to her-from the green patterned wallpaper to the cluttered coffee table to the couch she’s sitting on. Even the sounds aren’t right; no coffee being brewed in the kitchen, a clock that ticks too loudly and too quickly, cars outside moving far too fast. It slams into her one after the other-wrong, wrong, wrong-and she immediately starts looking for an escape route. One window, she notes. First floor. Easy. Another door, leading into a hall. She likes it less for a few reasons, but it’s there.

“You’re awake.”

She stifles a gasp and turns slowly at the voice, her neck twinging as she does so. They didn’t sound malicious, or gloating, but she knows not to take anything for granted. She starts looking around the room, this time for a weapon, only to realise the weight still around her waist-baton is still in her belt, along with her nunchucks and back-up handcuffs.

If she has been captured, they aren’t very good at it.

When she finds whoever it is, she finds herself startled by what she sees. First off at how young they are-her age, or thereabouts-and secondly, everything else. Her companion is clad in a yellow plaid shirt and khakis, their light brown hair is held back in a loose braid. Blue eyes peer at her over a striped ceramic bowl, a faint scattering of freckles across their nose. They might as well have “non-threatening” written on their forehead, and for a second she almost relaxes. Almost. Instead her hand rests on her baton, hand poised to grab it.

“You brought me here,” she states.

“Mm-hm.” The stranger takes a step forward and Janis backs up, her hand slightly outstretched. A small look of hurt passes across their face, but they take the message and stay where they are, their eyes never leaving her. “I found you passed out on the sidewalk. You were-are-pretty badly banged up. And I didn’t know what to do, so I took you here.”

“You took me here,” she repeats. “Where is here?” Normally she tries to keep up her persona in front of civilians, in the rare moments she interacts with them, but for now her brain is so frazzled she’s glad she can speak at all.

“Oh, uh, one second.” The stranger darts around to the coffee table, respecting Janis’ request for distance at the same time. They go around in a complete circle before reaching it and lifting a letter off the table, reading from the top corner. “54 Aldergrove Way.”

Aldergrove Way. So she’s just the next street over from where she was. Even closer to where she was headed. Well, that works out, if she isn’t about to be tortured and then dumped in the sewers.

“You want some cereal?”

“What?” Her new companion-or whatever they are-simply shrugs, a small smile on their face, and nods at the bowl. So she didn’t mishear them. It would almost be better if she were being tortured, she thinks. At least she has a plan for that.

“Thought you might want to eat something,” they explain simply, as if they’re old friends coming in after a night out. The suggestion, the way it’s delivered, it’s all so bizarre that Janis can only mumble a ‘no thanks’ in response, image be damned.

“Suit yourself,” they mumble with a shrug. “I’m Cady by the way. Cady Heron.” Janis nods, the muscles in her neck twinging in protest. Like she said, it must’ve been quite the fall. She looks over at Cady, her eyes quickly flitting over her. With every second, the theory that she’s been captured looks less and less likely. Even disregarding the fact that they’re obviously in a well-lit, residential street-hardly ideal for a criminal underworld, Cady gives off the vibe that she wouldn’t even pirate a movie, let alone anything else. She doesn’t relax though, because she can’t.

“I don’t know how many times you’ve taken a stranger off the street, but for future reference maybe don’t tell them your first and last name,” she explains. Cady nods again, her mouth pressed into a thin line.

“I’ll make a note of that.” She twirls the spoon about in her cereal, her lips pursed as she fills the silence between them with small, nonsensical sounds. Their eyes don’t leave Janis though, and they hold a thousand and one questions and frankly, Janis can’t blame them. “So you got hurt pretty badly.”

“Yeah,” she mumbles in reply. Her hand travels down her body, checking out the damage now that she has the time. “How long was I out for?”

“Oh, um, about twenty five minutes? Half an hour, maybe.” They scratch the back of their neck and Janis tries not to smile. “I think I got there just after you passed out.”

“What were you even doing back there?” she asks. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s dangerous to be out there alone?”

“You were there,” they point out. “I went to buy some milk. And I wasn’t alone. One of the neighbours was with me, but she wanted to call 911. I told her I’d take care of you and that I’d call an ambulance from here.” Janis opens her mouth, but her whole rant must already be on her face because Cady smiles, a gentle chuckle escaping them, and shakes their head. “I haven’t called anyone yet. I wasn’t sure if I should. I was going to call my parents-they’re at some overnight conference thing at the university, but they’d probably freak out. And then call the cops.”

Hm. They’re smarter than they look. Janis simply nods at her before swinging her legs around the front of the couch, her lips clamped shut to conceal the worst of the damage. Still, that half hour nap must have done some good, because she can already feel her body restoring itself. Moving is still a pain, but not as much as it was before and some of the aches have already faded to background noise. Her ribs are still fucked, but they won’t take long to get back. Same with her back. The head she’ll have to think about, but she guesses it wasn’t so bad or it’s already started healing itself. Gingerly, she lifts up her shirt, cautious of Cady’s presence, and feels around her abdomen, only for her fingers to hit a strip of gauze. Her head snaps up, eyes wide, and Cady only shrugs.

“You were bleeding,” they say matter-of-factly, with the unsaid tone of ‘what else was I going to do?’. Janis stutters for a minute, and blood rushes to their cheeks as they think of Cady bandaging her bare stomach, her unconscious and none the wiser.

“You know how to fix a stab wound?” she asks.

“Yeah. I uh… I learned a lot of survival skills where I used to live,” they explain. “Including how to give stitches. Luckily I had my med pack on hand. If you want, I can show you my certificate.”

“That won’t be necessary,” she tells her. The smile spreads across her face before she can stop it and all she can do is duck her head and hope Cady doesn’t notice. Bad for the public image and whatnot. Can’t have the people of her city knowing that their silent, stoic protector has a soft side, or one that can be easily reached at that. Most of them think she doesn’t feel anything and it works better for all of them if it stays that way.

The smile fades but doesn’t disappear as she reaches up and pushes her blood-coated hair away from her face, her fingers checking for other cuts or scrapes. She comes across a callous bruise beneath her fingers, as well as a fair amount of scrapes, but decides not to fret on it. They’ll be gone by tomorrow. But then she realises there’s nothing between her hand and her face; the scrap of fabric she’s become so accustomed to is gone, and that panic from before sparks up in her like a flare.

“My mask,” she gasps, this time springing to her feet. She looks over at Cady, either accusing her or sharing her panic, she doesn’t even know. “I don’t have my mask.”

“Here, here, I do.” Cady bends down and grabs it from its spot, half-hidden beneath the brochures and letters on the coffee table. She holds it out in front of her, and Janis doesn’t miss the fearful spark in her eye. Some small, asshole part of her thinks good, you should be scared. Another part wants to hold her hand and tell her it’s okay. She doesn’t give into either though. “I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have taken it. I just wanted to see if your face needed anything.” Janis takes her mask and Cady steps back. “I saw the bruises. Wanted to see if it was any worse. I have ice packs in the freezer if you-”

“You took my mask off,” Janis says again. “You’ve seen my face.”

“Yes.”

Janis turns away from her and hurriedly ties the mask back on. It’s a neat little design on her part-a clasp hidden beneath a thick ribbon to reduce the chances of it falling off. Not a lot of good it did now, though, if Cady was able to get it off her. The mask has a purpose, to separate her two lives. To minimise the damage she causes. It’s the part she fights hardest to protect, but clearly she’s not fighting hard enough.

“So you know who I am.”

“No,” Cady replies. “I have literally never seen you before, ever. In my life.” She hears Cady shrugging behind her, and for a moment rolls her eyes at herself. Of course she doesn’t know her. Several people in this city don’t know her. “I just moved here. Yesterday.” Regardless, Cady’s seen her face now, there’s no going back from that.

“I’ve heard of you though.”

“What?” Janis turns then, more comfortable beneath the mask, and finds Cady half sitting on the arm of the couch, drumming her nails on her bowl. She still looks casual on the outside, as though they’re far more friendly than they actually are, but there’s a tension in her shoulders that betrays her.

“When we were moving in yesterday, I saw the murals. And people, the neighbours, they told us stuff,” she explains in a low voice. “A masked vigilante who walks the streets. Keeps watch over the city. Does the cop’s job for them.” Janis chuckles at that, half-proud of herself. “I almost didn’t believe them. Maybe I wouldn’t have if I hadn’t seen the murals. But here you are.” They gesture at Janis. “The Midnight Raven.”

“Oh shush,” she sighs. “Honestly it’s such a pretentious nickname. I’d have been fine with the Raven even, but everyone needs a gimmick apparently.” Cady laughs as Janis folds her arms, and she can’t not notice how nice her laugh is. Like sunny summer afternoons and strawberry ice cream and green grass, that kind of nice. So nice that Janis finds herself smiling back.

“You should complain,” Cady tells her. “Write into the papers, tell them you don’t like it.”

“Because that will do wonders for my public image,” she sighs as she falls back onto the couch. The levity doesn’t last, and she’s forced to look at the situation head-on. Cady looks out of the corner of their eye at her, a slightly curious look about them.

“If it’s anything, not everyone thinks you’re a monster,” they say softly. “The girls across the street, for instance, they think you’re amazing.” Janis hums in acknowledgment, but their words quickly fade away. Her public image is the last thing she’s concerned about right now. Cady’s safety on the other hand, well that’s all she can think about. There’s a reason her secret is so closely-guarded and it’s very little to do with her.

“Cady, I need you to listen to me.” Cady turns to her, the last traces of composure draining from their face. Severity is a strange look on a face like hers, and Janis feels bad for putting it there. She doesn’t belong in this, with her. But she was too kind-hearted not to be. “Cady, think. Did anyone see you with me? Anyone at all?”

“No.” They shake their head. “No, the street was empty. I mean, my neighbour helped me carry you, but that was it. They didn’t come inside.” Janis nods, her teeth grit. Just their neighbours. But they just moved here. They don’t know who to trust.

“This is important,” she tells them. “If… if someone comes and asks if you’ve seen or heard anything suspicious, maybe something relating to a violent crime, deny it. You never saw anything. You were in here watching TV or whatever it is you do. You’ve never even seen me before, is that clear? You can’t tell anyone about this.”

“Anyone?”

“Anyone.”

Cady swallows thickly, their eyes widening like they’re only just realising the weight of what they’ve gotten into. They look so lost, even in their own home, and Janis relates, a little. Relates to that feeling of being thrust into a new world and new rules and not knowing where to turn. The feeling of carrying so much and being unable to share the load.

So against her better judgement, she pulls her glove off and places her calloused hand over Cady’s soft one.

“Thank you, Cady,” she says. “You didn’t have to do what you did for me.”

“Yeah, I did,” they reply, a faint smile playing on their lips. “It’s the least anyone can do for you, right?”

Something stirs in Janis’ chest then, something alien but not unfamiliar. And not unwelcome either. Cady looks at her through their lashes and Janis finds herself wishing they had met somewhere else. Somewhere normal. Because despite the circumstances, she likes them. They might only have had this time together, but she can tell the kind of person Cady is. And she doesn’t need any superpowers for it.

The tinny ringing of her cellphone fills the room, the device humming against her hip, and she curses under her breath. Cady squeaks and backs up from her as she takes the phone out, even averting their eyes to give her privacy.

“Damian,” she breathes.

“You answered,” is all he says. She rolls her eyes, but she knows the meaning behind it. They started this a while ago, a way of keeping him sane. Five missed calls from him and she’s probably in serious danger or worse. The nightmare scenario. What exactly he’d do if she missed five calls, she doesn’t know. All she can do is make damn sure he never has to do anything. And her answering on the first call is a rare sight indeed, and the relief in his voice shows it.

“Yeah, I did.”

“So you’re okay?”

“I’m…” Her voice trails off, and her gaze moves involuntarily towards Cady. Who knows what would have become of her if not for them? She doesn’t believe she would have died, but there are endless possibilities besides that. She still winces every time she breathes too quickly, and the stab wound in her side is making its presence known. “I’ll be okay. I’m out. It’s over. I’ll be home soon.”

“Okay,” he breathes. “Text me when you get home, okay?”

“Only if you go the hell to sleep,” is her reply, and he chuckles on the other end. Damian might not come out on patrols or missions with her, but his word was true when he said they were in it together. If she’s up then he’s up, despite her best efforts to keep him at bay. “You’ll text?”

“I promise,” she tells him firmly. “Fifteen minutes, tops.”

“Holding you to it,” he replies before he hangs up. She lets the dial tone ring in her ear for a few seconds before she cuts it off and holds the phone close to her chest instead. Despite Cady’s turned back, and the almost-ease she’s beginning to feel here, she can’t help feeling she’s violated Damian here. Whatever she feels about Cady, Damian has never met them. And even if Cady isn’t on the “bad side”, she could still slip up. A tiny detail is all a person like Hayden might need to get to her.

“I should go,” she says over her shoulder. “I need to get home.”

“Didn’t think superheroes had homes,” Cady replies, swinging off the couch. Janis chuckles drly as she turns and she finds herself face to face with Cady and those big, round eyes of theirs, the unwillingness to let her leave evident in them. Her chest hurts, not from the fall, and she quickly realises why. She’s seen that expression on Damian before. That shouldn’t freak her out like it does.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” they ask. “Out there, I mean. What if you pass out again?”

“I won’t.” She tugs on her gloves and checks her belt again. “I hardly ever pass out. This was the exception.” Cady nods, but the concern doesn’t quite leave her eyes. Janis swallows a laugh. Maybe if Cady knew all she was capable of she’d be less reluctant to see her go. “Trust me. I’ll be fine. And if I’m not-” Her voice catches there, unsure of where her words were headed. I know where to find you feels the most natural course, but she doesn’t like it. It’s too close to I’ll see you again and she’d prefer to not see Cady after tonight. “You know.”

“I do.”

Cady shows her to the bathroom window after she asks if there’s another way out. From there it’s only a short hop to the next house over, and then it’s a clear path along the streets, even with her exhausted legs.

She thanks them again and wishes she was better at this. Like everything about this vigilante shit, talking to civilians looks far easier in the movies. They’re all so confident, so at ease in her superhero persona that they charm the cute girl with just a few short words. Janis hasn’t quite mastered that part yet and so after some awkward deliberation she leaves Cady with a pat on the arm and a “be careful”.

Cady responds “you too” just as she climbs out the window and it almost makes her lose her footing. Not that she does this to impress anyone, but she hopes Cady didn’t see that. For the public image and all.

******

It’s well past noon when Damian enters her room, all the delicacy of a one-man brass band. She doesn’t even open her eyes when he sits down on the bed, instead greeting him with a heavy groan that says more than words could right now. “Fuck off” is the general vibe she was going for, but with an added undertone of “why are you asking me to be awake right now”. She has no doubt he picks up on the subtext of her groans, given that he picks up on everything else about her, but he elects to ignore it and pulls open the curtains instead, letting in what he calls “god’s natural daylight”.

In her state, she’d be inclined to call it “Satan’s personal headlamp” and she pulls the blanket over her head, her free hand flipping the bird at him.

“Well good morning to you too,” he says indignantly and he sets himself down on the foot of her bed. “Do I want to know what time you went to sleep at?”

“It was early,” she tells him from her makeshift cave. “Early for me anyway.”

“Mm-hm. You may have gotten in before midnight, I have no doubt you were up to the small hours brooding.” That gets her to flip the covers off and fix him with a resentful glare, her dark hair falling in front of her face.

“I do not brood,” she tells him pointedly and he only raises an eyebrow. With a sigh, she pulls herself into a half-sit, mindful of her ribs. Damian watches her as she does so, hands poised to help, and she avoids his gaze for the time being.

He’s half-right about last night. Not that she’d call it brooding, but she couldn’t go right to sleep after she came in, despite how shattered she felt (and still feels). Her mind was too preoccupied with the fight and Hayden and everything from the past few weeks. And Cady, funnily enough.

Thankfully, Damian does know when to drop it.

“Apple or chocolate?”

“Apple please.” He tosses her a package wrapped in white paper, still warm and soft from the bakery ovens. As she’s tearing into it, a chilled bottle of orange juice lands on her lap, as does a protein bar and a banana soon after, all from the little corner store. Cheap and does the trick.

“So what’s your damage?” he asks as she eats. He takes his little Hamilton notebook out of his bag and clicks open his pen. “And do not bullshit me.”

Janis heaves a sigh, stopping short when the pain tugs at her chest.

“Couple of cracked ribs,” she explains. Damian’s expression darkens, but he nods. “Uh, I banged my head a few times, but I think it’s better. Had a pretty bad shiner last night, is it still there?”

“Not really,” he says. He shifts closer to her. “Only now that you’ve pointed it out.”

“Cool. I fell out a window too. Not fun. Cut me up quite a bit but…” She holds out her arms, which last night were covered in thin, deep cuts. Overnight most have faded to pale pink lines, only a few still red. By tomorrow, they’ll be nothing but a memory. And thankfully, she had the foresight to wash the blood off before climbing into bed. “My back’s a little screwed from that. As is my everywhere else. I’d give that a week maybe. And…”

She holds her breath, wishing she had stopped after her back. Or that Damian was a worse friend, and wasn’t sitting hanging onto her every word, waiting for her next injury so he can try to take care of her. And then record it, make notes on how long it takes her to heal from what. Over the past year, he’s kept a record of every sprain, fracture, bruise and break she’s sustained in that book of his, as well as how quickly she recovers from each one. ‘So when it happens again, we know how long it’ll be,’ he told her. Admittedly, it was a good plan, and one that keeps him from worrying too much. But there’s nothing in there on knife wounds, which means she’s about to drop a new entry on him.

He doesn’t cope well with those.

“And I got stabbed.”

“Stabbed?” he echoes. She raises her eyebrows, her finger flying to her lips to remind him her parents are nearby. He rolls his eyes and lowers his voice, but the urgency doesn’t leave his tone. “Stabbed. Like with a knife?”

“No Damian, with a hairbrush. Yes, with a knife.”

“And it… and it hurt you?” he asks. “I thought knives couldn’t hurt you.”

“Technically they can. It would just have to be a very very good knife. In the hands of a person who is very, very good with knives.” Her free hand slips beneath her covers and rests over the bandages on her side. She hasn’t checked beneath them yet. “It’ll be fine. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

“I got stitches,” she tells him. “I got myself patched up. I’m okay. I know it’s new, but I’d say give it a week and I’ll be good as new.” She looks up and is met with him blinking in surprise, his pen falling from his fingers, and it takes her a minute to catch up with him. She’ll blame that on the recent head trauma.

“You got stitches?” he says slowly.

“Yeah.”

“So… you went to the hospital?” She sighs heavily and runs a hand through her ponytail.

“No.” She could lie, of course, but she doesn’t, because a, he would know, and b, it would only delay it. So she watches as confusion spreads across Damian’s face, his mind working to fix a puzzle he only has half the pieces to, until he looks and silently asks her to fill it in. She shrugs, acting like it means nothing, and picks at a loose thread on her bed. “Someone patched me up.”

“Someone patched you up?” he says. “Who in the heck patched you up? Because there is only one person who patches you up after a fight, and I did no such thing last night.”

“I’m not cheating on you if that’s your worry,” she tells him. She shakes her head, stopping suddenly when the pain flares up. “Look, you don’t need to worry. It was a one time thing.” She shrugs and pulls harder on the thread. “And odds are I’m not going to see them again.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I’m going to put all my effort into avoiding them,” she says flatly. “It shouldn’t have even happened. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. They were never even meant to see me. Now I’m staying out of their life for good.” She clenches her fist. “It’s better that way, right?”

“If you say so,” Damian replies, although he sounds even less convinced than she does. His hand half-reaches out and then pulls back, his eyes lingering on that spot under the blanket. “Can I…”

He doesn’t need to finish. She pushes the covers back and pulls her shirt off, grunting at her stiff muscles. Damian’s eyes widen when he sees it, and his face turns two shades paler. It’s also the first time Janis has seen it properly. A thick square of white gauze and bandage covers her side, possibly more than necessary, and a small spot of red spoils the pristine whiteness. Gingerly, she starts pulling at the medical tape and peeling the bandages back, just to see. The stitches are small, neat, precise. Clearly, Cady knew what they were doing. What kind of life had they had before, she has to wonder. Hopefully more peaceful than hers is.

“And you think a week?” Damian asks.

“Yeah,” she whispers. She presses her hand against the wound and closes her eyes. She’s only done this once or twice, and she’s still not sure if it actually works or it’s just her imagination. But she swears she can feel it, feel her body fixing itself from the inside out. “Maybe a little bit more. If it’s not done by then, we get it checked out.” She carefully replaced the bandage. “I’ll think of an excuse.”

Damian gives a soft chuckle, and Janis slowly lowers her shirt. At least a week until she recovers from everything. Far less than most people get with stuff like this, she knows, but the days still stretch out before her. And that’s with pretending to be normal on top of it, going about her Janis-life like nothing happened. And assuming-hoping-the Midnight Raven isn’t needed for that time.

Sometimes she wonders if she’ll ever really get a break, or if this is her now. Breaking and healing only to break again. Stuck in a cycle of her own making.

“Here.” Damian taps her arm and hands her over the pastry before opening the orange juice for her. She rolls her eyes at him, not needing to be fed like this, but he only grins. “Enjoy it, bitch. For the next week, this treatment is what you’re getting. Now eat up and I’ll find you some clothes.” He presses a quick kiss to her head before moving over to her closet.

Still, at least she’s got Damian.

******

Her weekend is dedicated to getting her body back to where it needs to be. Which mainly involves a lot of lying around and staying hydrated while her body does the work. It also involves a fair amount of talking around her parents. Over the past four years, she’s become pretty adept at that and she adds that to the list of things that scare her.

She didn’t plan on telling them at first. Because she’d learned from the only sources she had-movies and TV shows- that the hero keeps their antics a secret from their parents. For their own safety and reasons she understood to varying degrees. They’d never understand, they’d put a stop to it, they’d mess it up… somehow. She wasn’t comfortable with it, not at all, but it was what superheroes did, apparently. So that’s what she did… for a week. It all came to a head very quickly, and her close relationship with them came back to bite her. So she took them to the garage and let them watch as she lifted the front of her father’s car with ease. She wasn’t letting them in all the way, she’s not that crazy, but she leaves the door open for them.

She told them enough to keep them in the know. Her parents know what she can do and that she can handle more than she should. They know sometimes they shouldn’t check her bedroom at night and not to ask when she comes downstairs with a black eye. And they support her, even if they don’t know everything. Her mom gives her herbal tea and her dad makes her grandma’s famous cure-all soup and they don’t question why she alternates between her bed and the couch all weekend or how bruises disappear from her face overnight. And in return, Janis shakes her head at all the characters on her screen, wishing she could yell at them to just tell them, it’ll be fine, trust her.

By the time she heads into school on Monday, she already feels halfway there. Like she predicted, the cuts on her arms are gone, and her head feels perfectly fine. Her side and her ribs still bother her, sure, but she knows how to take care of herself at school. Appearing normal is second nature to her now, and she could slip into the less dangerous, but equally difficult world of high school as just Janis, and no-one would be wiser.

Even now she sits at her desk, doodling mermaids in the margins of her notebook and laughing with Damian about his plans for drama class-which involve using his adopted ensemble of freshmen-and the events of Friday night seem a world away.

Ms Norbury claps her hands to signal the start of class (the “shut up” signal as Janis dubbed it last year) just as Janis is leaning forward to flick Damian with her pencil for a rather saucy comment. She sits down in her seat, chewing her pencil and giving Damian a look that says ‘I will get you later for that’ while the rest of the class settles down. She takes a swig of water, her ribs just slightly troubling her and sits forward, adding a few more details to her mermaid doodles. The door opens and out of the corner of her eye she notices Mr Duvall’s shoes.

“May I have your attention please,” he asks. “I’d like to introduce a new student to your class. Her name is Caddy Heron.”

“Actually, it’s Cady.”

Shit.

Her pencil falls from her hand, her fingers turning cold. It rolls off her desk and clatters on the tiled floor, the tiny sound drowned out by Janis’ heartbeat and that voice, that name echoing around her mind. She lifts her head slowly and turns it in their direction, hoping against all hope that this is a mistake, that her near-perfect ears misheard, that it was just a daydream mixing with reality. She’d take anything, but instead gets nothing. Because standing up at the front of the room, just as she remembers them, is Cady. Caramel coloured hair, falling loose past their shoulders this time, in a blue flannel instead of a yellow one. But the same person who patched her up, and she swore she was avoiding at all costs, is standing at the front of her freaking homeroom and this goes beyond fate mocking her. From now on, she’s calling Fate a grade-A bitch and not caring what it does to her in return.

Cady’s eyes scan the room, all bright and alert and adding to that ‘excited puppy’ vibe she has going on. That is, until they land on Janis. They blink for a second, like a deer caught in headlights, and then their mouth opens and closes wordlessly. Janis gives them a small wave, unsure of what the hell else to do here, especially since she’s kind of busy falling down a spiral herself. Cady waves back, the gesture even smaller than Janis’ was. Damian turns around, a silent question in his eyes, and she only nods. The last thing she sees is the panicked confusion taking over Damian’s face before she buries her face in her hands.

