#did he see which way the wind was blowing and make a strategic exit during the confusion of the 40 days' war?

[airyairyaucontraire]

History Man: but this is the truth, whispered to me by Furiosa herself (describes something just dripping poetic justice but completely implausible in terms of both the human body and trees generally)

layer upon layer of unreliable narrator

[scribbleseas]

The Indignant Pawn, Chapter II: The Woman In Beige

Description: You are Y/n Y/l/n- formerly known as Princess Helena, the runaway princess.

You're an assassin for hire who only agrees to find the worst of London's criminals at the business end of your knife; until a mysterious woman hires you to end the likes of Ciel Phantomhive, the King of the Underworld. You find yourself trading your weapons for your abandoned family crest in order to infiltrate his home as none other than Princess Marie-Louise, your twin sister. What's to happen when you find that the young Earl is more than a callous businessman?

OVERALL STORY WARNINGS: sexual assault, objectification, death, detailed description of blood/gore, detailed description of murder, lying, impersonation, theft, weapons, detailed panic attacks, symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder.

Author’s Note: If you have any questions or concerns about these warnings, please don’t hesitate to contact me! Otherwise, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

-Dan

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. . .

DECEMBER 17TH, 1891

LONDON, ENGLAND

The outside of the Globe theater was alight with bustling crowds as Oscar Wilde's London premiere of Salome had just concluded for the evening.

You were never partial towards theater. In fact, it made you wonder how a show could captivate such a diverse audience, as you watched formally clothed aristocrats and their servants cringed amongst the middle-class plebeians as they exited the theater through the matching front doors. Little did they know, the real show would take place inside of the closed carriage you waited in, peering through the red blind that covered it. Your thumb ran over the smooth pommel of your dagger. You focused on its smooth entirety as you sat back in the carriage to wait, distracting yourself from the consuming darkness.

Thankfully, Felix Keating, the wealthiest factory owner from Birmingham, valued his privacy. He opted for a carriage that had a single window on the door. This made his carriage an ideal place for you to intervene and elude any potential witnesses, considering the man had little to no time alone. In your case, it was less than optimal, but strategically, it was going to do the trick.

You stared at the wall of the carriage across from you before squeezing your eyes shut. You tried to focus on something concrete- perhaps the weight of your weapon, the tickle that your wool scarf gave your lip as it concealed the bottom half of your face. You inhaled deeply, reaching out for the drape of the window to let a fraction of light, but you froze and for a moment, you were...gone. When you opened your eyes again, you found yourself in the hallway of your home, a lantern burning dimly in your hand as you heard two men talking- one voice familiar, the other strange.

'Lass? I haven't the slightest-'

'Just hand over the money and we won't have to blow no one's brains outta their skulls.'

Gunshots. Blood.

'Has she already been broken in? Lord knows what she was doing here with that old bum.'

'Doesn't matter, she's ours now, isn't that right?'

'Whore?'

Cold.

Piercing pain in your neck reminded you that you were in a carriage with years of difference from that morning. You had a job to do as you heard approaching steps and the posh voice of the factory owner himself. Before sinking to the corner furthest from the door, you took a generous inhale of the drafty air and focused on how it filled your lungs, rather than the poorly timed panic that the darkness insisted on showing you towards. You wiggled your toes in your black boots and wrinkled your nose, which served as tics that you had cautiously picked out years ago to help ground yourself when necessary. You held the dagger in your hand, the blade ready to pierce a sinner's flesh.

"That playwright will bring tears to the steeliest of lads. Quite brilliant. I must write to Wilde," Felix Keating's dulcet voice sounded as his coachman greeted him. "Reckon I could stick my nose into the theater enterprise, Her Majesty is quite interested in renovating these rubbish theaters," Keating mused, his muffled voice growing closer by the step.

"A clever investment, Mr. Keating," the coachman validated as you hugged your legs, making yourself smaller in the corner of the carriage, your head down and hood up. The door opened and you held your breath, as your heart pounded against your ribcage in protest. "May I offer you extra linens for warmth? The wind's just startin' up."

This wasn't the first time you've had to hide in order to carry out an assignment, yet the adrenaline between waiting and pouncing was always riveting.

"Ah, no Horace, I'll be 'right," Keating took his seat, more focusing on lighting his cigar. The scent caused you to tense, reminding you of the conman, someone smoked as if his life depended on it. He was a smart man that would scold you for the way you grew past his death. He'd be disappointed in you, a relentless advocate for diplomacy. Ask questions, shoot later.

"Right. If you change your mind, you gimme a holler," Horace, the coachman, shut the door as Keating settled himself with an exasperated sigh. He pushed the short drapes that were concealing the window, allowing the city lights to illuminate the small quarters and simply watched the street go by as Horace told the horse to "get walkin".

Without wasting another moment, you got to your feet, your dagger precariously reflecting light that shone through the window.

"Who is it? Who's there-" Keating started to shout, immediately sitting to attention as you used the whole of your arm's strength to shove him back against the wall that he was previously reclining against. Your nondominant hand barely fit around the circumference of his clammy neck, but nevertheless you were able to force his head back completely, his torso following in suit. You squeezed firmly, your fingers digging into the warm flesh and you could feel his hurried pulse with ease as you kept your back straight and legs strong. The angle was awkward, seeing as you were bent over in a moving carriage, but your balance was more than you gave it credit for. "Why- please!" he gasped for air, his glasses low on his nose, threatening to fall to the floor. "Stop! I have...money! Take anything you want. H-Horace!"

"Shut up!" Unintentionally, your grip tightened as you shoved his head back into the wall again, causing Keating's extinguished cigar to fall on the cushioned seat next to him. His hands flailed in panic as his chest tensed with effort as he tried to yell out to Horace again. "Maggie Calvert," you snarled as your petticoats moved with your short steps closer. Your nose could have touched his while you held his sightline. You adjusted your hold on the wooden handle of your dagger in your dominant hand before impelling the blade between his fourth and fifth ribs and close to his midline. "This is for her."

His body froze, his mouth agape. You couldn't tell if he recognized the name, but you wanted him to. A greedy businessman of his caliber deserved to think about someone other than himself during his last few moments alive. You pushed your dagger until both quillions were making contact with his white shirt. You have the dagger a small jerk for maximum damage before pulling it out, allowing blood to immediately gush out of his wound. Finally, your heart rate was beginning to slow with the rush of merely completing the task and you let go of his neck, your fingers aching from being tense. Keating was choking as he tried to yell or scream, or perhaps curse you, but the blood that was rushing into his collapsing lung was going to keep him from doing so.

"Maggie Calvert," you repeated solemnly, using Keating's long coat to clean off your dagger and tuck it into your pocket bag, one of the two large pouches that were nestled between your skirts. The body was limp and the strangled hacking had finally come to a stop. After all, the blood had stained your stomacher as it had come up through his mouth during his final moments of struggle. However, the compensation you were about to receive for this task would more than cover it. Unfortunately, it left Horace with more than a mess to clean up. Blood was a stubborn substance.

. . .

DECEMBER 20TH 1891

BIRMINGHAM, ENGLAND

Before you could knock, the door of the brick building flew open, causing you to jump in surprise.

"Miss Y/l/n," Eric Calvert's muddy green eyes were glassy with unshed tears as you pushed the hood of your cloak off of your neck out of respect for the modest home. The housing in Birmingham, an industrial town, was much different than London's. It was more compact, the air was more polluted with factory smoke. The Calverts seemed to be better off than most common families, but that meant nothing in this case. Factory conditions were poor, even after the reform laws from the 1830s. You were blessed to be introduced to more lucrative work upon your arrival- drawing money straight out of pockets with the most genuine man to have strolled down the cemented walkways of the city. "Please, come right in," he gestured with his gloved hand, moving out of your way as he removed his hat and bowed.

"Mr. Calvert," you offered a tight-lipped smile at the bowing man. In the hand that pressed against his chest, Eric pressed his grey hat into it, like a proper gentleman. The gesture had only fed into your discontentment, while Eric seemed no better off. You weren't blind to the pallid shade of his face, the withheld energy in his stance. "You mustn't bow to me," you assert, waiting for the man to right himself as he frowned.

"Oh, please... Mr. Calvert's my father." Eric said with a miffed shake of his head, raking his fingers through his sloppy waves of hair. The two of you walked down the short hall that led into a big foyer. A fireplace was on the far side with several articles of outerwear hanging on the mantle to help warm them from snow, you presume. The scent of the burning wood brings you a foreign nostalgia that ideally, you would've failed to notice. The past deserved to stay where it belonged- in the past. The only hearth you were to be a part of was your own.

"Evelyn, dear! Draw some tea, she's come back!" Eric called his wife, who seemed busy in the kitchen that was located in an attached room. "Hurry!" You presumed that he felt apprehensive about being left alone with you, which was fair.

"Just a minute!" Evelyn called from the attaching room, the door left ajar. You were right to assume that it was a kitchen of some form, seeing as the general layout of this building resembled that of your own home, the fuss of her brown petticoats catching your eye. You wished she'd move with more urgency. You had yet to eat properly, seeing as you were more occupied with moving efficiently over the past day or two. At least the vicinity was warm, allowing you to pull off your thick gloves and tuck them into either pocket bag as Eric led you to a small area near the fireplace. There were two big loveseats across from each other and with a rug in between. The cushions were patched together with random sheets of fabric.

There was a single photograph in a hanging frame over the fireplace's mantle, the glass dirty. It was Eric and Evelyn, jubilant in light, fancy clothing as they cradled their baby girl between them. You understood how the couple found themselves in such desperation to acquaint themselves with someone like you when they had once smiled without any semblance of malignity. She was stolen from them, and it had seemed that the world was prepared to let the men at fault see their own children grow up. You were the one to right that wrong- by driving your knife between the ribs of Felix Keating and watching him choke as blood filled his lungs. His eyes tearing as he begged for mercy when Maggie Calvert, who was no more than nine, died in his workhouse because of his cheaply built machinery. She wasn't given a chance, so who was Keating to think he deserved one?

"She'll be uh...right out," Eric smiled at you again, repeating the words of his wife, those of which you had no problem hearing. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the uncomfortable way he held himself, as opposed to the haughty attitude he sported during your first meeting. He was dubious that a mere lady like yourself (months shy of twenty) could hurt a fly, much less hold a body count to her name. Yet the morning prior, the bustling headlines of The Daily Telegraph reached Birmingham, selling quickly as they covered the murder of Felix Keating, owner of many iron manufacturing factories who narrowly escaped an immense prison sentence for a major accident in his Birmingham factory a week before.

"Oh my, Eric," Evelyn entered the main room, precariously balancing a steaming teapot and a modest spread of small bites on a tarnished, silver tray. "Where have your manners gone?" she tutted, setting it down on the oakwood table before turning her attention to you. Her blonde hair was tied in a disheveled bun, droopy and with tendrils falling out of it like spider legs that swayed as she moved.

"My manners?" Eric began to protest, only to be interrupted by his wife again. You found their dynamic as a couple quite refreshing. After all, you would not have been there, had Evelyn worked to contact you without her husband's knowledge.

"Miss Y/l/n, allow me to take your cloak," Evelyn gestured to the many hooks that were nailed into the fireplace mantle where there were drying articles of clothing hanging, narrowly dodging the short flames.

It was difficult to compel yourself to smile, but the corners of your lips turned upwards anyhow. There was a line where social niceties ended and another where gullible kindness started. This was the latter as they knowingly welcomed you, a murderer into their home because you made an ally out of yourself. "Don't trouble yourself any more than you have, Mrs. Calvert. My time here is brief," you found satisfaction when she shook her head and began to pour you a cup of the steaming tea, despite your words. Thankfully, she made no attempt to sit with you.

