#yes i breezed right through the newborn stage

[amburgundy]

... what's this? guillermo is an infant!

[vannahfanfics]

The Lovers’ Plum

Category: Romantic Drama

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Ochako Uraraka, Katsuki Bakugo

Additional Tags: Supernatural AU; Feudal Japan AU

Hello, everyone! It’s my pleasure to present the story I wrote for the @bokunoyokaibang​, “The Lovers’ Plum”! I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please go give some love to my talented partner, @malware-incorporated​, who illustrated the story for me! 

The Coming of the Plum Tree Spirit

The early afternoon breeze rustled the thin branches of the solitary plum tree, filling the air with a dull clattering as the sticks clacked against one another. The tiny limbs were laden with small pink buds; as the wind washed over them, their silken petals were plucked hence, wafting over the light winds before spiraling down to the emerald grass below. The lone plant stood sentinel atop a gently sloped hill overlooking the clustering huts of a humble Japanese fishing settlement three days’ ride from Edo. Its voluminous bulk had overseen the gushing river since before man had ventured to its shores, and if luck be true, would behold its gentle majesty for many moons to come. Many cycles it had lived, turning pink with blossom and green with fruit and naked with winter’s cold. In an odd twist of fate, it had also born witness to a particular phenomenon of humans- burgeoning love.

Springtime often brought them forth to plead beneath the plum tree. Young girls, and even boys from time to time, hiked the well-worn path from the outskirts of the village to the plum tree’s throne, where they would kneel and clasp their hands in prayer. With tears blossoming in the corners of their entreating eyes, they would implore the ancient being for good fortune in their romantic endeavors. No one was quite sure how the sacred ritual began; humans were notorious for the spontaneous creation of folktales and legends, however. Perhaps one spirited little mind dreamt of a doomed romance beneath the fruit-laden branches, and myth watered its roots, turning the quaint plum tree into a being mystical and divine. Of course, a plum tree is but a plum tree; that is, until it isn’t.

The plum tree spirit, who knew not of the conventions of calendars and days in the early stages of her life, could not say when she had blinked into existence. One fine morning where the birds hopped about the tree’s branches to feast on its ripe purple-red fruits, she had simply blinked awake. Contained within the thick trunk of the tree, she gazed upon the world with fresh new eyes and beheld the majesty of the earth. She ventured out, pale and naked, to touch to grass blades to find them remarkably soft, and to chase the butterflies flitting over the wildflowers. She gasped in delight as the wispy white seeds scattered at her steps, taking to the wind to float away into the wild blue yonder and hopefully take root. The sun was warm on her skin, and the breeze gentle through her chestnut hair. The sky above blazed in resplendent blue, stained by the puffy masses of white clouds.

The plum tree spirit, though she knew not, was a minor god brought forth by the supplicant prayers of hopeful youths.

The newborn spirit spent the first few days of her life playing amongst the wild grasses and flowers, growing bolder day by day. She greeted the mother doe and her fumbling fawn, running ethereal fingers over the spotted fur. She hopped with a tawny spotted rabbit through the golden forest grass and delighted at the yellow tufts that tickled her cheeks and nose. She curled beneath the sprawling blanket of the plum tree’s fruit-laden branches, nibbling at the succulent fruit and admiring the light playing through the emerald leaves. She even crept through the bushes along the small trail to catch glimpses of the thatch-and-wood houses and their residents, who hauled baskets laden with trout and shellfish from the river. Upon her first glimpse of them, the new god realized her corporeal form resembled the female humans’; however, they did not roam about uncovered like she. She studied the strange garments they cloaked themselves with and found that if she simply willed it into being, the cloth materialized and draped over her body. A kimono, they called it. The plum tree spirit imbued it with a lovely pink hue, the exact shade of her tree’s vivid petals.

The humans were like her in body, but the tree spirit knew that she was not human. As she lounged beneath the tree watching the sun sink below the horizon each day, she could not help but wonder what kind of being that she was, and why she was there. She had attempted to speak to the trees along the path, the black pines and red pines and white pines, but they were hollow and voiceless. It seemed that she was alone in this vast full world, a unique and singular existence.  

The first days of her life were thus, though filled with the wonder of novelty, extraordinarily lonely.

The Coming of Her Purpose

The plum tree spirit awoke to the sound of hushed giggles. She had discovered that unless she desired it, humans could not see her; up until that point, she had rendered herself invisible, for she knew not how they would react to her sudden presence. The newborn deity peered through the skinny branches of her birth tree to see three human girls scampering up the path. The young god was delighted at their appearance, for perhaps their visit would provide insight into her anomalous presence. Curiously, she watched the girl in front, a beautiful woman with fluffy black hair pinned atop her head, kneel on the ground before the plum tree, and clasp her hands together tightly.