This teenage vigilante thing just got a hell of a lot more complicated.

#mean girls fanfic #mean girls musical #mean girls broadway #janis sarkisian #cady heron #damian hubbard #cadnis #cady x janis

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nanoland · 3 years

Text

new chapter (supernatural fic)

(earlier parts are here; whole thing is here)

Clean Hands, part 3

Crowley/Castiel/Dean Winchester, warning for violence and spn demons being spn demons

Another day, another assassination attempt.

“Congratulations, sir,” said Paula, bustling in with his coffee and daily planner. “That brings it to eight, yes? I recall your making some remark about throwing a small office party if we hit ten before the end of the month.”

Lifting the corpse off the row of retractable spikes he’d installed in his desk, Crowley grunted, “It was a joke. On the other hand, maybe it would be good for morale. Make the blighters less determined to snuff me.”

“I’ll add it to the calendar. Sir, your ten ‘o clock is waiting in the lobby. Should I send him in?”

Technically, ‘ten ‘o clock’ didn’t exist in Hell. Time didn’t exist in Hell.

But by God, it did for Paula.

Infamous among Crowley’s minions, she ruled his appointment diary with an iron fist (well – iron talons, more accurately) and kept a horseman’s pick tucked neatly under her workstation for anyone who was more than five minutes late.

She’d been the most competent corporate PA in the business when Crowley had purchased her soul in exchange for a medical breakthrough that had beaten down her cancer and allowed her those ten precious years. It would, in fact, have allowed her a normal human lifespan, if not for Crowley’s hounds.

(Her wish was among his favourites and her contract had pride of place in his trophy cabinet. She could have just said ‘cure me’; she’d dreamed bigger. Ambition! Now that was what Crowley liked to see. Very few people who sold their souls managed to leave the world a better place than they’d found it.

Truthfully, arranging the breakthrough had taken an amount of power on his part that, ordinarily, he’d have objected to. Ever since the Zuckerberg Incident of 2004, Crowley had maintained a policy against granting wishes that fundamentally altered the pace and trajectory of human scientific development. But he’d wanted her. Reliable PAs were like gold dust and they almost always went to bloody Heaven. “And for what, I ask you?” he’d said to Dean once. “How much admin is really involved in keeping people locked in a lotus-eater machine?”)

“The ten… oh, piss. It’s Alan, isn’t it? Yes, yes. Let’s get this over with. Send him in.”

Another day, another fucking workplace harassment mess to sort out. How many more sodding seminars was he going to have to host before they all got it through their heads that biting off a co-worker’s arm was not a viable long-term conflict resolution strategy?

Sigh.

It was only after four meetings and sixteen calls that Crowley remembered he’d not yet disposed of the assassin.

“I suppose I should make an example of you,” he huffed, already imagining it.

The hassle.

The bother.

Getting an apron on.

Finding the hammer.

Lugging the stupid bastard up a ladder and nailing him to the office noticeboard by his scrote.

He could always ask Paula to do it. But, bless her heart, she’d only been a demon for six years and arranging a corpse for maximum intimidation was just as much a matter of practice as talent.

As Crowley was fetching the ladder, Gwen from Legal arrived whey-faced and dogged by two dozen assistants and interns.

“Sir, it’s a catastrophe,” she wailed.

Five minutes later, Crowley was back at his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Avoidable. Utterly, pathetically avoidable. All you had to do was amend the contract to state that the phrase ‘ten years’ refers solely and specifically to Earth’s orbital period, not the orbital period of the contractee.”

Gwen hung her head. “I don’t know what to tell you, sir. Finding qualified staff to manage this sort of deal is tricky. When people with, you know, science degrees and stuff die and are damned, the assholes over at the Experimental Punishments Department always snatch ‘em up first. It’s a real problem.”

“I’ll have a word with them. Ugh – alright, alright, let’s try and sort this out. How long is a Martian year?”

“The internet says six hundred and eighty-seven days.”

“Damn. Almost twice as long,” Crowley grumbled, pouring himself a drink. “What did he even want from us? He’s a billionaire. The list of things they can’t get without our help grows shorter by the day.”

“He wanted to guarantee that he’d be the first man on Mars, sir; that none of his competitors would get there before he did.”

“Wait. Hold on. The thing he wished for and the mechanism by which he’s attempting to fuck us over are one and the same? Oh, no, no, no. I’m not going to take that cheeky bollocks lying down. Get the head of Research and Development in here, now. We’re going to find out how to crash a spaceship.”

Gwen’s gaze flickered to the assassin’s corpse. “Um.”

“Fuck,” Crowley muttered.

At which point Paula tapped on the door to ask if he wanted to reschedule his next five meetings, because unless he could deal with them all in a grand total of twelve minutes, he’d be late for his call with the NRA’s chairman.

When Castiel arrived – without an appointment, as per usual, but Paula had standing instructions to let him through – he found Crowley resting his head on his desk, fantasising about being a paperweight.

“I’ve come for more sex,” he explained.

Dragging himself from despair’s depths, Crowley slurred, “T’riffic.”

He instructed his meat suit to sit up and turn on the winning smile. Unlike more reliable vehicles, possessed bodies didn’t have dashboard lights to indicate an exhausted battery; instead, it announced its displeasure by growing three new tumours.

Castiel stepped back, confused. Displeased. “You’re usually more enthusiastic than this. Why is your desk covered in diagrams of rockets? Is this a ‘new hobby’?”

Exaggerated finger quotes. Damn him to the pit, he was precious.

“Kitten, rest assured I have only two hobbies and they both dress badly.”

He expected retaliation for that. Castiel hated being reminded that Crowley regularly dallied with his favourite human. It came as a surprise, then, when the angel simply reached out and firmly gripped his shoulder, declaring, “You need to rest.”

Wings flapped. Suddenly, Crowley was standing in front of a wide, glassy lake, surrounded by dense forest, and in the distance…

“Is that Mount Fuji?”

“Indeed,” said Castiel, smiling briefly. “She’s a childhood friend. I first visited when she was little more than an unusually picturesque bump in the ground.”

There was no one around. There was nothing around. No boats on the lake, no fishermen, no families on holiday, not even the distant roar of traffic. Just them, the view, the water, and a – huh – a bright orange tent pitched nearby.

“This is where I come to relax,” Castiel informed him, opening up the zipper.

“Whose is it?”

“Mine.”

“Huh. I wasn’t aware that you…”

“That I what?”

“Owned things. Or even grasped the concept of owning things. Don’t give me that look; you’re the one who’s worn the same socks ever since you slipped into that God-bothering flesh puppet.”

Castiel sniffed. “Materialism is a disease. But I’m not a child, Crowley. For your information, in my time on Earth I have owned many things.”

Always fun to ruffle the pretty bird’s feathers. “Yeah? How many of them were hand-me-downs from the Hardy Boys?”

“Most of them,” he said, levelly. “With the exception of this tent and your ass, demon.”

A pin drop pause.

Castiel maintained unblinking eye contact for exactly twelve seconds, then turned and crawled into his neon den.

Practically vibrating with adoration, Crowley followed.

It was evident that Castiel, despite his laudable efforts to create a space for himself in a world that had no space for him, didn’t entirely grok camping.

There were no sleeping bags. Instead, the tent’s bottom was covered in duvets, dozens of them, soft and fresh as if they’d come directly from the shop – or, more accurately, Crowley suspected, someone’s washing line.

“I cured her dog’s foot infection,” Castiel said, somewhat defensively, settling into his cotton and fleece nest.

“Ah. And she was so grateful she said you could make off with all her laundry, hm?”

“She… did not say those words, precisely. But it was heavily implied.”

Thank sin this was only a meat suit. Thank sin, thank everything that Castiel couldn’t see the expression of hopeless, pitiable fondness that would have adorned Crowley’s true face at that moment.

It was a relief when Castiel, without further ado, started undressing. Crowley, copying him, took the opportunity to talk sense into himself.

Come on. Grow up. Get it together. You know what you are. More importantly, you know what he is. Ageless. Unfathomable. Demons, at the end of the day, are just distilled human nastiness, but him? He existed before humans. Before microbes. He’s nice to babies and bees and pot plants and Dean and that makes it easy to forget that… that…

Oh, yes. Remember when he came to Hell? The first time he saw Dean; the start of their epic, eternal, infuriating romance? And where were you? That’s right. You were with the others, standing there slack-jawed and helpless, like dinosaurs watching the comet hit. Like children gazing up at a mushroom cloud.

Twelve thousand. That’s how many demons he burned out of existence, without even trying. Twelve thousand.

Do you think he ever thinks about them? Do you think he even noticed?

Twelve thousand.

Do you think he knows how close you were to being one of them?

Do you think he cares?

He’s nice to babies. Bees. Pot plants. Dean. You, even, sometimes. He’s sweet. He’s got big, soft blue eyes and hair that aches to be tussled. He’s a top-tier, world-class fuck. And at any moment, for any reason, he could end you, easy as blowing away dust, and you can’t say for certain he would even remember your name in a month’s time.

“What? No,” Castiel protested when Crowley kissed him. “We’re here to rest, Crowley.”

Drawing back, Crowley leered. “That’s what you want to do, is it? Rest?”

Perpetually thirsty tart that he was, Castiel bit his lip and looked torn. “I… yes.”

Crowley pouted.

Firmer now, Castiel said, “We will rest for a while first. Then we will have sex. Is that satisfactory?”

No sooner had Crowley resignedly nodded than Castiel seized him and finished undressing him, tossing his undershirt and socks out the tent. When they were both naked, the cold air coming off the lake making Crowley shiver, Castiel burrowed into his pilfered pile and dragged the demon down with him.

“Rest first,” he ordered him. “Sex afterwards. No, no – stop that. Afterwards, I said.”

Crowley groaned and whined and fussed, but obeyed.

And bugger him gently if it wasn’t actually pleasant, very pleasant, to lie there with Castiel’s strong arms locked around his torso, toasty warm under layers of wool while, outside, the lake lapped at its bank and wind rustled through the trees. No assassins. No paperwork. No blood. Everything nice and quiet. Everything calm and clean.

Then Castiel sighed, a hot puff against the back of Crowley’s neck, and said, “You know, the thing that vexes me most about Dean is the way he…”

#supernatural #crowley #castiel #crowstiel #dean winchester #drowley #destiel #drowstiel #fanfic #my fic

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gloves94 · 4 years

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Kingdom of the Sun [Fire Lord Zuko] 2

Chapter Warnings: Steamy smut, thigh grinding, cursing Rating: M Pairings: Zuko/OC - I have written a NSFW tollbooth so you can skip that part if you want :) Kingdom of the Sun MASTERLIST Last Airbender MASTERLIST My MASTERLIST

The air grew colder and dryer as a large metal trade ship approached the Southern Water Tribe, sailing through dark waters and dodging every odd iceberg and glacier on the way.

Tsai hugged her body closer gripping the fabric of her beige parka, she brought her cold palms into her mouth and breathed into them. Her breath visible before her eyes in white puffs.

Her brother had encouraged her to come to this ceremony. Her mother had strongly opposed against it.

“Tsai, I have repeatedly told you over and over again,” Her mother warned. “Mom I’m going, no matter what you say-“ “It’s not about the boy- it’s not about him…” Her mother sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. “But you have to understand that it is not safe. Is it not enough to wake up to riots and protesting? Tsai someone could hurt try and hurt you and by hurt you I mean kill.” Her mother had almost begged her not to go. However, the guilt trip was not enough. She had promised to keep a small profile to give her mother some peace of mind and took a small ship with a matching crew of less than ten people.

Despite never having been to the Southern Water Tribe the nation was similar to its northern sister, the ice desert seeming just as cold, yet not as desolate the bay crowded with numerous ships that were docked in from different parts of the world. It was almost nighttime when she arrived. Just in time for the celebration.

Despite having spent most of the trip self-consciously analyzing her imperfections in a mirror and nervously doing her hair over and over again, it was quite never perfect. She hesitated before getting off the ship, unsure if she would run into her ex-boyfriend or not, yet the nervousness still lingered, uneasily twisting her stomach into knots.

She had a feeling she would see him. She’d never admit it out loud, but she had in part come in hopes of running into him.

The party was lively and filled with plenty of familiar faces from all corners of the world. Pleasant ambiance music was being played. The celebration was being hosted outdoors in a snowy plaza covered under a massive tarp from which colorful lights and decorations hung down from. It was a beautiful set up. Very beach, wonderland wedding vibes. The plaza was near an icy ledge which allowed guests to a lovely view of the horizon. She glanced around the crowd and saw no sign of Zuko. Sighing, almost in relief, she walked around looking for the newly engaged couple to congratulate them. It took a while before she spotted them standing with some other members of the Water Tribe.

“Tsai! You made it!” Aang said excitedly embracing his friend. Katara also hugged her and introduced her to Kanna, her grandmother and her husband, a waterbending master, whom Tsai was already acquainted with, Master Pakku.

“Welcome to the Southern Water Tribe,” Chief Hakoda, Katara and Sokka’s father, said welcoming her to their land. “Hope it’s not too cold,” he added with a slight smile noticing how the girl kept her cold hands hidden inside of her parka’s sleeves.

“It’s bearable,” She said with a tight smile. “You’ll get used to it. Just stay away from the water. If for whatever reason you fall, you’ll go into hypothermic shock and be dead within minutes.”

‘Geez, well that’s comforting…’

“How was your trip?” Katara asked. “No assassination attempts or bombings so I guess you could say successful. I’m just happy to be here.” She laughed nervously.

“Tsai, there was something else that we wanted to ask you,” Katara began and exchanged a look with her fiancée. “It’s just that, well, when we visited you last time. We fell in love with the palace and we were wondering if we could have the wedding in the former Colonial Palace?” “We also think it would be safer. Considering the political climate…” Aang added.

The girl from Yu Dao blinked twice in surprised. They had a point it would be safer; the palace was basically impenetrable. She couldn’t decide if her mother would have a stroke or would be thrilled to having a wedding there.

However, how could she say no?

“We understand if you can’t or don’t want to-“

“No,” she said quickly. “I mean- yes. Yes! Of course, you can have it there! Aang’s right, it would be safer. Whenever you want.” She smiled at both of them.

Again, Katara threw her arms around her hugging her tightly. Who would’ve thought the two would grow to be so amiable considering the turmoil the two had had in the past.

“Hey Zuko!”

Her eyes shot wide open in panic as she saw Aang waving at someone behind her. She swallowed a heavy lump that had formed in her throat and exchanged a panicked look with Katara who nodded her head to the side. Tsai very indiscreetly ran away from the approaching Fire Lord and from her friends approaching the bar for some plum wine a delicacy around these parts. Carefully, hoping not to be noticed, she darted her eyes back to where the Fire Lord was now standing chatting with Aang and Katara. He looked absolutely regal, he was taller, impossibly more handsome than the last time she had seen him. His black hair was longer, worn in a half top knot Fire Nation fashion. He wore his royal head piece and he carried himself well as a nation’s leader should. He stood out like a sore thumb how was it that she hadn’t spotted him in the crowds? She was lost in thought when he suddenly turned, and his eyes met hers.

She almost spilled her wine when she rapidly turned back to face the bar. Face burning from the embarrassment of having been caught starring so boldly.

“Hiding from someone?” She felt a nudge on her side.

She turned to see Suki standing next to her also leaning on the bar. “Suki!” She greeted almost tackling her friend into a hug.

Suki explained that she was here as a guest and also an undercover along with Ty Lee. Both were keeping an eye on the Fire Lord as his personal bodyguards in case there were any assassination attempts. Years ago, Tsai had suggested to Zuko that he hire the Kyoshi Warriors as his personal guards since the Fire Nation’s were practically useless. Seemed like he actually took her advice. “He’s lonely,” Suki said as both girls walked away from the bar with their drinks. “He misses you. Do you miss him?”

Tsai lowered her eyes and took a distraught sip from her wine. Of course, she missed him. How could she not? She thought about him on the daily. “Yeah,” She admitted. “But I’ve been seeing other people. Or at least trying too… Do you know how hard it is to date when the Fire Lord is your ex-boyfriend?” She half rolled her eyes. Suki laughed. “Well, are you going to talk to him?”

“No!” Tsai responded a little louder than intended as panic filled her. “What would I even say?”

“What would you even say to who?” A manly voice asked loudly.

“Sokka!” She turned and gave her old friend a half hug. Tsai was about to ask Sokka a question when Suki interrupted with a sharp whisper. “Tsai, he’s coming,” She hissed lowly not breaking eye contact with her friend.

‘Fuck… fuck… fuck!’ How obvious would it be if she untangled herself from Sokka’s arm and made a run for it? She wondered if she could manage dodging him all night. She had to put herself together. Act normal. Stand up straighter, maybe a little taller. “What do I do? What do I do?!” She asked panicking shifting uneasily on her feet fidgeting with the sun stone necklace she always wore around her neck. “Pretend like Sokka just said something funny!” Suki whispered. Sokka looked beyond confused. When both girls threw their heads slightly and let out a loud laugh.

“Hey Suki-“ Zuko said as he approached the trio with that looked to be a pretend excuse. Despite speaking to the Kyoshi Warrior his golden eyes were locked in on his ex-girlfriend’s. Hers were noticeably fixed on him as well. A familiar tension suddenly becoming evident between the couple. Sokka removed his arm from his friend’s shoulders. She didn’t hear what he said to Suki. Much too struck by his presence, it was almost like seeing a ghost. She looked at his high cheek bones, his sharp jaw, even the scar on his face made him more enticing. His lips…

‘Oh no…’

She swallowed the wine she was drinking with a loud gulp.

‘He was hot.’ “You know, I always thought it would be you two first,” Sokka said bluntly referring to the marriage. She snapped her out of her trance. ‘Great. Way to add salt to the wound Sokka.’ She almost spit out her wine, slightly choking on it. The expression on his face unreadable as she avoided his eyes. She didn’t want to think about that. The last time they had touched the subject had been the day they broke up, it was a painful enough memory…

“Ty Lee needs you to untangle her braid,” Zuko said to his bodyguard in a serious tone.

“Sounds serious,” Suki said in a faltering tone. She made eye contact with her friend who lightly nodded as she was keeping her lips busy still sipping on the wine. “Come help me Sokka,” she said to her boyfriend. “But she’s right there! She’s fine!” Sokka pointed out dumbly. Girls were an enigma he’d never be able to figure out. Suki hissed at him to shut up and dragged him away leaving the ex-lovers alone and to themselves. There was a heavy awkward silence between them. The heavy tension seemed to linger. They hadn’t been in the same room in years. She couldn’t help but wonder just how much he had changed. Hell, how much she had changed. ‘Say something, say something, say something,’ she racked her brain for anything she could say or ask to him. ‘SAY ANYTHING.’ “Nice weather we’re having.”

Oh dear, he was still so painfully awkward. She couldn’t help but laugh a little at his comment. Something so simple which lightly eased the growing tension between the two. “Are you kidding? It’s awful,” she said glancing around at the icy tundra. “Everything is wet and cold and covered in snow. I wonder how Toph can walk around barefoot like that,” she responded her eyes drifting to the blind girl in the crowd. The thought of being barefoot in the snow made her feel even colder. “Well, it’s Toph. She’s tough you know?”

Again. That uncomfortable silence between the two.

Should she ask how he has been? How his mother and sister have been? Should they talk about something other than the New Ozai Society or the Anti-Revolutionary Movement? Maybe the fact that he gave her half of his lands?

But that was a story for another time… “So Aang and Katara huh?” She managed. “Yeah.” “They’re really cute. I’m happy for them.” “Yeah, same,” he said nervously holding the back of his neck. “They’re so cute- it’s kind of gross?” He gave her an odd look. “I mean they call each other sweetie,” She cringed and downed the rest of her drink seeking for some liquid courage. “I mean, we-we were never that corny.” She said addressing the elephant in the room.

This was really not going well. “Yeah,” seemed to be the only word of agreeance he could manage. He let out a weak scoff. “Never.” Both looked away awkwardly. Just in time, as it became night and the sky darkened the party progressed the music’s beat changed and they both noted how the people in the crowd started moving in unison either in groups or in couples. Swaying to an upbeat tune. “What are they doing?” He asked confused. “I think they are… dancing?” She responded just as confused.

Both being Fire Nationers the concept of dancing was completely foreign to them. The art of it had been outlawed for the past one hundred years, both never having witnessed or partaken in the activity. Everybody looked happy dancing, lightly swaying holding each other at a close distance. He looked at her from the corner of his eyes working up the courage to ask her to dance. Maybe it had been years, but the spark was still there, hidden, but he knew it, he could feel it and she looked- just wow…

“Uh, I don’t know how to.”

Zuko snapped out of his daydream to see that guy from the Earth Kingdom, what was his name been, Haru, asking her to dance. “That’s okay. I’ll teach you!” He said encouragingly stretching out his hand to her. She looked at it hesitantly, but he didn’t give her a moment to think it over. “Come on,” he grinned grabbing her hand and dragging her away to dance to an upbeat cheery dance that involved a lot of twirling.

Tsai looked back at Zuko’s who’s eyes had narrowed as he glared daggers at the back of Haru’s head. He glowered with his arms crossed over his chest starring with jealousy as the two danced, even if she was stepping on Haru’s feet the whole time.

“Ty Lee!” Zuko barked at his other bodyguard. Meanwhile said girl was busy flirting with some Water Tribe boys and turned to give her boss an irritated look. “Let’s dance,” he commanded grabbing her hand and pulling her to the dance floor not even giving her a chance to say no.

At first, he moved awkwardly unsure of where to put his hands or how to move his feet. Ty Lee, however, was more graceful; all eyes were on the acrobat as the music continued getting louder and faster. The dance shifted into some type of traditional Water Tribe dance where everybody danced in a circle spinning their partners into the arms of others.

Tsai continued stepping on Haru, profusely apologizing. She felt awful about it. Regardless he was nice and continued dancing, giving her a twirl and a spin, letting her go for a moment. Sokka caught her and did the same, as it seemed part of the dance was switching partners. He did the same and twirled her to Aang who twirled her to- “Y-You’re supposed to twirl me!” She protested with a nervous stammer to Zuko who was now holding her at an arm’s length. However instead of twirling her he was greedy and kept her away all to himself. She felt vulnerable under the intense way his eyes were locked on her face. Her face felt warm.

“Oh, I guess I forgot,” He said sheepishly letting her go. The song was over, and people stopped dancing. People around clapped and the band suddenly began to play a slower tune. Both looked around and saw couples starting to get together and sway to the slow music. She looked away from him and began to walk away when she felt she was being held back. She looked back and saw his hand holding hers. “Dance with me.” It wasn’t a request. It didn’t sound like he was asking either. She scoffed a little at his sudden demanding nature. Yeah- right. What would he do if she refused?

“You don’t even know how to,” she couldn’t help but laugh at his demand. He arched an eyebrow giving her a meaningful look. She sighed and joined him. After all, what was one dance right? She held him at arm’s length a hand on his shoulder the other in his. His other hand snaking around her waist and resting on her lower back. She swallowed nervously when he pulled her to him completely pressing his body against hers.

Why was he so warm? Why did he smell so good? Why did her heart pace quicken like that? “See? Easy?” He said as they danced right before stepping on her. “Right,” she said in a strained voice, wincing slightly at the pain. He mumbled a painful apology and despite the ache she couldn’t help but laugh a little. She looked up from her feet and saw the way he was looking at her and she couldn’t help but melt in his arms. And just like that. It was almost as if no time had passed in between the two of them. She relaxed, smiling a little, returning the endearing look. She sighed before resting her head on his shoulder. She missed him. She missed him so, so, much. His expression mirrored hers as he let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Tsai, I’m ready,” he suddenly said. “For what?” She asked perplexed, continuing to lightly sway against his body, barely lifting her feet off the ground hoping not to step on him. “For the next step,” he said decisively. “As long as you don’t step on me again,” she sniggered playfully. “I’m serious,” she saw his lips were drawn into a sober thin line. “I’m ready to take out relationship to the next step.” She swore she could hear a needle scratch on a record somewhere in a loud sound in her head that made her snap out of her daze.

“Our relationship?” She pulled away looking at him startled. “We don’t have a relationship.” She was about to let go. She was about to run away and hide in the crowd, but he held her in place. “Tsai, look at me,” he spoke in a low tone holding her closer. “Look at me and tell me you don’t feel it.” She struggled but met his warm, honey colored eyes. Her eyes moved down to his lips which suddenly looked extremly inviting. She wanted to kiss him, she wanted to do it right here, right now. Yet- she remained silent, slightly shaking her head attempting to pull away from his touch. She couldn’t be with him. They shouldn’t be together. Not when- “Don’t. Run away.” He whispered in her ear, hands firm on her body, planting her on the spot. His hot breath against her skin sent chills down her spine. He pressed his forehead against hers. “It wouldn’t be fair…” She whispered back to him in a voice filled with pain. “I don’t want to make you…” She shook her head again slightly, alluding to one of the main reasons why they had broken up. The song was over and they both pulled apart when they heard clapping. She cleared her throat and joined in on the clapping.

