#I feel like it looks like I’m dummy close and backed her against da wall 😈 I rly didn’t tho

[stopfunkinwmyheart]

[stardusttrashed]

Drunk In Love

Word Count: 2K

Warnings: Swearing, Drunk reader, Fluff, Angst (if you squint), Brief mentions of NSFW

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugo x Fem!reader

Summary: Katsuki comes to pick you up from a hangout after you drunk called him 

A/n: loosely based off drunk me... yes I hogged all the watermelon jolly ranchers by putting them in my bra, don’t judge lol. Also all characters are of drinking age

“Where’s my little dumbass,” Katsuki grumbled as he stood outside the door. The bitter cold was slowly beginning to seep through his numerous layers. He jammed his hands into his pockets, hunched over from the cold and out of annoyance. It was three in the morning and beginning to snow, yet here he was miles away from his warm, cozy house because you had drunkenly called not once but five times. 

“Over there hogging all the Jolly Ranchers,” Sero laughed, nodding over his shoulder. The cold outside air was hitting him like a truck, killing the little buzz he had. He stepped aside, making room for Katsuki to come inside. “She won’t let me get one until she’s done.”

Katsuki could hear your carefree giggles from inside the room, followed by delighted squeals. “What does this one say?” You asked with childlike curiosity as you shoved the piece of candy into Mina’s view.

Katsuki sighed and shook his head, holding back a laugh. “Tch, figures. Damn idiot,” he muttered under his breath as he stepped inside, shutting and locking the door behind him. 

“How’s it going outside?” Sero crossed his arms as he leaned against the wall, casually huddling up to regain the warmth he just lost. “Heard it’s supposed to get colder.”

Katsuki shrugged nonchalantly, “started snowing on my way here.” The small two-bedroom apartment felt like a warm summer’s day compared to the frigid weather. It was like being thrown straight into an oven after spending so long in a freezer. He shrugged off his coat and shoes, “couldn’t exactly ignore her calls, though.” His eyes scanned the small, open room for you. 

“Denki,” you giggled loudly, immediately getting Katsuki’s attention. “I said only watermelon flavor dummy.” Katsuki watched as you pulled a Jolly Rancher out of your shirt. “This isn’t even red, dumbass,” you slurred before throwing the purple piece of candy at Denki’s chest.

“Yeah, dummy,” Mina teased with a smirk. She leaned forward, hunching over to look over your shoulder. You were comfortably situated in between her legs, sitting on the floor in front of her while she sat on the couch. “That’s another cherry, sweetie.”

“Thanks, doll face,” you beamed, blowing her a kiss before tossing the piece into the pile on the coffee table. 

“Here’s another,” Kirishima called out, holding a piece up in the air. Unlike Denki and Mina, Kirishima had mainly kept to himself. He was sprawled out on the loveseat, legs hanging over the armrest. It was comfortable, but he’d be lying if he said part of him didn’t want to be closer to Mina and Denki, helping you stuff the candies into your bra. You were cute; there was no denying that, nor was there any denying that he had the biggest crush on you in high school. But you were dating Katsuki now, and no amount of drinks could make him forget that.

Katsuki watched as Mina and Denki drunkenly scrambled to grab the piece from Kirishima. It was like watching an intense tug of war match between toddlers. His eyes wandered away from them, taking in the empty bottles and candy strewn across the room. 

“Got it,” Mina shouted with a wide grin, grabbing Katsuki’s attention once again. She sat back down on the couch, allowing you to settle between her legs once again. She stuck her tongue out at Denki like a child before focusing on you. Giggles spilled from her mouth, fueled on by your giggles as she reached in your shirt and tucked the piece of candy into your already full bra. 

“Touch her boobs again, and you’re dead raccoon eyes,” Katsuki snapped as she pulled her hand out of your shirt. He let out a huff of satisfaction as Mina and Denki scrambled away from you. “The same goes for the rest of you!” Despite the vagueness of his words, his eyes bore holes into the side of Denki’s head, who refused to make eye contact.

“Is that my Katsuki baby,” you squealed, scrambling to your feet. You could barely stand, your legs wobbling like jelly as you made your way towards him. “Hi, baby! I missed you tons,” you slurred with a dopey smile on your face. You threw your arms around his neck partially to anchor yourself, but mostly just to hold him close. “I haven’t seen you in forever.” 

Katsuki shook his head with an amused chuckle. There was no doubt you were drunk, and as much as he wanted to be upset, he couldn’t be. You were like a child in a candy store, eyes wide and full of awe as you looked up at him. “Hey princess,” he cooed quietly as he wrapped his arm around your waist. “I’ve missed you too.” His free hand cupped your cheek gently, his thumb gently tracing your cheekbone. The way you leaning into his touch brought a loving smile onto his face. “But, I see you’ve been having fun.”

“I would’ve had more if you were here the whole time,” you huffed with a pout. You swore you could feel yourself becoming drunker and drunker from him. His touch. His crimson eyes. His warmth. The sweet burnt caramel smell. Everything about him was intoxicating. He made you drunker than any drink could, and the scariest part was just how addicting he was. You needed your little gremlin more than you needed the air in your lungs. “So pretty,” you muttered under your breath. Before you could stop yourself, you leaned forward, pressing your lips against his. 

The kiss was shorter than you both would’ve liked, feeling more like a tease than anything else. Katsuki was the first to pull back, causing you to whine quietly.

“Taste?” you asked worriedly, reaching up to wipe away the crinkles of disgust on his nose. Katsuki was never much of a drinker for as long as you have known him. The most you’ve ever seen him have was two shots, so he usually ended up being the designated driver between the two of you. Out of all the conversations you’ve had with him about it, you could never figure out which part he hated more--the taste or becoming impaired. “‘M sorry,” you continued without waiting for an answer.