“O, great plum tree that has stood since time immemorial,” the villager announced loudly, “I humbly beseech thee to grant my wish.” The spirit’s ears perked. Wishes? Do I exist to grant the wishes of humans? The god stared at her hands, flexing her fingers. She couldn’t fathom possessing an inherent power to grant the prayers of mortals. Yet, if I exist for this purpose, I must try, she frowned. The girl’s black eyes bored into the cocoa-brown bark of the plum tree with a desperate intensity. “Please, O Goddess of the Lovers’ Plum, please bring me fair fortune!”

One of the girls behind her, a stoic one with short purple-black hair, frowned sardonically.

“Momo, you don’t really believe that nonsense that praying to the plum tree will lead to you meeting your future lover in seven days, right?” she sighed with a shake of her head, placing her hands on her hips. “It’s just an old folktale. I can’t believe you dragged me up here for this…”

“Hush, Kyoka!” the praying girl, evidently named Momo, hissed with an affronted glance over her shoulder. “You’ll anger the spirit, and she won’t grant my wish!” Kyoko’s dissidence indeed angered the tree spirit. Still, she would not spurn the willful young lady for that. Instead, the youthful god grinned and sent a plum falling from the branches above her head. Kyoka yelped as the fruit slammed into her scalp. The plum burst open to spill sticky juice and yellow flesh into her hair. She whined miserably as it dripped onto the white fabric of her kimono. The other companion, a smiling young lady with hair pink like carnations, laughed mirthfully.

“You see, Kyoka? You’ve angered the goddess!”

“Shut up, Mina,” Kyoka growled and disdainfully brushed the clumps of fruit from her head and shoulders. The tree spirit giggled mischievously and returned her attention to the prostrate girl. She had rested her hands on her lap and was staring miserably at the earth. Invisible to their eyes, the young god knelt beside her, staring intently at her forlorn expression. She had realized that humans experienced a phenomenon known as “emotions,” and this one was akin to sadness.

“… I am but a humble seamstress,” Momo lamented woefully. “I beg my father to allow us to travel to Edo and take up shop there so that we may live a better life, but he is adamant we remain by the river. Our family has always resided here, from the time of his grandfather’s grandfather.” Her eyes became lidded as her bottom lip wobbled. Tears slipped down her cheeks, and the tree spirit brushed them away with her fingertips, though the girl likely dismissed it as a mere kiss from the breeze. The god marveled at the glistening tear decorating her finger, a bead of water like dew. She tasted it and then spat it out, finding it to be unbearably salty.

“I wish to meet a man who can spirit me far away from this miserable land!” Momo cried and laid the back of her hand to her forehead in misery. “I wish to see grand things, and sell fine silks to lords and ladies, and live a life of plenty and comfort… Not scrounge for scraps on the shores of a river,” she complained bitterly. The tree spirit was unsure why such a living was undesirable to a human, but then, many of their ways were foreign to her.

“Momo, we have to get going,” Kyoka frowned and glanced down the path leading back to the settlement. “Your mother will be looking for you to mind the shop.”

“Yes, yes,” Momo sighed and rose, brushing the dirt from the fabric covering her knees. The tree spirit hurriedly jumped to her feet, wracking her brain for a manner in which to grant the wish. She elected to follow her instincts.

“Your prayer has been heard, and I grant you my blessing. Go forth and may love find you quickly,” the young god recited and stood on her tiptoes to kiss Momo’s forehead. The girl could not see or hear her, but yet, she blushed slightly and ran her fingertips over the skin there.

“I feel like the goddess heard me,” Momo remarked joyfully to her friends as she trounced over to them. Mina grabbed her arm excitedly and beamed, while Kyoka rolled her eyes but smiled. The spirit watched them meander back down the trail; soon, their avid discussion of young love and hope faded into the sound of rustling leaves and birdsong. She then smiled and squealed and jumped up and down with glee.

At last, the tree spirit knew her purpose.

The tree spirit took to her newfound mission with fervor. Many came to pray to the tree for fair fortune. The god was delighted to find that young Momo had met a fisherman who traveled the length of the river to sell iron-forged weapons seven days after her appeal, and the two fell madly in love. She had immigrated to Edo and now sold hand-crafted kimonos to all manners of folk. The god only had a rudimentary understanding of love, but she could comprehend that love made the humans happy. Summer passed into winter, which moved into the spring. Nine months after she had come into being, the naïve but kind-hearted god met the human who would teach her what it truly meant to love another.  