“I need a drink,” she said nervously returning to the bar. What was this her third, maybe fourth drink?

Zuko’s eyes trailed after her, watching from a far. He sighed to himself.

It was then that the ground trembled violently. Some lost their balance collapsing as a massive explosion blew up in the docks erupting in a massive cloud of smoke. Snow going up in the air and falling like hail.

BOOM! There was another explosion and another, dark snow and flames blowing up in the air in the plaza around them. The music stopped. The crowd scattered unsure of where to go.

Tsai looked turning her attention to the plaza where everybody was when she suddenly felt a blade being pressed against her neck from behind. She gasped lightly at the surprise attack and elbowed the figure in the stomach before ducking. She turned to face her assailant, the bar tender, who held two blades one in each hand.

She reached into her sleeves and pulled out a pellet that when cracked against the floor became a smoke bomb. Her attacker coughed and swatted at the fog, she ran opposite of the explosions towards the ledge. The attacker emerged from the smog coughing loudly and ran towards her with his blades up. This time however, she stood her ground and pulled out the two hidden blames she always wore under her sleeves.

“Who sent you?” She demanded to know as both engaged in a knife fight.

Zuko saw Aang, Katara and the rest of the original Avatar group disperse as they divided to check on guests and on the nearby explosions. He turned back and his eyes went wide when he saw the auburn-haired girl under attack.

“I’m going after her!” He said out loud to his bodyguards. “Go with the others! Make sure everyone is okay!” He didn’t hesitate in rushing to her side. He saw her reach for her assailant and drive one of her blades into his torso in a fatal wound. The man bent over in pain, but he held onto her arm as fell back off the ledge dragging her down into the abyss with him.

“No!” Zuko shouted rushing to the edge, he could see the crimson dotted spots of blow staining the snow in a stark contrast. Peering over the ledge he saw nothing but an icy ocean that stretched out for miles ahead. The wind blowing harsher and louder on the edge cliff. In the ice below a dark hole of broken ice from the impact of the crash and fall. He stepped down without caution and slid down the icy slope, running down, almost falling twice. He stepped on the ice which cried in protest to his weight, he removed his long cloak and braced himself for the cold before leaping into the icy, dark waters. The cold didn’t affect him due to his mastery of his fire bending nature. Underwater he could see a dark string of water going up to the surface. It was blood… Looking down he saw the enemy sinking deeper into the ocean, at some distance was Tsai also sinking unconsciously from the terrible shock of the freezing waters which stabbed you like knives. His eyes squinted as he attempted to peer into the dark waters and past the sea salt that itched. It took him a moment to reach her. He held her tight against him and swam up to the surface almost out of breath. He pressed his palms flat on the ice and used his fire bending to break free. He regulated his breathing, spitting out yellow flames, keeping himself warm like his uncle had taught him.

He held her trembling body close, she was silent, remaining mute from the shock of the hypothermia. He picked up his tossed wool cloak and wrapped it around her. Looking up he could see smoke emitting from the top of the cliff. Going up wasn’t safe, it wasn’t a choice. The first priority was getting her warm before the hypothermia or frostbite set in. He spotted a nearby hole in the wall, a possible makeshift cave and took her there. He carried her wrapped in his cloak, she had already been tipsy, which only made matters worse. She was trembling violently, her face was pale, lips were turning blue and her wet hair stuck to her face. Clothes dripping with freezing saltwater. She had a glazed over disoriented look in her eyes and her speech was slurred as a symptom of the shock. He wasn't an expert, but his uncle had once lectured him on the effects of hypothermia and how to avoid it the last time they had been to the north pole. From what he could see she was still conscious and the fact that she was shivering meant that the effects of the hypothermia were thankfully mild. He set her own her feet and she stood wobblily, her knees weak, the disorientation getting the best of her. He saw her stumble and collapse forward barely managing to catch her mid drop. Both falling to their knees. She was soaking, cold to the bone. His thick, wool cloak wasn’t of much use this way. “I have to take off your clothes,” he said reaching for the buttons of her wet parka almost as if waiting for her consent. Agni. It was a life or death situation. “Do it.” She managed to speak through chattering teeth. He undid her clothes quickly removing her parka and bottoms, leaving the poor girl to hug her shaking body only in her undergarments for the sake of modesty. She flinched at the flesh that became exposed to the cold pole’s night air. He was trying his best to be respectful and avert his eyes from her body, but they couldn’t help but wonder. He didn’t waste any time in wrapping the cloak against her completely engulfing her in it. The only thing visible was her face. He pulled her into his dry lap. He leaned back against the icy wall and with fiery breaths warmed his system thoroughly. Heat radiating from his body. She clung to him burrowing deep into his chest desperate for his warm touch, he lightly rubbed her back placing his head on top of hers trying his best to radiate some, but not too much warm. If he fucked up, she’d probably go into cardiac arrest from the harsh change in temperature. A moment passed and she was silent. Panicking he looked down and lightly shook her body.

“Tsai, tsai! You can’t fall asleep! You have to stay awake!” He said lightly shaking her body. She grumbled and let out a shuddering breath at the absence of his warmth. “I need you to touch me,” she whispered in a shuddering breath. He looked at her for a moment his eyes hard with an unreadable expression. With icy hands she reached for his warm ones and placed them on her sides underneath the cloak. She sat on his tight and greedily touched him needing more of his warmth. His hands roamed her sides, her arms and her upper and lower back, the light firebending in them making his large slender hands toasty, warm and inviting to touch. “I never thought this is how I would die,” she whispered dramatically against this skin. “You’re not going to die,” he said reassuringly gently back rubbing her body. Her body was ice cold to the touch.

She was already starting to feel better, the warmth returning to her body little by little, slowly as it should be. “Keep me warm. Please. I need you,” she quivered clinging to him desperately. Fisting the fabric of his coat opening it slightly to palm the bare warm skin of his chest. He saw that look in her eyes. They held in more than the wanting and need for his touch. There was another dark emotion reflected in her eyes. He warmed his breath, knowing that she’d be immune to the fire due to part of her nature which was made up of the Sun Spirit. The same part that made her be able to walk through flames and made her hair unnaturally red. Slowly he leaned in and placed a firey kiss on her neck. On that sensitive, tender spot just underneath her ear. The flames licking her body, sticking to her in a caressing warmth. His hands underneath the cloak sparkled lightly against her cool flesh with elicited flames. He continued kissing every exposed inch of her skin, each touch hotter, wetter, more ardent than the previous one. She stretched her neck to the side allowing him more room to paint in the canvas of her neck and with a deep exhale she let out a low moan. One that shook him to his core. He froze in the spot. Seeing as the two had never crossed that strongly marked line…

“I-I’m sorry,” she apologized and pulled back trembling slightly. She knew this wasn’t the sort of thing he was comfortable with and didn’t want to put him in that undesirable position. His eyes never left hers. “It’s okay,” he said reassuringly, his hands rounding around the back of her waist once again sitting her on his thigh. She looked at him with a tentative expression. After all this had been one of the reasons of their breakup. “It’s okay,” he repeated in a comforting tone. Maybe… Just maybe like he had said he was ready for the next step… He breathed out a tongue of fire and took in a deep breath before diving in and kissing the underside of her jaw. One of his hands held her face, the other held a rough grip on her hip. His fingers digging into her skin. She sighed and her eyes locked on him giving him almost a feverish look. She remained unmoved, instead he moved up and caught her lips in his.

After all this time, it really was the same as before, nothing had changed. The spark lingered. Both felt a familiar warmth spread through their bodies. Her heart jumped to her throat. He stroked her face and she parted her mouth slightly, his tongue softly tracing her bottom lip. Scratch that- maybe it was even better than last time. She unconsciously rolled her hips forward letting out a throaty groan, wanting to ease the demanding tickling that had formed in between her legs. She wanted him. Oh, she had wanted him for years. She could feel him turning hard against her leg. She continued grinding against him, forward and back in deeper rolling motions. His hands like his skin were hot, his breath against hers steaming in clouds of white as she pressed his body against his. He let out a deep groan against her skin before kissing it. God, how he’d missed her. How touch starved he’d been all this time. She reached for his hands and testing the waters raised them up slightly, they trailed her skin, sending shivers down her spine before she placed them on top of her breasts. He grasped them lightly, his hands melting what she felt were hard icicle that had formed on her chest. Patches of her skin now glowing with a rosy glow from his hot touch, the paleness and blue frost gradually waning. Her hair and body now safely dry.

She rubbed her wet core against the rough clothing of his leg riding him as if there were no tomorrow. She strained in her breathing struggling to hold the lewd sounds she was making inside of her throat.

He observed the flustered expression on his face and wanted more. He throbbed for more. Moving a steady hand to her hip he followed her movements, pressing him down harder against her. She rubbed harder and deeper. She was so greedy to please herself, so desperate for that release. Until she let out a small cry her head tilting back slightly, breathing heavily as she reached her release. The knot that had formed in the pits of her stomach fantastically becoming undone. She sighed content. Coming down from her high. Both of her arms were wrapped around his neck, she lowered them to his chest and looked at him with a post haze from her momentary high.

She kissed him hard, harden than she ever had. Leaving absolutely no space between them. If she pressed herself to him any harder the two might’ve morphed into one. Both having forgotten they were in cave, that an assassin had just tried to kill them, that she had almost gone into hypothermic shock. “You’re shaking,” he said with a small smile stroking the inside of her arm.

She let out a little laugh. “Yes, but I’m not that cold anymore.”

He kissed her face while she spoke and again held her tightly against his body.

“I miss you.”

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imjustthemechanic · 3 years

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The Price of a Soul

Part 1/? - Agent Russel Part 2/? - The Letter Part 3/? - Miss Lake Part 4/? - The Stewardess Part 5/? - An Assassination Part 6/? - Fallout Part 7/? - Face to Face Part 8/? - Deals, Details, and Other Devils

Peggy finally asks about the coordinates, and gets an offer she cannot possibly accept.

Peggy showed her badge at the police station, and they let her inside. She descended the stairs, and asked the man standing guard over Lake’s cell to step outside for a moment. It all gave her a terrible sense of déjà vu. This was exactly what had led up to facilitating Dottie’s escape, wasn’t it? Except this time it was going to be different, she told herself. This time, she had no use for the woman behind those bars except for satisfying some curiosity. Once she’d established to her own satisfaction that she wouldn’t be able to get any answers, Peggy could go back to her hotel and maybe even sleep for once.

Lake was lying on the cot with no blanket over her, curled up and facing away from the bars, her back gently moving as she breathed. The shackles were lying in a heap on the floor. Nobody had tried to enter the room to replace or remove them, which was probably wise, but they did draw Peggy’s attention to the fact that Lake was not attached to the bed.

Signs had suggested that the girls in training in Siberia were always handcuffed to their beds at night. Similar marks on the bedposts had appeared in every room they knew Dottie to have stayed in. Peggy had spoken to a psychologist about this, and he had agreed with her initial hunch that the handcuffs represented a perverse form of security. If the girls’ keepers shackled them to their beds, it meant they weren’t going to have to up stakes and flee in the middle of the night. With the cuffs on, any surprises would be real surprises, not sudden training exercises.

Lake had shown she could get out of the cuffs easily, so the fact that she hadn’t bothered to put them back on suggested that she was expecting something to drag her out of bed that night. Something that would happen so quickly, she might not have time to bother about her handcuffs.

If she thought that something would be Peggy breaking her out, she was going to be sorely disappointed. Peggy rapped on the bars.

“Miss Lake,” she said calmly.

Lake rolled over and sat up. “Yes?”

At least, Peggy thought, it was good to know this woman hadn’t been sleeping like a baby while Peggy herself lay staring at the ceiling. She stepped back to be out of arm’s reach. “Was anything you told me this afternoon true?”

“Truth is a matter of circumstance,” said Lake.

“No, it isn’t,” Peggy said. “When I say…” she thought for a moment, and chose a random historical event. “When I say William Herschel discovered the planet Uranus, that’s true. It happened.”

“He said it happened,” Lake countered. “You’ve only got his word for it. Maybe he found it in somebody else’s notes, somebody who never published it, then located it again and took the credit.”

“Details,” said Peggy.

“The devil’s in the details, Peggy,” said Lake.

“I know,” she nodded. “Now… perhaps you can give me some details about this.” She held up the sheet of paper, still covered with fingerprint powder, but with the numbers and the drawing still clearly visible. “Those are your fingerprints. You put this in my purse. That happened, no alternative scenarios possible. What is it?”

Lake looked as if she were considering several possible answers, and Peggy thought that if she said it was a piece of paper she would reach through the bars and strangle the woman.

“It’s where the Valkyrie crashed,” said Lake. “You already figured that out.”

“Why did you give it to me?” asked Peggy.

“Because I wanted you to have it,” was the reply.

“Why?” Peggy insisted.

“Because I think that’s what Captain America would have wanted.”

She was probably right – he probably would have. Peggy was on a short list of people Steve would have trusted to memorialize him without trying to make use of his earthly remains. Of course, Howard Stark would also have been on that list, and that hadn’t turned out so well. For a moment Peggy wondered how Lake could have known that, but then she remembered the films. Everybody who’d seen those knew that Steve carried a picture of Peggy in his compass. Once Lake had determined that she was a real person, not an actress, it would have been an easy conclusion to come to.

“How do you know that’s where he is?” Peggy asked.

“Because I’ve been there,” said Lake. “I’ve seen it.” She stood up. “The Valkyrie came down with the port wing lower than starboard. It hit the ice, broke through it, and tore off.” She used her hands to suggest the motion. “The fuselage rotated away, crashing through the ice as it went, until the starboard wing got caught on the rocks at the edge of the island and stopped it. The cockpit filled with water immediately and the windows popped out, forcing the pilot out of his seat and out of the airplane. His body settled back on top of it as the water froze again.”

“He wasn’t wearing his harness,” said Peggy. Of course he wasn’t. He never did.

“He’s lying on top of the plane,” Lake said, “with his eyes shut, like he’s sleeping. He must have been knocked unconscious immediately. I don’t think he felt a moment’s pain. His shield is on one arm,” she assumed the same position, “and a fist in the other, as if he’s clutching something.”

The bloody compass. Lake’s descriptions were so vivid, Peggy could almost see the crash happening in slow motion in front of her eyes. She wanted to believe it had happened that way… the devil was giving her the details with a smile on his face.

“Who knows about this?” Peggy asked.

“I do,” said Lake. “And you do.”

“Who else?”

Lake shrugged. “The Inuit who live around there probably know. They’d have seen it come down and they might have investigated, but I doubt they’d disturb it once they realized he was dead. The ice would protect him from wolves or bears, and as long as a corpse isn’t going to be scavenged, they’re not worried about it.”

Peggy nodded slowly. It was all so believable, and yet the only way to know if any of this were true would be to travel fifteen hundred miles and look for herself. How convenient.

“Let me guess,” she said. “If I let you out of this cell, you’ll take me there.” Except that Lake would almost certainly vanish post-haste and never be seen again.

“You don’t need me for that,” said Lake. “You have the coordinates. You can go on your own.”

“And leave you here unsupervised?”

“I’m in jail. What can I get up to?” Lake’s face was the picture of innocence.

“Miss Lake, the more you imply that you want me to go elsewhere, the more certain I become that I need to stay right here,” Peggy told her.

“That’s up to you. But be careful what you do with that page,” Lake said, nodding towards the paper. “It’s not that hard to figure out what it means, and there are people who would kill for it. And I told you twice now, call me Kay.”

As Peggy walked back to her hotel in the darkness, she murmured the numbers on the page to herself over and over. Seventy-four. Forty-seven. Thirty-five. Ninety-five. Twenty-five. Three. She repeated them until she was absolutely sure she could never forget them, that she’d be reciting them under her breath on her deathbed if she lived to be a hundred. Then she burned the page, and flushed the ashes down the toilet.

She climbed back into bed and shut her eyes, and realized that she actually did feel sleepier now. The encounter hadn’t taught Peggy anything much, but she did have an inkling of what Lake might actually be trying to accomplish. She wanted to ruin Peggy’s reputation, and possibly the entire SSR’s. She wanted them to mount a very expensive expedition to the arctic and come back with nothing, having wasted valuable time and taxpayer money on a tip they knew wasn’t trustworthy. They would look like fools, and people like Masters would turn it into a public scandal and shut them down.

That fate was easy to avoid, though – all Peggy had to do was never tell another person about it, ever. She’d already told Agent Russel, but he hadn’t seemed very interested at the time and by now had probably forgotten all about it. As long as Peggy didn’t remind him, it ought to be fine. Or perhaps she ought to have a word with him about it, just in case. Surely of all people, an FBI agent could keep a secret.

Nothing in Peggy’s world was ever that simple, of course, but this was early days. There was still time to keep a lid on it if she played her cards right.

Between her bout of insomnia and her late-night interrogation session, Peggy slept late again, though not so late as yesterday. It was around ten thirty when she woke up, and the first thing she noticed to her great relief was that her face was finally starting to feel better. When she looked in the bathroom mirror, she found that the redness had faded quite a bit, though she was still quite puffy. Washing stung, but it wasn’t the agony it had been twenty-four hours earlier. She almost looked like a human being again.

“Seventy-four,” she said to the mirror. “Forty-seven. Thirty-five. Ninety-five. Twenty-five. Three.” The numbers must be a red herring, but Peggy didn’t want to forget them. Just in case.

She still didn’t wear makeup, but she stood a little taller as she walked to the SSR, and the sun wasn’t as painful as it had been. A couple of the ladies on the switchboards said good morning to her, and mentioned that she looked much better today. Peggy thanked them, and took the elevator up to the SSR.

There was a nasty shock waiting for her there.

A large table had been placed in the centre of the room. There were papers strewn over it and coffee mugs and half-eaten pastries around the edges, but most of it was taken up by a large map of the United States with a series of pins in it. Peggy had a similar one in her apartment in Los Angeles, chronicling Dottie’s known movements. This one had more pins, and standing at the head of the table, talking to Thompson, was Kay Lake.

She was no longer in her gray prisoner’s uniform. Instead she was wearing a white jacket with black polka-dots and a black skirt with white ones. Her hair was done and she was wearing makeup and gloves. The women’s straw hat hanging off the corner of one of the chairs must also be hers. She looked up as Peggy walked in, and smiled.

“Good morning, Peggy! You look like you slept well!” she said.

“Good morning, Kay,” Peggy replied. “So do you.”

“Morning, Marge,” said Thompson.

Peggy took a moment to picture herself standing alone in the bombed-out ruins of Coventry Cathedral, screaming at the top of her lungs. Once she had at least imagined indulging that urge, she said, “Jack, may I have a word.”

“No,” he said. “I took your recommendations into account and came to a decision. I think you’re letting a personal feeling of rivalry with these women cloud your thinking, and I want to remind you, you don’t even work for the east coast office anymore.”

“I see,” said Peggy stiffly.

Thompson looked around. “Would you excuse us a moment, gentlemen?” he asked. “And Kay?”

Various heads nodded. Lake flashed a dazzling smile and said, “of course, Jack.”

“Thank you. Carter?” Thompson waved for her to follow him. She did so, but she was seething. Everything he’d just said and done had been designed to humiliate her: refusing to talk on her terms, dismissing her concerns, accusing her of bias, and then forcing her to talk privately on his schedule. He’d better have something to say for himself, or she was going to head straight back to California. Frankly, there was probably nothing Thompson himself would like better.

In the office, Thompson shut the door, and then turned to face her. “I know you don’t think I know what I’m doing, but I do. Before she left that room we got prints and mug shots, and they’re on their way right now to every border crossing, air- and seaport in the country. If this goes wrong, she’ll have nowhere to run, and she knows it.”

“Does she,” said Peggy. She left off the question mark on purpose.

“These girls’ whole schtick is we’re supposed to underestimate them,” Thompson said. “We think they can’t be that dangerous because they’re women. So turn that back on her. I’ve got two CIA guys in that room undercover and there’s another pair of them watching from a car across the road. If she moves we’ll be ready, and until then, she thinks her feminine wiles have worked.”

“So that outside was for her benefit?” Peggy asked suspiciously. It would certainly be enough to convince most people that Jack Thompson didn’t care what a woman thought.

“Yes,” said Thompson. “Now, if you don’t want to help, I’ll call Daniel and you can go back to California. If you do, your job is to hang around and question everything I say so I can tell you not to be paranoid.”

“Business as usual, then,” Peggy remarked. She glanced through the window to the main room… Agent Russel was there, standing against the wall with his arms folded across his chest, looking like he wanted no part of this fiasco. Lake was laughing at something one of the other men had said, for all the world having a marvelous time.

“I’m not going to stay just so you can pretend to bully me,” she decided. “I will call Daniel myself.”

#fanfic #captain america #agent carter #peggy carter #steve rogers #steggy #fix it fic

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rocket-roach · 4 years

Note

Hey. Hey Rach. Hey. Bruce and Tim “Which part of me wasn’t enough?” 😈😈

hey. hey ren. hey. Have Bruce and Tim fighting in a house that also functions as a mausoleum

Tim thinks that the popcorn texture walls are the second worst thing to happen to interior design. The first worst thing to happen to interior design was obviously mid-century colonial styling, but lucky the manor no longer has that weird fruit and baskets wallpaper. At least, not in the wing they’re all in.

He runs his hand over the bumps, occasionally stopping the pick at the bigger ones. It’s not like he has anything better to do. Bruce is back and running Wayne Enterprises, Damian is Robin, Dick is Nightwing and everybody has dropped back into their Pre-Bruce-Stuck-In-Time roles. Which means Timothy Drake has nothing better to do than feel up the walls.

That thought unnerves him so much he quickly moves his hand. With nothing else to do, Tim starts packing up. He puts clothes into his Atlantic suitcase, tucks the tablet and laptop into their carrying case, slides his film camera back into it’s bag, and finishes up by tossing all the toiletries on top of the clothes. Once it’s all packed, he leaves. Alfred is at the store, so he doesn’t have to trying to explain why he’s moving out. The Drake Estate is still his. It’s not a home, but it is a house.

Ten minutes later, he drops his bags in the foyer.

It’s just like when Jack and Janet went on trips, he tells himself as he pulls protective sheets off the couches, the island in the kitchen, and in his old room. You know how to cook, you know how to clean, and you know where Mrs. Mac kept all the good recipe books. It’s better for me here. I have a place here.

He walks out to the garage, where his mom’s old Benz still sits. He opens the car door, and Janet’s perfume hits him like a Mack Truck. His knuckles go white as he tries to stabilize himself, as he tries to keep himself in the here and now and not at his mother’s hospital bed where she laid dying for months and not travelling the world looking for signs that the only good father he’d ever known was still alive and--

Tim gets in the car, starts it, and leaves. It’s low on gas, but there’s enough to get him to the nearest gas station and then on to the Bristol Shoppes. The car handles the roads as if it’d been driving on it just last night. He steers around the familiar curves, keeping his eyes on the road and his newest goal in his head. He’d survive on his own. He’d get back to work, pulling Drake Industries from the grave. Maybe rebrand it as a tech company. He could do that. He knows enough contacts from his stint as Wayne Enterprises C.E.O., to help reestablish his family’s company. This is fine. He’s taken care of himself before, and he can do it again.

He’s going to need a lawyer.

He’s going to have to check his bank accounts.

He’s making a list, he’s checking it twice. He’s ignoring his buzzing phone. He’s pulling into the parking lot. Then he’s heading into the store, his cell safely stashed and locked into the glovebox.

Later on, when he’s home and the Bagel Bites have been cooked and burned the roof of his mouth, the doorbell rings. Tim pauses, half a bagel in his mouth. He had taken all the important things, right? His phone, his tablet, his laptop and clothes. It has to be somebody from the manor, with something he’s forgotten. His mind is so busy whirling around that the front door locked is picked, and moments later, a thunderous looking Bruce Wayne is standing in his kitchen. He still has half a bagel bite in his mouth.

“Tim,” Bruce starts stiffly. “What are you doing.”

“Eating,” Tim says after he swallows his bite. “What’s wrong?”

Bruce’s mouth is moving, but nothing is coming out. Finally, Bruce steps forward and crosses his arms, fingers tapping on his biceps. He’s looming over Tim now. Tim wishes he wouldn’t do that. He doesn’t like to be loomed over in his own home.

“Why are you here?”

Well, that’s a loaded question that Tim doesn’t want to answer right now. He nibbles on another bagel bite instead, and realizes he has his email pulled up, with the email to Drake’s old family attorney. He tries to close it out, tries to hide it because Bruce can’t know about his plan because Tim isn’t ready to execute it now and he’ll be a legal adult soon but Bruce right now still has the power to say No and have the law support him.