“It’s okay, baby,” Katsuki reassured you, forcing himself to give you another peck on the lips. Out of everything that came from you drinking, this was always his least favorite part. He hated how the alcohol took over until it was all he could taste on your lips. He missed your naturally sweet taste that would get him drunker than any amount of shots he could ever take. Yet he loved how needily affectionate you’d become, showering him with love and compliments--not that he’d ever tell you. “See, no need to apologize,” he cooed, kissing your forehead. 

“I can kiss her for you,” Denki drunkenly shouted, the alcohol providing him a scary amount of courage. The stupid grin on his face quickly vanished as Katsuki glared daggers at him.

“As If,” you quickly cut in before Katsuki could rip him a new one. “Only kisses I wan’ are from my honey bunches of oats right ‘ere.” You smiled up at him, “right, baby?” You weren’t sure what exactly you were asking about—everything you just said barely processing in your head.

“Good answer, sweetheart.” He leaned in to reward you with a kiss but stopped short at the squeak that sounded from you.

You pressed your finger against his lips, stopping him from coming any closer. “Hol’ on.” You dug around in your bra and pulled out a Jolly Rancher, promptly popping it into your mouth. “Ta-da! Now I’ll taste yummy,” you slurred with a giggle as you sucked on the hard candy.

Katsuki chuckled proudly, hooking his finger under your chin, “you always taste yummy to me.” He pressed his lips against yours, gentle at first but growing increasingly possessive once he notices Denki stealing glances your way. He teasingly sucked on your lower lip, eliciting a soft moan from you. Katsuki took the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, caressing your tongue with his until he grabbed ahold of the candy in your mouth, taking it for himself. Despite the hunger in the kiss, when he pulled away, all you could make out in his crimson eyes were complete adoration. “Now, let’s get you home, yeah?” 

You cupped your hand around your mouth and drunkenly whispered, “can we fuck when we get home?” 

“Some other time,” he gently kissed your lips once more, “you need water and rest.”

“Cuddles?” You asked with a pout.

“Sure, sweetheart-.”

“And head?”

“Y/n…”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you squealed before throwing your arms around his neck. “Bye, guys! Katsuki and I are gonna fuck!”

“No, we aren’t.”

“Denki, I’ll call if we don’t!”

Katsuki growled as he wrapped a protective arm around your waist, “like hell, you will!” His hand holding your waist began to flicker as sparks were being created like little poopers. “You’re mine! I’ll kill-,” Katsuki shouted. 

“I’m kiddin’,” you giggle, giving his cheek a peck. “Totally kiddin’ dummy. Y’know I’d only call cutie pie Kiri.” You could feel Kirishima snap his head towards you, his eyes boring into your side. With a shrug, you ignore Katsuki’s shocked look, “he’s cute and sweet. Oh, and easy to make hard!”

“Shut the hell up,” Katsuki snapped as he angrily put his jacket on you. 

“Cause his quirk,” you continued.

“I said shut it!”

“He’s like my dream boyfriend, and you’re my dream husband, y’know.”

“Another damn word, and you won’t get cuddles.”

You gasped, bouncing on the balls of your feet a few times before losing balance and falling into Katsuki’s chest. “Cuddles and fries?”

“No. I’ll see you guys later,” Katsuki called out over his shoulder as he ushered you to the door. 

“Kiri woulda said yes,” you shrugged as you followed him out into the cold. You clung to his arm for dear life, trying to keep him warm and help yourself stand upright. 

“I’m going to blow you to bits if you don’t shut up.”

“Nah, uh, you love me too much.”

“I swear I’m gonna murder you.”

“With love?”

“No.” 

“Rude! My husband Katsuki wouldn’t treat me like this. He’d give me all the cuddles and fries I wan’.” 

“Sure he would,” he huffed as he opened the car door for you. His cheeked grew warm at your new name for him.

“He would! Cause I love ‘im fuck tons and he loves me-,” you gasped, just now realizing the thin white sheet on the ground. “It’s snowing!”

“Y/n, if you don’t get your ass in the car,” Katsuki groaned. “It’s snowing, it’s cold, and I have to drive home to give you cuddles and fries. So, please.” 

“Okay, hubby,” you smiled sleepily, complying almost instantly and earning a chuckle from him. Your eyes followed him as he leaned over you, buckling you in before handing you the bottle of water from the cup holder. “Y’know, I think you’re cuter than Kiri, and I love ya a lot more.”

Katsuki didn’t reply to you; instead, he closed your door and walked around to the driver’s side. He had buckled in and already began driving before he placed his hand over yours, “I love you too, little dumbass.”

“Your dumbass?” You asked as you took a sip of water.

“My beautiful, drunk, dumbass wifey,” he confirmed with a teasing smirk. 

[robininthelabyrinth]

Fire and Light (ao3) - on tumblr: part 1

- Chapter 2 -

The sayings of Wen Mao were not exactly what Nie Mingjue would consider to be entertaining reading, but he put in the effort to learn them in the hope that it would explain something about the people around him. They were always speaking in significant tones and looking at each other, finding meaning in the spaces between words, and he felt as though he was falling further and further behind in understanding what they meant.

“- be beheaded for tens of thousands to revile,” he murmured, staring down at the words with a frown. It seemed straightforward enough at first glance, but surely it couldn’t mean what it said, not with how Wen Ruohan regularly behaved. “Wen-da-gongzi?”

Wen Xu twisted to look at him.

“This particular saying – the one about people who oppress others and do evil using the power of their clan –”

“You’re still reading that old thing?” Wen Xu asked, sounding exasperated. “Why? Haven’t you memorized it yet?”