"Brief?" Evelyn repeated, gently passing the delicate teacup to you. The warmth spread over your palms on contact as you brought the rim to your lips. Your hold was improper, though necessary, seeing as the finest details are what make the best disguises. Only the wealthy held their teacups with so much consideration. Besides, the warmth was much more satisfying when it went beyond the tips of your fingers. "I reckon a woman such as yourself is a tad busy," she concurred, causing you to tense in surprise. You were rarely referred to as a woman.

"Quite," you mused after her, taking a contemplative sip of your tea. "I ought to be at the station in less than an hour," you lied, gently tapping the tips of your short nails on the warm cup. All that was necessary was payment and crucial parting words. The assorted bites on the tray were beginning to seem unappealing, the longer you stood there. "But we must discuss a few things-" you start, only to be interrupted by Evelyn, which was common.

"Your fee. We have the first installment," she gestured to Eric with her chin, her smile long gone as he offered a small pouch made of different, threadbare, fabrics. While you had already discounted your normal charge for the couple's situation, they could hardly afford a fraction of the sum.

"We've tried to save as much as possible. Take it. It's the least we can do at the time," Eric spoke, linking his arm with his wife's. Reluctantly, you hold your cup in one hand and deftly slide the pouch into the pocket bag between your petticoats. They would have felt worse if you refused to take their money. After all, you avenged the silenced death of their girl.

"It's plenty, thank you," after finishing the rest of your tea, you proceed with your original thought before they could try to pass their relief for protest. You had to recite the practiced discourse that you gave to every one of your patrons before making your leave. "Now, the two of you will be suspects to the Yard, be cautious," you put emphasis on your words by meeting each of their gazes. "You must avoid London and keep your heads down. Do you understand?"

"And... what happens to you?" Eric asked, sipping out of his own teacup. His shoulders were still unnaturally squared and attentive as he actively avoided your sightline. "Where are you off to?" his focus quickly turned to Evelyn, who was untangling her arm from his and bringing the tray back into the kitchen.

"The distance from Birmingham to London is great, she'll starve before she returns!" Evelyn stopped to yell from over her shoulder before leaving the door open behind her. In the kitchen, she promptly began to wrap the biscuits in napkins.

"Nevermind me," you coaxed Eric back to the conversation by answering his question. You smiled once again as you put your cup on the table and begin to put your gloves back on their respective hands. "You need to make certain that you both have an alibi for the night of December 17th, I cannot stress this enough, Mr. Calvert," you looked up from your gloves, pulling them so they covered your forearms again.

"I assure you, Miss Y/l/n. We were both working in that refinery- until dawn," you had no doubt about the truth to that statement, though any Peeler would press further. That part was to the Calverts to handle, seeing as you had played out your role. Pursing your lips, you took a generous inhale to soothe the ominous pit of anxiety that had settled in your stomach.

"Sure," you pulled your hood back over your head as Evelyn returned with a minute basket. It was covered and you wished you still had your appetite from when you had entered their home.

"Here you are," Evelyn allowed you to take the handle in your non-dominant hand. In a city, it was always smartest to have your dominant hand free, which was yet another insignificant habit that you had inherited from the old conman. What was the date? December 20th, which meant there were still a few weeks before it was the anniversary of his death. Otherwise, the most difficult twenty-four hours to bear out of a calendar year.

Evelyn was smiling, but it didn't reach her eyes. After all, for most women, motherhood was a privilege and it had been torn away from her. She was attempting to care for you as she would have for Maggie...had she lived to nineteen. Tears were welling in her eyes as she watched your hand extend to briefly touch her shoulder. "Take care," you said, finally meeting Eric's green hues that were tearing up as well. "I can show myself out," you shook your head dismissively when he moved to go to the front door with you. Evelyn needed to be coddled more than you did.

. . .

JANUARY 5TH, 1892

LONDON, ENGLAND

Evenings at home always unsettled you, being the start of an all-too boring night, which made you feel restless- itchy for action. Rather, your quiet home always put you on the height of your guard, even as you were sitting behind the short shed, submerging your assorted gowns and petticoats into the warm, soapy water that bubbled in your wooden tub. It was a tedious, once a week process that perhaps irked you more than cooking. With a huff, you directed your stress into the iron grip that you kept your washboard upright with, rubbing fabric over its ridges.

The water made your fingers prune and the stool under you caused your bottom to grow sore, the longer you had to sit there, toiling away until each article was hanging on your makeshift clothesline- fastened with pins. When you were a girl, you had about twice the amount to wash and yet, you enjoyed the task because there were two more hands to make light, fun work of it. The conman liked to sing to pass the time- the lyrics had taken you ages to comprehend, seeing as your English had challenged for years. He was anything but a schoolteacher.

You cringed as your hand slid down the washboard too quickly, causing the hot water to splash back up at your face. The weather was foul, the winter in London was always tempestuous and the warm water on your face had only reminded you of how little warmth your wool scarf provided. It was wrought with holes by now, but you couldn't bring yourself to give it away, you've had it from the day you arrived...nine years ago. Dismissing the thought, you allowed the cooling water to run down your forehead, passing the slope of your nose, until it finally fell and assimilated with the top of your stomacher.

You squeezed the wet petticoat, turning it in order to ring the water out. Although you could have been more thorough, the boredom that came with domestic chores was causing you to rush and find something more occupying to start. The tranquility of the night was eerie, an uneasy contrast to the violent life you led.

The sound of approaching voices caused you to pause, your hands pulling the washboard out of the water to hold, ready to swing. The petticoat that you had been wringing out fell back into the wooden tub with a quiet splash. The soap suds ran down your forearms, dampening the brown sleeves of your gown.

"No entiendo por qué la señora quiere una chica. Podríamos bombardear el sitio de Phantomhive más rápido que esta pérdida de tiempo," the voice of a woman spoke quickly, in a language that you couldn't identify. A denomination of Latin? Knitting your eyebrows, you conceded, deciding to focus on what you could understand. Bombard, Phantomhive. Bomb?

Vaguely, you recognized the name 'Phantomhive' from the newspaper. The Earl Phantomhive ran the Funtom Company, children's' toys and confectionery.

"Quiere su nombre lo más lejos posible de esto. La chica es una asesina exitosa, así que sería más discreta que los explosivos," a masculine voice responded, a stiff twig cracking beneath one of their shoes. You scowled as you shifted your weight from your left side to your right. The washboard was a viable weapon, but it was simply a matter of timing. Their silhouettes were getting closer, each short and clad in neutral earth tones.

"A menos que te interese en enredarte con ese mocoso," the man chuckled. He wasn't secretive or trying to be discreet. By the way he trudged, he was probably leaving deep tracks in the slushy excuse for snow.

"No tengo un deseo de muerte, a diferencia de ti. Callado!!" The woman said, her voice suddenly at a harsh whisper.

"Ah. There," the man spoke in English, finally a language that you could comprehend. "Y/n Y/l/n?" He asked, pulling down his scarf to expose the rest of his face. In comparison to yours, his accent was much thicker. Your grip on the washboard didn't waver.

"Who are you?" You demanded, stepping forward to stand your ground as they approached you. The pair wasn't visibly armed, their figures weren't particularly threatening to you. The man merely smiled at you while the woman to his side scowled.

"Diego- and uh, Carmen. Peace! We come in...uh, peace," Diego stammered, stopping at a respectful distance from you while showing you his empty hands as they beckoned with his rapid words. He seemed amused with your choice in weapon and assertive stance. "Carmen," he elbowed the sour-faced woman, causing her to grunt and hold her gloved hands up as he was.

"What brings you here?" They must have knocked at your door and came around when there was no response and a dim light behind the shack. Their winter gear suggested that they had some tier of wealth or deft hands in thievery. If it was business, this wouldn't be the first time you were asked to aid in stealing. However, as tempting as the offers were, you turned each one down. 

"Business." Carmen answered this time, her hand slowly reaching into her jacket pocket. "No fret. Is just a letter," her English was just as mediocre as yours had been, years ago. Your eyes followed her hand as she pulled out an envelope with a dark red seal. "Business for our...líder?" She explained and looked at the man, leaving a long pause before her last word. It was essentially 'leader', but the stress was on an 'i' sound instead.

"Yes. Leader," Diego cleared his throat in a weak attempt to mask a laugh as you dropped your washboard back into the washbasin with a short splash. You ignored him as you took the letter from the woman, your wet hand causing the ink on the front to smear. It read your name, Y/n Y/l/n, in a pompous script, the illegible type that royalty and aristocrats penned. "All you needa know is there."

The Undertaker was supposed to be the partition between yourself and clients. Who did he think he was to give these servants your address? You'd have to give him a stern reminder for the next time you cross paths. With a frown, you pushed the envelope into your pocket bag, allowing it to jut out due to its dimensions.

"Is this all?" You asked as you waited for them to either leave or proceed with more broken commentary. Your lips were pressed together in a tight purse, a fresh lump of apprehension growing in your stomach. However, you couldn't let it show as the man sheepishly removed his hat with a shallow bow. It was more unctuous than anything as it only caused your scowl to deepen.

"Yes, Miss. We can... be going now," Diego righted himself and put his hat back over his dark curly hair. You didn't offer either of than a proper dismissal for the favor of going back to your washing and ruminating over the letter. It merely had a location, date, and time with no further information. No explanation of identification. You could appreciate the impudent nature of it, as this 'leader' assumed you had no plans for January 10th or presumed that you would handle any conflicts yourself when they were approaching you for your services. It was crude of them to assume that you still took orders.

. . .

JANUARY 10TH, 1892

READING, ENGLAND

Perhaps it was curiosity or a lapse of judgment that led you to board a train and throw caution to the wind. Whatever it was, your default prudence seemed to abandon you at each instance you dared open the letter that you were given- if you could call it that. The paper inside merely had your name, a distinct address, time, and date all in a presumptuous formality that made you want to tear it to shreds. But you refrained and instead, rolled your shoulders back and down as you knocked on the painted door of the lofty residential home that coincided with the address in the letter. The walls were constructed with sturdy brick and there was smoke wafting out of the chimney. As you predicted, the entirety of the property before you suggested wealth, just as the note and the delivery had.

You knocked on the door, the letter in your hand as you waited several long, cold moments before a woman greeted you. Most of her features matched Carmen's, deep olive skin and brown hair that was tied back. "You are late," she spoke, disdain clear in her voice as she ushered you through the open door and into a foyer. You were only late by a few minutes, according to the clock on a passing wall. "My mistress is impatient," the woman added as an afterthought as if that fact was supposed to faze you into an apology. Her accent was quite notable, pronounced, and sharp like the other servants.

As she led you to a winding staircase as your gaze trained on each room that you passed. They were each decorated in a modest fashion and the colors were left to a simple tan palette. It was more simple than you would have expected from the manor's proud exterior. The woman cleared her throat, "Doña, she has arrived," she knocked twice on the closed door before opening it, revealing another woman. She stood behind a mahogany desk, watching you with relaxed shoulders. The bay window behind her illuminated the silk of her beige dress, contrasting her tan skin as it hugged her slender figure. Beige was uncommon at the time, given the dullness of it, although this woman wore it like a badge, using the simple color to allow other parts of her appearance to stand out.

"Leave us, Andrea," the woman's gaze had yet to leave yours, causing you to look away in mild discomfort. Once the door was closed again, she extended her hand to you, speaking again as you cautiously shook it. Her grip was confident and warm against your bare palm. "It is my pleasure, Princess Helena. I feared you would disregard dear Carmen and Diego." You retracted your hand, the name causing you to meet her eyes again.