The Coming of Katsuki Bakugo

It was the height of May. The tree spirit had learned the calendar year through her furtive observations of the humans. The air simmered with the sun’s blazing heat, so the tree spirit cooled herself beneath the shady sprawl of her home tree, humming a tune she had learned by watching a washerwoman. She perked up when she heard the unmistakable crunch of sandals upon hard, dried dirt. Sitting up straight and tucking her legs underneath her body, she patiently awaited the arrival of her latest patron. She cocked her head slightly when the muscular form of a man tromped around the corner.

He reminded her of the fishermen- toned and lean, with powerful, thick thighs and bulging arms. He was not dressed in the garb of fishermen, however. The boatmen wore light fabrics that covered their entire body to shield them from the sun’s harsh rays, while this man wore a yukata of thick maroon cloth, with no sleeves and a hem that reached only to his knees. A red-and-white woven rope wound around his forehead. The fishermen were quite a merry bunch, as well, with smiles always alighting their faces and bawdy songs spilling from their lungs, but this human greeted the invisible goddess with a moody scowl. She fidgeted before him, wondering what could cause such irritation.

He stopped in front of the plum tree and gave it a brief once-over. He then snorted and flopped down on his side underneath its shady leaves, holding a hand to his mouth as he yawned. The god observed him fascinatedly, for no human had ever behaved in such a manner before.

“Goddess of the tree or whatever you are,” he droned disinterestedly, “I hope you don’t mind if I take a nap here. It’s hot as shit today.” The little god flushed, recognizing his language as coarse. She inspected him closer to find his brown skin sheened with sweat, and his hands calloused from toil. So he is a laborer, she concluded. She was a goddess and was thus charged with the care of humans, so she supposed allowing the worker to shelter beneath her birth tree was acceptable. She frowned, wishing the plums were in season so she could grant him some fruit to eat. It mattered not, for he was already snoring, resting his head against his arm. The plum tree spirit smiled and stroked his back soothingly.

“Sleep well beneath my blossoms, human man, and recover your strength. I bless you with good fortune in your future endeavors.” She knew he could not hear her, but she fancied he did, because he grunted in his sleep. As he slept beneath her branches, the god observed him critically. He was quite handsome, for a human, with chiseled rugged features and ash-blond hair. His eyes were a brilliant vermilion like the wild red roses that grew along the hill path. She wondered if he did not need to pray for love, because surely such a beautiful human man would be popular among young ladies.

The young man rested for about an hour, until the sun had passed its height to begin its slow descent. He likely would have slept for longer, had it not been for the angry shouting that floated up the hill. The tree spirit straightened up, peering into the greenery as the cursing and yelling grew louder. The human man groaned and scowling, cracking one of his red eyes open to glare reproachfully at the small gap in the bushes that marked the entrance to the hilltop. A man dressed in similar garb, only green, charged through the brambles, red-faced and chest heaving.

“Katsuki Bakugo! What the hell are you doing up here, lounging like a house cat?! You had seventeen orders to fill today!” the angry human scolded. The vermilion-eyed laborer, whom the goddess now knew as Katsuki, scowled condescendingly.

“I filled them, so I came up here to take a nap. Tell me, old man, how much time have you wasted looking for me when you could have been bartering with the tradesmen on the river?” Katsuki remarked and studied the cuticles of his nails. The tree spirit held a hand to her mouth, appalled by the level of disrespect. From what she understood, Katsuki was subservient to this new man, and therefore ought to treat him with honor and dignity. His words carried the tone of anything but. Katsuki sneered as his superior could only sputter and turn the color of a tomato. “Uh-huh.”

“You’re so lucky you’re Mitsuki’s son, or I would fire you in an instant!” the man fumed and stamped his foot. Katsuki frowned and stared unapprovingly up at him. “I owe a life debt to your mother and offer you a place in my business, and this is how you repay me? Sneaking off after you do the bare minimum?!”

“All right, all right, old man, you’re gonna bust my eardrum,” Katsuki grimaced, digging a finger deep into one of his ear canals. Leisurely, he lifted himself into a sitting position. “If you wanted me to stay in the shop to pick up the slack of those other extras, you shoulda said so.” The man growled and pointed a bright red finger at Katsuki but decided that further argument was worthless. He whirled on his heel to tromp back down the pathway, while Katsuki laughed mischievously and shouted after him, “I’m gonna inherit your business one day, you old fart! Watch me!” The plum tree spirit was baffled by the entire exchange, but yet, she could not help but find the spirited young human captivating.