“I can recite it,” Nie Mingjue said. “But I don’t think I understand it. Aren’t these sayings supposed to serve as a guide for behavior for the Wen sect? Take this saying. It can’t be right. I mean, your father is always going around doing things on the basis of his sect and clan having the most power. So is the nuance in the definition of ‘oppress others using the power of your clan’, maybe, or possibly in the interpretation of what’s being defined as ‘evil’? Or is there some other –”

“No one listens to those sayings,” Wen Xu said. “Haven’t you figured that out yet? There’s the rules on paper and then there’s the rules in reality, and only the latter matter.”

“But then why have the rules on paper at all?” Nie Mingjue asked, utterly baffled. The Nie sect didn’t have sayings, like the Qishan Wen sect, nor rules, like Gusu Lan; it had principles, basic ones, and everything else in the world could be debated based on how those principles interacted with reality. It was simple and straightforward, yet allowed for a certain degree of independent thinking and flexibility: as long as you could account for your behavior with one of the principles, the action was generally considered acceptable; if you couldn’t, you knew you had done wrong. “If they’re not being used, then they’re hardly worth the paper they’re written on. Just replace them with new ones!”

“Knowing the sayings of Wen Mao is our tradition.”

Nie Mingjue frowned, turning the words over in his mind and trying to understand what he was missing. “So the tradition is to know the sayings but not follow them?” he hazarded. It seemed utterly bizarre to him. “That’s very complex. Is the idea to teach people to think for themselves?”

Wen Xu laughed – the first instance of that that Nie Mingjue had heard, and it didn’t sound quite right, sounding less like a laugh and more like a strangled noise that echoed in the ear in a manner not unlike the yelp of an injured dog. “You’re getting further away, not closer,” he told him. “Just – do as you’re told, all right?”

Nie Mingjue was trying.

He attended the classes and did his best to excel in them. He maintained his training even when the Wen sect techniques didn’t work quite as well for the saber as Nie sect techniques. He took care of Nie Huaisang, ensuring as much as possible that he did the best he could in both classes and training.

He didn’t grieve for his father out in public where people could see, keeping his pain to the late hours of the night, when his weakness could not be used to hurt his family and sect.

It would all be so much easier if they just told him what they wanted.

-

It was another few weeks after the Wen cousins joined them that Wen Ruohan finally decided to attend one of the dinners himself, sweeping in unexpectedly to seat himself at the head of the room.

The start of the meal was as silent as a Gusu Lan banquet. Everyone had recently started talking a little more during meals, probably as a courtesy to the two of them since Nie Huaisang couldn’t stop running his mouth about everything and mealtime was the ideal place to catch Nie Mingjue up on everything he’d done that day, but now it was as if that had never happened, everyone reverting to the silent and gloomy atmosphere the meals had all had at the beginning.

At first, Nie Mingjue thought it was silence out of respect for the food, like it was for the Gusu Lan, or maybe just the quelling presence of an elder, but after a while Wen Ruohan finished serving himself, and then he looked down at them and began asking questions.

Nie Mingjue’s father had done the same, sometimes, but where he’d asked questions about their studies and training and general well-being, about their friends or their hobbies, wanting to know more about what interested them, Wen Ruohan seemed instead to take vicious pleasure in quizzing them all on various hypotheticals, testing their intelligence and retention and ability to deliver an answer on the spot.

Nie Mingjue was able to answer the questions directed at him, and Nie Huaisang lucked out in the first round – it was a question about poetry, moderately obscure but at least something Nie Huaisang actually knew – and the others were able to answer theirs as well, but in the second round Nie Huaisang was not so lucky and he got a question on sword forms.

“I – don’t know?” he said, sinking down a little in his chair.

All the other Wen children averted their eyes, except for Wen Xu whose eyes went vacant as if he were deliberately forcing himself not to really watch even as he did not turn his head away. A cruel smile played around Wen Ruohan’s lips. “How – disappointing,” he said, though his tone was far from disappointed. More like anticipatory. “You will need to be punished, of course.”

“For what?” Nie Mingjue interjected, forcing his voice to remain level and disinterested. “Not knowing the answer, or missing the logical fallacy in the question?”

Dead silence.

He looked up and met Wen Ruohan’s eyes.

-

“When you said I could practice on you, I didn’t think you meant that you’d be throwing yourself into trouble,” Wen Qing scolded. Her hands were shaking as she wrapped bandages around his chest and back, but that was fine – he didn’t actually think he needed bandages, since the bleeding had stopped, but it was, in fact, good practice for her so he didn’t say anything about it.

“If I didn’t interfere, he would have punished Huaisang,” Nie Mingjue said instead. Wen Ruohan had actually given him a choice: three strikes with the whip for Nie Huaisang, for failure to answer, and two for himself, for insolence, or else ten for himself alone.

He’d chosen the latter, of course.

“He knows he’s your weakness now, you know,” Wen Xu said, standing by the door watching. Wen Chao, Nie Huaisang, and Wen Ning were all behind him, Nie Huaisang sniffling and Wen Ning biting his nails and Wen Chao’s tense shoulders up high by his ears. “He’ll use him against you.”

Nie Mingjue shrugged, then stopped when Wen Qing poked at him. “It’s not like it would be hard to guess,” he said. “And our teachers would have told him that we were close anyway. If he was always going to know, what does it matter to tell him?”

“Aren’t you worried about him knowing?” Wen Chao burst out. “Not that you care about Huaisang, but that you’re stupid over it – he’ll think less of you because of it. It’ll make it harder to avoid disappointing him in the future.”

The way he looked at Nie Mingjue’s back made clear what being ‘disappointing’ would entail.