"Y/n," You corrected, your mouth running dry as you calculated each of your words, down to the syllable. This foreign woman was able to unravel each of your lies within the latest nine years and frankly, it took every bit of your skill to remain composed. The conman would assess the person standing in front of him and decide if they were entitled to the truth that they were trying to extract. He would run through each advantage and disadvantage and return to the same conclusion- murder was always an option. After all, it was the only sure way of containing sensitive information. "Y/n Y/l/n," you repeated, causing the woman to laugh, her rounded cheeks eclipsing her eyes.

"We may both employ our pseudonyms, then. Address me as Doña," she sat in the red, cushioned chair behind her. Doña raised her eyebrows at you expectantly as she motioned towards the decidedly less opulent wooden chair across from her. You complied, frowning at her as she leaned towards you. Her smile only seemed to expand. "I have a task for you, Y/n. Only you can complete it for me."

"I know there are other services in London you might have requested," you contradicted, sitting back in the uncomfortable chair as you showed no qualms in testing her.

"No," Doña said with a simple shrug of her slender shoulders, "I need you to eliminate the Earl Phantomhive- the Queen's Guard Dog who puts an end to anyone she names. The graveyard to his name exceeds even yours. Although... it seems to be watered with the blood of the innocent, instead," her smile finally melted, causing her red lips to lay in a natural frown. In the streets of London, her lip color was enough to impose any of the filthiest assumptions about her.

"How does this concern me, specifically?" You asked. As your interest piqued, your eyebrows furrowed and you found yourself leaning towards the edge of the desk, rather than sitting slack against the wooden chair. The notion of the proprietor of a children's company having blood on his noble hands was more endearing than anything, especially to someone such as yourself, living substantial evidence that no one was who they appeared to be.

Your eyes followed Doña's hand as she opened a drawer in the desk, pulling out a pristine, folded newspaper. The masthead read 'DIE SUEDLlCHE POST' (THE SOUTHERN POST), a German newspaper with the headline of 'PRINZESSIN MARIE-LOUISE GIBT IHRE VERLOBUNG MIT PRINZ ARIBERT VON ANHALT BEKANNT' (PRINCESS MARIE-LOUISE ANNOUNCES ENGAGEMENT TO PRINCE ARIBERT OF ANHALT). There was a picture within the columns of words of your twin sister as she sported a gaudy dress and faux-smile as she beckoned the public into her personal life. Seeing Marie's matured face resemble yours so flawlessly was disarming and you only remembered to release a breath you had been holding when Doña spoke again. "The Queen trusts the Earl implicitly- enough to put the safety of her granddaughter in his...capable hands. At any mere threat, the Princess will come overseas to stay under his protection," she paused, smiling again as she unfurled the groundwork of a meticulous plan. "The monarchy is quite predictable, no?"

You had to give her credit for her unwavering confidence. The idea that she implied was beyond mad and yet, she sold it well. "We intercept her transportation before she reaches the port," Doña raised her chin as she explained, her expression smug to challenge you. Someone had trained her to manipulate others, just as the conman had done for you. She was reflecting your body language, while keeping her own polished mannerisms as a subtle attempt to establish trust, but express her own certitude.

"And you intend for me to take her place," you finished mapping out her plan for her, almost speaking in disbelief. Reclaiming your past? Your sister represented the whole of what you had resented in Germany; the wealth, the social faux pas, down to each ruffle of every gown. "Kill the Earl within his own estate," you bit the inside of your bottom lip, keeping yourself in the present.

The door opened behind you, the startling sound of a crying baby caused you to jump and turn your head to the source. A frazzled Andrea, the servant who greeted you, held a crying infant in her arms as it squirmed. "Doña, su hija te necesita ahora," she said, offending you as again as the two individuals conversed in a foreign tongue, ignoring your confusion.

At the sight of the distressed child, Doña's expression curled such as milk did. Her nose wrinkled, her eyes staring at it in disdain. Her glowered response came quickly as she gestured with her hands, "debes llevártela. Andrea, deberías saber mejor que interponerme cuando estoy ocupado con los negocios."

Immediately, and to your relief, Andrea left the office with a mumbled curse that you couldn't decipher. The baby was still crying. "You never learned Spanish?" Doña mused, her hands slowly returning to the wooden surface that separated herself and you. At least you had been correct in assuming it was from a Latin dialect. "That was my daughter," she explained with a careless shrug, causing you to frown. Your mother always spoke of you with the same amount of indifference, if not more than what this woman expressed, calling her daughter a 'that'. Bearing witness to that treatment left you vulnerable to frustration, an emotion that distracted you from the clear thinking you were trained to maintain.

"Earl Phantomhive," you said, bringing her back on topic before she could fiddle with your strained heartstrings any more. "It's a personal vendetta, is it not?"

"Ah. Correct," her face grew serious again as she brought her heavy stare back to yours. For a moment, you looked down at the newspaper- at your beaming sister and her Prince. "The Earl killed my husband after my whole family," Doña said as she shifted in her seat. Her eyes pried into your soul as if she was weighing each of your sins and virtue against each other in that moment. "I cannot rest until he feels the same anguish. What do you say?" She asked, raising her thin eyebrows, leaning forward in her seat.

For the first time that afternoon, you understood the woman sitting before you. You understood the lingering pain behind every smile, the loneliness behind her confident handshake. For that, you didn't need her to prove that the Earl was deserving of just intervention when normally, you required a means that ensured you that you weren't being sent to murder an innocent. The Calverts allowed you to read the court records of Keating's failed prosecution. But in this case, you recognized the raw emotion in her face. You saw it weekly in your employers and it used to stare back at you in the mirror...before you grew.

"Fine," your shoulders relaxed as you shifted in on the wooden chair, tempted to retreat, the more she invaded your space.

"We will begin our preparations immediately, then. We may discuss the finer details over tea."

. . .

JANUARY 17TH, 1892

READING, ENGLAND

"Diego and Carmen have returned," Doña entered your room without the formality of knocking, even though Andrea was in the middle of preparing you for your arrival to the Phantomhive Manor while you were attempting to keep yourself present. You gave your toes a discrete wiggle while they were crushed in tall heels. At least the slight pain was grounding. "Your personal effects will be included with ours," she added as a suggestion for you to respond. Over the week you had spent in her presence, you learned that talking to her was an exhaustive endeavor when most of the time, all you needed to do was listen. Meanwhile, Andrea was finishing your complicated hairstyle behind you. She tied strands of your hair into braids that led into a single low ponytail behind your head. Frankly, the steps she took had you standing there for ages, but you didn't protest, as opposed to the riot you always threw in Germany.

"At last," you stared at your reflection in the mirror before you, willfully ignoring the addition of her behind you. It was almost difficult to recognize yourself, considering you were staring at the visage of your sister, Marie as you dawned a sky blue gown that was embroidered with white designs around the bodice and top petticoat. The neckline had simple ruffles that covered the top of your stomacher, alternating with lace. Your skin was smooth to touch, almost delicate with the amount of cold cream that Andrea had insisted on smothering over every inch of you each morning and night. Even the apples of your cheeks were lightened with a gentle hand of pink rouge. "Putting that off to the last day was careless."

"At least our princess needs not to remember her privilege," Doña smarted, her red lips pursing in a sardonic grin. "Only her grace."

"And what of the princess?" You asked, turning away from yourself to give the packed trunks in your room a quick once over. They were each packed with fine clothing and luxury products that Doña had procured over the week, whilst important belongings of your own had just arrived, according to the woman herself. The conman's watch stayed with you for each task, whether you wore it, forced it into your pocket bag, or wrapped around a garter.

"Her steamship was supposed to dock about an hour ago. It should be in the process of sinking in the North Sea." The words had no effect on you, other than perhaps, relief. While Marie was your sister, you grew up in her looming shadow, her constant jibes, and haughty smiles. Her death secured your role in perhaps, one of the most complicated schemes you have ever dared take part in and did well to rid the world of another self-absorbed leech. Doña's hand gave your shoulder a patronizing pat as she smiled, "peace, Y/n. Your face is too young for frown lines. Remember, princesses haven't a care."

"You would know?" you asked, pressing your lips together and gathering your breath in a shallow inhale. The statement affected you more than it should have, but you blamed the superior tone that Doña attempted to pull over you. Although there were many years separating the two of you, it gave her no right to treat you as a child. You believed that Evelyn Calvert said it best- you were a woman, a lady that deserved every brutal sentiment that the world had to offer. "I believe the monarchy in Spain ended years ago."

"Someone did their reading."

"Enough," you glared, "I believe it would be best to allow Andrea to finish here. Before I stain this gown with your-" Andrea gave your hair a slight tug to tighten the hold before she gave you a quick once over. She seemed proud of her work- turning a runaway back into a princess. Quickly she patted a bit of power over the exposed junction between your neck and shoulders, adding some to your throat. Rather than making you appear paler, it was mostly translucent and served as a more natural aromatic while hiding blemishes. Andrea then left and quickly returned with a white coat that ran down to your mid-thigh. Deftly, she buttoned down the middle of it, closing both sides with little effort, seeing as it was made to be snug over all of your tight layers.

"-No, I believe that is quite enough, Y/n. Don't forget- we are allies, love." Doña reminded you with a smile. "In fact, I retrieved something else of yours to prove it," her hand disappeared into the deliberate fold of her pocket bag, revealing a small box. It was a black velvet that was soft in your hand. "Go on, she prompted, nodding at the box with her chin, "open." Slowly, you opened the box as it revealed a breathtaking emerald ring. The band's soft rose gold shone in the sunlight that came through the windows as small diamonds lined its circumference and outlined the expensive gem itself.

It couldn't be-

Your breath hitched as you took the ring out, putting the box on the vanity to your side as you looked at the interior of the band, your eyes wide as the engraving read 'Prinzessin Helena Victoria, 5/3' (Princess). It was your family ring, the exact one that you had given to a young boy because he was too poor to buy himself a proper jacket. All he wanted were a few coins for you to buy his newspaper, but you had no currency at the time. Instead, you gave him the ring and changed his life, rather than allowing the damned thing to burden you any more than it already had.

"That ring has seen...nearly all of Europe before returning to you," Doña said as she watched you slide the ring back over your satin glove. It fit your ring finger perfectly. Marie was made a completely identical ring, emerald, rose gold, and diamonds. You shared the same birthdate with her, being twins. "It would have been wiser to procure hers, but we must make do. You may never take it off." She was right. Though the ring was in fact, a smart decision to make your appearance more legitimate, the engraving could just as easily be the end of you.

"I understand." You confirmed, with a generous inhale. You felt your chest expand against the confining corset you wore.

"Andrea, ¿está lista ahora?" (Andrea, is she ready now?) Doña asked the servant, who was cradling her daughter, a chubby infant in her skinny arms, seeing as she finished tending to you. Andrea was not given enough credit, seeing as she took care of you, the baby, and everyone else within the household. She seemed to be around the age of Doña herself, perhaps younger, though missing a ring on her own finger. You owed her more respect than Doña, seeing as she took the time to teach you bits of conversational Spanish. Sitting in that house for a week while most individuals spoke in their native tongue was frustrating to you, and she cared enough to alleviate some of that pressure.

"Yes. You all should be going. Marie would have been near to our destination." Andrea said, before leaving your room to presumably, get Diego and Carmen to load the carriage with the aforementioned trunks. She left you and Doña alone, in temporary silence.

"Diego and Carmen are escorting you," she spoke, ushering you to leave the room behind her and start to the carriage that waited in front of the brick manor. "They are dock workers to you since the Queen called for finesse; minimum security." Marie's steamship was private- it made sense that she'd only have a few individuals as personnel. Although, they were likely dead at the bottom of the sea with the intended princess. "I will be in contact," her eyes, once again, stared into you, but you refused to falter. At a time like this, it was important to appear confident, even when there was residual panic racing through you.