It usually takes a week for Bruce to catch up to his plans. How the hell did he get here after a few hours?

“Tim. What are you doing here? Why aren’t you home?” Bruce drops his arms, but he still looks like an August thunderstorm.

“Manor was feeling kind of crowded. I thought it’d be a good time for me to, y’know,” he waves a pizza bagel around. “Start my own life. I have this perfectly good house, a car, and Drake Industries. Drake Industries needs me. They could probably want me.”

“Start your own life?” Tim doesn’t like how strangled Bruce sounds. He keeps watching his plate. “Tim… I need you. You must know that you’re wanted at the manor. With your family. We need you. I’ve been wondering why you aren’t joining us on patrol. I haven’t seen you at dinner recently, and it’s felt like you’ve been avoiding us. I didn’t want to push it. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable but when I got home and saw your bedroom empty… It scared the hell out of me.”

“How could you possibly need me?” Tim snarls, “You’re back. Damian is your Robin. Everybody is back to their original roles. Everybody has their place at your side again. You just noticed that I wasn’t patrolling? I lost Robin to Damian, and you backed Dick up on that call. I fought for months to find you, to bring you back to us because without you nothing made sense. Then you came back. I was so happy. I hadn’t been that happy in years. Then you all carried on. And I started to wonder, which part of me wasn’t enough? Which part of me had lost me a place at your side?”

The worst thing is, all Bruce does is blink.

“When we first met, I told you that Batman needs a Robin. You have your Robin now. You don’t need me. So, yeah, I left,” Tim finally meets Bruce’s eyes, and does his best to hide the pain and fury that’s nearly reached the overflow point. “Not your problem anymore. You can go.”

“Tim--” Bruce starts.

“No!” Tim shouts as he stands. “Get out!”

Tim thought the worst part of this entire conversation was Bruce blinking. He was wrong. It was when the heavy oak front door clicked shut behind Bruce. Tim tips his head back, eyes shut as tears stream down his face.

When he looks up, he sees the popcorn textured ceiling. He finally boils over.

#tim drake #bruce wayne #emotional hurt/no comfort #ask not for whom the bell tolls ren #it tolls for thee #we love self implosions #renecdote

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artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

Come Home to My Heart, Chapter 6 (Lemyanka) - Plastiquedoll

read on ao3 ✨| previous chapters

A/N: this is rated “B” for Bickering. It’s getting gay(er) I promise. I hope you enjoy it and thanks for reading it! <3

-6-

Priyanka’s bad mood lasted some more time after Lemon left. She shushed her friends when they tried to bring up the issue again and ate her waffles in silence until the girls started cracking jokes to make her laugh.

She was glad when the conversation focused on Denali as she explained to the other girls how her skating programs worked and told them all about the training and the traveling she had done during the year. It was compelling enough to lift the spirits on the table and once they were done with their food and the coffee refills, they all parted ways.

Priyanka drove Denali back to the house of her friend where she was staying for the month and got the chance to catch up with her a bit more. Inevitably, a question would pop at any moment.

“So…” The girl on the passenger seat began and Priyanka already knew what was coming. “this girl Lemon and you… what’s the story behind it?”

“Ugh…” Priyanka wanted to hit her head with the steering wheel. “It’s a long story.”

“I have time.” She said. “And you did mention a place that serves the best ice cream in town, don’t think I have forgotten.”

Priyanka sighed. “Nosy bitch…”

Denali cackled. “Oh, c’mon! I’m dying to know.”

“Fine. But you’re paying for my ice cream and I’ll make sure I order every topping, sprinkle, and syrup available.”

Priyanka turned left and changed their destination until they arrived at the ice cream parlor. Just as she had threatened, she ordered a monstrosity of ice cream for herself while Denali sat there with her cookies and cream sundae.

“Lemon and I were friends since kindergarten…” She started.

She told Denali everything, the first time they shared cookies, their days of primary school, the day Lemon left for New York, and the aftermaths of that moving. She told her the exact moment her crush began and when she knew it was way more than just a temporary thing. She told her about the big fight when Lemon visited her and how she had ignored her for the next five months until the blonde stopped trying whilst Priyanka thought she was doing the right thing. She told her about the moment she knew things were never going back to normal with them.

“Wait… wait, stop right there. So you two argued about something so stupid and then boom that’s it?”

“When you put it like that…”

“Because you know it is something stupid two fifteen-year-old girls would argue over, right?”

“First of all, it was a big deal back in the day.”

“Pri you were jealous of another girl and the remote possibility of your plans not being fulfilled. Plans you made when you were ten.”

“It wasn’t only about the plans we made… I could feel the distance between us and the way she was moving out without me in the future… it scared me.”

“Then why you never told her that?”

“Because… I’d have to admit my crush and end up with my heart broken twice by the same person.”

“Or… maybe give her the chance to decide that?”

Priyanka glared at her. “Denali, what are you implying?”

“I’m just saying that you were mad at her for not letting you being her friend and yet you weren’t giving her the chance to know your feelings, neither of you were being completely honest with each other… does that make sense?”

Priyanka took a big spoon of her ice cream and put it on her mouth to avoid answering.

“What I’m saying is that… this is your chance to make things right with her… maybe even the start of something new?”

“This isn’t a Disney Channel movie, you’re aware of that, right?”

“Priyanka, don’t you see? What are the odds of something like this happening? After seven years…”

“If you’re trying to make it look like a «this is fate» kind of situation, quit right now. It’s not going to work.” She crossed her arms on her chest. “Anyway…”

“You’re such a stubborn head sometimes I swear to God…”

“But you love me for that, don’t you?”

“I question myself sometimes.”

Priyanka threw a napkin playfully at her.

“After seven long years… things might have changed for you two.” She had a mischievous look on her face.

“What are you suggesting?”

“Listen, tomorrow’s Friday night, I’m sure the New Yorker in her is going to be out enjoying the nightlife… maybe you should do the same… Show her what she’s missed all this time.”

“It’s a stupid idea.”

No, that wasn’t going to work, it was ridiculous.

“I still think it’s a stupid idea.” Priyanka complained while sitting in the backseat of the taxi.

“Kiara and Juice are meeting us there.” Scarlett confirmed, ignoring what her friend had just said.

Denali put her thumbs air and smiled at Priyanka.

She had complained, protested, and kicked like a toddler but once their friends heard Denali’s labeled as a «genius idea», there was no way back. They had kidnapped her along with a bunch of her clothes and dragged her to Scarlett’s house to get ready.

Hence, she had no choice but to go along with their plan and she might as well put a little effort on since the goal was to get noticed by the devil in disguise herself.

She deliberately chose a pair of tight black shorts that barely covered her ass, a gold sequin top with thin strips that began on the front and finished tied on her back, and a pair of long black velvet boots that prolonged her legs by miles. Denali and Scarlett had her twirling around in her outfit just to throw cheesy compliments at her and whistled as old wolves in cartoons did.

Once her hair was tied in a high ponytail, she did her makeup while chattering with her friends.

What if she doesn’t show up?

She’s going to, we’ve some inside info.

Still, why do I have to go? I don’t wanna see her.

Bullshit, of course you do.

Besides, it’s about her seeing you.

“I can’t do this.” She whispered in front of the mirror.

“Your eyeliner or going to the nightclub?” Scarlett asked before applying red lipstick on her lips.

“The nightclub…”

“Priyanka, you’re a grown-up woman who’s going out on a Friday night. If Lemon happens to be there then wave at her and take a shot after it.” Her friend scolded. “Listen, I love you but it’s clear that if she has the power to make you feel this way it’s because there’s something underneath neither of you have solved. I say that you get over that fear and move on with your life.”

“No, you’re right…”

“The Priyanka I know would pick up girls in clubs with ease because she’s confident and that’s hot.”

“I’m so telling Juice you think I’m hot.”

Denali chuckled while putting mascara on.

“My point being that… I don’t know what’s about that Polly Pocket bitch that turns your already soft oatmeal brain into a liquid state but get a grip.”

Priyanka laughed at loud. “Okay, okay… you don’t have to drag me like that. We’re going to have fun tonight, I promise.”

They got to the club five minutes after; it was a chilly night –one of those that might require a jacket they hadn’t brought- but nothing that a good shot of alcohol couldn’t fix within a few minutes.

Music was blasting from the speakers; there were circles of people dancing on the floor already, the unmistakable frenetic energy buzzed in the air and made every touch, every brush charged with electricity.

Kiara and Juice found them in the crowd; they were carrying a couple of vodka shots and shared them with the newly arrived.

Lemon was already inside the club, Priyanka spotted her sitting on the bar stirring something that looked like a pink vodka lemonade.

She was wearing a white strapless tube dress with a sheer shirt with fur on the tips of the sleeves on top of it along with a pair of pearly ankle strap shoes. Her hair was curlier than the other day so she had probably styled like that with an iron.

Next to her, Kyne enjoyed a bottle of beer and Priyanka suddenly understood where the piece of inside information had come from. Kiara, you slut…

Priyanka drank the shot in one gulp and let the alcohol burn her throat. It was the good type of burn, a little spark to ignite the fire in her veins.

“I’ll go get the next round.” Priyanka announced.

“I’ll help you.” Denali followed her.

Priyanka dodged some drunkards that offered to buy her drinks and walked directly toward the bar making sure she casually appeared next to Lemon. She rested her elbows on the bar and moved her ponytail to display the intricate knots on her almost naked back.

Lemon stared for a moment and then sighed. “You gotta be kidding me.”

“Ignore me, I’m just getting some drinks for me and my friends.”

“I already do that.”

“Well, you’re not very good at it.” She looked at Kyne. “Hey there… Kiara said she’ll buy you another beer once you’re done with that one. You should go dance with her later.”

“Ah… alright…” The girl blushed and took a sip of her beer.

“Remember Denali?” She pointed at the dark-haired girl next to her.

“Yes… I had the pleasure to meet her the other day… unlike others.” She drank what was left of her drink.

Priyanka called the bartender and ordered the round of shots, shortly after five full glasses were in front of them.

“Which one is yours?” Lemon asked.

Priyanka frowned. “This one on my hand, obviously.”

“Good.” Without giving her time to protest, Lemon snatched the drink from her hand and took it herself without flinching, and put it back on her hand as if nothing had happened.

“Hey!”

“You’re welcome.” She said.

“For what?” Priyanka was still dumbfounded.

“I don’t let many people buy me drinks.” She smirked again.

The brunette’s lips turned into a grimace; there wasn’t anything in the world that she wanted more than erasing that little cocky expression off her face.

“Let’s go, Kyne, let’s find the others. I wanna dance.” She smiled at Denali overlooking Priyanka. “See you around.”

Priyanka shook her head. “I can’t believe it… I can’t… did you see that?”

“Pri… this is great.” Denali seemed to be amused by the exchange.

“What?”

“Don’t you see? She was provoking you.”

“Yeah, by inciting violence.” She waved back to the bartender.

“To get a reaction from you… It’s like a game, now is your turn to move.”

“You’re crazy. She did it just to bug me and she succeeded.”

“And now you can’t stop talking about it… my point exactly.”

She shook her head. “No, Lemon’s not like that… she wouldn’t.”

“Maybe the Lemon you knew before but this Lemon is different… a bit bitchy and that’s a good thing.”

“Oh, no, that’s not new. She’s always been a bitch, trust me.”

Denali laughed, they grabbed their drinks and went back where the other girls were.

They made it just in time to dance to I Love It by Icona Pop and sing the chorus from the top of their lungs. After the second shot, Priyanka could finally loosen up, just go with the music and the environment to let herself enjoy the night.

They danced non-stop for a good thirty minutes until Priyanka went to the bar again. Kiara gave her money to get her a vodka tonic and she ordered a fireball for herself. She sat for a moment on one of the stools to catch her breath while she waited to be served.

It was when her eyes found her.

Lemon had taken off the semi-transparent shirt and now she only had that small dress embracing her body as she danced, and God, the way she danced… She didn’t miss a single beat, her body reacted to the music in a way Priyanka had never seen before, it was calculated yet sensual, it was methodic yet loose, in other words, it was hypnotic.

Priyanka was so mesmerized at the moment she almost had no time to play it cool when Lemon walked toward the bar once again. Now her body glowed with a thin layer of sweat and her hair wasn’t as neat as the beginning of the night, Priyanka liked it better that way.

“Thank you.” She talked to the bartender disregarding the blonde next to her.

Lemon stole her drink once again and took a sip of it but this time she cleared her throat loudly, grimacing in disgust at the taste of the flavored whiskey.

“Ew, cinnamon.”

Priyanka mocked her right away. “This is going to teach you something.”

“Yeah, it just taught me how tasteless you are… that’s disgusting.”

Priyanka drank it and let an “ah” out. “Delicious.”

“What’s that?” She pointed at Kiara’s drink.

“Vodka tonic but it’s for Kiara.”

“She’s not going to need it… her tongue is somewhere Kyne’s throat right now,” Lemon said as she extended her hand and took the glass of the countertop. She rinsed the flavor of the fireball with some more alcohol. “Is that a thing? Like a recurrent thing? Them I mean.”

“Sorta but Kyne didn’t acknowledge it until like last year so I’d say it’s still very recent.”

At that moment a guy tried to approach them with the intention of buying them a drink.

“Eat dirt and get lost.” Lemon hissed making the guy disappear from he came from.

“Wow, that was kind of aggressive…” Priyanka said but she sniggered anyway.

“I told you I don’t let anyone buy me drinks plus I don’t like men that try to win women over with drinks. I don’t need their coins, I can buy my own drinks.”

“I’m quite sure you haven’t bought any of the drinks you had tonight, am I wrong?”

“I could buy them if I wanted to…”

“Could you?”

“Yes.”

“Bartender,” Priyanka drew attention from the person behind the bar. “two shots of tequila over here.”

Lemon glared at her. “I said if I wanted to… and I’m certainly not buying you a drink.”

“Fine, I’ll take both shots myself.” Priyanka grabbed both glasses with one hand.

“Wait! Fine…” She pulled a bill from her cleavage and put it on the countertop. “Happy?”

“Classy.” Priyanka grinned.

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was because it was Friday night but Priyanka was having fun there with Lemon and it had been an eternity since the last time they hung out like that.

The blonde rolled her eyes and then right before Priyanka’s eyes licked a stripe on the side of her palm, added salt, and licked it again before drinking the shot in the blink of an eye. Finally, she sucked the lime and threw it on the plate in front of them.

Priyanka gulped.

Lemon stared at her. “Well? You were the one who wanted to drink tequila.”

Priyanka repeated the process but she knew for sure she wasn’t putting on a show as Lemon did.

“That girl… Denali…” Lemon tested the waters at the mention of her name. “is she… close to you?”

“I adore her, yeah.”

“Is she… your girlfriend?”

Priyanka looked at the dance floor where Denali was still dancing and having fun with her other friends and then back at Lemon.

“Why?”

“I don’t know… I saw you two together earlier… I just assumed…”

“Would you care?”

Lemon shrunk on her seat. “Why would I?”

“You asked me about it.”

“I was trying to make small talk… plus you haven’t answered my question.”

“You haven’t answered mine.”

The blonde seemed to be cornered for a moment but she looked at Priyanka in the eye with the combative spirit she had always had in her.

“You didn’t answer my calls for five months back in the day, cute, isn’t it?” There was anger and some poison on her words and it hit the brunette right away.

Lemon went back with her friends without saying anything else.

Priyanka watched her until Scarlett dragged her back to the dance floor.

After several hours of dancing and drinking, Priyanka was drunk and exhausted in the best possible way. She was outside the club sharing a cigarette with Scarlett -it was kind of cold but she was completely unbothered by the weather- when a very sleepy Juice showed up, Scarlett went home with her and Priyanka didn’t even try to say something. Let them be happy or whatever.

Denali had left an hour ago, tired as hell too, and Kiara was probably going home with Kyne so she might as well get a taxi for herself as soon as the cigarette on her hand died.

Lemon walked out of the club just when her friends had closed the taxi door and left Priyanka alone. The blonde was carrying her shirt over her shoulder like a jacket and looked at Priyanka as soon as she spotted her in the corner.

She walked straight but there was something on her face that told Priyanka she hadn’t sobered up yet.

“There you are.” She dragged her words comically.

Priyanka shrugged. “Here I am.”

Lemon was about to say something but then she squinted. “Why are you so tall?”

“Because I ate my vegetables when I was little.”

“Liar, you threw them on the trash can when the teacher wasn’t looking at you.”

The brunette laughed. “I had forgotten about that. I got into so much trouble when they discovered it.”

“Trouble? Are you talking about trouble? What would your mother say if she caught you smoking?” She accused.

“Bite me.” Priyanka started laughing. “Did you come here to fight?”

“Yeah… but then I remembered you’re too tall.”

This cracked Priyanka even more; she was almost bent in half.

“What is it so funny?”

“I just remembered that Scarlett called you Polly Pocket earlier and now I can’t unsee it.”

“Fuck you and fuck her too…” She said. “Who are you calling Polly Pocket? I’m a whole ass Bratz or I will be when I can afford the botox injections.” She pouted.

“You sure will, doll.”

“Why are you here alone anyway?” She hiccupped. “Why isn’t your girlfriend with you?” Lemon leaned against a lamppost.

“All of my girl-friends left earlier.”

“You know whom I mean…”

Priyanka shook her head. It was too absurd for her.

A taxi turned around the corner and the brunette waved at it.

“Okay, Little Miss Sunshine, time to go home.” Priyanka tapped the vehicle’s roof.

“I get it… okay…” She got into the cab. “good night… Sprinky.”

“Good night, Lemon.” She closed the door and watched the car leaving.

She could take the next one.

#rpdr fanfiction #drcan #can1 #lemon #priyanka #lemon x priyanka #childhood friends #friends to lovers #lesbian au #come home to my heart #plastiquedoll #concrit welcome

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spicyfloaty · 3 years

Text

Give & Take | Chapter 11

pairing: kacchako

genre: slowburn/fluff

words: 9.8k

summary: Ochako's grades are slipping. Bakugo is dangerously nearing suspension, or worse, expulsion. A certain twist of fate pairs them together for tutoring sessions. He teaches her math. She keeps him from getting suspended. A simple exchange, but what if this only brings them closer than necessary?

header credits: @alexbenedetto

[READ ON AO3]

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven: Saved by the Bell

“You’re not listening to me!”

“Guess what, Cheeks? Neither are you!”

After that incident at work last week, things went back to normal. Bakugo stayed true to his word about not mentioning her job to anyone else and much to Ochako’s delight, he had also stopped avoiding her altogether. Despite this good news, it didn’t stop them from spiraling into another tirade of who-got-the-math-question-wrong, but at least they were back to their regular programming of senseless, nerve-wracking bickering, which was about as normal as it could get.

“How many times do I have to tell you that I got this right?” Ochako circles her answer on the whiteboard over and over again with a black marker, hoping the repetitive gesture would somehow convince Bakugo that she answered the problem correctly.

Bakugo sank deeper into his chair as he dragged his palm down his face, “Fucking hell, round face, I’m telling you that it’s wrong.” He groaned.

Her palm flies to the board, producing a resounding thud that echoed around the classroom, “I used the right formula, I had all the calculations down, and--”

“And you still got it wrong.” He interupts.

If Ochako hadn’t already been accustomed to the ever so pleasant experience of arguing with Bakugo, she would have either A.) walked out the door by now or B.) thrown the marker clutched in her hand square on his face, but since she already had enough hours of tutoring as practice, she knew how to stand her ground and bite back.

She walked over to his seat, which wasn’t that far since he had plopped himself smack dab on the first row, “You were the one who taught me this.” She points out, standing in front of his desk.

“I know that.” Bakugo pushes himself up from his seat with his arms, leaning towards her with his eyes narrowed, “So tell me why you got it wrong then?”

“Oh nevermind.” Ochako huffs out, rolling her eyes as she turns to the whiteboard once again, “Let me just show you how I did it.”

If she was getting nowhere trying to make him see her point with her words alone along with the occasional repetitive circling of her answer on the board, she should move on to the next best thing of just literally showing him the exact step-by-step process of how she came up with her answer in the first place. If only her tutor had paid attention to what she was writing on the board as she was solving the problem he gave instead of complaining about it after, things would have gone so much smoother than they were now.

“No you’re not.” He walks after her to the front of the classroom so that he’s just a few feet in front of her, “Give me that.” Bakugo orders, holding his hand out to her.

“Why?” She asks, bringing the marker closer to her chest as if she were guarding the most valuable object on earth from a notorious thief.

Bakugo frowns as he jutted his hand out to her again impatiently, “I’m gonna fix it, dumbass.”

Ochako’s eyebrows knit together as she takes a step away from the board and the boy trying to steal away her chance of proving him wrong, “You’re not fixing anything, Bakugo.”

“Give me the marker.” Bakugo instructs, moving towards the same direction she had gone to.

She shakes her head as she moves farther away from him, walking towards the second row of desks, “I’d rather not.”

He follows her, stopping on one of the chairs in the front row, “I’m not going to ask you twice, round face.” Bakugo’s stern eyes burn into hers so much so to the point where she had felt her knees start to buckle ever so slightly.

Despite this, she knew better than to just back down to him that easily, “Over my dead body, Bakugo.”

In the split second after the last word of her sentence, Ochako could have sworn that she caught a fleeting glimpse of her dead body as Bakugo raced towards her with unparalleled speed. She pushes a chair towards his direction to block his path as she ran to the back of the classroom, looking back to see that her chair distraction had failed since Bakugo was just a few quick steps away from her.

Her feet swiftly take her to the other side of the room, but Bakugo follows just seconds after. She drags a desk in front of her to add some extra distance between them just in time before he could get to her.

“Stop. Acting. Like. A. Fucking. Six-year-old. And. Give. Me. The. Fucking. Marker.” Bakugo growls between attempts to snatch the marker away from her as Ochako just barely manages to dodge every single one of them.

Bakugo stops mid-grab and she sees his eyes flicker to the something behind her. She turns around and sees an eraser sitting on top of the teacher’s desk, her gaze then shifting to the lines of equations she had written on the board. Eyes widening in realization, she whips her head back towards him, “Don’t you dare.” She warns.

He immediately bolts to the front of the classroom and it only takes milliseconds for her to follow suit. Ochako uses her free hand to reach for the eraser, but Bakugo makes it a point to catch her wrist first before going for its target.

“Give it up.” Bakugo instructs. He points the eraser towards the board, fiery eyes never leaving hers in the process, “Or else all your work gets wiped off.”

“I can write it again just as easily.” She fires back, matching his intense stare with her own.

He tilts his head to the side, “Not if I give you another problem to work on, round face.”

The smug look on Bakugo’s face only grows more punchable by the second and him leaning towards her again only makes it harder to resist the urge of knocking his lights out, “Your work will be considered null...and...void.” He finishes, making sure to add extra emphasis on the last three words.

Ochako didn’t know whether to be amused or appalled at how Bakugo would really go the extra mile for a petty fight about a math problem. Despite this thought, she knew that she did the exact same thing starting the whole cat and mouse chase around the classroom. She finally comes to the conclusion that this whole argument was stupid and that she most likely didn’t have the energy nor the stamina to keep it up.

“You just hate being wrong, don’t you?” She sighs, handing him the marker.

He lets go of her wrist and takes it, placing the eraser back to where it was, on top of the teacher’s desk, “Who says I’m wrong?”

“I’ve been telling you that for the past twenty minutes or so, thank you very much.” Ochako retorts, folding her arms over her chest as she turns away from the board. She’d rather not see her work being ‘ corrected’ when she was so sure about being right about it.

Not even ten seconds pass by when Bakugo suddenly speaks up, “The fuck?”

Ochako turns around to see Bakugo staring at the marker with an expression that looked like he was unsure about the fact that what he was holding was indeed a marker, “What is it?” She asks.

“Your flimsy ass marker ran out of ink.” He deadpans, handing the marker back to her.

“Why are you saying it like it’s my fault?” She points out, taking it from him.

“If someone didn’t waste all the ink circling her wrong answer like a deranged person--”

“It wasn’t wrong.” She interjects, walking over to the board to test the marker out. Seeing that the board was still completely white after dragging the marker across a blank area, it was in fact, empty.

A small grin makes its way to her lips as she turns back around to face him, “Oh dear, it really is empty!” She says in mock disappointment, “I guess we’ll just have to leave it like that.” Ochako makes sure to give him the fakest look of dismay to really seal the deal.

“Your acting is as bad as your math.” He drones, unimpressed.

“No insult is going to change the fact that this is empty.” She points out, holding up the marker for him to see.

“And you think that’s gonna stop me?” He retorts.

Ochako shrugs, propping one hand onto her hips, “I mean, where else are you going to write it down?”

He narrows his eyes at her before looking away to stare at the wall in deep thought. An idea seemed to have crossed his mind since he suddenly started walking over to her seat where her bag was and started digging inside.

“Hey!” She protests, walking over to his direction, “You can’t just go around digging in other people’s stuff!”