“If it’s a choice between suffering pain and having to hold myself distant, I’d pick pain every time,” Nie Mingjue said, then smiled ruefully. “I’m not smart enough to play the mind games of Qishan, A-Chao; I’d only ever trip myself up even trying. I’ll find my own way to survive.”

Wen Chao turned away from him.

“You’d better,” Wen Ning suddenly said, his reedy little voice unexpectedly fierce. “You’d better survive.”

“He will,” Nie Huaisang said, and he was a little fierce, too. “He will.”

-

The cultivation styles of Qishan Wen and Qinghe Nie were not that different, even if the Nie used the saber and the Wen the sword, and Nie Mingjue had always had something of a genius for cultivating. Although he had suffered a setback at the death of his father, he was young and unwillingly resilient; once he was properly settled in at the Nightless City, he began to progress quickly once more, earning the praise of his tutors and teachers alike.

It drove Wen Xu up the wall.

“What’s the use of having extra years or height,” he snarled, viciously kicking a practice dummy, “if you match up to me so quickly? If we spar and I lose and he sees…”

It was not necessary for him to identify who ‘he’ was.

Nie Mingjue looked at Wen Xu, feeling helpless. “If I pulled my strikes, he would know,” he said, and Wen Xu jerked as if he’d been struck by lightning.

“You can’t say something like that!” he hissed. “That was almost an offer!”

Nie Mingjue was out of his depth again. “No, it wasn’t,” he said, and Wen Xu relaxed a little. “I was explaining why it wouldn’t make sense for me to offer –”

“You’re hopeless,” Wen Xu declared, scowling. “Don’t you have enough trouble, without drawing more on your head?”

“My shoulders can bear the weight of a little trouble,” Nie Mingjue said with a shrug. “Besides, you have the harder hill to climb. I’m only his ward, not his son, after all, and anyway I only want him to leave me alone, while you want to impress him. If it costs me nothing, why shouldn’t I help you?”

Wen Xu was silent for a moment. “Some things will never be more than dreams,” he finally said, shaking his head, and Nie Mingjue wasn’t sure of what part of his statement he was reacting to. “Do you train outside of the regular hours?”

Nie Mingjue blinked at the abrupt subject change. “Yes,” he said. “I like to train in the mornings, before breakfast, and I meditate with Nie Huaisang in the afternoons. Would you like to join in?”

“I don’t see that I have much choice,” Wen Xu said, although for once he didn’t seem especially resentful about it. “It’s one thing not to have as much talent, that’s the disposition of the heavens, but not putting as much effort? Now that would be beneath me.”

Nie Mingjue nodded, understanding. “I’d be happy to have your company.”

“I don’t understand how you just say things like that,” Wen Xu muttered nonsensically, and stalked off before Nie Mingjue could tell him that he probably didn’t need to bother with coming to the afternoon sessions, since those weren’t really about his cultivation.

Instead, he put Nie Huaisang on his lap and helped guide his brother’s feeble qi through a full rotation, meridian by meridian. The doctors of Qinghe had helped put together this routine to strengthen Nie Huaisang, to empower his too-weak musculature and help build his foundation piece by piece so that he could one day create the golden core with his own efforts, even if they were weaker than most. It was time-consuming and exhausting for Nie Mingjue, who had to deal with trying to direct spiritual energy that wasn’t his own through an exceedingly complex sequence, and Nie Huaisang had complained about it being boring when they were back in Qinghe.

He didn’t complain now, though Nie Mingjue sometimes wished he would. It would make things feel more normal.

Nie Mingjue explained what he was doing to Wen Xu when he showed up, and to Wen Chao and Wen Ning and even Wen Qing when they unexpectedly appeared as well, but they all decided to sit in the little garden he’d found and meditate alongside him anyway.

“It’s a nice place,” Wen Chao mumbled, not looking at him. “And you don’t own it.”

Wen Qing shoved him. He shoved back.

“Of course not,” Nie Mingjue said, breaking them up with his hands, a little puzzled. “You and your cousins do. But if you find it peaceful and conductive to your meditation, you are welcome to stay.”

He wasn’t sure how quiet they really found it – he’d been born with his nose stuck in other people’s business and couldn’t help but offer unsolicited advice whenever he saw something that he thought could be improved, telling Wen Ning to prioritize finding his calm over any specific technique, walking Wen Chao through breathing exercises he thought would suit him better, showing Wen Qing the pressure points that could be pressed to help induce relaxation, even making small suggestions to improve Wen Xu’s form that mostly got glares and eye-rolls – but they came back every day.

-

Wen Ruohan attended dinner with them again only a week after the previous time, asking new questions and letting his eyes linger on Nie Mingjue and the way his actions were slower than usual, a smile curling his lips at the involuntary flinch Nie Mingjue gave when he twisted to respond to a question with a demonstration.

Wen Xu had advised Nie Mingjue to play up the injury, rather than try to deny or suppress it, in order to give the impression that he was nearer to his limits than he really was, a stratagem designed to reduce future injury, but Nie Mingjue had never really known how to dissemble.

He answered the questions directed at him with his tone a little short but carefully near to neutral, keeping his eyes down in what could be seen as respect. Perhaps Wen Ruohan found his little rebelliousness entertaining, but the questions didn’t seem that bad this time, and everyone was able to come up with something to satisfy him, even Nie Huaisang who grimaced and strained himself to recall the most basic concepts and Wen Ning who knew the answers but stuttered so badly in Wen Ruohan’s presence that he could barely utter them aloud.

When dinner was done, Wen Ruohan asked Nie Mingjue to touch his toes and laughed at him when he couldn’t, pushing his head down to ‘help’ his inferior flexibility and tearing the few marks the whip had torn into his skin open again as he did.

“Do better, next time,” he said, and left without demanding any other exhibition of talent.