"I won't be long," you replied, quite sardonically. The Earl Phantomhive was just a boy, about two years younger than you. He had a butler and four servants and an opulent estate that gave you plenty of opportunities, space, and minimal witnesses. You have surmised much harder conditions in the past, considering you've posed as a maid and drowned a woman in her own bathtub since she kidnapped and sold little girls to the highest bidder. That case had reached a particular soft spot within you, although it made you sensitive to the scent of rose water.

For a moment, you were back in that bathroom. The steam of the heated water hit your face in droplets as the curvaceous woman thrashed, her knees peeking out of the water, kicking. She was screaming, but it was garbled by the water as she choked on it. You had to use both of your soapy hands to press her forehead against the porcelain tub and apply moderate pressure around her trachea before she went limp...

"I'm sure," Doña rolled her eyes as she opened the carriage door for you. Diego and Carmen came out the front door with the small trunks in their arms. Carmen's tan features were still warped in her perpetual scowl, but Diego beamed at you, his eyelashes fluttering. You squeezed your eyes closed before opening them again, repeating the process multiple times while wrinkling your nose. It was, naturally, still cold and unlike the staff, you were only given a coat and gloves to stay warm. How Doña stood her ground without sleeves in this weather was lost to you.

"Andrea, fixed you up real good, Your Highness," Diego said, leaving Carmen to finish packing the carriage as he approached you. He bowed at his waist, over-exaggerating the movement. You had come to the conclusion that he was an excitable puppy dog, personified in a man. It was hard to imagine a man like that had the nerve to use the handgun in his holster. You frowned, the sight of firearms never failing to unsettle you, despite your line of work.

Trap the gun.

You urged yourself to focus on the people in front of you and the task that was rapidly coming into fruition. "You ought to ask her for a hand," you shrugged dismissively, the jab subtle as you shrugged and showed yourself through the carriage door. You sat down on the cushioned seat, closing the door and staring out the window of the carriage. Though you could have afforded a simple goodbye to the staff, your growing demand to be alone was overwhelming. Even the carriage, though it was white and an unassuming beige upholstery lined the seats, you had to force yourself to stay present.

Felix Keating.

"Y/n, we're pulling out now!" Carmen's grumpy voice announced as she knocked twice on the closed door to get your attention. She and Diego were to be driving the carriage- as Doña said, they were acting as port attendants to substitute Marie's dead servants. Your fingers wrapped around the pommel of your dagger, giving it a long squeeze.

"Fine!" You responded, watching the street from your window as it slowly passed by, paired with the trotting hooves of the horse that dragged you to your possible demise.

. . .

JANUARY 17TH, 1892

LONDON, ENGLAND

The Phantomhive manor was on the outskirts of London, shielded within the countryside by a thin forest line. As it rolled into your sightline through the small window of the carriage, you shamelessly allowed yourself to gape at the sheer size of it- the height of the walls, the militant stone masonry, and expansive stone garden that surrounded the cobblestone path. The cobblestone caused the carriage to bump clumsily and you could hear the sound of the packed trunks shifting around, even though they sat in the front with Carmen and Diego. To you, having so much space for one person was simply a waste- you made do in a shoebox that was going to be comparable to a linen closet on this property.

There was no describing the intimidating grace of the noble manor that stood proudly before you- although it was the furthest from your first complicated infiltration and as much as you tried to repress it, grew up in a castle. However, even Glücksburg was feeble in comparison to the fortress that your carriage slowed to a stop in front of. Diego wasted no time in opening the door, allowing more of the afternoon light in. You shuddered as the cold, once again, attacked your face and outer extremities, despite the petticoats that Andrea had precariously piled under your gown.

"We have made it, Your Highness," the joke was obvious in Diego's face, the apples of his cheeks too perky with his enthusiastic smile. He needed some of Carmen's restraint while the latter required at least a semblance of his warmth.

Your Highness. The form address was foreign to you. It was nothing but a burden that weighed just as much as the genuine metal around your ring finger and the tight corset that restricted your torso. But this was your role- at least for the next week or so. Your smile was small enough to not seem horribly forced, though anything but enthused. Restraint was something Governess Lydia always stressed, making it one of the single things she had in common with the conman, who never let you forget about the strength of words. This task required you to heed lessons from the both of them, which was unfortunate, considering the conman represented the best two years of your life, while Governess Lydia was the embodiment of your poisonous girlhood.

"Your prudence is more than appreciated," you accepted his hand as he helped you down the two, rather short stairs of the carriage. This was it- now you were Princess Marie of Schleswig-Holstein. Her identity belonged to you- rather than a withering corpse in the sea- however Doña had managed to get her there. For your own sake, you found it easier not to ask. You didn't need the blood of your sister on your conscience while you embodied her likeliness. Or at least...what you could recall from your spoiled bias and hourly etiquette classes in the castle. "Thank you, Diego," you let go of his hand once you stood on your own feet. You didn't need to look at him to know that he was shaking his head, discouraged that you were being kind to him simply because you had to. Prior to the carriage ride, you'd told him to see Andrea and give her a chance to improve his scraggly appearance.

"Of course," he responded with a hasty bow. Diego shut the door with a slam, clumsier than he needed to be. You pretended that all of your doubts were conveniently left sitting on a cushioned seat- as dispensable as a glove. Confidence in your own vast skill sets was going to get you through this and the blade of your dagger between the Earl's ribs. "To the door, Your Highness. You'll catch cold." Diego led you to the door, leaving Carmen to unload your baggage. The door opened immediately after he knocked, revealing a simpering man.

"Wir heißen sie herzlich willkommen, Eure Hoheit. Ich hoffe, dass Ihre reise bis zu diesem punkt angenehm war.," (Our deepest welcome, Your Highness. I do hope your journey was pleasant to this point,) he spoke, his German succinct as if he was a native speaker himself. Following his practiced welcome, he bowed, the silver accessory that was pinned on his lapel moved as he did. A gloved hand pressed politely over his heart as he righted himself at your nod. In this case, you would have preferred him to speak to you in English, seeing as the whole of the experience was already quite out of body for you. "Bitte, treten sie ein." (Please, come in).

You complied, reluctantly crossing the tall threshold. Diego was behind you and silent as you took a moment to look over the barren foyer around you. "Sie haben ein schönes anwesen. Danke, dass sie mein Refugium beherbergen - Ihre Majestät kann mehr als exzessiv sein," (You keep a lovely manor. Thank you for housing my retreat- Her Majesty can be more than excessive,) you replied, noting the butler's endearing features. His face was pale as if the moon decided to bless him with natural illumination and in contrast, his hair fell in black tresses that framed his face. His smile was too perky for his darker disposition.

"Es ist unser privileg, mit ihrer sicherheit betraut zu werden." (It is our privilege to be entrusted with your safety.) The unctuous pleasantries were in excess. A little went a long way, especially for you, who tended to be brief towards every accessory- every pawn. As a girl, that efficiency labeled you as ill-mannered, as Lydia, the uptight Governess, cautioned you.

"Gibt es einen namen für sie?" (Is there a name to call you by?) It was more appropriate for his master- the rudely absent Earl, to introduce him properly, but you were growing weary of having no name to associate with the man. You tilted your head, thinly smiling at the butler who immediately stood to attention to respond. He had more effortless poise than you did, but at its essence, it couldn't be hard. Between your intense life in the monarchy was nearly a decade of living amongst the middle class and working for anyone with the fortune to pay you.

He bowed again, the palm of his right hand returning to his heart. "Natürlich. Mein Name ist Sebastian, mein meister-" (Of course. My name is Sebastian, my master-) he was interrupted by the door opening again, proceeding with three individuals and Carmen entering the foyer, bringing the trunks that were in the carriage. There were only six boxes, but the shorter boy out of the group was holding three heavy boxes instead of one.

"Sebastian! Where should we be putting these?" A woman asked rather loudly, as opposed to the smooth dulcet of Sebastian's German. Her voice had a clear, animated quirk of an English accent and it took you a moment to return your brain to the language, seeing as focusing on one at a time rather than two at once was simpler. Then you entered her sightline, causing her to shriek in surprise as she gasped. "Princess Marie- Your Highness!" she dropped the box, sinking into a clumsy excuse for a curtsy. At your side, you could hear Diego attempting to stifle his laughter. As for yourself, you weren't one for sudden noises and had to feign understanding. By the end of the day, your cheeks were going to ache from constantly having to smile.

"Your Highness, these are the other servants of the house," Sebastian finally spoke in English as he gestured with an arm to the two men and the woman. As the three other servants put the trunks down. The woman's face was red under her disproportionate glasses as she looked from the older man to the younger one at her sides, searching for validation for her abrupt enthusiasm. "Our gardener, Finnian-"

"-Finny!" He interrupted with a bright smile, before meeting Sebastian's eyes and shrinking. Finny cleared his throat, his gloved hand rubbing under the hat that covered the nape of his neck. "Please, um...call me Finny, Your Highness." In front of him were the three trunks that he had been carrying- stacked vertically. One alone was heavy for even yourself, but he seemed unaffected.

"Right...Mey-Rin, the maid," Sebastian continued. Mey-Rin's face was still red as she looked at Sebastian and then you, uncomfortable with the attention of the room on her. "Our cook, Baldroy."

Baldory seemed to be the most composed of the three. Notably, there were strands of grey in his blond hair as he regarded you with an easy simper, his shoulders relaxed. "Good to meet ya," he said with a simple nod of his head. His voice reminded you of the conman's- perpetually at ease.

"And ...Tanaka- the executive director of the Funtom Company," Sebastian said, guiding your attention to a small man that watched you from behind Baldroy's legs. He wore a monocle and seemed to hold a cup of tea as he bowed. The executive director of the Funtom Company was a frail man?

"Oh but, that's how he is- he rarely goes into his full size," Finny chimed in, once again, cutting himself off at Sebastian's pointed gaze. He only gave you more questions than he had answered. How was such a large estate taken care of by such a small cast of individuals?

"Might I ask about the Earl himself?" You didn't feel the need to properly introduce Carmen and Diego, seeing as they were only supposed to be distant dockworkers to you. Marie wouldn't have thought twice about them, seeing as she was her own sun, moon, and savior. Instead, she would be miffed that a mere Earl had the self-importance to show tardiness in meeting her.

"Our master should be with us in a moment. Please allow me to show you to his study," Sebastian said, easily making a transition from the exhaustive introductions to sitting in. "In the meantime; you three, take Her Highness's belongings to her quarters." This time, Baldroy picked up Carmen's neglected box as she stood at Diego's side. The three of them responded enthusiastically as if they were excited to be given a laborious task from their superior.

"Sure," you agreed, more than aware that this was going to be a temporary goodbye to Diego and Carmen, the final allies you'd speak to before heading into a minefield of social complexity, corsets, and lies. You turned to Diego, almost unsure of how to let him depart. It was almost pathetic of you, growing tongue-tied from a simple goodbye. The duo had no semblance of sentimental value to you. All you had was yourself, a dagger, and a large sum of money waiting for you.

"We leave you in capable hands, Your Highness," Diego smiled as he bowed, before quickly winking at you.

"Farewell," Carmen added, her expression illegible as she too, bowed and left with her counterpart.

"Right then," Sebastian led you up the massive staircase. Each step was narrow and troublesome but you attempted to tread smoothly. "Would you care for tea? You toiled through quite a long trip..."

. . .