“And why not?” He asks, still very much digging into the contents of her bag.

“Privacy!” She answers.

Bakugo holds up a stick of gum from her bag, “How scandalous, round face, a piece of gum. How will you ever recover?” He says sarcastically, rolling his eyes at her.

“You knew what I meant.” She mutters, peeking over his shoulder to see if he had already made a mess of her bag’s contents, but to her surprise everything was still as tidy and organized the way she had left it, no item out of its place as Bakugo shuffled through them in search of something she still wasn’t made aware of.

“What are you even looking for?” She asks, “I don’t have an extra marker.”

He fishes out her notebook and turns to her, “Where’s your pen?”

Ochako’s eyes droop at the question, “You’ve been tutoring me for the past five weeks and you still don’t bring your own pen to these sessions?”

Bakugo sends a spine-chilling glare towards her, “Keep that attitude up and I’m dumping all of this shit on the floor to make you look for it.” He threatens, holding her bag up in the air as a warning.

“Fine.” She grumbles, grabbing her bag from him to look for her pen. The only reason why she had this kind of attitude was because of the fact that Bakugo didn’t even give her a chance to prove that her answer was right nor did he show any intention of listening to her side of things a while ago.

“Here.” She hands him the pen and takes the seat beside him, looking towards the window as she rested her elbows on the desk, cupping a cheek in one hand. She honestly just wanted to get this over with.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” Bakugo swears.

She turns to him, “What is it now?”

He holds her notebook up from the side and lets its pages fall one by one to show her that all of them were already full of her writing. She had forgotten that this specific notebook was the one she used for when she studied and worked on practice problems alone in the confines of her room. Not only that, but she had also just remembered that all of her notebooks, even the ones back at the dorms, were in fact, already used up.

She quietly chuckles to herself at the situation, but this doesn’t go unnoticed by Bakugo, “What’s so fucking funny?”

The laughter that Ochako had been struggling to suppress had only grown harder to fight, ‘Was this the universe’s way of telling her that she was right with her answer a while ago?’ “C-can I borrow the p-pen?” She asks through stifled laughter.

Bakugo slowly hands her the notebook along with the pen and looks at her as if she had already lost her mind. She tries to scribble on the corner of a page with it and the results only confirm her suspicions. The pen was empty too.

This time Ochako bursts into a fit of laughter. The timing was just all too perfect, “Face it, Bakugo, even fate is on my side!” She proclaims. Who would have guessed that her marker, notebook, and pen were the ones to turn this situation around at the last minute? Her unintentional negligence towards her things had somehow given her another chance at proving herself right.

Ochako’s laughter dies down and she turns to Bakugo, the ghost of a smile still stretching over her face, “Now, will you let me explain why I think I’m right?”

He studies her for a moment, as if deciding whether or not that option was worth taking. She scoots her chair nearer to his and gives him an expectant look, thinking that this way of saying Please was the way to go.

The creases on Bakugo’s forehead slowly disappear, his eyes slipping away from hers as he sighed. He stands up to head over the back of the classroom where his bag was, slinging it over his shoulder before walking towards the door.

“Wait, what are you doing?” She asks. Was he leaving? Was he really so allergic to the possibility of being wrong that he couldn’t even stand being in the same room with her anymore?

He looks over to her, “It’s better if you explain yourself using the board and you can’t do that if your flimsy ass marker is empty.”

This catches her off guard. She didn’t actually think he’d let her if she had asked, nor did she think it would take him that fast to even consider it. She had already assumed that he was already steadfast, hell-bent even, with the fact that only his opinion was acceptable.

“That doesn’t really answer my question, why does it look like you’re leaving?” She asks once more.

“Do I really need to spell it out for you?” He asks impatiently, “We’re buying another fucking marker.”

Another look of frustration crawls its way back to his face as he gestures to the bag next to her, “You coming or not?”

---

Ochako lags behind him as they descend upon the school’s stairs, making sure to keep up the pace since Bakugo made it clear that he had no intention of waiting for her nor did it look like he cared that she could potentially trip and fall with the speed he’s going at.

“Make sure you pause that timer you got on your phone.” He calls out to her as they reach the bottom of the last flight of stairs.

“Yeah, yeah, I got it.” She breathes out, pulling her phone out of her pocket to pause it as she followed close behind him. They had about half an hour left to their session, which was more than enough for her to thoroughly explain her answer to him once they get back. Nearing the grounds, she sees Bakugo head towards the opposite direction of the front exit, which was unusual since everybody exits through the front.

“I know I should have asked this before, but where are we going?” She asks, still a number of steps behind him as they reach UA’s back exit.

“Kinoku.” He answered shortly, stepping outside their campus’s back doors which connected to a wide walkway that stretched hundreds of feet towards the UA Arch at its end.

“The Dead Street?” She asked quizzically. Before they had been moved into their dorms, Ochako would usually tread the downhill path found in the forefront of UA on her way home. Almost everyone did, come to think of it. Nobody had really seen what the trail behind UA led to, but all they knew was that at the foot of that trail was Kinoku street, also commonly known among the students as The Dead Street because of its desertedness.

“And where exactly in Kinoku are you planning on taking us?” She follows up as they walk under the UA arch found behind the school. It was identical to the one found in the front, the only difference being the vines crawling up both of its legs, which was another telltale sign that this place was indeed devoid of people. It looked like it had been like that for quite a long time.

“Somewhere that has what we need.” Bakugo replies.

The concrete that covered UA’s grounds turn into dirt as they went past the arch, marking the start of the downhill trail. They walk in silence as they trudge along the unfamiliar path. Unfamiliar to her, at least. The soft rustling of the trees around them paired with the sound of their feet making contact with the soil were the only things keeping the atmosphere from being completely quiet.

“Is it far from here?” She asks.

“No.” Another clipped response. “We’ll be quick.”

Bakugo’s back was to her as she continued to walk a considerable amount of steps behind him. His answers made it seem like he had been here before, it only made sense since he somehow knew where to go and also knew that this place had what they needed.

Ochako picks up the pace and speeds along to walk beside him, “You’ve been to Kinoku before?” She asks, voicing out the curiosities inside her head. Bakugo looks at her questionably as if she had just spoken German to him. To be more specific, the expression on his face asked the unspoken question, ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

“I’m just trying to kill the awkward silence.” She quickly explains, slightly holding up both of her hands.

“It’s only awkward if you make it awkward.” He says, shifting his focus back on the trail ahead of them, his gaze cold and distant. Small talk with Bakugo is truly proving to be a difficult task.

“Okay, you don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to.” She concedes, slowing her pace back down to how it was before when she was lagging behind him, allowing the silence to stretch between them once more.

Ochako didn't know where she stood with Bakugo, if anything, she didn't know where Bakugo stood with her. Replaying every single instance they had interacted with one another in her head, she wasn't sure what to consider him as. It wouldn't be right for her to say that they were strangers to one another, but at the same time, they weren't exactly friends.

She'd like to be friends, though. A part of her wanted to get to know him better, with that part of her only growing twice its size ever since last week's incident at work. Despite this, Bakugo seemed to be closed off most of the time, leaving only the tiniest of spaces for her to squeeze into to try and find out more about him. The last thing she wanted was to make him uncomfortable so she decided not to push for a conversation any further.

Ochako was about to put her earphones on and listen to music instead when she saw that Bakugo's footsteps were beginning to slow down ever so slightly until both their paces were now in sync with one another, with him now walking by her side.

“I have.” He mutters.

Ochako lowers her earphones down from her ears, “You have what?”

“You asked if I’ve been to Kinoku before,” He says, shoving both his hands into his pockets, “I have.”

“Oh.” She turns to him and sees that he was still looking towards the path ahead of them. Despite this, she knew that Bakugo purposefully walking beside her, let alone talking to her was still remarkable progress, “What’s it like?”

“Quiet.” He answers, the hardened features of his face relaxing a bit under the memory of it.

“Dead quiet?” She asks, referring to Kinoku’s infamous nickname.

“No.” This time he turns to her, finally facing her full on, “Peaceful quiet.”

She observes his reaction, taking note of the faint softness in his voice compared to the distant replies he had thrown her way just minutes ago. This place must be as peaceful as he says it is if it had gotten him to sound this fond of it.

“That sounds nice.” She muses, smiling to herself. It felt nice to know that Bakugo was particularly fond of this place. He looked calmer.

“It’s a nice fucking change from the bumbling idiots I hang out with everyday.” He adds with a heavy touch of irritation, the calmness in his face being stripped away by the mention of his group of friends.

“You mean your friends?” Ochako clarifies. Bakugo did have a habit of referring to the people closest to him with questionable descriptions and nicknames.

“Whatever you wanna call ‘em, it doesn’t change the fact that they’re annoying as all hell.” He counters along with a sour look on his face. Ochako almost chuckles at the quick change in his mood.

“You know,” She begins, turning to him, “If they’re as annoying as you say they are, you wouldn’t be hanging out with them anymore.”

Bakugo’s eyebrows furrow at her simple explanation, his expression seemed like he was trying to come up with some logical, snarky remark to hit her back with, but needless to say, none came out.

“Tch.”

The corner of her lips quirk upwards, I got him there. She knew that his friends meant a lot to him, he just wasn’t the type to show it as well as they do. One might even say that most of his insulting quips and jabs at them were some kind of undiscovered love language that only he had the capability of expressing.

“Why not take them to Kinoku?” She suggests. Taking the people you care about to a place you enjoy might be a pleasant experience for both parties.

“Those damn extras are just gonna complain about how boring it is.” He deadpans.

Boring? Ochako doubts that his friends would say that about any place Bakugo would voluntarily take them to, but then again, it could be because Bakugo wasn’t ready to take them there yet so she won’t push the idea any further.

Does this make her the first? No, stop thinking like that, Ochako.

“What’s in Kinoku anyways?” She asks, shoving the previous thought into a small corner of her mind.

“Not much.” Bakugo answers, “That’s why they’d find it boring.”

“Peaceful boring.” She corrects him.

“Peaceful boring.” He agrees.

“And yet you still go there often, huh?” She adds. Sure, Kinoku didn’t have much to it, neither was it the liveliest place out there, but there must be another reason why Bakugo liked it so much apart from the kind of quiet it had offered.

“Only for this one place.” He recalls.

“Is it the place we’re headed to?” She asks, her curiosity morphing into excitement.

Bakugo nods, “A bookshop.”

Ochako’s eyebrows slightly spring upwards at the mention of a bookshop. A person favoring those kinds of places usually meant that they were fond of reading as well, which leads to the conclusion that Bakugo must be an avid reader too.

“So you're a book lover.” She smiles at him.

Bakugo lifts an eyebrow, “And what of it?”

He must have thought she was making fun of him for liking books, but she couldn’t have been any more delighted by the fact. Ochako liked the feeling of knowing such a tiny detail about him. ‘Bakugo Katsuki liked to read’, she repeated in her head.

“Nothing,” She dismisses with a shake of her head, “It just fits you.”

Bakugo’s face only clouds over with more confusion, “You calling me a nerd, round face?” He asks suspiciously.

“No!” She quickly replies, “I mean, yeah, you’re really good at math, but other than that, you see things differently, you know?”

“You're perceptive, quick-witted, observant,” Ochako enumerates. There was a lot more she could have said, but it would take the entire journey to and from the bookshop if she had done that. “And probably everything in between.” She turns to him, giving him the warmest of smiles.

A tiny look of surprise flashes over his face before turning away, one of his hands finding the back of his neck, “Thanks.” He mumbles.

“So yeah, being a book nerd does suit you.” She teases.

Bakugo’s head instantly whips back to face her, fiery, red eyes narrowing at her once again, “So you were calling me a nerd.” He bites.

“You already thanked me for it.” Ochako chuckles, earning her another nasty look from Bakugo. His mood really does change as quickly as she thought, it could beat Iida in a foot race.

“Honestly speaking, I have been curious about Kinoku for a long time.” She says after a short moment of silence. It was true, so many people had already been calling it The Dead Street, and yet none of those people had ever been there before, which had only piqued her interest more.

“Then why didn’t you go?” He asked, raising a questioning eyebrow at her.

“I was planning to,” She starts, “But as you now know, I’ve been busy with--”

“Training.” He finishes for her.

Ochako smiles a little, “Yes, with training.”

“With Gunhead.” He adds.

This time she chuckles, “Yep, that’s the one.”

She found it nice how Bakugo played along with their little joke. What she found most comforting was the fact that she was able to talk about her job with someone else that wasn’t Kit. It was a funny feeling, having someone know about her secret. It was an even funnier feeling, how she felt so comfortable mentioning it to the last person she thought that would find out about it.

“How long have you been training with him?” He asks.

“Not long after my dad’s injury, so about two months now.” Ochako thought it was weird how two months could pass by so quickly, hell, she couldn’t believe that it had already been more than a month of her undergoing Bakugo’s tutoring sessions.

“Do they know?” He follows up, looking at her with an unreadable expression on his face. A strange sensation settles in her stomach, had he been keeping these questions to himself for a while now? Had he just been holding them back ever since last week, waiting for a time when she was comfortable enough to talk about it?

“Yes and no.” She answers.

His face scrunches up in confusion, “The hell does yes and no mean?”

“Maybe if you listened with this,” Ochako points to her ear, “Rather than this,” then down to her mouth, “You’d find out.”

Bakugo rolls his eyes at her as he taps a finger to his ear three times, “I’m all ears, round face.”

“Good.” She smiles. Ochako was definitely getting used to his attitude, on top of that, she’s getting better at handling it.

“Well, yes, they know that I have a part time job.” She begins, brushing her hands against each other to fiddle with her fingers, “No, they don’t know what my actual job is.”

“What did you tell them then?” He asks.

“It’s stupid.” Ochako had only just now realized how stupidly ironic the answer to that question was.

His eyes droop at her avoidance of the question, “I’ll be the judge of that.”

“I told them,” She looks up at him, a bit hesitant of what she was about to say, “that I was working as a part-time tutor.”

Bakugo’s lips draw tighter and the first signs of laughter prickle on the features of his face, but he decides against it and looks away instead, “Shit.”

“You’re allowed to laugh.” She says, “It’s ironic, isn’t it?”

“I’m not laughing.” Ochako hears him retort, still looking away.

“Like I’ve said before, it’s not that I’m ashamed of it.” She recalls, “I just think I’d be less worried if my daughter was tutoring people during her spare time instead of cleaning up vomit and bussing tables.”

Bakugo turns to her, the traces of laughter gone from his face, “It fits you, though.”

She raises an eyebrow at him, “Cleaning up vomit?”

“No, you idiot, your job.” He corrects her, eyebrows slightly furrowing in annoyance.

“You think that being a waitress in some cafe suits me?” She asks. It’s not everyday she gets to hear that from anybody, but then again there only used to be one person who knew about her job.

Bakugo focuses on the trail ahead of them once more, “You’re kind, selfless, tough.” he pauses, taking the time to look at her straight in the eyes, “And probably everything in between.”

Ochako would have teased him about using her own words from before if not for the rush of sparks that sent warm tingles from her arms to her toes, “You really think so?”

Another look of annoyance twists in his face, “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t, dumbass.” He barked.

“You got me there.” She laughs.

The path of soil they were treading gradually turned into concrete as they neared the bottom of the hill, the trees around them were getting fewer and fewer until most of them were now replaced by electric posts and houses. Ochako lagged behind Bakugo once again so that he could lead the way through all of the twists and turns until the houses morph into laundromats and convenience stores, finally stopping at an antique looking bookshop beside an even more ancestral looking house.

“This house looks different from all the other ones we passed by.” She points out, looking up at the enormous house before them, it’s wooden exterior looked worn, but still steadfast, as if it had endured the harshest of winds and the deepest of floods.

“You mean it looks older.” Bakugo asks, looking over to her.

“A lot older.” She confirms.

“Mr. Fujioka, the bookshop's owner, lives there.” He explains, looking up at the house as well, “They've lived here for more than forty years, and his bookshop has been around for no more than twenty.”

“You know him?” Ochako asks. He seemed to know a lot about this place, especially this house.

Bakugo shakes his head as he grabs the handle of the bookshop’s front door, “The old man just loves to talk my ear off about it whenever I come here.”

A strong musk of paper, ink, and wood immediately envelopes her the moment they step inside. What Ochako notices first is the shelves upon shelves of books covering almost every square inch of the store, leaving only narrow strips of carpeting as walkways to pass through, most of which were also littered with books stacked in piles on the floor.

She was stunted by how so many shelves could fit in such a small-scale place, and just when Ochako had thought that this place couldn't have any more room for books, she had noticed that even the walls that stretched from each side of the shop seemed to also function as wide, towering bookshelves. The only spot spared from the sight of books was the small, wooden, flat-top counter nestled in the far right corner of the store, in which a girl about her age, reading a magazine, seemed to be manning.

Ochako's initial thoughts would have said that this bookshop was overcrowded and cramped, but instead, for some reason it felt cozy, as if the entire bookshop was giving her a nice, warm, hug.

The girl behind the small counter, to which Ochako now knows has braided hair, looks up from her magazine, eyes instantly lighting up at the sight of Bakugo, "Katsuki!" She chirps, waving her hand vigorously towards him.

“Ignore her.” He says flatly, gently pushing her forward so that both of them would be out of the braided girl's sight behind the shelves.

“I’m guessing that’s not Mr. Fujioka?” She jokes.

He frowns at her, “You think?”

Ochako shoots him a nasty look back, “You don’t have to be a dick about it.”

Bakugo clicks his tongue in frustration, his hand raking through the golden locks on his head, “His granddaughter watches over this place from time to time.” He explains before steering her farther into the plethora of bookshelves, “She’s annoying.”

Bakugo must have been here a lot of times for him to know that Mr. Fujioka's granddaughter works here from time to time, he’s probably interacted with her enough times for him to consider her as someone who was annoying. She had deduced from before that Bakugo often refers to the people closest to him as annoying or bothersome, so using that logic, ‘Were they close?’

“Earth to round face.” Bakugo snaps his fingers in front of her face, forcing her out of her reverie.

“Hm?” Ochako turns to him, “What were you saying?”

“I said, the school supplies are over there.” He repeats impatiently, pointing to the back of the shop, “I’ll be in the fiction section.”

“Want me to get anything for you?” She asks him.

Bakugo looks to the side, quickly muttering some sort of checklist to himself before turning to her, “Two notebooks, one binder.”

“Okay.” She nodded before heading to the back of the store and true to what he had said, there was a small rack of school supplies that stood beside the shelf dedicated to children’s books. Ochako scanned the selection of items before her and swiftly picked out two pens, a black binder, and four notebooks. Two of them pink and the other two plain black.

Ochako makes her way to the fiction section of the store, approaching Bakugo as she spots him fixated on reading the back of a book, “Found anything good?” She asks.

“Looks sappy.” He points out.

“Sappy can be good.” She proposes, glancing at the book’s cover.

With a frown curling his lips, Bakugo returns the book and goes back to scanning the various titles etched on the worn spines on each book adorning the rickety shelf towering over them. ‘Picky’, she says in her head. Ochako transfers the school supplies she had picked out in one arm and takes the book he had just returned, reading the synopsis on the back.

“I’m buying it.” She smiles to herself.

Bakugo looks over to her, a disapproving frown once again twisting on his lips, “But it’s bad.”

“Come on,” She holds the book up with one hand to show him the cover, “Don’t judge a book by it’s cover.”

“I read the plot and my judgement says it’s trash.” He deadpans, going back to examining the wall of books before him.

“To each their own, I guess.” Ochako acknowledges, flipping through the novel in her hands. It wasn’t hard to tell that the books sold in this place were secondhand books that have probably been passed down from person to person, given the yellowish hue of their pages and the highlighted or underlined parts in some of them, “This will be for my dad, he likes to read too.”

“What genre?” Bakugo asks, shifting his attention away from the shelf once again.

“I think he prefers romance novels above all else,” She recalls grinning at the book in her hand, “You should see how much his vital signs spike up when he gets to a good part.”

Her father had been a dedicated reader ever since forever, but with the demands of work and family, he never really had the time to sit down and indulge in a good book as much as he used to, but now that he’s bedridden and confined in a hospital, he had all the time in the world to catch up on all the reading he had missed out on.

“He’s been reading a lot now since it kept him busy when mom and I aren’t around to visit.” She adds.

“How often do you get to see him?” He asks, the same unreadable expression hanging over his face. Ochako notices the similar, strange feeling sitting in the pit of her stomach and it confuses her. He was only asking questions, nothing bizarre about that.

“Not as much as I would want to because of my job, not to mention how long the trip to the hospital is, but you take what you can get.” She shrugs, hugging the romance novel to her chest.

“So he’s staying somewhere far away.” He speculates.

“Couldn’t get any farther than Hinode Hospital.” She points out, “But it’s fine, the doctors are top notch, the facilities are state of the art and my job pays well enough to help my mom keep it that way.”

Bakugo looks away, his attention shifting back to the array of books on the shelf, “They’re lucky to have you.” He says quietly, eyes still focused on the books.

Ochako sees him finally pluck out a thinner book from the top half of the shelf, “Give him this.” He says, holding it out for her to see, “It’s better.”

She leans over and peeks at the book’s cover, Yep, that looks like a romance novel.

“I don’t know, it looks sappy.” She observes, looking up at him, feigning disapproval. He frowns at her in response.

“I’m kidding.” She smiles, earning herself another irritated eye roll from him.

Bakugo offers to carry the items in her arms and his eyes fall to the black notebooks she had gotten him, “You got black ones?”

“You always have black ones.” She points out. Ochako had been his classmate for over two years now and his study partner for over a month. It only made sense that she would remember what color his notebooks were and without fail, they would always be black.

They head to the counter up front and Ochako doesn’t miss the lingering looks Mr. Fujioka’s granddaughter had been giving Bakugo as he placed their items on the counter top. She knew that Bakugo was objectively attractive, but this girl was practically devouring him with her eyes, something that the object of her attraction failed to see since he was focused only on the items being scanned one by one in front of him.

The braided girl’s hand accidentally brushes over Bakugo’s as he was bringing the last item over to the counter, “Oh, sorry.” She apologizes in a soft voice. Unfortunately for her, Bakugo didn’t seem to hear what she had said nor did he even notice her hand brushing over his.

A negative sensation floods her system. Something about this girl was getting to Ochako, and it was probably because of her shameless attempts to catch his attention, not to mention the non consensual touching she had covered up as a simple ‘accident’.

They pay for the books and supplies before exiting the store, the negative feeling in Ochako’s gut finally diffusing out of her system because of the gentle breeze that had greeted them outside. Maybe it was also due to the cramped space inside, she thinks to herself.

“Let’s head back.” Bakugo says, taking the plastic bag of supplies from her hands.

“I can’t wait to see the look on your face when I prove you wrong.” She grins to herself, rubbing both of her palms together.

“You fucking wish.” Bakugo scoffs, rolling his eyes.

Ochako was about to start walking away from the store when a thought hits her like a bullet train running at 200 miles per hour, “The marker!” She exclaims, looking back at the bookshop.

“Ah, fuck.” Bakugo curses under his breath.

“I’ll be back!” She calls out to him as she runs back inside the store, racing towards the small rack of supplies at the back to grab the first marker she lays eyes on. Ochako rushes to the counter, but finds no one there. She leaned over to check if the braided girl had somehow hidden underneath the countertop, but she was still nowhere to be found.

She rushes outside to see Mr. Fujioka’s granddaughter talking to Bakugo just across the shop from where Ochako had left him. His back was to her, but she could clearly see the smile stretched on the braided girl’s face as she beamed at him.

Ochako's first instinct was to get away from there as far as she can, her second instinct telling her that she was thirsty. ‘Yeah, she needed to find a drink’, she thinks to herself and that was exactly where her feet had taken her. She kept walking and rounding every corner she came across until she found a group of vending machines situated next to an electric post.

She walks towards them, leaning her back against the one on the right. She looks down at her hand and sees the marker she had grabbed, the same marker she absolutely did not pay for.

Crap.

What was she even doing? Wandering off on her own to god knows where just to find something to drink and now look at how well that went for her. Now, she’s lost and not only that, but she technically had a stolen marker under her name now.

She pushes herself off the vending machine and sighs before reaching for her wallet. Might as well do what I came here for.

Before she could even fish out enough change from her wallet, Ochako felt a buzz in her uniform’s pocket, only to see Bakugo’s name flash on the screen.

“Where the hell are you?” He immediately barks in her ear as soon as she had accepted the call.

Ochako looks around the vicinity, hoping for some kind of street post that would tell her where she was, but there were none, “I, um, don’t know.” She replies.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” He snaps as soon as she finishes her sentence, “Where the hell did you go?”

“I got thirsty and tried looking for something to drink.” She glances over at the vending machines near her. That could be a landmark, “There’s vending machines where I am.”

“God fucking dammit, Cheeks.” She hears him curse on the other end of the line along with the sound of wind rushing past. Was he running? “How many vending machines and what color?” He presses on.