“There’s a discussion conference coming up soon,” Wen Xu said, looking down at his mostly unfinished plate. Noodles, as always, with pork and vegetables in a sauce, pungent but not as spicy as Yunmeng, served alongside a too-thick lambs’ blood soup and delicate side dishes that were more appearance than taste; it was the usual food they got, and most of the time they all ate it quite happily. “He’ll be busy for a while, preparing for that.”

“Could you show me where the kitchens are?” Nie Mingjue asked instead of anything else. “I have the sudden desire for barbecue.”

Qinghe used more salt than Qishan and applied spices in a different fashion, focusing more on the savory meat and evoking sour flavors using vinegar; it took them the three incense sticks to teach the cooks how to prepare it, but that meant that by the time the food was ready they’d all regained their appetites.

“Aren’t there medical cuisines, too?” Wen Ning asked Wen Qing, slurping up the thick noodles that Qishan people apparently couldn’t do without but which at least were swimming in a proper soup for once. “To strengthen the muscles, replenish the blood, that sort of thing.”

“There are,” she said, looking thoughtful. “I’ll ask my teachers about it.”

“Can I come?” Nie Huaisang asked, and it was so unexpected for him to ask to take more classes that Nie Mingjue dropped the piece of meat he’d been dipping right into the sauce. “Hey, food is good! How boring can a class on food be?”

“I’m always willing to encourage your interest in things,” Nie Mingjue said, and everyone laughed at him even though he was being sincere. “I’m sure you’ll be an excellent chef someday, Huaisang, if that’s what you like.”

“You’re just calculating whether wielding a kitchen knife still counts as cultivating,” Wen Xu said with a smirk, which of course meant that Nie Mingjue held out his hands and pointed out that the Nie were butchers, after all, and that in turn made Nie Huaisang start complaining that cooking and butchering weren’t the same thing in the slightest. Wen Qing, Wen Ning, and Wen Chao laughed at each of them equally, adding unhelpful comments all the while.

By the time they went to their afternoon lessons, it was as if Wen Ruohan hadn’t been there at all.

[teacherunicorn]

Opposites Attract (Chapter 66)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15  Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24  Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 Chapter 51 Chapter 52 Chapter 53 Chapter 54 Chapter 55 Chapter 56 Chapter 57 Chapter 58 Chapter 59 Chapter 60 Chapter 61 Chapter 62 Chapter 63 Chapter 64 Chapter 65 Chapter 66 Chapter 67

Tag List: @the-chick-with-the-best-fandom, @does-it-matter129, @dcgoddess

Alyssa had never understood the concept of having a hit list, but it now seemed she was composing one of her own. First Strange, and now Edward.

Strange was one thing; she had hated the man from day one. But Ed....they hadn’t been on good terms lately, but hating him like she was now seemed...foreign. She wasn’t faking her anger by any means, but it was still odd to think of the man she had once loved and trusted with everything in this way.

Between her usual duties as Mayor and as Mama Gotham, along with her new found revenge plan, it was safe to say that Alyssa was running on fumes. She had never felt so helpless before. She had gone from being in total control to having no power at all practically overnight. Protecting the people she cared about, along with going after those who threatened them, had always come as easily to her as breathing, but now....

Alyssa threw the papers she was looking over onto her desk and held her head in her hands. The mayor’s office where she was currently was actually rather roomy, but for some reason the walls felt far too tight. She was suffocating.

Deciding she needed a change of scenery, she grabbed her jacket off the back of her chair and stood. Once again she had no idea where she was going; lately her body just seemed to move of it’s own accord while her mind remained blank.

It was raining outside, as it often was in Gotham. The dark skies seemed to suit her mood as she opened her umbrella and headed down the street.

“....Could we be friends?”

“Yeah. I could use a smart friend.”

It was cold. It usually was, but it seemed more noticeable now. Alyssa pulled her jacket tighter around her.

"I for one can’t wait to see what happens next. I sincerely hope it’s good.”

“....Promise me we’ll always be together?”

“Of course. I’m here as long as you’ll have me.”

“Then it’s good.”

She stopped and looked up to see that she had walked herself down to the DA’s office. Her mind instantly went to Harvey Dent, the DA friend she and Bullock had been yelling at since Jim’s arrest. The set up was very tight, but that was to be expected from Edward. Not that she’d told them it was him who set Jim up; Bullock would end up in there with him for killing the guy.

Alyssa was very aware of how smart Edward Nygma was, it had just never occurred to her that he may use his abilities for evil. The art museum, the call to IA, officer Pinkney’s death....

Wait. IA. Ed had made an anonymous call to IA to re-open the Theo Galavan case. He had set it up to look like Pinkney was the caller, but it would have been him who actually called in.

IA secretly recorded their anonymous tip line to have the tapes available for evidence. If she could just get her hands on that tape....

Water from a puddle on the sidewalk splashed up her pant legs as she ran through it into the DA’s office. She didn’t notice; she had to find Dent, she had to call Bullock.

They were getting Jim out of prison.

******

As it turned out, Bullock was following her line of thought. Sort of. Alyssa wanted to get Jim out of prison by clearing his name, Harvey had contacted Don Falcone and busted his partner out of the joint.

“Have you gone insane?!” she demanded of the detective.

“They moved him to the F wing Alyssa! Every sicko we’ve ever locked up is in there, he wouldda been dead in a week!”

“And now you might be joining back there!”

“Alyssa.” Jim interrupted their argument. “I asked Harvey to get me out. I need to clear my name, and there’s no way I can do that from Blackgate.”

“Course not, that’s what you’ve got me for.” she pulled a yellow package envelope from her coat pocket. “IA secretly records their anonymous tip line and well, being mayor has its advantages.