Tags:

[katsukikitten]

Bakugo and Y/N are the last two surviving players during dodgeball i thought it would be kinda funny whah :pp

Ask and ye shall receive. I had so much fun writing this. thank you

I present you

DODGE THIS

You slide your soft grey cotton shirt that says UA over your black laced bra sighing to yourself as you wonder why the hell a hero academy had a regular ass gym class in addition to training. You adjust your black shorts in the mirror trying hard to pull them further over your ass to no avail. There was just not enough material to cover your ass causing them to be crescent shorts. You growl in frustration, giving up as you sit to tie your tennis shoes. Mina slides onto the bench next to you wearing a shit eating grin. A grin that is always somehow contagious as you feel it begin to take form on your lips.

"Yes Mina dear?" You giggle as she practically vibrates, ready to burst with whatever "tea" she has to spill.

"I heard a rumor." She exclaims as the other girls begin to exit towards the gym.

"Uh oh. What kinda rumor?"

"The kind that seems true." She leaves it at that. As if you'd be dying to know the rest but you aren't.

Plus you know she can't stand not saying whatever juicy information she is holding in.

It kills her.

"Fine you've pried it from me." She exclaims in the next breath not even giving you time for the response you didn't plan to give.

"Bakugouhasahugecrushonyou!KirishimatoldmelatelastnightbyaccidentsoIknowitstrue." She rushes her words all together and you stare astounded as all you heard was Bakugou, crush on you.

"Wait what?!" You stand but Midnight yells into the locker room.

"Today please ladies!"

Mina rushes from the locker room, pulling you by the wrist as you're left with your thoughts.

Bakugou has a crush on you? Please he barely looked your way not to mention you two loathed each other always competing to be at the top.

Mina pulls you all the way to line up with the rest of the girls and you peer at the boys across from you.

How is it that Bakugou is directly across from you today of all days. He does not look your way and when he does his eyes narrow to slits.

"Okay today we are doing a good old fashion boys vs girls!" Midnight announces happily, "In a game none other than.."

She looks to Aizawa to finish the sentence to which he grunts at first before adding in the most apathetic tone ever uttered.

"Dodgeball." He barely opens his eyes as he snuggles into his bright yellow sleeping bag.

"That's right!" Midnight clearly holding all of the enthusiasm, "Now girls to the left boys to the right! Line up and when I yell go let the free for all begin!"

"But the boys have a bigger advantage than us by having more bodies on their team." You add as you look at how they have double the people.

"That is true but you girls are resourceful. I know you can win even with the disadvantage."

"Hey!!!" Half of the boy's team whines.

"Now no more fussing I advise you ladies get ready!"

You line up near the front mumbling to yourself. you quickly notice that you're the only girl going to grab a ball at the start.

*What the fuck* you think to yourself as you peer over your shoulder before being met face to face with a glaring set of blood eyes.

"I'll end you." He growls fingers reached out in perfect calm, waiting for the signal.

You return the glare and slide a finger over your throat not trusting your voice just yet.

"GO!"

You grab with your left as Katsuki purposefully went for your right, he aims and takes his mark adding an extra punch with the smell of burning sugar.

You block the point blank shot with your own ball just in time, thanking Kamisama for your quick reflexes.

But they must not be as quick enough as you go to counter attack, Katsuki is already deeply behind the line now being fed balls by Sero who snatches the returned balls right out of the air. Anger fuels your actions as you chuck the ball towards him.

Sero is too distracted to notice the inbound object and the ball rings home with a nauseating *PANG* that echoes across the gym.

"Sero is out!" Midnight calls as you back towards the shrinking cluster of girls.

Midnight had already called Jiro who happily let herself get hit to avoid this game and Toru.

"Shit." You murmur as you look for a ball but see that the boys hold the majority. Mina attempts to launch one at Kaminari who just barely dodges, snatching the ball to return it.

"DO IT FOR THE VINE!!!" Kaminari screams as he throws the red rubber ball towards Mina. You catch it as she flinches heated to win, especially against a certain scarlet eyed boy.

"Vine is dead bitch." You say as you hurl it right into Kaminari's face. You threw the ball hard enough that it slams him into the brick wall causing a nice outline of his body to appear.

"Oh this is so going on Tok." Jiro snorts to herself as she captured the whole thing on her phone, one earphone jack plugged into it.

"Be sure to tag me..." Kamimari adds as the ball falls from his face. He rubs his hand over the new criss cross pattern that was left behind from the ball.

Todoroki stands still looking bored waiting for someone, anyone to hit him and so you end his misery with a light toss to which he let's bound off of him back onto the girls side.

"Oh no I've been ejected from the game." He says with mock concern as Bakugou practically blows a gasket.

"YOU'RE JUST GONNA LET EXTRA HIT YOU LIKE THAT?! GO OUT WITH SOME HONOR!" He yells and you laugh aloud.

Uraraka grabs the ball that ricocheted off of Todoroki and hurls it at Deku who barely dodges.

"I..I'm sorry." He yells as he throws the ball back only for U-chan to catch it with a satisfying *pang* of the ball. He blushes and gives her a thumbs up as he takes a seat next to Sero and Todoroki.

"Damn it Deku!" Katsuki yells as he hurls a ball at her, striking her in the side. The ball bounces to your feet, you snatch it, surveying who is left. An idea seems to come to life as you spot Momo with her ball sized shield.

"Momo can you make me some extra dodge balls?" You call out and she smiles happily.

"Cover me and I can!" She shouts back as she begins creating.

"Asui-chan, Mina. Help me cover Momo and make the numbers a bit more even. Mina Ojiro, Koda, and Sato have been sticking close together. Try to get them as I take care of Iida and Shoji who seem to be doing rapid fire."

You feel the wind of a ball whoosh past your face as you turn back to face the boys who are about fifty feet away. Katsuki snarls to himself having just missed you by mere chance.

Kirishima throws a ball your way that you catch earning him a seat on the bench. He murmurs a damn before sitting in the middle of the bleachers.

"GO MINA! GO BAKUGOU!" He shouts earning a glare from both parties as he clearly has a hard time giving all of his loyalty to one of them.

Mina sends a ball home, hitting a quickly tiring Sato hard enough that it bounces right off of him and into Koda's back. Both seem to slump as you yell a "Hell yea!" to your bubblegum pink friend.

Asui supplies another ball to Mina that Momo has made. They both manage to get Tokoyami and Ojiro who also slump go join the rest of the crew.

All the girls squeal with joy, including yourself.

Katsuki narrows his eyes and aims for Momo who is currently helping you three level the playing field. He hits his target in the back while Mina was distracted attempting to get a panicked Aoyama.

He picks up the closest ball to him and sends it blindly into the girls half of the giant gym. You're confused for a moment as something purple is hurled your way.

The purple object hits you right between your breasts and it buries its self deeper as your eyes widen.

"WHAT THE HELL?!" You scream as Mineta comes up for air. Nose clearly dripping blood as he stares up at you with hooded eyes with his drooling mouth agape.

A ball hits him in the back of the head hard enough that his face smashes into your sternum leaving a bruise in its wake on both Mineta's forehead and your breast bone.

The ball is charred as it bounces off kilter to the side line. Your widened eyes meet narrowed scarlet who sucks his teeth harshly before yelling as he throws more precisely aimed balls.

"Watch what the hell you're throwing idiot. It's two v one now. We cant lose." He says as he hurls two balls back to back too quickly for either Mina or Asui to dodge.

"Get him Y/N!" They shout as you chuck a ball fast enough for it to whistle straight for that smug, overly cocky somehow hot look. He dodges at the last second and the rubber finds purchase in the face of Aoyami.

"Figures I have to do everything fucking self." Bakugou murmurs as he takes in the playing field, rubber ball in hand.

He notices that you have fewer on your side than himself. Thanks to him taking out your little dodge ball factory. He assess as he tries to calculate his next move.

You notice too that you have less balls and to be out of the precious resource the only way to win would be to catch a ball.

You had three shots, one in your hand and the other two balls near the back of your territory to his six.

Twice as many opportunities for him seemed like a much greater advantage but then again so did twice as many bodies.

And still here you stood across from Bakugou who glistens in the harsh light of the gym.

Your heart pounds as you watch him, knowing full well of his ability to strategize, he was one of the few you have ever lost to or had difficulty winning against. He smirks as he finalizes his plan and you sit their wondering when he started to look so...different.

Has that smirk always made your stomach clench?

He rears the ball back and sends it quickly towards you. The hem of his shirt rises above his navel from the jump and you think has he always had abs?

The sound of the ball singing through the air registers not a moment too soon as you hit the ball lightly enough for it to land still on your half of the court but an odd sound catches your attention and you jump high into the air.

Narrowly avoiding the ball that was clearly aimed for your lower thigh to knee area. You backflip mid air with the precious ball still in your hands, your shirt following a bit late and unbeknownst to you flashing your stomach and even your black bra to Katsuki. Your tits fight inertia to stay in their neatly laced cups.

He swallows his desire as you land like a cat on your feet.

Something is odd about your landing and it takes him a moment to notice that you no longer have that damn ball.

But when the hell did you throw it and where?

He looks a moment too late and watches it head striaght for him.

The bell rings out overhead breaking the silent tension the two of you didn't realize had filled the gym air.

The ball bounces off of his chest AFTER the last chime of the bell screaming to change classes, it falls softly into his hands.

"It seems we have a draw." Midnight announces and the class erupts in shouts.

Everyone but the two of you who seem to lock eyes across the gym as a chorus of WHAT NO WAY AND SENSEI IS RIGHT echo through out the gym.

But it falls on deaf ears as two predators size the other up.

You wondering when he had gotten so handsome. Wondering how sweat and an arrogant grin can make some one so suddenly irrisitable.

While Katsuki is awestruck at your move, having accidentally taken advantage of throwing him off guard. Him wondering when you threw that ball

But most importantly had Mina told you what loud mouth Kirishima said?

And if she hadn't when was he going to swallow his pride long enough to tell you about it himself?

[creative-type]

wake from death (and return to life) iv

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22564141/chapters/53920291

Previous: https://creative-type.tumblr.com/post/621667466339385344/wake-from-death-and-return-to-life-chapter-iii

.

Kuina spent the next three days learning her way around Belo Betty’s ship. As promised, Dragon soon departed, disappearing like a mirage on a hot day, gone as if he’d never existed. He had been the one person who seemed to actually wanted Kuina on board, and with him gone Kuina felt quite alone. She spent her days doing what Lyudmila told her to do, when she told her to do them, fulfilling the obligation she had to the Revolution for getting her out of Loguetown and hoping it was enough to keep them from throwing her headfirst into the sea.

Practically speaking, that meant doing dozens of chores while Revolutionaries showed her the ropes. Literally. Kuina spent much of her time cleaning what needed to be cleaned, hauling what needed to be hauled, and mending what needed to be mended while learning the basics of sailcraft. Darareaksmey in particular seemed to take great delight in mocking Kuina’s ignorance, which according to the other crew meant she liked her.

The work was a welcome distraction, reminding Kuina of the menial chores she used to do around the dojo before she was old enough to learn the sword. And more importantly, the people around her liked to talk. The Revolution never openly discussed their plans when she was around, but Kuina was such a silent fixture that they seemed to forget when she was in the background swabbing the deck, or washing dishes, or whatever other odd job she’d been assigned at that moment.

What she learned was illuminating. Belo Betty wasn’t just some Revolutionary nobody—she was in command of the entire East Blue. The ship Kuina was currently on was hers, Dragon somehow able to manage travel by himself from the Grand Line for a mission of strategic importance.

Aria de Gris was another leader, but of only a single ship that had been damaged in the previous battle. She and a portion of her crew had joined with Betty to see Dragon back to the Grand Line and talk strategy. Dragon had never planned to return with them to the battlefield, his departure interrupted by Kuina’s sudden appearance.