“Three red ones.” She answers, making sure to check again just to be sure.

“You're not far off,” Ochako hears another string of profanities on the other side of the call paired with alternating thuds of his sprinting footsteps, “Stay where you are. I'll go to you.”

“I’m sorry--”

“Apologize later, I’m almost there.”

“Okay.” She replies softly. There were honestly no more words left in her head to describe how stupid she felt at that moment. Wandering off on her own to find some stupid vending machine with some stupid drink thinking about that stupid girl with the stupid braids.

“Found you.”

She looks over to her right and sees Bakugo coming to a stop beside an electrical post several feet away from where she was standing with his phone brought up to one ear.

“Yeah.” She breathes out, holding the phone on her hand tighter.

“Now get off the fucking phone and get over here.” He barks, making her almost drop her phone.

Ochako rushes over to him, already prepared for the ear splitting lecture she was about to receive. One of the first things she noticed was the thin, sheen of sweat covering his face, making strands of his hair stick to his skin, the other was the sound of his breaths, heavy and labored.

“Remind me again why you wandered off without telling me?” He breathes out, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“You were talking to Mr. Fujioka’s granddaughter and I didn’t want to interrupt--”

He frowns and turns away from her, walking towards the direction of where he had come from, “You clearly don’t know your way around here and then you go off on your own as if you fucking do.” He spits out. The harshness of his words reached her even if she was a good few feet behind him.

“You said it yourself that you haven’t been here before and yet here you are getting yourself lost because of some stupid--”

“It was a stupid thing to do, okay?” She calls out to him, “I’m sorry.”

Bakugo keeps on walking at his own quickened pace, but after a while, his hands find both sides of his face, dragging them downwards accompanied by an exasperated groan. Ochako notices his footsteps slow down to match hers so that they were once again walking side by side.

He turns to her, “Did you atleast get the damn marker.”

“About that,” Ochako starts, “I may or may not have accidentally shoplifted it.” She lifts the unpaid marker up for him to see.

“You what?” He asks in disbelief.

“I promise I didn’t mean to, let’s just go back and I’ll apologize and pay for it--”

“We’re not going back there.” Bakugo interjects as they rounded a corner, ultimately walking past the bookshop.

“Why not?” She asks him, a little winded because of the brisk walking she was doing due to all the twists and turns they were taking as the laundromats and convenience stores around them turned back into electrical posts and residential houses.

“I don’t want to get ambushed by that gremlin again.” He huffs out.

“But how am I supposed to pay for this?” She waves the technically stolen marker up in the air once more as they walk back to the uphill trail headed to UA.

“I’ll figure something out.” He says, taking the maker from her and placing it inside the plastic bag along with the rest of their stuff. She turns to him, still a bit puzzled by how much Bakugo wanted to avoid that place because of Mr. Fujioka’s granddaughter

“What happened?” Ochako asks, “You and Mr. Fujioka’s granddaughter?” It must have been really bad if it made Bakugo want to steer clear of that bookshop.

“She said that she had some kind of message from her grandfather, but turns out the crazy witch just wanted my number in the fucking end.” He explains, kicking a stray pebble to the side of the dirt trail.

“Ah.” A part of her had already expected that answer from him, considering the way that braided girl had been undressing him with her eyes the entire time they were paying for their items a while ago. Another part of her was relieved that Bakugo had reacted the way he did with Mr. Fujioka’s granddaughter, not because she was jealous or anything, no, but it was simply because she wouldn’t be good for him to begin with and Bakugo was clearly not interested.

Before her thoughts could have any more chances to delve into matters such as Bakugo and jealousy, Ochako feels a buzz in her coat pocket.

“Mom?” She says as soon as her phone meets her ear. She sees Bakugo stop walking as he shoots her a look that asked, ‘Let’s stop?’ , but Ochako shakes her head and carries on in response, it would be better if they returned to UA faster.

“Honey!” Ochako hears her mom exclaim, “I hope I didn't catch you at a bad time.”

“No, no, you’re fine, mom.” She quickly replies. Her mom couldn’t have chosen a better time to call since the thoughts in her head had been needing a push towards a different direction, “What's up?”

“Well, you know how particularly chatty your father gets whenever we visit.” Her mother starts. Ochako could already hear the fond smile in her voice, “He couldn't stop talking about you, honey, and we both just ended up missing you more.”

“Oh, Mom.” She croaked, “I miss you too, both of you.”

Ochako’s classmates would normally visit home during the weekends, some even having the luxury of going home to visit their families after classes, but she only gets to see hers on Sundays, but even those sundays weren’t always free for her to use on family time since sometimes she needed it to study the lessons and finish the homework she had missed out on because of her job.

“Your father and I just wanted to know how you were doing, Ochako.”

“Everything's okay, mom.” She reassures her, “I’m okay.”

“Have you been eating well?” Her mother asks with a considerable amount of worry coating her voice. Ochako almost laughs at this, her mom has never failed to ask her about how well she’s eating in every conversation they have. She’s too worrisome for her own good, but then again, she was a mother.

“Yes, mom. I’m eating perfectly well.” Ochako chuckles.

“Are you sure?” Her mom adds, “You don’t miss my cooking at all?”

“Mom!” She laughs, “Of course I do, I miss it everyday.” Ochako hears her mother laugh on the other side of the line. There was no lie there, one of the many things she missed about home was the dishes her mother used to prepare for her and her father everyday. Nothing could ever replace that.

“How’s dad doing?” She asks, the cheerfulness in her voice decreasing at the thought of her father in a hospital.

“Here, why don’t you ask him yourself.”

She hears some distant shuffling in the background as her mother transfers the phone to her dad. Ochako’s heart almost beats out of her chest in anticipation.

“Dumpling! I missed you!” She hears her dad cheer. If Bakugo weren’t around, Ochako would have already burst into tears at the sound of her father's voice. As sappy as it may sound, she was getting desperate to hear it after all the stress the past weeks have been bringing down upon her. If only she was there to see the smile on his face as he greeted her by her favorite nickname.

“I miss you too, dad.” She smiles, “How’ve you been?”

“Bored.” Her father says flatly, “The nurses here have no sense of humor.”

“Don’t worry,” Ochako laughs, “Mom’s there to laugh at all your jokes.”

“She’s no fun.” She hears him pout, “Your mother makes better ones.”

Ochako’s chuckles and smiles so hard she feels her cheeks begin to cramp. She missed her dad’s jokes. It was another kind of joy to hear them and it had been a while since she last did.

“Oh! Before I forget to mention it.” She adds, “I bought something for you.”

“Oh?”

“The Forbidden Kiss by Yui Himari.” She recalls the book that Bakugo had picked out for her. It was the perfect novel for her father to read because if he loved anything more than he loved romances, it would be forbidden romances.

“I’ve heard good things about that one!” He says, brimming with enthusiasm, “I gotta give it to you, dumpling, you got good taste in books.”

“Yep.” Ochako glances at the blond walking beside her only to see that he was already looking at her, “I do have pretty good taste in books.” She smiles at him.

‘Damn right, I do.’ He mouths.

“Is there a sequel?” Her father asks, “I gotta know in case there’s a cliffhanger.”

“Is there a sequel?” She repeats, looking up at Bakugo once again in hopes of getting an answer from him. He holds up three fingers and mouths, ‘Trilogy’.

“It’s a trilogy actually,” She replies, “So you don’t have to worry about getting cliffhangered.”

“That’s good.” He laughs, “Visit soon, okay, dumpling?”

Ochako feels a tight squeeze in her heart, homesickness flooding her veins once more, “I will, dad. I promise.”

“Now, shoo. I have a wife I need to annoy.” He teases with mock annoyance.

“Bye, dad.” She smiles before her father ends the call.

“When are you gonna give it to him?” Bakugo asks as they walk past the UA Arch at the back of their campus. They were finally back.

“Thankfully, I’m free this Sunday, so I’ll be spending the entire day there.” Ochako claps her hands together, the smile on her face still unwavering. That phone call really did the trick, she feels as if she could take on another month no matter how stressful it may be. Honestly speaking, she thinks she could take on anything.

“Training with Gunhead and keeping up with school fucks everything up for you, doesn’t it?” Bakugo asks as they begin to climb the first flight of stairs.

“Yep.” She agrees.

“You can do it.” He says, stopping in the middle of the second set of stairs. She pauses as well, looking up at him to see that unreadable expression back on his face once again, “That shit’s child’s play for you, round face.”

Ochako smiles at him before speeding past him, “Easy peasy, Lemon squeezy.”

“And another thing,” Bakugo adds, “You’re a little miss hotshot all of a sudden, aren’t you?”

“Hotshot?” She calls out to him. Ochako doesn’t remember doing anything that would merit a nickname like that. Round Face, Cheeks, and Weirdo, she understood, but Little Miss Hotshot?

“Getting the best grade in Midnight’s essay, answering all of Mic’s questions in straight english, beating ponytail’s ass to all of Ectoplasm’s practice problems?” He enumerates as they stand in front of the classroom’s entrance, “Ring a bell?”

Ochako was stunned by the fact that he even remembered all of those things when she herself had forgotten about it. It had been more than a month of her being tutored by Bakugo and she hadn’t even noticed how much she had been improving over the weeks. Turns out she was improving a lot.

“I couldn’t have done it without you, though.” She turns to him, a warm smile stretching over her face before opening the door and stepping inside. It was true. She wouldn’t have gotten this far if not for his help, no matter how much they may argue and bicker during their sessions, she will never deny the fact that she was learning from him.

“Go on, hotshot.” He says before handing her the marker, “Prove me wrong.”

---

“And that’s why I used the second formula to solve it.” She underlines the first part of her work before facing her one-man audience sitting at the far end of the classroom with his feet resting on top of the chair in front of him.

“Why not the first one?” He challenges.

“That’s where you’re wrong.” She starts, “See this? What number is this?” Ochako encircles a part of the given problem.

“I’m not blind, round face.” He says flatly.

“Just answer the damn question, Bakugo.” She snaps. She was this close to proving him wrong, she’d like it if he wouldn’t throw anymore snarky comments that would only prolong the grand finale.

“Three.” He drones impatiently.

“You only use the first formula for even limits and the second for odd ones.” Ochako explains, “Since when was three an even number?”

Bakugo’s eyebrows furrow at the sudden revelation of his mistake, but after a few seconds, he scoffs and rolls his eyes at her, “It’s not.”

“Then I rest my case.” She gloats, taking a seat at one of the desks at the front. Ochako knew for damn sure that she was right all along. All she needed was a chance to prove it and for Bakugo to listen and cooperate.

“Happy with yourself, Cheeks?” He asks sarcastically.

“Oh, you know it.” Ochako smiles to herself. She glances at the timer on her phone and to make matters even better, they had finished their session earlier than usual.

“By the way,” She turns to him and holds up the marker she had just used, “How am I going to pay for this again?”

Bakugo holds his hand up in the air and she tosses it to him, “I’ll text the old man and pay for it the next time I stop by Kinoku.” He says, catching it just in time before it hit the ground. Ochako notices the slight movement in his chair as he caught the marker, if he had leaned back a little further, he could have fallen.

“You know, if you keep tipping your chair back like that, you’re going to end up falling.” She warns him.

“Just because you got a math problem right, doesn’t mean you get to tell me what to-- Shit!”

Ochako’s prediction comes true, Bakugo’s chair slips and tumbles to the ground, bringing him along with it. She didn’t mean to laugh, but the look on Bakugo’s face when the chair fell over was just too priceless for her not to.

“I told you so.” She chortles in between laughs.

She doesn’t hear anything from Bakugo after her laughter had died down, nor did she see him try standing back up. From where she was sitting, she could see part of his legs flat on the floor, unmoving.

“Bakugo?” She lifts herself up from her seat and walks over to the back of the classroom. Her heart pounded with worry in each step she took towards the farthest chair in the back. Did he hurt himself? Oh, god, what if he hit his head?

Ochako reaches Bakugo’s seat, but she didn’t even have enough seconds to react to the leg that swiftly swipes across her feet.

“That’s what you get for laughin-- Fuck!”

Bakugo's sentence was cut short by her body crash landing on his. Bakugo's hands instinctively reach for her waist in an attempt to catch her while Ochako's arms quickly fly in front of her to prevent both their heads from colliding.

Bakugo's little revenge plan may have intended for her her to fall flat on the floor like he did, but it only led to the unfavorable position of Ochako being pressed on top of Bakugo, both their legs slightly tangled in one another as the strands of hair that hung from her head brush against the stunned expression on Bakugo's face.

None of them dared to move an inch, with both their eyes locking onto each other, wide with surprise as the steady rhythm of their breaths filled the empty, unsure silence that settled in the room. Her heart raced a thousand miles per minute upon the delayed realization of how close their faces were, not to mention the grip Bakugo still had on her sides that only grew tighter with each passing moment.

Don’t look at his lips. Don't look at his lips. Don't look at his lips. The desperate mantra in her head repeated over and over, making sure her eyes never left his.

Don't look at his lips.

It might just be a trick of the light, but to her surprise, Bakugo looks down at hers.

The resounding ring of the alarm on her phone suddenly fills the air and they immediately scramble off of each other in lightning speed. Bakugo hurriedly collects his bag from the floor and rushes out of the room while Ochako hastily grabs her things from her seat.

She looks back at the door and sees it turn upside down. Ochako feels the two pieces of hair that framed her face fall in front of her as she realizes that her feet were no longer on the ground.

She was floating.

13 notes · View notes

zoffra · 4 years

Text

The Achilles' heel

Kortopi ran almost two kilometers, passing passers-by with ease without even grazing them and jumping against the facades of the building bars.

He arrived at the appointment ten minutes ahead of schedule. He didn't have time to catch his breath when he heard a voice behind him.

'You'll follow me without question. Nod gently if you agree.'

Kortopi slowly moved his head up and down, then froze instantly when he felt the cold barrel of a revolver press against his neck. He swallowed his saliva with difficulty. He was still a child, but in delicate situations, his analytical mind was as good as any of the other members. He was very lucid about the strength and intentions of his opponents.

He's serious, he'll kill me if I try anything

Something disturbed Kortopi's already chaotic thoughts, even more than the threat of being shot in the head.

Wedy wasn't there.

He couldn't make out his face because of his motorcycle helmet, but from his voice, the child deduced that his attacker was a young man under thirty.

They walked for another twenty minutes or so, and then stopped in front of a large motorcycle of a Japanese mark.

.....

The ride had been going on for over an hour by the time they got off the highway. Kortopi was handcuffed like a leg of lamb, but deep down he seemed to enjoy the moment.

The landscape was passing before his eyes like a fast-moving movie and was quite different from the panorama of Meteor city. Fields of wheat, poppies, and blueberries were gradually replacing the concrete towers and skyscrapers of the suburbs. They arrived in the countryside when a gentle autumn rain began to fall, wetting Kortopi's long hair sticking out of his motorcycle helmet.

.....

'Come down.' The young man took off his helmet and his long golden blond hair fell to his shoulders. Korutopi repressed a shiver when he saw his face, marked by a huge burn that extended from his jaw to between his nose and his left eye.

The child hastily looked away when he noticed a silhouette that looked familiar, moving towards them.

'Wedy, next time it's you who's going to do it. I'm not your delivery boy.'

'Lay down, Mello.' She's crouching down in front of Kortopi, taking off her handcuffs, 'Didn't my partner put you through too much misery?'

.....

They took a dirt path lined with pine and cherry blossoms. After walking for several minutes, they came to a small paved courtyard with an extraordinarily carved walnut wood porch.

Kortopi opened his mouth in surprise when they entered the building.

The dilapidated barn as seen from the outside was in fact be converted into a loft in a rustic, uncluttered style. The hall was so large that their footsteps resounded like an echo. The old oak parquet flooring was covered with a brightly colored graphic carpet, and long duck blue velvet curtains draped over the bay windows.

'Matt!' Mello roared from the lobby, and then came down the stairs that seemed to lead to a basement. Within seconds, the man known as Matt came down the central staircase. He was wearing a long-sleeved top with red and black stripes and jeans tucked into his brown boots. The smoky lenses of his glasses were not perceptible to his eyes.

When he reached Kortopi, the young man took off his black gloves and replaced them with surgical gloves, 'Spread your arms and legs.'

A terrible feeling of fear and humiliation overcame Kortopi, sensing the hands of a stranger performing a thorough body search.

'We've to make sure you don't have a wire. Take a deep breath.' Wedy, with his back to him, said this in a strangely compassionate way.

'Nothing to report.'

When the search was over, Wedy led Kortopi to the door Mello had used earlier, 'Time for introductions. Ready to meet the boss?'

.....

Kortopi shivered, his footsteps getting heavier and heavier as he sank into the basement next to Matt and Wedy. They walked down a long corridor, the atmosphere was nothing like the warmth of the ground floor. The neon lights were sizzling, emitting a whitish light reminiscent of hospitals, the walls were rough concrete and a slight smell of dampness pervaded the place.

They reached a large steel armored door that even Phinks would have had a hard time breaking through, and then Wedy knocked.

One knock. Three knocks. One knock.

And the door opened.

Questions raced through Kortopi's foggy mind. He wondered what the leader of these treasure seekers might look like, and felt a sense of excitement in spite of himself.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mello slumped on a worn-out leather armchair, devouring a bar of chocolate. He wouldn't have seen him if his big eye hadn't been so sharp. The room was plunged into darkness, and the only source of light came from the back of the room, emitted by a gigantic wall of surveillance screens. About fifty monitors were showing scenes of people's daily lives in public places, bars, but also in private homes and apartments.

Kortopi squinted at the light from the screens that hurt him, looking for one that would confirm his theory.

'Ninth column, third row.'

Kortopi turned to the raised voice and noticed a young man from behind with a famished appearance, strangely seated on his chair in a squatting position. The young man turned towards the child, his black half-long hair sweeping across his pale face and his bangs falling over his large black eyes.

When his eyes landed on the viewer, Kortopi's heart missed a beat. And for good reason, two groups of people who were not supposed to meet at all were on the same screen.

Phinks, Feitan, and Nobunaga had displayed their powerful and threatening aura, facing the magician and the puppeteer.

All this could have been avoided if a certain person had not been clumsy.

A few hours earlier, Machi had planned to order a cake for Nobunaga's birthday. She already knew what she wanted, it had been several weeks since she had imagined the piece, working meticulously on the details. She wanted it to be coated with mascarpone, nougatine pearls with a speculoos pastry, the top covered with a thirteen-legged spider in fleur de sel, then thirty candles would cover the whole thing.

The vibrator of her mobile phone brought her out of her daydream and her sweet smile faded completely when she read the contents.

They're drunk. Your turn. Good luck ^o^'

Machi huffed and puffed, and furiously put away her phone, cursing the manipulator, when she saw Shizuku in the elevator. She hesitated for a short moment, but as time was running out, she reluctantly asked her to order the cake.

.....

The troupe had enjoyed an excellent meal at the hotel restaurant when the waiter finally brought dessert.

Machi almost choked on his drink.

Instead of the cake she had imagined, there was a banana cake with two large, shapeless candles on top, almost burnt.

'This is not what I asked for.' Machi grabbed the waiter with such force that she almost broke his arm.

'Machi! Sorry, I couldn't remember which cake you wanted, so I chose Topi's favorite! I wanted to at least please the little one,' the little black-haired girl replied nonchalantly.

Machi loosened her grip and her icy look slipped towards poor Shizuku.

'Machi.'

Deep down, the ice queen knew that Shizuku wasn't responsible for her memory loss but she couldn't help it, she was angry.

Since Uvoguine's death, Machi felt helpless in the face of Nobunaga's plight, which she saw withering away. His suffering, his loneliness, his pain was bursting in ambiance, and she had the unpleasant feeling that she was the only one who understood the evidence.

She resented the spiders for that too. Against Shizuku, who hadn't managed to memorize a simple cake model. Against Feitan and Phinks, if those morons hadn't swallowed the equivalent of their weight in beer at four o'clock in the afternoon, she would have had time to order it herself. But more than anything else, she was angry with herself.

'Machi.'

When the brigade was still on York-Shin, no one knew that she spent three nights in the Goldo desert looking for Uvoguine's body, tracing tiny spikes of Nen that would have survived.

Eventually, she found him. The smell was nauseating, but it didn't matter. She cleaned his body with a damp glove, repaired his bruised limbs, and closed his eyes. Not wanting his friend to rest where the chain user had decided, she dug another grave. Then she adorned it with three flat stones intertwined with her Nen wire. This is what Nobunaga would have wanted.

'MACHI!'

Nobunaga's loud voice finally got her out of her head.

When she turned her head towards him, she was surprised to see that he was smiling at her. It was a real smile, one that came from the heart and made his dimples appear, right at the corner of her thin lips.

Nobunaga put his big hand on the pink-haired young woman's shoulder and gently pulled her against him, whispering in the crook of her ear, 'You've always been there, haven't you?

..........

As the situation seemed to calm down, no one noticed the little drops of sweat dripping from Illumi's forehead, still dressed in Kortopi. And for good reason, if the assassin was trained in all kinds of torture, poisons, and other joyous things, he had a ridiculous Achilles' heel.

The banana.

Illumi was mortally allergic to it. His parents - caring people - tried to make it ineffective on the puppeteer's body, through all kinds of treatments and force-feeding, but nothing ever worked.

Seeing the disaster coming and the spiders getting drunk as pigs, Illumi thought that he would have no better opportunity to escape than this one.

'Grow up, Topi!' The puppeteer didn't have time to push back the generous spoon served by Feitan that the piece of cake was already in the back of his mouth, knowing that the delicacy of a drunken Feitan is worth twice that of a sober Uvoguine.

And it happened.

Illumi took five steps before he regained his appearance. His head swelled like a watermelon making his large eyes look abnormally small, his usually slender fingers had become all puffy, and his slender silhouette settled as if his whole body was retaining water. He didn't die after all. But Illumi wondered if he might not have preferred it when he heard a hyena laughing from behind a column.

'I thought your transformations could last five hours ♥'

#hxh #phantom troupe #geneiryodan #kortopi #illumi #hisoka #phinks #feitan #nobunaga hazama #machi #shizuku murasaki #shalnark #death note #mello

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katsukikitten · 5 years

Text

Hot Sauce

The bell over head chimes once then twice as you and Kirishima enter behind a determined ash blonde.

The shop is small and filled with all sorts of spices from mild to tear inducing hot. You grimace slightly apprehensive as you stand hesitant in the door way.

"Why the fuck am I here?" You grumble as Kirishima's sharp tooth laugh echoes behind you.

"Because you must want to impress him." He smirks, ruby red eyes fixated on Bakugou's strong back as he stalks down the aisles. You nudge him hard in the ribs and a small oof escapes his lips followed by another untamed chuckled.

You let your eyes wander the shop as your feet guide you to your other bestfriend. You spy peppers from all over the world dried or advertised on bottles. Jalepeno, Bird's eye, Indian Tezpur, ghost pepper and even the Carolina reaper. Their levels of heat indicated by fire embloms or skulls.

All with different types of hot from immediate reaction to the slow burn that is surprisingly good until the whole back of your throat is burning.

Your eyes water just from the smell of some of the oil extract and dried peppers but you push on, running into the toned back of Katsuki.

"Ah sorry." You blush, *tsk* is his only reply as he spies what he wants around the corner.

You give yourself a moment as you damn your body for reacting this way.

Why was your heart racing over acxidnetly touching him? Weren't you straddling him in training just last week?

But no Eji just had to make a comment last weekend.

You and Eji were cuddled on the couch, your cheek resting on his chest, hips tucked as he flipped through the channels.

But it's not like that, you two had always been oddly close to each other and hell, you even tried dating but there was no chemistry between you two.

It was strictly platonic and it baffled you both considering you did such couple things with one another so every now and again you would test your platonic relationship with a kiss.

Just to be sure nether of you were dense and well someone was home when he shouldn't have been the time you tried to test it.

"Eji-kun." You look up at him and try. You try to imagine that electrifying calm that you've read about that seems to never go away no matter how long you stare at them or feel the butterflies that swarm in your stomach but you feel....nothing.

Just his warmth and that you were thankful that he was your friend. So thankful that he let you try to figure out if there was anything for you two depsite him feeling nothing like that as well.

"Can we?" You ask and he gives you a sharp toothed grin.

"I'm staring to think *you* do feel some type of way." When he sees your cool expression and no blush dancing on your cheeks like it has when a certain someone uses his flirty tone with you his smile grows wider, "Guess it has been awhile."

It wasnt that you weren't attractive and it wasnt that Kirishima wasnt attractive it was just when he leaned his head towards yours and you pressed your lips to him no fireworks exploded behind your eyes.

It was more of like kissing a pet on their forehead than anything else. When the two of you pull away you both stare at one another with a slightly awkward almost cringing smile.

"Oi!" You jump ten feet in the air from the sound of a gruff voice behind you. You spy a snarling Katsuki and your palms sweet.