“You tracked down the tape?” Jim said in awe as he took the envelope from her.

“I cleaned the tape too. The guy disguised his voice, but there’s a very particular sound of a coo-coo clock in the background.” a coo-coo clock she’d know anywhere. Ed had called in the tip from his living room, the bastard. “Now if you gentlemen will excuse me, I have a press address to give about the ‘killer cop’ that just broke outta prison.” she gave them both a very pointed look. The detectives had the decency to look abashed.

“Thank you, Alyssa.” Jim said gratefully. “What you’re doing means a lot.”

“Anything to protect the reputation of boyscout Jim Gordon.”

******

Nathaniel Barnes was on a man-hunt. He usually was when anything happened in Gotham, but it was different this time. It was Jim. It was someone he had cared about, some one he had trusted, someone he was now looking to tear down and lock up.

For the first time since she had met the man, Alyssa felt a sort of kinship with him. Having someone in your life do a 180 like that....wondering if there were signs and you just weren’t paying attention and missed them....It was a kind of feeling that could tear you to shreds.

Still, it was no excuse for not doing the right thing, though.....Alyssa was having trouble being certain what that was lately.

Seeing her in the precinct again brought a certain paranoid look to Ed’s eyes as he watched her and Barnes from a distance. Alyssa knew the truth, not just about Gordon but about all his misdoings. She might not know all the exact details, but she knew enough to know where to get them.

Oswald....That little rat had sold him out once, no doubt he’d be willing to again if she asked, and Ed was certain Alyssa knew where he’d gone after his release from Arkham. He needed a plan.

Thinking of plans against Alyssa made alarm bells go off in his head however, and it made his stomach churn. Everything about Edward Nygma was a well-oiled machine, including his love and loyalty towards Alyssa Connors. Thinking of anything that wasn’t good for her was a spanner in the works; a break in his machine. It did nothing to help his flustered, paranoid state, in fact it only made it worse as the desire to find the woman who was such an expert at calming him when he was like this kept flitting across his mind.

Ed knocked the contents of his desk onto the floor with one sweep; papers, beakers and all. His breathing was heavy and everything appeared blurry despite the fact that he was still wearing his glasses.

Okay...Okay....Chances of Alyssa finding Oswald....say 80%. Chances of Alyssa asking about Kristen’s location in the woods.....also 80%. That left a 60% chance of Alyssa finding her....

That only left one option.

******

There was part of her, admittedly a stupid part, that was hoping following Ed into the woods would turn up absolutely nothing. Alyssa had no idea where that part was coming from, or why it was thinking something so obviously impossible but...god, she wished it had been right.

Jim glanced at her from behind the tree they were watching Ed from. He was talking to Kristen as he dug up the grave.

“Hello Kristen. I know, didn’t expect to see me again. But, circumstances. Now I’m afraid I’m gonna have to move you.”

Jim took a step forward without Alyssa noticing, and she failed to grab his arm to stop him when he did. Ed heard the snow crunching under his feet and stopped digging. He turned to face him with a gun in his hand.

“Jim Gordon. It makes sense that Alyssa would know where you were. So you did find Oswald. And that little bird sang.”

“No, I just followed you.” Jim corrected, putting his hands up to prevent Ed from shooting.

Edward laughed, a sort of dark sound that sent chills down Alyssa’s spine. “You two played on my paranoia. Oh, that woman does know me well, I’m impressed, really. I’d clap, but I have a gun in my hand.”

“How did this happen to you?” Jim stepped closer. “How’d you become this?”

“You dummy. This is who I am. It was just finally admitting the truth to myself. Well that and murdering some people.”

“I don’t believe that.” Jim shook his head.

“You don’t believe it, why Jim? Because it would make you incompetent, to know that I was right under your nose the whole time? Or you don’t wanna admit that there’s a monster in all of us, because you of all people should know that! See that’s what made it so easy to frame you!”

“I was your friend.” Jim said. “I cared about you. Alyssa cared about you. She loved you.”

“Do not, talk about her!” Ed snapped. “She knows, exactly what she did! Why I had to do this.” he gestured to the grave. “Why I have to do this now.” he steadied the gun in his hand, aiming right at Jim’s head.

“Ed don’t!” Alyssa finally came out from her hiding place.

“Alyssa...”

“Ed please...” her voice cracked. “This isn’t you, don’t say it is, I know it isn’t!”

“Oh what do you know!” he snapped at her. “The great Alyssa Connors; Gotham’s answer to everything, right? You’ve always got all the answers, even with weird little Ed and his little riddles.” he sighed. “How about, one last riddle Alyssa, for old time’s sake?” he stepped closer to her. “A nightmare, for some. For others, a savior, I come. My hands cold and bleak....” he reached towards her. “It’s the warm hearts they seek.” his hand closed into a fist.

“....Death.”

He smiled, though it held none of the warmth it usually did. “Right as always.” the gun shifted from Jim to Alyssa, making Jim’s eyes go wide. “Goodbye Alyssa.”

“Drop the gun!” Barnes’ voice shouted from behind them.

Ed’s aim went back to the detective quick as lightening. “Captain Barnes, I was- I’m arresting Jim!”

“Stop it Ed! We heard everything, now drop the gun and get on your knees!”

“No this is-this-I’ve-he’s-”

“Last chance!”

Ed’s eyes flickered over to Alyssa, though she did not meet them, her’s planted firmly on the snow at her feet. Grunting in exasperation, Ed turned and took off running, but her tripped over a snow-covered tree branch. By the time he turned back over, the GCPD officers had him surrounded.

“Oh, crud...”

******

Jim’s name was cleared, Ed was being taken to Arkham, and Alyssa sat at Harvey’s desk with her head in her hands.

“Connors?”