It was childish, but Kuina bitterly wished he would have just taken her with her. She could feel Zoro’s lead stretching by the second, and the thought of falling even further behind made her want to pull her hair out.

The Army wasn’t even going to let her fight.

“Better,” Dara said as she inspected the rope she’d given for Kuina to practice her sailor’s knots. “This one almost looks like it’d hold together during an East Blue squall.”

If she was nervous about their nearing destination, she didn’t show it. With quick, nimble fingers she undid Kuina’s handiwork and returned the rope. “Now do it faster.”

Kuina grudgingly did as she was told. The noonday sun beat down overhead, cooled by a delicious sea breeze. After three days Kuina was almost used to the sway of the ship, but didn’t think she could ever feel comfortable surrounded by so many people crammed in such a small space. “I don’t know why you bother. I’ll be gone in a few days.” Kuina said.

“Pfft, you wouldn’t last a week on the Grand Line in your state,” Dara said. “You’re lucky you’re a quick study—it took Lizard three times as long to get half as good as you are now.”

“I can hear you,” Elizabeth said irritably as she passed out rations to Kuina and the women minding her. The galley had been made into a makeshift war room debating last-minute preparations for landing later that day, with Lyudmila given strict instructions to shoot Kuina if she went within twenty feet of its doors.

“I know,” Dara said breezily. “That’s why I said it.”

Elizabeth made a rude gesture that only made Dara laugh. Scowling, Elizabeth asked, “What are you even doing out here? Shouldn’t you be in the meeting? It sounded important.”

“Boss knows I don’t have the patience for that kind of stuff,” Dara said. “She’ll let me know what I need to know. This is much more amusing.” She turned her attention to Kuina. “Watch out, you’re tying it backwards again.”

Kuina gave it another attempt. “Where are we even going?”

Elizabeth and Dara exchanged looks before turning to Lyudmila, awaiting her judgement. Kuina held her breath, giving up on even the pretext of industry. Of everything she’d overheard, no one had breathed a word of their ultimate destination, let alone any details about the supposed war that was being waged there. The veritable brick wall only whetted Kuina’s curiosity.

Sometimes she regretted not reading the paper.

“You can’t keep it from me forever,” Kuina pointed out. “Is it Tolouse?”

Elizabeth let out a huff and turned away, giving a sarcastic wave as she walked back to the galley. “I’m not getting into trouble for this.”

“Coward!” Dara called before grinning at Kuina. “How’d you figure it out?”

“Been headed dead east for three days. There aren’t that many islands it could be,” Kuina said. She shrugged, picking at the ropes. “Besides, you hear a lot of interesting things from the pirates who come from that way. The king doesn’t seem all that popular—easy to stir up trouble there.”

“You’re half-right,” Dara said.

“Dara…” Lyudmila said in a warning tone.

“Fine, fine,” she said, flopping dramatically on her back, hands tucked behind her head. “The big fight’s over anyway. This is just a pitstop.”

“To switch ships?” Kuina said, glancing at Lyudmila. As always, it was difficult to guess what she was thinking, but she made no further effort to censure their conversation.

“And gather the rest of our crew, yeah,” Dara said. “Then we’re getting the hell out of this backwater and going back to where we belong. East Blue is bor-ing. Don’t know why Boss was so interested in coming, to be honest.”

There was a pause, and Dara turned over to her stomach, propping her head up on her hands. Her eyes flickered to Lyudmila, who shook her head slightly. She sighed. “Haven’t had a decent fight in weeks.”

“You just came from a war,” Kuina said, nonplussed.

“An East Blue war,” Dara corrected. “And thus one that was very boring. Everyone knows East Blue isn’t worth anything in a fight.”

Kuina smirked. “Maybe you haven’t been fighting the right people.”

The glint in Dara’s eyes turned wicked. “Sweetheart, I like you. In fact, I think you’re hilarious. But you underestimate the strength of the Grand Line, and it’s going to get you killed if you’re not careful.”

“Maybe, but all I’ve heard is a lot of talk without anything to back it up,” Kuina said.

“That’s bait,” Dara said, grinning, “and I’ll not bite—Oh hello there, Boss. How’s tricks?”

Kuina didn’t jump, but her hand did move instinctively to her katana as de Gris exited the galley, breaking away from a cluster of Revolutionaries exiting the war room to approach them. She acknowledged Dara’s greeting with a nod. “The situation’s changed.”

Lyudmila went very still, while Dara and Kuina exchanged confused looks. “How do you mean, Boss?” Dara asked.

“Reinforcements arrived before the Revolution could completely secure their defenses. They punched a hole through our line and recaptured the armory, jammed communications, the works. We’re lucky Trini was able to get a message through at all. It sounds like the situation’s hot and not in our favor.”

“What?!” Dara exclaimed. “We had the city completely taken! Their king was in chains.”

“Not anymore,” de Gris said.

Dara jumped to her feet. “What about the rest of the crew?”

“As far as I know they’re fine, but we’re going to need all hands on deck if we’re going to scrape out a win.” She looked down at Kuina, the scar running down her cheek pulling her mouth into an unhappy grimace. “Alright, Swordsman. Time for you to put your money where your mouth is.”

Far above them, the Revolutionary flag snapped proudly in the wind. Eyes narrowed with suspicion, Kuina tried to discern the older woman’s intentions. “You’re going to let me fight?”

“I need to make sure you’re good enough to not die. Big difference.” With a whisper of steel, de Gris unsheathed her sword. “Prove to me there’s some bite behind all that bark.”

Beside her, Dara paled. “Boss, you can’t be serious…”

“It’s just a skill check. I need to know what level she’s at, and this is the easiest way to do it.”

They didn’t think she could win. Kuina threw the rope she’d been working on aside and climbed to her feet. Bowing slightly to de Gris, she said, “I’m honored to accept your challenge.”

“What are you, some kind of samurai?” de Gris paused to fish out a cigarette, putting it to her lips and lighting it one-handed. “You have till I finish this to show—”

In a flash her blade was up to meet Kuina’s. Even holding it one-handed, de Gris was able to effortlessly stop the full weight of Kuina’s blow. Dara and Lyudmila scattered as a cat’s grin stretched across de Gris’ face, smoke curling from the end of her cigarette. “Not bad, not bad at all. And here I thought you were nothing but dojo trash.”

She pushed Kuina back, and for a moment the two circled one another, each trying to get a measure of their opponent. Kuina was vaguely aware that they had attracted the attention of the rest of the Revolution, and saw Lyudmila whispering fiercely in the ear of Belo Betty.

“Eyes on me, kid!” de Gris shouted before exploding in a flurry of strikes. Her movements were unlike anything Kuina had ever seen. With impossible quickness she closed the distance between them. Her footwork, the angles she used to attack, were all new and unfamiliar. Kuina, used to fighting against sabers and katanas, was quickly driven to the defensive, each reaction a heartbeat too slow to do anything else as she tried to process the foreign fighting style.

De Gris moved with liquid grace, reminding Kuina more of a dancer than a swordsman as she fought. Each step was economical and precise, her blade flashing from every angle, seemingly simultaneously. Kuina was forced to take a step back, then another, but was quickly running out of room to retreat.

But even as she was being driven back, Kuina began to sense the pattern in her steps, the method to her mad dance. The rapier a piercing weapon. It depended on thrusts and parries over slashing attacks. The blade didn’t have the mass to manage a single, crushing blow, relying instead on speed and precision.

Well then. It was time to disrupt de Gris’ timing.

Kuina feinted a forward thrust, and in the half-second it took de Gris to defend jumped backward onto the ship’s railing. A ripple of surprise rose through the crowd as she ran across the iron rails until she reached the middle of the ship, leaping toward the boom of the foremast.

“Very impressive, if you’re a monkey,” de Gris called. “But I thought you were going to fight—”

But Kuina didn’t stop. She caught an unsecured line and used her momentum to swing behind de Gris, aiming an attack at her exposed back. As expected, de Gris was able to evade with ease, and the bones in Kuina’s arms jolted with the force of her blade cutting through the deck before somersaulting back to her feet.

“You don’t like giving people time to talk, do you,” de Gris said. “And you do realize we have to actually sail on this ship, right?”

“Send me a bill,” Kuina said, grinning wildly. She pulled her sword from the wood in time to deflect de Gris’ rapier, melting from defense to offense as she tried to use their reversed positions to force de Gris into the same limited space she had just escaped from.

It was damnably difficult. De Gris wasn’t the strongest opponent Kuina had faced, but she was the most technically proficient. It had been years since Kuina had needed this level of focus in a fight, and she could feel the rust in her movements.

Without even realizing it, she’d let herself grow complacent, and de Gris was exposing that weakness now.

All the more reason to get to the Grand Line as soon as possible. The East Blue had nothing more to offer her. On the world stage it was nothing, which meant she was nothing...

Blood roared in Kuina’s ears as she failed to get anywhere near de Gris. Kuina took greater risks, forced her body to move all the faster to match her opponent’s feline grace. De Gris’s thin, weightless blade was no match to Shimotsuki steel, and Kuina put the full weight of her rage behind each attack.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she registered a flicker of surprise in de Gris’s eyes a moment before Kuina’s blade clashed against her own. With a quick flick of the wrist Kuina batted it aside, just as de Gris had done at the start of her fight, using her own momentum against her to gain inside position.

Kuina attacked without thinking, and she was lucky de Gris was as fast as she was. Her blade passed by the tip of her nose by a hairbreadth, slicing what was left of her cigarette down to the pale orange filter.

The silence couldn’t have lasted for more than a moment, but it felt like it captured an eternity. De Gris’s eyes followed the path of the still-burning cigarette now rolling down at their feet. She sighed, sheathing her sword and said, almost to herself, “Is that all?”

“What do you mean?” Kuina demanded. “Clearly I—”

“You had until the cigarette was gone to show what you were made of. Well, time’s up. This fight is over.”

“You’re just scared because I was winning,” Kuina said.

The words struck a nerve. A muscle in de Gris’s jaw twitched and her nostrils flared slightly as the air around her shifted, circling like the winds of a hurricane with de Gris as its malevolent eye. Kuina shifted back into a defensive stance, keeping half an eye on Belo Betty. The Revolutionary commander had her arms crossed over her chest, flag nowhere in sight.

“You really thought you had a chance,’ de Gris said. “You couldn’t feel the distance between us.” She shook her head in disgust. “And you call yourself a swordsman.”

She reached for another cigarette, paused to take a deep drag. When she finally looked at Kuina, she saw nothing but contempt.

“Hit me with your best shot, kid,” Aria de Gris said, raising her sword in languid challenge. “I’ll show you how much you have yet to learn.”

Kuina’s grip on her sword tightened. The blood boiling in her veins had calmed enough for her to realize she’d said a very stupid thing when surrounded by a ship full of enemies who likely wanted to kill her, but she wasn’t afraid of de Gris or her sword, and her pride refused to back down from such a grievous insult.

This was her chance to prove herself to these people.

Kuina took a deep breath, steadied her racing heart. She could feel the power around de Gris. The older woman was settled, like a table with a low center of gravity. She wouldn’t be easily overturned, but Kuina was confident. She was ready. She had trained her whole life for this moment, for the chance to be acknowledged as a skilled swordsman and not just a little girl playing with a blade

Her father once said that a true warrior wielded the blade of ten thousand men. Maybe she wasn’t there yet, but she was worth more than this one.

Kuina lifted her katana above her head, ready to end this in one strike. “Thousand man—”

De Gris was inside her guard before she could finish speaking.