"You two dating now?" He cocks his head towards Kirishima while his crimson eyes are glued to you.

"Ahh..we..." You stammer, one of the few times in your life.

"Nah, we just test the waters now and again." Kiri offers the truth to which your face burns.

From embarrassment or rage you do not know.

"Good cause you both look like you just kissed dog shit." He bites darkly before laughing, "Though I'm sure its Eijirou who's the bad kisser."

The blonde stalks away and Eji has a huge grin on his face. He leans towards you whispering haunty in your ear.

"Oh he must liiiiiike you."

And here you are now standing in a spicy pepper shop all from some bullshit claim that Kiri isn't even sure of himself.

You sigh finally collecting yourself and trying not to stare through the bottles to the sharp blood red orbs that search deftly.

Kiri stands behind you, hands in his black jeans with a mean smirk on his face.

"Dare you to try this hot sauce, Y/N." He says picking up a test bottle with two flames and a skull, waving it in your face.

"No, too hot." Katsuki says flatly still looking for whatever spice brought him here today.

"Go to hell." You snarl softly to Eiji who chuckles, looming behind you much too closely while Katsu is watching. He leans to your ear and you barely hear him say

"Its either that or kiss Bakugou to test your feelings." He emphasizes the syllables in Katsuki's name and you glare at him harshly.

"Give me the fucking hot sauce." The red head is beyond giddy, delighted even in what may or may not be your down fall.

You had no tolerance for heat, in fact you called green bell peppers "spicy" but drinking a fourth of this hot sauce had to be far better than embarrassing yourself by kissing the ever so strick on any type of emotion Bakugou Katsuki.

You unscrew the cap with shaking but determined fingers, it was *only* two flames and *one* skull, honestly how bad could it be.

"I'll pour for you." Kiri laughs glancing towards Bakugou to see if he's watching.

Oh is he watching as you huff but close your eyes obediently for the red head.

You hardly ever listen to him when he commands you in training but here you are standing before a guy you had to "test the waters" with not even questioning his obviously dark motives.

You hold open your mouth and your tongue in this certain suggestive way that has Bakugou gripping his forearm tightly to keep from imagining anything more especially when the dark red sauce hits your tongue in spurts.

He growls, hating to see you like this for Kirishima when it should be for him. He turns his back on you both with a scowl to finish grabbing the ingredients for his famous spicy ramen.

The second the sauce hits your tongue you pull it in, cheeks reddening deeper than Eji's eyes that are lined with mischief. You begin to sweat, whine softly even as you grip onto the wooden shelve that groans from your strength. You'll be dammed if three drops of hot sauce has you on the floor.

But Kiri knew what he was looking at considering how many times he's been here with his equally as spicy friend and he picked an instant heat that turns into a slow burn.

Once it hits the back of your throat you fall to your knees, suppressing your coughing as plump tears push past your closed lashes, streaking your sun kissed cheeks.

You let go a slow breath that feels as if you're exhaling fire, sweat accumulating on your brow and hell even your upper lip.

"Ki...Kiri please...." Your voice is all whine as he looks down at you.

This was it, this is how you go huh?

In the middle of an old mom and pop shop in a forgotten traditional district with your maybe not fucking maybe crush standing in the other aisle while your supposed best friend caused and encouraged your pain.

You lived a good life you guess.

That is until Bakugou rounds the corner to see you on your hands and knees moments away from rolling on the weathered wood floor. As if the old elementary saying of stop drop and roll could put out a spice fire.

"Kirishima." His voice comes out so dark you almost forget how fuck all hot your tongue is as your gut clenches. Kiri winces in pain as Bakugou holds his bicep in a vice grip, "Out."

Kiri shuffles past you rubbing at his arm, the bell above the door chimes.

Bakugou pokes his tongue in his lower lip as he looks you over for a moment.

You were wearing a pink crop top that said Kitten in back bleeding letters across the front (he knew that was your favorite top, it was secretly his too) and a very rare black skirt that you wore on your natural waist.

When he catches site of your laced black underwear he blushes, growling as he yanks you to your feet.

"I said it was too hot for you, dumbass." He snarls, voice tight while his hands feather over your skirt to wipe away the dust, "And if you wanted to show Kirishima your laced underwear you could have stayed home."

"Wha..what?" Your face flushed further even with the linger spice, "I...I"

The bell chimes over head and a few other people wander the aisles around you but avoid the ones directly beside you. Katsuki is not done yet and pullss you to him, firmly swiping his hand over your ass to make sure your skirt is down before it finds your ribs squeezing tightly as his lips are pressed to your ear.

"You what? You ignored *me* and obeyed *him*. Opened your mouth wide so he couldn't miss." He growls in your ear, "Then you get on your hands and knees in front of him."

He sucks his teeth but continues, angry.

"If I hadn't watched and known the liquid hitting your tongue was hot sauce I would have thought you were begging him for something else especially with your frustrated tears and blush." His tone darkens and yet your core ignites from his closeness, his scent, his skin and voice. Your breathing hitches as he sends it home, one hand moving to your hip to pull you closer the other moving to the nape of your neck pulling the hair there to tilt your ear towards him better and you let out a small whimper.

"When you should be on your knees begging *me* for relief." He notices the flush that goes down your throat, eyes lingering to your shirt with a devilish smile as he pulls your hair a bit harder. "Isn't that right, kitten?"

@koala-soap I hope this is kinda what you wanted. I wanted to make this cute and that was my intention but then the story wrote itself like this 😅😓😫

#bakugou x fem reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou x reader #bnha bakugou #bnha au #bnha katsuki #bnha kacchan #bnha #bnha imagine #bnha imagines #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader

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johaerys-writes · 4 years

Text

Witcher AU: Viper In Tall Grass

Chapter (2/3): Silver Is For Monsters

Summary: Tristan of Toussaint is a witcher, his life dedicated to following the Path of the Viper. It is curiosity more than anything that leads him to Emperor Emhyr var Emreis's court. That is where he meets Dorian Pavus, lead sorcerer and advisor to the crown of Nilfgaard, and his life as he knows it changes for good.

They say that destiny is inexorable. Tristan is starting to see the wisdom in that saying.

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

This is the second part of the prequel fic I’ve written for the as-yet-untitled Witcher AU my beloved friendo @solas-disapproves and I have been working on! I hope you enjoy :)

Read here or on AO3!

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

The acrid smell of drowner blood and the stale, murky waters of Crookback bog reached Tristan’s nostrils several hours before the low reaching branches of the marsh trees rolled into view. The ground had already started becoming slippery a good way back, after they had left Downwarren, the only village in that area whose occupants still dared to live that close to the bog. Brave bastards. Or foolish. Perhaps both.

Tristan steered Almond around a wide dip along the half-abandoned dirt road that led to the swamps, his senses perked up for any possible threat. Animal sounds had started to become scarcer the deeper the rode in, settlements and signs of human activity even more so. Tristan couldn’t blame them - the bog was said to be haunted, cursed, home only to witches, ghosts and monsters. He himself had killed a fair amount of them, but even he was always reluctant to stray too far, lest he never made it out again. Crookbag bog was treacherous, and its inhabitants even more so.

Even Pavus had stopped his merry chatting a while before, keeping to himself most of the time. It felt odd to Tristan that he was so quiet. The hours rolled on far more slowly than before, his nerves stretching thinner and thinner the more the light was obscured by the dense foliage and the shadows grew longer with the setting sun. It was with more than a hint of reluctance that he admitted to himself that perhaps he did, in fact, appreciate the mage’s teasing jokes, even though he rarely, if ever, responded to them.

Perhaps he had grown sentimental, after all.

It took half a day of riding before Tristan started noticing deep and heavy hoofprints that looked nothing like deer or fox or wolf prints. Few foxes or wolves would linger in these parts, and certainly no deer. When they passed through a small clearing and Tristan saw a tree deeply scratched by something that looked like stag antlers, only twice as tall and perhaps three times as thick, he pulled Almond’s reins and dismounted.

“The Fiend’s lair must be close,” he grunted, more so to himself than to the mage.

Pavus shifted on his saddle, his eyes following him intently. “How do you know?”

Tristan’s fingers skimmed the deep, ragged scars on the tree trunk. “It’s a young male, probably, judging by the smell,” he said. Relatively young, at least. Fiends could live for hundreds of years. “Its antlers are sharp. Fiends only scratch their antlers when they feel safe, and nothing speaks safety more clearly than a lair.” He looked around him, lifting his head to sniff the air. An intense smell of pheromones and relict glands reached him. He scrunched his nose, frowning. “That way,” he said pointing to the east. He returned to his horse, pulling her reins towards the west.

“Aren’t we going that way?” Pavus asked, lifting his brows, nodding towards the east.

Tristan scoffed. “We would be, if we were suicidal. Have you never heard that a witcher’s preparation takes time?”

“Ah, yes. I was wondering when you would start sacrificing roosters and praying to… which god do you witchers pray to, again?”

“None,” Tristan replied gruffly. “But if you do believe in one, you should pray to them tonight. Tomorrow we attack, and we’ll need all the help we can get.”

Wind and Fire, Water and Earth. Four elements, bound as one. Order and Chaos, Life and Death, each one a side of the viper’s forked tongue. When the winds are low, when the night is dark, beware the venom of the viper’s fang.

Tristan ran the chant over and over in his mind, going through each step as he sank into a deeper and deeper meditation. It was among the first things he had been trained to do, even before taking up a sword. He was barely ten years old, fresh from the ritual, when he’d been left in a cell at the top of the highest tower in Gorthur Gvaed, the Viper School’s donjon in the deep chasms of the Tir Tochair mountains. He had stayed there for days, weeks, until his mind was empty of all thoughts and all that was left was focus. Pure focus. The strength of the witcher, and the source of his power.

Skill at arms makes you a fighter, Heir would always say. Focus is what makes you a witcher. Sometimes it was like he could still see her from the corner of his eye, leaning against a wall and twirling a dagger between her fingers as she watched him train. He hadn’t seen her in years. He idly wondered how she was.

Tristan opened his eyes slowly, the faint light around him shining just that tiny bit more brightly than before he entered his meditation. Pavus hadn’t woken up yet, even though it was almost dawn, a stark line of grey peeking over the eastern mountains in the distance. Tristan approached their camp slowly, careful not to wake him. His features were soft, lids moving gently as he dreamt, his blanket rising and falling with his breaths. He looked so peaceful, so serene in his sleep. Without his clever quips and witty comebacks, or the wide teasing smile he usually wore like a suit of armour, he seemed… delicate. Tangible. Beautiful and vulnerable, and so very achingly real. Tristan watched him in silence, transfixed, listening to the beating of his heart as the seconds languidly rolled on.

A breeze blew past them, ruffling Pavus’ dark hair, stirring Tristan out of his reverie. He knelt beside him, carefully lifting the thick woollen blanket until its hem rested under Pavus’ chin. The sun was steadily rising, its golden rays slithering through the gaps in the thick foliage overhead, yet the night chill still lingered in the air. It would be a good time to start their journey to the Fiend’s lair, he knew, yet Tristan couldn’t bear the thought of waking him. Time of day did not make much difference to Fiends, yet it did to humans. No one knew exactly what they would be facing, or whether they would be getting out whole. Better let the man get some rest, now that he could.

Tristan took a step back, his gaze lingering on Pavus’s sleeping form for a breath before turning away. He sat by the fire, stirring the glowing embers. The fire crackled, flames licking up at a half-burned log, hungrily seeking the fresh wood underneath the charred edges. Tristan watched quietly for a moment before fishing a small pot out of his bag, along with a bag of tough rolled oats. The least he could do while he waited for Pavus to wake up was to prepare a decent breakfast. They both needed the strength. Besides, a warm meal could do wonders for one’s mood before a battle. Tristan was never one to care too much about food, but Pavus had evidently grown up in luxury. Perhaps it would do him some good to eat something wholesome after all the hard travel bread and cheese they’d been having for days.

He was absently stirring the porridge in the pot when Pavus rose from his slumber. He pushed himself up with a groan, yawning and rubbing his eyes. “Good morning, my delightful travelling companion.”

“Morning.”

“It’s so early,” he moaned, stretching his limbs. “Practically still night.”

“It’s late,” Tristan said flatly, banging his small ladle against the rim of the pot. He kept his eyes on the porridge, avoiding the mage’s gaze.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Figured you needed the sleep.”

“Ah, yes,” Pavus said, tossing the covers off him. “Beauty sleep is just the thing one needs before taking on a legendary beast.”

The laces at the top of his shirt had come undone, a swath of bronze skin peeking through the fabric. Tristan swallowed thickly, tearing his gaze away to rummage through his bag for a bowl and a spoon. He gave a small start when he realised Pavus had come close, peering over his shoulder at the porridge simmering in the pot. His scent, that heady, spicy, intoxicating scent, flooded his senses, making it impossible to focus on anything else. Now that he was so close he could make out the distinct undertones of his cologne, lingering on his skin from the previous day, but there was something else, something that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Was it aniseed? Or caraway? Or maybe...

Tristan clenched his jaw, fighting the sudden, unbearable urge to lean closer and bury his nose in his neck, let that scent fill his lungs. He dropped a generous helping of the porridge into the bowl, unceremoniously handing it over to Pavus. The mage glanced quizzically at it, then at him, hesitating for a moment before accepting.

“You cooked for me?”

“For both of us,” Tristan corrected. “Thought we could have something heartier than stale bread and cheese for a change.” He stood up to remove the pot from the fire, sitting back down a good distance away. He idly stirred the porridge with the small ladle, letting it cool down for a bit before bringing a spoonful to his mouth.

“Do you not have a bowl?” Pavus asked him.

“I travel alone. Why would I need a second bowl?”

“Yes. Of course. Thank you for giving me your solitary bowl, then.” Pavus smiled at him from across the fire, sniffing the porridge before trying it. Then his long, aquiline nose wrinkled in a disgusted frown. "My, is this bland."

A spark of irritation flared in Tristan's chest. "Next time, you cook the damned porridge. We're on the road, not in a bloody palace."

"Just because we aren't in a palace doesn't mean we need to suffer," Pavus replied before procuring a small pouch from one of the many pockets of his coat. He sprinkled some on his porridge, then handed it over to him.

"What is it?" Tristan asked, reluctantly accepting.

"It's a very rare spice. I bought it from a merchant who had just returned from Zerrikania."

"Zerrikania? I thought no merchants went there."

"Not the merchants you're familiar with, evidently," Pavus replied with a sniff, stirring his porridge.

Tristan carefully, almost reverentially opened the pouch, glancing inside it. Whatever it was, if it had come from Zerrikania, it must have cost a fortune. He had heard countless tales of odd items from that faraway eastern land making their way to the west, yet he had never seen anything up close. He caught some of the spice with his finger, then dabbed it on his tongue. And quirked an eyebrow at the mage. "That's just sugar and cinnamon."

Pavus's full lips widened in a grin. "I had you fooled there for a minute, didn't I?"

Tristan shot him a disgruntled frown as he sprinkled some of the concoction into his pot. He was loathe to admit it, yet the porridge did taste a lot better with Pavus's addition. He grunted silently as he chewed, gazing at the leaves stirring with the wind above them. The swamp air was rank and rancid, yet there was still wind coming from somewhere. He could sense the faint smell of sea water, drifting with the breeze. Perhaps they were closer to the sea than he had thought. Or perhaps there was a salt water lake nearby, that he had failed to notice the last time he had been there. Or perhaps…

Idle thoughts and musings were somewhat successful in distracting him from the mage’s gaze, that seemed to fall on him more often than not. He prayed his cheeks would remain their normal colour when he heard Pavus clearing his throat.

“I can’t help but wonder.” Tristan raised his eyebrows inquisitively, and the mage continued. “You let me sleep in. You made breakfast. Why is that?”

Tristan shrugged. “No particular reason.”

“You don’t strike me as a man that does anything for no reason.” Sterling grey eyes fixed themselves intently on him, the golden flecks in them sparkling with the light of the fire. “I’m starting to think that our quest is more perilous than I initially thought.”

“Possibly. If either you or Emhyr knew exactly how dangerous a Fiend can be, you wouldn’t have hired just one witcher to kill it.” Tristan’s lips tightened in a line. “Fiends are deadly. You should prepare yourself for that possibility.”

Pavus stayed silent for a long moment, peering at the crackling flames. Then, he glanced at the bowl in his hands and scoffed. “If you think that a simple bowl of porridge is a fit preparation for possible death, you are thoroughly mistaken.” He set the bowl down, fished his flask of brandy out of his bag and leaned back on his arm, a smirk playing on his lips. “I believe this is as good a time as any for a story. Don’t you?” Tristan gaped at him, confused. He opened his mouth to refuse, when Pavus held up a finger. “Before you say no again, remember that this might be your last chance. If what you say is true, that Fiend might well get the better of me. Or you. Wouldn’t you want to at least have imparted one of your precious stories to a -very- willing ear?”

Tristan frowned at him. He was ready to retort, then noticed the edges of Pavus’ mouth twitching just a hair. It was only for a moment, a blink of an eye, but it was enough for Tristan to see the unease hiding under his smooth, glossy surface. The expectancy. The hope. He snapped his mouth shut, his frown deepening. What was it that Pavus wanted of him? Why were Tristan’s stories so important to him? Why… why did he want to get to know him?

He looked stubbornly away, past the line of trees that surrounded their small camp, keeping them safe from view. He thought he heard Pavus sighing softly, then stilling as Tristan's voice broke the silence. “There was a contract I took up once. In Redania." Pavus' eyes snapped to him. Tristan stirred the porridge in his pot, that was now starting to get sticky and thick, letting the silence stretch between them before he continued. "It was for an alpor. Do you know what that is?"

"I've heard stories," Pavus said slowly, carefully. "They’re said to prey on the blood of sleeping people and creatures. There are tales of them using their charm to seduce handsome young men."

Tristan scoffed. “Have you ever seen an alpor up close?” He shook his head. “No. They’re not seducing anyone. Don’t need to. They move so soundlessly, sometimes not even witchers can hear them. They inject their victims with the venom of their fangs, putting them to sleep while they suck their blood dry.” Tristan paused, gazing into the distance as he recounted his story. "I'd heard the rumours while riding through Blaviken. That alpor had been terrorizing the countryside for months. Animals, travellers, some farmhands working late in the fields. Even children, straight from their beds. I stopped by a village and the townsfolk begged me to kill her. The reward they offered me was twice as high the normal pay. Alpors are vicious. Often, one person isn't enough to take them down. I agreed to take up the contract if some men from the village agreed to come with me, work up a distraction while I attacked her. Four of them did. Young ones, their blood boiling for a fight." He took a bite of his porridge, chewing slowly, letting the silence stretch. "We set out that night. I'd fixed my armour, prepared my potions, my poisons, sharpened my blades. Alpors need patience to kill. They appear and disappear on their own terms. We camped out close to where I had found her lair to be to wait her out. The hours went on and on, yet still there was no sign of her. Some of the men got impatient."

"Impatient?" Pavus blinked as he took a draught of his brandy. "I can't picture anyone being impatient to meet such a being."

"As I said,” Tristan scraped the last of his porridge from the bottom of the pot as he spoke, "they were young. Not the best help for a contract like that, but I didn't have much of a choice. One of them had brought a couple bottles of whisky he had made himself. It was foul stuff. It burnt its way down your throat, made your eyes water. A couple swigs and you were done for. I urged them not to drink too much, but they wouldn't listen. A couple hours went by and they were all sloshed." He gave Pavus a small smirk. "Me included."

Pavus' eyebrows climbed up his forehead. "Truly? You decided to get drunk with that creature lurking about?"

Tristan huffed a laugh, setting his empty pot aside. "It would have probably been fine if that was all we decided to do. Some of the lads got peckish. Decided to go to the nearest village to get some food. I told them that nothing would be open at that hour, but-”

“Let me guess. They wouldn’t listen.”

"Exactly. So, next thing you know, we are walking through the woods to the nearby town. We split, each one looking for an open tavern or inn. I scoured the place, yet the only tavern was closed. I went back to our meeting point, and..."

Pavus' eyes widened. "What happened then?"

"One of the lads had stolen a cart full of carrots from a nearby stable.”

“Carrots?” Pavus scoffed derisively. “Quite a feast that would have been.”

“I tried to get them to put it back where they'd found it, but they'd already started rolling it out. I guess I should have left them then, but…" he sighed. "I’d become quite fond of them, I suppose. And I was very, very drunk. So, I strapped the cart to my back and helped them get it out while they pushed from behind. We hadn't gone half a mile before a guard from the village stopped us. At this point I noticed that the cart was very heavy all of a sudden."

"The boys had disappeared, I take it?"

Tristan nodded, rubbing his mouth over the grin that threatened to slither to the surface. "They had all ran away to hide as soon as they saw the guard approaching. So there I am, in my full armour and all my daggers, strapped to a cart like a beast of burden, with a guard shoving a lamp in my face and asking me what business a witcher has rolling a cart full of carrots in the dead of night."

"And what did you tell him?"

Tristan cleared his throat, straightening up where he sat. "I have to remind you that I was very inebriated at this point. Redanians don't mess around when it comes to their moonshine." Pavus raised a brow and Tristan let out a soft sigh. "I told him I'd confiscated the cart because I needed the carrots to lure a mighty beast."

"A mighty beast?" Pavus asked, huffing an incredulous laugh. "What beast?"

"....a horse."

Pavus gaped at him for a long moment, blinking in confusion. His bewildered expression melted away to be replaced by a wide smile, his shoulders trembling as his laughter echoed through the small clearing. He really was beautiful when he laughed, Tristan noticed, joining him. His eyes that glinted and sparked with amusement, the tiny lines at their corners, soft and feathery as if they had been drawn by a painter's brush, the neat rows of teeth, white like peeled almonds. The sound of his laugh, bright and crystal clear like water from a babbling brook. Had he ever heard anything as pleasant? Tristan wondered.

“A horse? A dratted horse? Great Sun Almighty,” Pavus said after taking a deep breath, wiping mirth from his eyes. “You really couldn’t have thought of anything else?”

“It was the first animal that sprung to mind!” Tristan protested. “There’s no other beast I know that likes carrots as much as horses. Do you?”

“Rabbits do," Pavus shrugged. "Or groundhogs.”

Tristan rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Oh, yes. Because what other beast is more terrifying than horse, other than a rabbit or a groundhog?”

“Have you ever watched groundhogs fight over a pile of pears? I have, and I assure you it’s quite the sight. Blood chilling. Certainly more sensational than watching a drunk witcher try to bait a runaway horse with carrots, if there are to be comparisons.” Pavus leaned forward to offer him his flask, and Tristan took it gratefully. "If you tell me the guard believed you, I'm leaving you here and going back to Vizima on foot."

Tristan bit his lip, still chuckling. He tipped the mouth of the flask over his lips, savouring the rich taste of the brandy. He tried not to think of Pavus’ lips, that had closed over its rim only a moment before and were now quirked in a smile as he watched him. "No, he didn't," he replied, shaking his head. "Naturally. I guess I could have used Axii on him…" he noticed Pavus' brows furrowing, and he waved the thought away. "Nevermind. What the guard did was drag me to the sheriff's office in Blaviken and have me locked in a cell. Stayed there for two days until the alpor attacked again and they realised I was the only person within miles that could kill her. They agreed to forget about the whole incident if I took care of her. So I did. She was a tough one, though. Gave me a nasty scar." He pulled down the top of his shirt to show him a deep scar underneath his collarbone. It was ragged and pink, one of the many, many scars he had gotten along the way. "I've never set foot in that place since."

Pavus’ eyes slowly drifted from Tristan's collarbone up to his face when Tristan glanced at him. "That was quite the entertaining story, if I've ever heard any," he said. "It puts the palace bards to shame."

"I'm glad it was amusing,” Tristan said, rearranging his shirt. “That was the point, after all, wasn't it?"

"It was.” Pavus rested back on his arm and tilted his head to the side. "I'd love to hear more of your stories after we kill that Fiend. If you've a mind."

Tristan blinked at him, taken aback by the softness in his voice. The mage was watching him carefully, a dreamy expression on his features, a smile still painted at the edges of his lips. Tristan's heart thumped steadily against his ribcage as he handed him back his flask. "Perhaps. If we return in one piece."

"I'll hold you to that." Pavus reached out to accept the flask, fingers brushing gently over Tristan's. A shiver ran up Tristan's arm at the contact, and he quickly withdrew his hand.

"Right," Tristan said, clearing his throat and standing up. He kicked some dirt over the burning logs, putting the fire out. "I think this is as good a time as any to get started."

Pavus nodded, standing up as well. His gaze lingered on Tristan’s face for a breath before he turned away. “I suppose we won’t be needing any carrots this time, yes?” he called to him over his shoulder as he walked towards his bags.

Tristan chuckled softly, running his fingers through his hair. “I should hope not.”