“Go away, Barnes.” she didn’t look up. “I’m not in the mood for our usual banter.”

“What did Ed mean? When he said you knew exactly why he did what he did?”

Alyssa bit her lip. “....Coo-coo clock.” she said simply, look up at the man with a sad smile.

“Coo-coo clock.” he nodded, remembering their conversation from several months ago. “Right. Look, I know this is gonna sound like crap commin’ from me...but if you need anything, anything at all...”

“Yeah. Thanks Cap.”

Surprise crossed Barnes’ face, but he didn’t say more as Alyssa returned her head to her hands.

******

Across town, Ed had been dressed in the stripped Arkham uniform and was being lead to his cell. He flinched slightly as he passed the common area full of inmates trying to get a look at the fresh meet. The hallway he was lead down was cold and smelled of mold and mildew. The guard stopped at one of the doors on the left, opened it, and shoved him in, slamming the door behind him.

The room was as bleak as the rest of the building. Something sitting on the bed caught his eye though, and he went to investigate. Sitting in the center of the worn out mattress was a thick, glossy covered sudoku book with a pen clipped to the front. There was a note inside the cover.

‘Don’t do it all in one night.’

Edwards smiled inspite of himself.

The note was in Alyssa’s handwriting.

[thenovl]

NOVL Excerpt: Dreamland Burning

— Rowan— 

Nobody walks in Tulsa. At least not to get anywhere. Oil built our houses, paved our streets, and turned us from a cow town stop on the Frisco Railroad into the heart of Route 66. My ninth-grade Oklahoma History teacher joked that around these parts, walking is sacrilege. Real Tulsans drive.

But today my car is totaled and I have an eleven- thirty appointment with the district attorney at the county courthouse. So I walked.

Mom and Dad wanted to come home and pick me up after their morning meetings. I convinced them the walk would help me clear my head, and it did. Especially when I got to the place where he died.

Honestly, I’d been a little worried that being there again would mess me up. So to keep myself calm, I imagined how things must have looked the night Will and Joseph and Ruby tried to survive. There’s this old map of Tulsa online, and the streets I walked along to get here are on it. In 1921, the Arkansas River cut them off to the south, just like it does today. But back then they ran north into trees and fields and farms. There aren’t any farms now, only highways and concrete.

It was probably quieter a hundred years ago, but that doesn’t necessarily mean better. I understand now that history only moves forward in a straight line when we learn from it. Otherwise it loops past the same mistakes over and over again.

That’s why I’m here, wearing one of Mom’s knee- length business skirts, sitting on a bench near the court- house, waiting to tell the DA what happened. I want to stop just one of those loops. Because it’s like Geneva says: The dead always have stories to tell. They just need the living to listen. 

Everything started the first Monday of summer vacation. It was my only chance at a real day off, because the next morning I was supposed to start the internship Mom had arranged. It was the kind of thing that would look good on college applications and get me recommendation letters from people with MD after their names. I didn’t especially want to be locked up in a sterilized research lab all summer, but I never bothered to look for something better. The way things stood, I had one day all my own to sleep late, eat Nutella with a spoon, and send James a thousand texts about nothing.

Only I didn’t get to do any of that.

At 7 am on the dot, a construction crew pulled into the driveway and started slamming truck doors and banging tools around. Hundred-year-old windows do a crap job of keeping things out, so even though the men spoke quietly, I could hear their murmurs and smell the smoke from their cigarettes.

After a while, the side gate squeaked open and the guys carried their tools to the servants’ quarters behind our house. Just so you don’t get the wrong idea, that sounds a lot more impressive than it is. I mean, yes, we have money, but no one in my family has had live-in servants since my great-great-grandparents. After they died, my great-uncle Chotch moved into the back house. Years earlier, when Chotch was two, he’d wandered out of the kitchen and fallen into the pool. By the time the gardener found him and got him breathing again, he was blue and brain-damaged. He’d lived, though, and was good at cut- ting hair. Dad says he gave free trims to all the workers at the oil company my great-great-grandfather founded, right up until the day he died. That was in 1959.

The only things living in the back house since then have been holiday decorations, old furniture, Uncle Chotch’s Victrola, and termites. Then, last Christmas, Mom decided that even though there are three unused bedrooms in the main house, we needed a guest cottage, too.

Dad fought her on it, I think because he’s a nice liberal white guy weirded out by the idea that the back house was built for black servants. If it had been up to him, he would have let it rot.

Mom was not okay with that.

Her great-grandfather had been the son of a maid, raised in the back house of a mansion two blocks over. He’d gone on to graduate first in his class from Morehouse College and become one of Tulsa’s best-known black attorneys. Mom went to law school to carry on the family legal tradition and ended up owning a back house. For her, it mattered.

“I won’t stand by and let a perfectly good building crumble to dust,” she’d argued. There had been some closed-door negotiations between her and Dad after that, then a few days where they didn’t talk to each other at all. In the end, Dad started referring to the back house as his “man cave,” and while he shopped for gaming systems and a pool table, Mom interviewed contractors.

That was six months ago. The renovations started in May.

I lay there listening to the workmen’s saw, figuring I had maybe three minutes before our grumpy neighbor, Mr. Metzidakis, started banging on the front door to complain about the noise.

Only he didn’t have to.

The saw stopped on its own. The gate creaked open.

Equipment clunked against the truck bed. And the men talked so fast and low that I could only catch four words.

Huesos viejos. Policía. Asesinato.

Which, yes, I understood—thank you, Señora Markowitz and tres años de español. And which, yes, was enough to get me out of bed and over to the window in time to see their truck back out onto the street and drive away.

Something strange was going on, and I wanted to know what. So I snagged a pair of flip-flops and headed for the back house.