Kuina moved on instinct, but de Gris batted her sword aside as if it were an inconvenient fly. With her free hand she reached inside the long coat hanging from her shoulders. In one fluid moment she pulled out a gun, cocked it, and pushed the cold metal barrel under Kuina’s chin.

It was horror in slow motion. Kuina flung herself back just as de Gris shouted, “Dara, now!”

An unseen force plowed into the back of Kuina’s knees. She crumpled face-first into the deck, white light flashing across her vision as her forehead cracked against the wood. Attempts to roll away were stopped by a pressure against the wrist of her sword hand and a vice-like grip around her ankles.

Kuina looked up to see Aria de Gris’s foot on her wrist and her gun between her eyes. Twisting frantically, Kuina couldn’t help but let out a yelp of alarm that Darareaksmey’s arms, head, and torso had her legs pinned firmly to the ground, the rest of her body seemingly melded with the deck.

“What the hell?!” Kuina exclaimed. “This was a duel! You...you cheated!”

“It was a skill check,” de Gris said flatly. “Do you think people in a war are going to line up for you all nice and neat, one at a time? Do you think they’re going to play by some arbitrary rules?”

She lowered her gun and sheathed her sword. “I’ve no use for a soldier with more ego than common sense. I don’t care how big a hot-shot you were in your little backwater dojo. In the real world, you aren’t worth shit.”

Xxx

“You know, you don’t have anything to be ashamed of. I’ve not seen anyone do that well against the boss in, well, a long time.”

“Please stop talking, I am begging you.”

Kuina ground the heels of her palms against her forehead, hoping to counterbalance the terrible pounding currently beating against the inside of her skull. She’d suffered from headaches on and off since being pushed down the stairs of her father’s dojo, and falling face-first into the deck had triggered a monster between her temples.

Dara was undeterred. “I wondered why Dragon wanted you so bad, but I can definitely see it.”

The island of Toulouse was a tiny speck on the horizon. With a favorable wind at their back, they’d soon arrive at the near-hopeless battle. Kuina didn’t know what was going to happen to her once they did, and worse, she didn’t care.

With the change in situation, Lyudmila had been relieved of babysitting duty in favor of joining the rest of the ship’s leadership in their makeshift war room. The mood of the Revolution had shifted, men and women moving with increased urgency as they sharpened weapons, prepared guns, and tried to coax every bit of speed from the brigantine, their faces drawn in grim, serious lines. Every once in a while a bark of nervous laughter would punctuate the air like cannonshot, but it was quickly hushed. Everyone knew that the situation was dire.

Dara, whose disregard for meetings extended even when the Revolution was on the verge of defeat, had taken over Kuina-watching duty. But even her enthusiasm had its limits, and every few minutes she would look out at the approaching island, squint as if she were trying to suss out the enemy position on that tiny black speck, her knee bouncing with nervous energy.

“Wonder what Boss will have you do,” she said absentmindedly.

“Probably nothing,” Kuina said. “You heard her: She’s got no use for me.”

Dara snorted. “Oh, please. Compared to the trouble I got myself into when I first joined, that was nothing. It’s an, ah...learning process. Being part of a group, I mean.”

That wasn’t very reassuring, but Kuina had no desire to argue. “What the hell was that trick you did, anyway? I never saw you coming.”

“Oh, my devil fruit?” Dara said, eyes brightening. She raised an arm, and in the time it took Kuina to blink, the space from her hand to her elbow went paper thin. The change was so sudden, so utterly bizarre, that Kuina couldn’t help but recoil away from it. Dara laughed, and just as quickly put her arm back to rights again.

“Flat Flat Fruit,” she explained. “Not much good for fighting, but sneaking around? Easy-breezy.”

“Just how many devil fruit users are on this ship?” Kuina asked.

“Right now? I don’t know everyone on Betty’s crew, but I think it’s just three. Once we hook up the rest of the crew there’ll be a couple more to show you.” Another squinting look at the horizon, more bouncing of her knee.

There was a comfortable lull in the conversation while Kuina massaged her aching head. A gull screeched overhead, making at least one Revolutionary jump. The moment quickly passed, and Dara slapped her palms against her thighs. “Well, I need to get ready. You just brought that backpack with you, right? You don’t have any armor or anything to put on, just in case?”

Just her mask. Kuina lugged herself to her feet and followed Dara belowdecks. For the first time, no one was paying attention to her, the Revolutionaries too busy with their own preparations. Kuina was glad to be invisible once more. Despite Dara’s reassurances, shame coiled around her belly, constricting like a snake squeezing the life out of its latest meal. It was impossible to walk with her head held high after her disgraceful performance. De Gris’s voice echoed in her mind, conflating with the voice of countless others she’d heard since childhood. The scar that drug across her chest pulsed with her head, bringing to the forefront the weakness she thought she’d long ago left behind.

You aren’t worth shit.

The words were short, concise, and painfully blunt, but they were also the truth. And for that, she had no one to blame but herself.

They passed by Elizabeth’s little workshop on the way to their quarters. When she saw the door was open, Dara paused to poke her head inside. The assistant cook was deep at work dividing what appeared to be dozens of firecrackers into different piles.

“Hey Lizard, got any goodies for me?” Dara asked.

Elizabeth didn’t look up from the task in front of her. “On the back shelf.”

Dara clasped her hands in front of her gave Elizabeth a tiny, mocking bow that was returned with a raised middle finger.

“Gracious as always,” Dara said once she returned to Kuina’s side. “C’mon, we’re wasting daylight.”

“Is she…?”

“Our munitions expert?” Dara said. “Yes. Yes she is.” She hugged a little baggie close to her chest like it was a lover. “Her food might be garbage, but I’m pretty sure that’s because she’s testing some new long-acting poison without telling anyone.”

“I can still hear you!”

“Seems like an odd mix of jobs,” Kuina said.

Dara shrugged. “Cooking, catastrophic explosions...it’s all chemistry, really. Lizard here just happens to be better at one form more than the other. Isn’t that right, Lizard?”

Elizabeth had stormed to the doorway while she was speaking. She hardly came up to Dara’s shoulder, but she carried herself with the same energy of a lady’s lap dog that thought itself a wolf. “Go. Away. And stop blabbing to the stowaway. She’s not on our side.”

Dara’s grin showed entirely too many teeth. “Wanna bet?”

“I’m not a stowaway,” Kuina said at the same time. There was a pause as what Dara said sunk in, and both she and Elizabeth looked up at her with disbelief.

“You’re crazy,” Elizabeth said. “A hundred berries says she bails at the first opportunity.”

“I’ll put down five that she stays.”

“Your loss,” Elizabeth said, and she slammed the door in their face.

Dara looked for a moment like she wanted to shout something through the door but thought better of it. She put her little baggie into her pocket and said, “You better not run on me. I don’t actually have five hundred berries.”

“It was a stupid bet,” Kuina said. “I’m not joining the Revolution.”

“Maybe, maybe not. But I saw how pissed you were when the boss pulled that gun on you. You’re not going to be happy till you beat her in a fair fight, no matter how long it takes.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence, and Kuina wondered if, just maybe, she was right.

[avenging-fics]

Breathe ~ An Avengers Story (15/15)

AU Summary: The Avengers go on a mission to save Y/N and destroy the oncoming HYDRA resistance.

Notes: im making this the last one of the first book because the chapter after this one will take place AFTER cap:civil war so yea bucky will be on the next chapter but yeah i hope you guys like this one and would keep on reading more. this means a lot and yea. here goes. “)

Part 14 | Part 15 

NEXT SERIES

MASTERLIST

“All engines running. Departing from Stark Tower in 5 minutes.”

“Control motors fully operational, weapons system engaged and ready. We are a go, Captain.”

Steve nodded back at Barton and Romanoff at the pilot seats. Then he turned around and saw Dr. Banner recalibrating the device to track down Y/N’s location. Or at least the coordinates of the last known vantage point

“FRIDAY, run a search for any weird gravitational occurrence, unusual magnetic pulls, and gamma ray signals on a 20 mile radius.” Stark commanded the AI as he himself got into one of his suits.

“Yes, sir.” The voice responded.

“Gamma ray signals?” Steve asked. Bruce looked up and explained it to him.

“Since the other guy responded to Y/N’s powers before, we figured there must be at least a hint of gamma radiation on her since it’s somehow connected. There’s a chance but it’s a small one and we’re taking every resources we have right now.” He said. “We’re gonna find her, Cap.”

“I just have to get her back.” Steve mumbled, looking down at his hands.

Director Fury watched as the Avengers loaded up their weapons and went over mission protocols just like usual. But with the information they’ve just received on their own teammate, Agent Y/L/N, they have no rooms for failure now.

Every bit of history, files and documents they have on Y/N, or whatever names she had acquired through the years, SHIELD has managed to find them at long last. And Fury had began to arrange the puzzle pieces around her, finding out that she’s always been connected to the whole team. He made sure the team knows just enough about her past to fully cooperate. Fury didn’t even need to persuade Rogers and Romanoff. Y/N had become good friends with Natasha and Steve was undoubtedly smitten by her. The rest of the team, however, needed a push. And the information about her did it.

“Captain Rogers,” Fury called out, just as Stark flew out of the building in his suit, being the first one out there.

“Yes, sir.” Steve looked up and adjusted his shield on his back.

“Make sure the meeting we had about certain information remain among the same people who were in that room. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you all to keep the classified information classified. Not even to her.”

Steve paused, then nodded at him. He supposed it was a good idea keeping it from Y/N. The captain had a thought that maybe not even Y/N knows about her own history. And this was an idea shared by their teammates.

“Flight systems engaged. Doors closing now, Cap.” Barton informed them at the cockpit, flipping the switches to enable the quinjet.

“Coordinates are being sent to your screen.” Dr. Banner said, “You, too, Tony.”

“I got them.” Stark replied back using their comms unit. “Let’s go pick up Y/N, shall we?”

******

Y/N was feeling weak, yes. But will she die of blood loss from several stab wounds on her limbs, and bad bruises all over her body? No, she will not. She has her powers back, as well. She was determined to fix things. Starting with Emir.

“I’m alive, Emir. You didn’t lose everything.” Y/N panted, ignoring the pain and focusing on the old man in front of her.

“Yes. I did.” He replied back. “My home is gone. It’s HYDRA’s now. I just want to take it back. Do you know how long HYDRA was in control of it? For decades, Bosnia has been under control of someone who is not even inside the country. Someone who has no relation to our nation but is powerful enough to be feared by past Prime Ministers. And what’s worst? They weren’t doing anything about it. They let themselves be controlled.”

That was about the hard drive Emir had inside the pocket watch. Y/N felt pity for her old friend. He has totally succumbed to the grief and the idea that he has to get his country back by being the one controlling it. The plan had no choice but to be done. If Emir wanted his country back in the state that he wanted it to be, he would have to take down HYDRA. But he can’t do that. No one can. HYDRA was too big of a group to take down.

Emir can only get his Bosnia back if he chose to be HYDRA’s new head so he can control his country.

“And the baby?” Y/N looked at the box, still unopened. “It would be a long time before he grows mature. How are you planning on taking over Bosnia-Herzegovina with a mere child?”

“He will be ready. For the meantime though, I have an army of HYDRA agents at the ready, preparing missiles to be fired at a quinjet heading this way.”

“No.” she froze, realizing what he meant. “How did th—”

“A tracking device was planted in your system during your time at SHIELD. We deactivated it when you were captured. But with the elite members of the Avengers Initiative and the most advanced technology in the world at their disposal, it would seem that they have found you.” Dr. Lud explained, checking at his watch. “Right on time for my missiles to launch.”

He was going to kill them. Emir was going to blow her team up in the air.

Y/N was not about to let that happen.

Concentrating hard on her abilities, even if she knows the possibility of this working is off by a long shot, she focused on the iron Emir’s blood.