***

Leaving their horses behind, they walked through the bog on soundless feet. Tristan had expected Pavus to be a hindrance at first, making too much noise, attracting too much attention from the bog creatures, but he was surprised to find out how nimble and agile he actually was. His feet barely made a sound as they walked through the marsh, even lowering his breaths to a soft, steady rhythm. Tristan caught himself eyeing him sideways on multiple occasions. Making his way through the unfamiliar terrain, hardly missing a step, he looked every inch the battle mage Tristan had hoped he would be.

After what felt like hours, Tristan managed to find enough tracks to lead them to the Fiend’s lair. There was a thin trail, leading up to a small mount, at what looked like a small clearing hidden behind a large, flat rock. The smell of Fiend refuse drifted towards him with the wind as they moved closer. He scrunched his nose and coughed, gagging silently. Yes, the lair was definitely close by.

Sliding his silver shortswords out of their scabbards, Tristan coated them with the relict oil he had prepared. He patted his pockets, making sure his samum bombs were in place and easily accessible. Just before walking ahead, he paused, turning to Pavus. He reached out and caught his arm, holding his gaze firmly.

“I’ll go in first and attract its attention,” he said softly, his voice barely a whisper. “You will attack it from a distance. Do not come close, and do not, under any circumstances, look straight into his third eye. If you do, it will hypnotise you. If you’re hypnotised, you’re dead. Get it?”

Pavus nodded slowly, his sterling silver eyes fixed on his. The morning sun washed over the contours of his face just so as he moved, illuminating his velvety bronze skin, catching in his dark, glossy waves. For a moment, Tristan pictured that beautiful face, mangled by the Fiend’s claws, and his heart clenched. He wouldn’t let that happen. Not if he could help it.

His lips tightened in a line and he turned away, when Pavus’s hand closed over his own.

“Be careful,” the mage whispered.

Tristan gazed at him for a quick moment, startled by the concern in his eyes. His touch was soft and gentle, surprisingly so. He gave Pavus’ arm a tiny squeeze before letting go, blending into the shadows.

A deep humming noise rumbled through the clearing as Tristan moved closer. Concealed in the dense shadows, he could examine the Fiend without it noticing him. It was large, perhaps not quite as large as a fully grown one, but that didn’t make its limbs any less thick than tree trunks. Its large, ugly snout was pressed against its folded legs as it slept, its curved back moving steadily with breaths.

Tristan moved closer, holding his breath, daggers at the ready, his senses fixed to pick up the slightest change in the creature’s heartbeat. He edged closer, ever closer, gliding through the shifting shadows of the leaves stirring with the wind. Just another step, enough to be able to plunge his shortsword straight into the base of its thick skull-

The Fiend’s eyes, dark and round like smooth, polished pebbles, fluttered open, its menacing gaze piercing him where he stood.

Tristan ducked back as the Fiend rose to his feet, a rumble coming from deep within its large body. Its enormous paws, the claws on them thicker than tree branches and sharper than fleshly whetted blades, scratched at the ground, leaving thick welts on the grass in their wake. Its third eye was still closed, but Tristan knew well that it wouldn’t be for long.

He rolled to the side, just in time to get out of the Fiend’s way before it charged straight ahead. He landed agilely on his feet - the ground was even there, thankfully,- and brandished his blades. A Fiend’s most vulnerable spot was its rear, all witchers knew this well, and that was where he would focus his attack. He dashed forward, slashing and hacking as quickly and deeply as he could before the beast turned on him again. It roared furiously as Tristan’s daggers tore through its skin, the poisonous relict oil burning deep into its flesh. It turned around in a flurry of moving antlers and sharp claws, ready to pounce, when the viper amulet by Tristan’s neck vibrated, as it always did when magic was being cast. A fireball crackled right past Tristan’s ear to land on the beast’s face with a loud whoosh.

“Take that, you filth!” Pavus exclaimed.

Tristan glanced at him from the corner of his eye before dodging out of the way of the Fiend’s whirling antlers. It shook its head furiously, trying to get the flames off it, before another fireball caught it in the rear.

The mage laughed from his spot atop an upturned tree. “I could do this all day!”

“Careful what you wish for,” Tristan grunted, taking several careful steps away from the roaring monster. Reapplying the relict oil would take no time at all, but it would mean taking his eyes off the Fiend, and taking your eyes from the target during a fight, even for a moment, even for a breath, could mean death - or worse. Witchers were trained not to fear death. Death during a fight with a monster was a natural consequence to their way of life. In fact, not many witchers expected to die in a different manner. Yet, no one was fool enough to seek it.

“Cover for me!” he growled to the mage, rolling away behind a tree. The relict oil was in its own little compartment in his specially designed belt, made for easy access during battle. He uncorked the bottle with his teeth, messily splashing the oil onto his blades. No time to be careful and thorough about it. Pressing himself against the tree trunk, giving as little target as he could, he peered behind him. Pavus was doing a good job distracting the beast, drawing its attention away from where Tristan was. Strong gusts of air and fire were keeping it at bay, but Tristan could see how close the Fiend was getting to reaching him.

“Get back!” he called to the mage as he threw the empty relict oil bottle away.

“Not a chance.” Pavus’ voice was a tad breathless when he spoke, cutting through the beast’s roar. “Someone has to keep that thing off you, yes?”

Gritting his teeth, Tristan stepped out of his hiding place, rolling soundlessly behind it. The Fiend’s ear pricked up, following the sound of the grass shifting under Tristan’s feet. It turned abruptly to him, brandishing its large incisors.

“Get over here, you ugly bastard,” Tristan grunted, reaching for the samum bomb hanging by his belt. The Fiend viciously pawed the ground, as if responding to his challenge. A deep rumble echoed through the clearing, making the stone behind Tristan tremble as the beast charged forward. With a smirk, Tristan pulled the bomb’s safety cap off before throwing it straight to the Fiend’s face.

An explosion of heat and sound. Bright white light, smoke and sizzling fire breaking free from the small, stealthy container. The Fiend reared, howling, bolting away from the bomb that was still crackling on the ground. Fiends disliked loud noises, intense heat, too bright lights- and this one was no exception. The edges of Tristan’s daggers glinted in the sun before he leapt towards the beast once more.

Blood, thick and bright red, sticky like glue poured forth from the Fiend’s wounds as Tristan slashed mercilessly at it, barely stopping to take a breath. He plunged his daggers into its rear and its sides, the fine silver of his blades and his own hands painted crimson. He cut through vital arteries, pierced thick hide and flesh to injure the sensitive organs underneath, slashed and hacked at tendons that were thicker than ship rope. It wouldn’t last for long, not with the multitude of lacerations Tristan had managed on it, and the relict oil working deep inside the creature’s flesh to undo it from the inside. He attacked in a whirlwind of slashes, taking advantage of the beast’s confusion, hacking deeper, deeper-

With a furious howl, the Fiend turned around, fixing him with a heated glare. A heated glare from the solitary eye in the center of its forehead.

Fuck.

Tristan backed away, almost falling flat on his back with his haste. He had been too careless, too greedy, attacking without taking care to cover himself from the Fiend’s biggest threat. The world started spinning, spinning, darkening, plunging into blackness-

And then there was nothing.

The sounds died away. The shifting of the leaves overhead, the wind, the sound of Pavus’ fireballs as they sizzled and crackled through the air, his voice, calling to him, the Fiend’s angry howls, all fading into a dull, hollow murmur. Tristan blinked, again and again, struggling to see something, anything in the expansive abyss that suddenly surrounded him. His pulse pounded in his ears while his stomach was gripped in a tight vice. He shifted and turned, fingers wrapped around the hilts of his shortswords like they were his lifeline. He spun around, hoping for something in the darkness - when he finally saw it.

A light, small and flickering at first, that slowly grew larger, steadier. The light at the end of an endless tunnel. Tristan’s first instinct was to move towards it, when his feet planted themselves firmly on the ground.

The Fiend’s burning eye, disguised as the only hope of escape in that never-ending darkness, flickered before him, drawing him in. Tristan gritted his teeth, holding on to his daggers for dear life, focusing on the weight of the viper amulet hanging by his neck, vibrating softly each time Pavus cast a spell. Watch the eye, Heir would have said. Watch its movements. Wherever the eye is, that’s where the Fiend is. You’re the hunter and it is the prey, not the other way round.

The light moved closer to him, slowly and steadily, but Tristan knew that this was only one of the Fiend’s tricks. Lulling its victims into this state of hypnosis, dulling their senses so they thought the light was moving at a snail’s pace, when in reality the Fiend ran towards them at full speed. He would not fall into yet another trap. He would not.

Drawing on his focus, Tristan let the power of Chaos suffuse him. It tingled as it spread through his limbs, pooling at his fingertips. He raised his hand and drew an upside triangle, calling forth a protective barrier around him. The Wind Blowing Through the Oak Trees, Heir used to call it, to help him visualise it when he was a child. The shimmering barrier settled on him like a second skin, and he rolled away, just as the burning eye dove towards him. Recreating the image of the clearing as accurately as he could from memory, he spun around, dashing forth to plunge his daggers in the Fiend’s flesh.

First try and he slashed at air, miscalculating. The Fiend was far more nimble that Tristan had expected, moving quickly and efficiently, using his disorientation to its advantage. His breath was almost knocked out of him when a large paw crashed against him, making his barrier explode, sending him reeling backwards.

“Fuck,” Tristan muttered, drawing himself upright on unsteady feet. The eye was moving again, a burning, menacing light in the darkness, the surety of death lurking underneath what looked like the last lingering hope for life. It sped towards him and Tristan dodged away again, this time plunging his shortswords deep in the Fiend’s flank as it rushed by him.

A hollow, distant howl split the nothingness that surrounded him. The dark lifted only slightly, enough for Tristan to make out the outline of his surroundings. The Fiend was a little way away from him, its coat glistening with fresh blood. The ground was riddled with long, ragged scars where the Fiend had raked it with its enormous claws, and a few of the trees that surrounded the clearing had been knocked down. Tristan blinked hard, forcing his mind to focus through the hazy mist, frantically searching for Pavus. How long had he been under the Fiend’s influence? Time got warped when in a state of hypnosis, that he knew. Even so, Tristan could swear that it wasn’t more than a couple of minutes that he was under the beast’s control, but one could never tell for sure. If it had managed to get to him while Tristan was out...

Beads of sweat ran cold down his back as he spun around, trying to catch a glimpse of the mage. The Fiend was already shifting, making the ground tremble with its angry rumbles. Tristan edged backwards, away from the beast. He was about to reach for another of his samum bombs and retreat while the Fiend was still confused, when he saw Pavus emerging from behind a tall rock. He looked pale and drawn, his brow glistening with the effort of calling forth another spell. Tristan didn’t know much about how sorcerers used magic, but he knew well that, no matter how strong they were, they could only use so much magic in one go without reaching their limits. And Pavus seemed like he was rapidly approaching his.

Tristan’s breath caught in his throat, icy tentacles of fear making their way up his spine as he turned to the Fiend, that had now forgotten all about him to focus its glare on the mage, drawn by the iridescent light that was gathering in the air between Pavus’s fingertips. It growled and pawed at the earth, sending big clumps of earth flying behind it. Tristan watched as if in slow motion as it braced on its hind legs and shot forth, charging straight for Pavus.

Tristan forgot his own exhaustion, forcing his trembling legs to carry him forward, towards the rapidly advancing beast. “Get back!” he growled at the mage, reaching for one of his bombs at the same time. The bomb exploded just as Pavus ducked behind the rock, making the Fiend stop dead in its tracks. It screamed and moved back, away from the sudden flash of light and the smoke that erupted from the bomb’s small pouch.

Taking advantage of the Fiend’s momentary confusion, Tristan leapt onto its back, grabbing its antlers. “Go away!” he yelled at Pavus, who blinked blearily at him, eyes red from the samum bomb’s smoke.

“Are you mad?!” the mage yelled back, emerging from behind the rock. “That thing’s going to-”

“Leave!” Tristan growled, gripping the antlers more tightly. “Just go!”

The Fiend screamed painfully, tossing its head left and right, furiously trying to get him off its back. Tristan held on for dear life, shifting his weight to the side to make the beast turn away from Pavus to the opposite direction. The beast staggered to the left, head drooping under Tristan’s weight, yet it still didn’t stop its frantic attempts to shake him off. He clenched his jaw, the sharp edges of the antlers digging into his sides, his palms raw and bloody from trying to hold on to both the beast and his daggers. His breath was now coming in short bursts from the effort of staying upright, sweat running down his forehead in small streams. He just needed to hold it together, just long enough for the beast to exhaust itself, and then-

With a sudden howl, the Fiend charged towards the tall rock at the edge of the clearing. Tristan watched, wide eyed, as the rock got closer and closer, bracing himself for the impact. Before he could realise what had happened, the beast planted its paws on the ground, sending him flying forward. The air was knocked from his lungs when he crashed against the rock and landed on the ground in a tangled heap. His head spun as he tried to push himself up, wheezing. A warm trickle of blood ran down his brow, mingling with his sweat, blurring his vision. His limbs were barely obeying him anymore, legs wobbling, arms trembling, lungs burning. He blinked furiously, scrambling to regain his focus, when the ground shivered beneath his feet.

He pushed himself up just in time to see the Fiend lunging towards him. The world moved at an unbearably slow pace as he was pinned against the rock, trapped between dense stone and thick, branch-like antlers. Pain such that he had never known burst through his focus, blocking out everything else. He peered down to see one of the antler edges piercing his armour, straight through his abdomen. Everything was red and unbearably sharp, the sunlight scorching his eyes, the Fiend’s vile breath overpowering his senses. The world around him flickered and tilted, spinning, whirling. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, not even to ease the antler out of him. Perhaps his time to die a witcher’s death had finally come.

He lifted his head, glancing at Pavus through his haze. He was standing perfectly still, watching him wide-eyed from a distance. All colour was sapped from his face, his features suddenly looking as if carved from pale stone. His beautiful face.

Tristan gritted his teeth, breathing through the agony. He turned his gaze to the Fiend that was still holding him fast, and tightened his hold on his daggers. He would be damned if he didn’t take the bastard down with him.

With the last dregs of his strength, he lifted his long daggers, plunging them straight into the Fiend’s eyes, piercing its brain. The Fiend howled one last time before it collapsed on the ground, taking Tristan with it. The feel of grass and dirt on his face, the warmth of fresh blood on his skin, and everything faded to black.

#dorian pavus #witcher #witcher au #dorian pavus fic #dorian pavus x trevelyan #dorian pavus/trevelyan #dorian pavus x inquisitor #dorian pavus/inquisitor #pavelyan #tristan trevelyan #dorian pavus x tristan trevelyan #dorian x tristan #viper in tall grass #johaerys writes

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creepynoodleheadcannons · 4 years

Text

Creeps High School-Cruelty in the First Degree

Coach Liu was missing.

I noticed the second I stepped into the gym. Coach Woods was practically steaming with anger broiling beneath his thick skin.

“You’re late, Robertson.”

I felt my stomach drop once he addressed me, eyelids receding as I stumbled for an answer. “I’m sorry Coach Woods, I couldn’t-“

“Shut your trap kid. I don’t care.” He spat, closing in on me. The rest of the students backed up as he did, shooting me frantic glances and mouthing words I couldn’t fathom.

“You sure do make a lot of excuses, don’t you?” He glared down at me with a gaze that could cut diamonds. I wanted to throw up on sight.

“You just going to stare at me, Robertson?”

My mouth opened but no words came out. I was too worried to force any out-they might be followed by nervous bile.

“Answer me!” His voice echoed off of the walls, my muscles tensing. I wanted to curl up and die.

“Well you see sir I was just trying to-“

“The answer was yes, dumbass.” His jaw was locked in place, as were my feet. As he started to back up, the freeze frame melted.

He insulted me. And I stood there, like an idiot, and just nodded.

“Do you call all of your students dumbasses? Or just the ones who call you out?”

I felt confident enough as I spoke, yet once the words were out, I felt my stomach bottom out again.

Even Yasmin was scared. She shot me a look with eyes wide in abject horror, but I noticed a hint of a smile.

Before I could mention it, Coach Wood’s hand was gripping the front of my uniform.

“What did you just say?”

I gulped audibly, searching for any words that would come up.

“Come on, spit it out! If you want to say something, now’s the time!”

I tried to regain some self-respect in the worst way possible. My cheeks were burning with embarrassment. And to top it all off, I said:

“I just think you’re being unnecessarily cruel is all.”

Yasmin choked. A few girls squeaked in fear. Coach Woods pulled me closer. I could even smell the deep scent of coffee on his tongue.

“I’m cruel, huh?”

His fingers dug into the thin material of my shirt, the corners of his mouth twitching.

Up close, I could see the scars beside his lips. They curved up into a sort of Cheshire grin, giving him a permanent, menacing smile. He didn’t seem to have any eyelashes either. The skin around his eyes was terribly thin and seemed to stretch across his bone structure.

He looked horrible.

“Anybody else think I’m too cruel? Hm? Come on now, don’t be shy girls.”

Nobody even took a breath.

“Alright, Miss Alice. I guess it’s about time you receive thanks.”

He tossed me back, turning to the small crowd that had formed. “Go on now, thank her.”

Everybody thanked me in hesitant voices, Yasmin the only one who looked upset. She knew what was coming.

“Why are they thanking me, Coach?”

He extended his grin, eyes locked into mine.

“Because you just gave them the day off.”

He stepped out of the gym, a door down the hall opening and closing.

Yasmin immediately pulled me aside, dragging me to the water fountain.

“You’re fucking stupid. You couldn’t just shut up, could you? Do you think you’re some kind of goddamn martyr? Whatever, there’s no time. Drink.”

I looked up at her as she tossed me towards the fountain, confusion present on my face. “What? Why?”

“If you throw up, he might go easier on you. Drink enough to get water-logged.”

I looked down at the dispenser for a moment before hesitantly starting to drink.

The door opened again.

“Shit-stop, just start praying, shut up, and go.”

I pulled away quickly, making my way to the entrance before he could come back.

When he did, he had weights in his hands and a stopwatch.

“Girls, go sit on the bench, and shut up. Alice, base line.” He slammed the weights on the floor, startling me enough to get my legs moving.

I felt the water slosh within my stomach, hoping Yasmin was right.

And yet, I was still mad. He shouldn’t be allowed to talk to his students like that. He shouldn’t be able to insult us and order us around the way he does. And yet, he’d never been this upset with anybody as far as I’d seen.

“Alright, here’s how this is going to work.”

He grabbed one of the plates, scowling as he spoke.

“You’re going to hold a plank. Every time you drop, you’ll run a suicide and I’ll up the weight. If you arch your hips, the plates will slip off and hit you in the head. And if you let any of them fall, I’ll double the weight. Got it?”

Before I could nod, he shoved me to the floor.

I was about to start yelling when he pulled out the stopwatch. “Go, or I go to the office and explain what a nuisance you’ve been-“

I dropped quickly.

Nobody spoke the entire time. If anybody tried, he quickly berated them, and yet I couldn’t find the strength to care.

I had sixty pounds sitting on my back and my arms were shaking so bad I thought I might die on spot.

I’d thrown up twice by now, and each time he made me run another suicide. I’d run fourteen by now.

“Coach.”

He turned around, about to start yelling, when Yasmin interrupted. “She’s clearly learned her lesson. Please, just let her stop.”

While he was distracted, I managed to rest my knee on the ground. I felt my abs relax for a few seconds, painfully.

“I call the shots here, Yasmin. Why don’t you-“

There was a knock at the door.

Three times fast, three times slow, and three times fast again.

Both of them stopped, and Woods immediately stopped his timer. “Deal with her, Yas.”

He bolted from the room.

Yasmin came up to me quickly, practically throwing the weights off. I let myself collapse onto the gym floor flooded with my sweat.

She rested a cold hand on the back of my neck, speaking quietly. “You’re lucky. He ends his punishments with burpees.”

I coughed as I nodded, pressing my scaling skin into the warm floor.

I knocked before stumbling into the classroom, watching as Mr. Drew looked up from his screen. “Yeah Y-oh, it’s just you.”

He took a minute to fully gauge my appearance, grimacing after he did. “You look like you were hit by a bus.”

“I feel like it, too.”

He gave a curt laugh, nodding towards the desk. “Sit down, I’ll get you some water. And if Sleuth asks, I’m getting worksheets.”

I followed his directions, my legs throbbing once the weight was lifted. The desk was painfully warm.

He came back a minute later with a water bottle and some soda crackers, placing them in front of me. “Normally I’d just tell you to suck it up, but I know how bad he can be. Also, those twits deserved it.”

I let myself smile as I pressed the water bottle to my forehead.

Within ten minutes, I’d managed to recover enough to find myself catching up on my homework for the week. Mr. Drew didn’t speak much, only occasionally checking to see if I had died. He kept himself occupied on his computer and occasionally writing in a leather-bound journal. He wrote fast and closed it each time, shooting me a glance.

At first, I didn’t mind, but not too long after, I heard the beginning of a video. He’d simply forgotten to mute it.

“We’re here with Sergeant Jackson-“

He quickly stopped it before laughing awkwardly. “Sorry about that, can’t seem to find the mute button when I need it. Didn’t disturb you, did I?”

I shook my head in response, shoving out a response.

“Not at all, sir.”

He nodded quickly before returning to his journal.

Sergeant Jackson.

I knew the name, I’d known that name. I heard that name at the dinner table. I heard that name in passing conversations. I’d met him myself when he came to our doorstep.

He was my mother’s boss.

I spent the next twenty minutes trying to work through every possibility. Maybe it was just a coincidence. Maybe it was another Sergeant Jackson. Maybe I’d misheard the video. Maybe I was just being paranoid.

And yet, I found myself itching to find out what was in that journal.

I waited and waited for him to leave the room, yet he never budged. He sat there the entire time, keeping a close hold on his journal.

I knew what would happen if he caught me snooping. He’d report me to Dr. Sleuth, and I was too scared to find out what was next. I’d be expelled on sight, or worse. I had to find out what the hell was in that journal, but if anybody found out, I’d be screwed.

I finally found an opening when Coach Woods came in.

I jumped in my seat once I heard the door slam open. Coach Woods ran in promptly, out of breath and face flushed with exertion.

“Ben, we have to-I was just-and he came in and-“

Mr. Drew leapt out of his chair, grabbing a set of keys. “Calm down, man. Breathe, please. Alice!”

I looked up from my homework, which I’d been intently staring at to avoid Coach Wood’s scowl.

“Don’t touch anything, or you’ll fail the whole semester.”

I nodded quickly, watching as he ran from the room. I listened to his footsteps echo down the steps and a door slam.

I immediately rushed to his desk, staring at the journal.

The leather was worn. It looked old and worn, some of the pages crumpled. The pencil next to it had bite marks on it, unlike any other writing utensil on his desk.

I slowly pulled back the leather cover, seeing the first page. It was covered in various calculations, ranging from complex arithmetic to simple geometry.

The first few pages were covered front and back, and none of them were consistent. They were scratches over the years at best.

After ten pages of nonsense, I finally saw a timeline.

The first date on it was December 23rd, 2015.

-First Report Filed, inconclusive

It was a CPS report. It had been copied down and sections were highlighted. I had seen a few on my mom’s desk when I was a kid. This looked exactly like a CPS report filed at the police station.

As I turned the pages, I saw at least five reports following soon after, each one labeled as inconclusive. All of the names were marked out, up until the last report.

“Oldest had to be restrained, K. V-“

I jerked up halfway through, hearing soft footsteps.

I slammed the notebook shut, scrambling back to my desk and falling onto it. I hoped that my lousy attempt of looking asleep was enough.

“You know where I keep the box, and he doesn’t. It’ll be fine.”

A long sigh from Coach Woods.

“I know, but-hey, your brat’s asleep.”

“Figured she would be. What did she do that was so bad? You almost killed her.”

He scoffed lightly, groaning quietly. “She mouthed off. Said I was being cruel.”

“Aww, did she hurt your precious ego, Jeffrey?”

“Shut your trap, Ben. I’m not cruel with my students.”

A light laugh from Mr. Drew ensued. I felt my chest shaking.

“You can be. Why don’t you take out some of that cruelty on me tonight-“

“Hey, kid, right there.”

“She’s knocked out cold, Coach. I’ll see you tonight, nine o’clock. Wear something nice.”

He laughed again, a door shutting promptly.

After a few minutes and a long sigh, I heard Mr. Drew hit his desk.

“Hey, time’s up kiddo. I want to go home, so scram.”

I managed to push myself up from the desk, groaning lightly. “Sorry sir, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“It’s fine, I would’ve too. Oh, and for future reference, watch your mouth around Coach Woods. He’s not all bad, but likes respect.”

I nodded gently, offering him a smile.

I could practically hear the plastic crinkle in his cheeks as he forced himself to mirror me.

“Have a good night, Robertson.”

I waved as I left, a sick feeling settling in my stomach.

I had to get that journal.

#creeps high school #creepypasta #creepypasta au #marble hornets au #jeff the killer #jeffrey woods #ben drowned #marble hornets

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