It was a disaster inside. A week before, the workmen had demolished the ceiling and pulled all the toxic asbestos insulation. After that, they’d hacked out big chunks of termite-tunneled plaster from the walls and ripped the old Formica countertops off the cabinets. A gritty layer of construction dust coated everything, including Uncle Chotch’s old Victrola in the corner. At least they covered it with plastic, I thought, stepping around boxes of tile and grout on my way to the fresh-cut hole in the floor at the back of the room.

Only once I got there, I forgot about the Victrola completely and understood exactly what had sent the workmen running.

Huesos viejos. Policía. Asesinato.

Old bones.

Police.

Murder.

— William—

I wasn’t good when the trouble started. Wasn’t particularly bad, either, but I had potential. See, Tulsa in 1921 was a town where boys like me roamed wild. Prohibition made Choctaw beer and corn whiskey more tempting than ever, and booze wasn’t near the worst vice available.

My friend Cletus Hayes grew up in a house two doors down from mine. His father was a bank executive muckety-muck with a brand-new Cadillac automobile and friends on the city council. For that reason alone, Mama and Pop generally let Clete’s knack for mischief slide. He and I got along fine eighty percent of the time, and kept each other’s company accordingly.

One thing we always did agree on was that misbehaving was best done in pairs. Plenty of the roustabout gangs running Tulsa’s streets would have taken us in, but I always figured the two of us and maybe even smart enough to know the difference between hell-raising and causing real harm. Those gangs were chock-full of unemployed young men back from the Great War who’d come to Oklahoma looking for oilfield work down at the Glenn Pool strike. They’d seen bad things, done a few themselves, and liked showing off for locals. Problem was, the locals would try to one-up ’em, the roustabouts would take things a step further, and in the end, someone always spent the night in jail. That’s why Clete and me kept to ourselves. We weren’t angels, but we weren’t hardened or hollow, either. Of course, even fair-to-middling boys like us veered off the righteous path from time to time. Some worse than others.

I was only seventeen, but had the shoulders and five- o’clock shadow of a full-grown man. More than one girl at Tulsa Central High School had her eye on me, and that’s the truth. None of them stood a chance, though; Adeline Dobbs had stolen my heart way back in second grade, and the fact that she was a year older and the prettiest girl in school didn’t dampen my hopes of winning her in the least.

She was a beauty, Addie was; slim and graceful as prairie grass, with black hair and eyes like a summer sky. I dreamed about that girl, about her clean smell and the peek of her lashes underneath her hat brim. And I loved her for her kindness, too. Boys followed her about like pups, but she always managed to deflect their affections without wounding their pride.

For years I loved her from afar, and spent no small amount of energy convincing myself it was only a matter of time before she started loving me back. Maybe that’s why what happened at the Two-Knock Inn that cool March night tore me up so bad.

I was on my third glass of Choc and feeling fine when Addie arrived. Clete was there, too, dancing with a pretty, brown-skinned girl. For when it came to the fairer sex, a sweet smile and a pair of shapely legs were all it took to turn him colorblind. Not that it mattered at the Two-Knock. Jim Crow laws may have kept Negroes and whites separated in proper Tulsa establishments, but in juke joints and speakeasies out on the edge of town, folks didn’t care about your skin color near so much as they did the contents of your wallet.

The Two-Knock was a rough place, though. A place where girls like Addie didn’t belong. Even so, the sight of her coming through that door took my breath away. She was a vision: crimson dress, lips painted to match, eyes all wild and bright. Clete saw her, too, and made his way to my side after the song ended and poked me in the ribs, saying, “Lookee who just walked in!”

I didn’t have breath enough to respond, so Clete jabbed me again. Said, “What’re you waiting for, Will? Go talk to her!”

I wanted to. Lord, how I wanted to. But Addie was too good for the Two-Knock, and I couldn’t quite reconcile myself with her being there.

When I didn’t move, Clete rolled his eyes and socked me on the shoulder. Said, “This is it, dummy! If you don’t go over and buy her a drink, you’re the biggest jackass I know.”

To which I replied that Addie didn’t drink. And Clete snorted, “We’re in a speakeasy, knucklehead. She didn’t come for tea.”

I shrugged. Signaled the bartender for another glass of Choc and slugged most of it down soon as it arrived. Then I looked back at Addie and asked Clete if he really thought I should go over.

“Hell yes!” he said.

So I puffed up my chest like the big dumb pigeon I was and got to my feet. Which was when the front door opened, and everything changed.

The man who walked in was tall and handsome, muscled all over, and browner than boot leather. Something about him shone. Drew your eyes like he was the one thing in the world worth looking at. He only had eyes for Addie, though, and she gave him a smile like sunrise when he sat down beside her.

I dropped back onto the barstool.

“You better chase him off,” Clete said. But my throat was tight, and I only just managed to mumble, “Nothin’ I can do.”

“You kiddin’ me?” he said. “That boy’s out of line!”

I stayed quiet and stared at Addie’s pale hand perched atop the table. She and the man were talking. Smiling. Laughing. With every word, his fingers moved closer to hers.

Hate balled up inside me like a brass-knuckled fist. And when he slowly, slowly ran his fingertip across her skin, every foul emotion in the world churned deep down in the depths of my belly. Glancing sideways at a white woman was near enough to get Negroes lynched in Tulsa. Shot, even, in the middle of Main Street at noon, and with no more consequence than a wink and a nudge and a slap on the back. And God help me, that’s exactly what I wanted for the man touching my Addie.

I wanted him dead.

Thanks for reading the first two chapters of Jennifer Latham’s thought-provoking and powerful new novel. Like what you read? Be sure to check out Dreamland Burning when it releases on Tuesday, February 21, 2017!