But there wasn’t any.

His blood was not the same as an ordinary human.

“I suspected you to figure it out earlier, Y/N. What took you so long?” Emir smirked.

She shook her head. “What have you done to yourself, Emir?”

“Let’s just say that filtering your own blood out of heme killed my old self and brought forth my new one. You cannot control my actions, Sanguine. And you alone do not have the power to stop me.”

A radio buzzed and a man’s voice emanated from it.

“Missiles ready to launch, sir.”

Oh no.The Avengers.

Emir pulled the radio out and brought it to his mouth. “Any indications that they know they’re being targeted?”

“Negative, sir. They’re coming in close.”

Emir looked at Y/N’s face. “Then fire.”

“No!”

******

Beep Beep Beep Beep Beep

“Left wing engine is down! Rear blades are losing their power!” Natasha yelled out as the quinjet shook once more as another missile grazed them. She and Clint has been doing their best to evade as much missiles being launched at them but HYDRA rockets were fast.

“Dammit, we’re gonna have to jump!” Rogers shouted as he was searching the jet for the chutes.

Dr. Banner shook his head. There was no time. The plane is dropping and by the time they put on the parachutes, the jet will have crashed already. So he did what he had to do. Natasha saw the decision in Bruce’s eyes.

“Bruce?”

“Trust me.” he said. Then his face contorted to a grimace as he produced a low growl, alerting Steve and Barton.

“Banner! Calm down! You’ll de—” Steve was interrupted by Natasha’s hand grabbing him and Barton closer to her and the almost completely transformed Hulk. No one had the chance to protest as Banner roared and wrapped his arm around the three of them, quickly jumping off the crashing quinjet.

They fell from the dark night’s sky with Tony following behind them. “Why the hell is Banner green?!”

“We had no choice!” Natasha yelled out, feeling Banner tighten his arms around the three of them as they get closer to the ground. Steve opened his eyes and looked up, seeing the quinjet in flames and eventually get hit by one of the enemy’s missiles, then descending quickly in the dark woods where it exploded. It’s just them now breaking into a HYDRA stronghold.

All to save Y/N.

“RAAAAHHH!!!” The Hulk roared again and with a loud thud, his body met the earth. They were alive. Banner dropped the three of them on the ground and stood up, watching with a scowl as a large group of HYDRA thugs gathered about 50 meters away from where they landed, which was where the perimeter of the base started.

“They’re ready for us.” Barton said, positioning himself with his arrows. “Your orders, Captain.”

Steve turned his head towards the Hulk, watching him as he ran towards the guards and started with his attack. Natasha nodded at Steve.

“Find a way inside the gates. Use Banner as your cover as he occupies the majority of the guards. Whatever you do, get yourself inside and start looking for Y/N. Barton you go west and get to the roof, Romanoff, focus on the smaller rooms. Try and meet me upstairs. Report anything unusual or any clues. Stark you’re on the air. Monitor all exits and entrances. Assist Banner if you can.”

That’s when a loud burst of lightning came and a man dropped from the sky, blowing a strong gust of wind. Thor stood up and gripping his hammer tight. “No. I’ll assist Banner.”

He nodded at Rogers and they all went their ways, working together to find Y/N. Steve ran forward and let his team disperse and make their way to the stronghold. Natasha ran strategically, evading Banner’s fists as she knocked out a few guards and get inside. Barton cleared out a path for him with his arrows and proceeded to make his way to the roof, just as Steve instructed him to do. Tony flew overhead chasing runaways, clearing out possible exits but leaving one open for the rest, all the while keeping an eye for anyone who looks like Y/N.

Once Steve was inside the building, he ran across the halls, knocking out anyone who blocked his way, shouting Y/N’s name the whole time.

They have to find her quick. Who knows what they’ve done to her?

******

Emir’s laugh resonated against the walls. It was loud and wicked and it sounded so wrong.

“Seems like I made the mistake of underestimating the Avengers.” he said. “No matter. This place isn’t even mine. The real stronghold can’t simply be this easy to find. This place will be gone and replaced. HYDRA has better protocols than this. And with my rule, they’ll have the best of the best. Soon.”

Y/N couldn’t bear to look at this man. This man in front of her was not the same as the friend she had before. He’s evil.

He started to walk towards the box containing the child, but Y/N blocked him. The antidote lost it’s effects but it drained most of her energy and what little she had left, Y/N’s going to use it to keep Emir in this room. Just until one of her teammates arrive. Just as long as he doesn’t get his hands on the enhanced baby.

She watched him smirk. Emir must think that Y/N hasn’t got the power to hurt him, an old friend. He must think that she doesn’t have the guts to try to stop him, knowing how dear he was to her.

“Emir, please stop.” Y/N continued to beg. She’s not giving up.

“Sir. The enemy is closing in!” One of the guards busted in the room and Y/N used that opening to use her powers to grab the man’s rifle from across the room. As fast as she can, Y/N ran to one of the metal cabinets, using those as her cover and shot her weapon at the guards and Emir. Peeking from the edge of her cover, she saw a couple men got hit and fell to the floor, while Emir hid outside the room next to the door.

Y/N huffed, crawling closer to the bed where the box holding the now crying baby was. She has to get to it before Emir does. But as soon as Y/N was out of her cover, Emir looked over and fired his weapon on her direction, making Y/N back away again to her cover, lucky enough not to get hit by any of the bullets from Emir’s pistol. She pointed her weapon at the door again and emptied out her rounds for cover as Y/N braved it and ran to the child.

******

“Tony? Any sign of her?” Steve demanded as the last of the HYDRA agents on his floor fell. None of them were a match for Captain America.

“She’s still inside. That’s for sure.” Tony answered through their comms unit. “Clint? Natasha?”

“Nothing from me but I am in the main control room and I’m looking at surveillance and mappings.” Natasha informed them.

“I just heard gunshots coming from below me. It could be her.” Barton said, with a grunt. He was in the middle of a fight. “Someone has to go check it out because the roof is where they had their missiles and I need a—-”

“RAAAAAAHHH!!!”

A pair of giant green feet landed with a loud crash on the roof and started tearing the big machines around him apart. Some of them exploding but none of those can stop the Hulk.

As soon as he received the information from Barton, Steve ran up the stairs quickly, hoping for Y/N to still be alive when he gets there. Those gunshots. He knows she’s efficient with guns especially with her abilities but their opponent was a scientist. He could’ve done whatever bad things he had in his mind to Y/N. Steve has to save her.

“Cap, keep going left. You’ll reach a corridor. Y/N’s there and under intense firing conditions. She needs help. I’ll meet you there as fast as I can.” Natasha called out.

“Got it.” Steve grunted, knocking another thug out of his way. Captain Rogers saw a glimpse outside where Stark was taking gunfire from both the roof and the ground. He was occupied. Everyone is. Emir didn’t care how many HYDRA casualties were in this base.

Soon, Steve rounded off to a left turn at the corridor and immediately took cover as a group of agents fired at him. Gripping his shield tight, he stood up and walked towards them, not taking any of their bullets. With a jab of his shield to the agents and a punch, he knocked them out as fast as he can. That’s when Natasha reached him and used her pistol to take down the remaining agents. Running forward they both came into a huge room filled with wrecked hospital beds and equipment. Emir was behind the door on one side of the room, shooting at Y/N, covering herself and something else using the metal cabinets around them.

“Y/N!” Captain Rogers shouted but Y/N didn’t hear him. A large piece of the missile launcher from the roof crashed down in the middle of the room, destroying the ceiling with the Hulk holding onto it as a couple agents above them shot more bullets at Banner.

Steve used the SHIELD to cover himself and Natasha. The Hulk roared again, leaving the room as he jumped into the roof once again.

Y/N looked up from the chaos and saw the Hulk eliminating his opponents. She also saw Emir on the other side of the room, trying to walk across towards her and the baby. He pointed the gun at her and shot his last bullet and Y/N used her remaining energy to call up her abilities and stop the bullet. Once he realizes he was out, Emir seethed with rage, mustering up his legs to go to her. Y/N saw how dark his eyes became. Dark with wrath and there was no stopping him.

Clutching the child close to her, she stood up and jumped, using her magnetic powers to pull her body from the ground and fly towards the sky and land on the roof. Not knowing about his teammates calling out to her.

Steve put down the shield and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Y/N’s form flying up to the broken ceiling and out into the roof. She couldn’t hear him.

“We have to get to the roof. Now!” Steve shouted. “Stark! She’s on the roof!”

Natasha fired her pistol at the scientist and watch him drop to the ground with a loud grunt. She nodded at Steve to go on as she handled the scientist. Barton dropped from the broken ceiling and assisted her.

“We have to take you in, doctor.” Natasha mumbled as she restrained him.

He chucked darkly, “Then you’d have to get out of here soon. Flames will soon envelop this place. This isn’t the real stronghold, you see.”

Romanoff looked at Clint. “Let’s go.”

“Everyone. You have to get out of the building now.” Maria Hill screamed at their ears. Their backup’s here. “I have Banner and Thor with me on the quinjet. The building will blow up and soon.”

“Where’s Y/N?!” Tony yelled out, destroying the last of the machines that were firing at him.

“I can’t see her on the roof! I can’t find her anywhere!” Rogers shouted back, seeing Natasha and Clint with the scientist at the far edge of the roof getting on the quinjet.

Y/N was still holding onto the child, stumbling down the stairs as she reached the ground floor.

“Urnggh” she groaned, feeling the pain in her limbs, almost falling to the grass just outside the building perimeter. She looked behind for a brief moment but kept running towards the woods for cover. The stronghold will explode.

And it did. Fire erupted in all corners of the building. Crumbling concrete fell on itself. Machine and metal debris flying everywhere. The bright red and orange of the explosions in direct contrast to the dark night and the forest or Bosnia-Herzegovina around them.

Feeling movement in the little bundle in her arms, Y/N looked down and saw the child. The baby, no more than 4 months, were crying uncontrollably. Y/N’s heart went out to it. To see such chaos from one so young. And the experiments Emir did to this child. The poor creature. This baby was going to be used as a weapon. No one deserved that hell of a life. She’s the only one it has now. Emir specifically explained to her that this child and her were the same. Only when this child grows up, Y/N’s abilities won’t be able to compare to it. This child will be more powerful than her. This child was also Inhuman and an enhanced. The only logical thing to do was to kill this baby. Prevent such a power from existing.

But it’s only a child.

Killing it would go against any morality.

Y/N had no choice. She couldn’t do it.

“I’m sorry.” she sobbed and brought the child closer to her, lulling it to stop it’s tears. This child was her responsibility now. She has to protect him.

And with the raging fires and explosions behind them, Y/N started her long journey to protect this child. Away from everybody. Away from danger.

******

“Steve, we need him alive!” Romanoff stood between him and Dr. Emir.

“I couldn’t find Y/N. I didn’t save her tonight and it’s all because of that bastard.” Steve almost growled, sending the most deathly glare towards the scientist. Every fiber of his being wanted to kill Emir right there and then as soon as Stark carried him over to the quinjet just as the building exploded beneath them. Without Y/N.

Emir chuckled, but here wasn’t any humor to it. “That woman is gone, Captain. Everything is gone.”

Thor grabbed Steve’s hand, as if stopping him from doing something he’ll regret. “Rogers, have faith. She might have escaped.”

Steve shook his head. He knew that everyone in the jet, Banner, Barton, Tony, everyone. They knew it would be a goddamn miracle if Y/N survived those explosion. And if the building didn’t kill her, her exhaustion could. There was no guarantee of anything.

But one thing was for sure.

They couldn’t save Y/N.

She’s gone.

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