“Bah. Old asshole,” Katsuki huffed and rubbed the short hairs at the base of his neck while he climbed to his feet. He made to begin walking, but then glanced over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow. The goddess would have been directly within his line of sight if he could see her. “… Thank you for allowing me to rest here,” he said with a slight bow.

Then he was gone, stomping off into the bushes. The spirit craned her head to watch the ash-blond tufts of his hair vanish amongst the green. After he melted into the wilderness, she reclined against the thin trunk of the plum tree with a small smile. What an interesting human, she thought jubilantly. I wonder if I shall ever see him again.

The Coming of Ochako

Ironically enough, Katsuki Bakugo did return the following day- and the next and the next, every day for more than the plum tree spirit could keep count. He would always come to snooze the height of the afternoon away, and then be hauled off by his disgruntled boss. Without fail, Katsuki would thank her for graciously sheltering him from the heat. The young goddess soon looked forward to his coming every afternoon- and began to muster up the courage to appear before a human for the first time.

The blossoms had born fruit, and emerald leaves had sprouted by the time she made her move. He came just as he came every day, sauntering up the path to toss himself to the ground unceremoniously. This time, she hovered behind the skinny tree trunk, peering through the small bough to watch him march up the hill. I must be brave! I must make myself known to this human, she told herself. She hovered behind the plum tree, her pink kimono ruffling in the summer breeze, and held her breath as his ash-blond hair appeared above the fringe of the tall bushes. His bulky form soon followed. When his red eyes landed on her, he froze mid-step.

“I, um,” he stammered with an embarrassed blush rising to his cheeks. He pointed quickly down the path. “I can come back later; no one usually comes to pray at this time…”

“No, no!” she squeaked, scurrying out from her hiding spot as he began to turn. “Please stay. I’m not praying here.” His expression grew even more confused, but he obediently remained rooted to the spot. Flushing, the plum tree spirit bowed low. “I am the spirit of the plum tree. I have much desired to meet you formally.” She peeked between the chestnut waves of her locks to witness his reaction. His mouth hung open in shock for a few seconds, and those vermilion eyes beheld her in wonder.

He then began to cackle with loud laughter.

“Bahahahaha! What a joke!” he howled. She straightened up with knitted eyebrows as he sniggered uncontrollably. He held his belly and doubled over, tears dripping from his blond lashes as his entire body shook. “My dickhead of a boss musta put you up to this. How much did he pay you, huh? Plum tree spirit… Pffft, as if!”

“How dare you!” she fumed. She balled up her fists and stamped her feet angrily. The branches of the plum tree began to writhe and quiver despite there being no gale, and the purple fruits started to plummet to the earth. They burst open in showers of gold, scattering their large pods. “I really am the spirit of the plum tree! What a rude human you are, to belittle me when I have allowed you to sleep under my protection for weeks now!” The shadows of the plum tree began to grow blacker and stretch with a dark malice. Katsuki yelped and began to back-pedal; he tripped over his own feet and landed on his rump.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait! I’m sorry!” he protested, waving his hands in surrender as he regarded her with a frightened expression. “It’s just- I don’t- you don’t look like a god.”

“Well, a god I am, so you shall respect me as such!” she huffed and crossed her arms. However, she was satisfied with his acknowledgment, so she relaxed. The plum tree returned to normal, though the sickly-sweet aroma of plums now hung in the air. She regarded the busted fruit with a frown. It would not go to waste, as the birds and beasts would feast upon the succulent flesh, but it was still a shame to make a mess of the place. Katsuki slowly sat up, still gawking at her with a mixture of wonder and awe.

“What’s your name?”

“Name? I do not have one,” she answered, pressing her finger to her lips. “I was not given one. I am simply the spirit of the plum tree.”

“That’s a mouthful,” he snorted. He seemed more at ease now; he was sitting on his haunches, with his legs drawn up and his muscular arms draped over his knees. He pondered for a moment, then smirked. “How about ‘Ochako’? Does that please you, Miss Goddess?” His tone was teasing, but his smirk made her heart race for a reason other than ire. She shuffled her feet and wrung the fold of her kimono nervously.

“O-ochako will do just fine.”

“Ochako, then. My name’s Katsuki.” Ochako supposed she could reply that she was very much aware, but it was customary for humans to introduce themselves, so she refrained. “I make fireworks.”

“Fireworks?” she inquired. In all her time observing the humans, she had not heard such a term. His face visibly brightened at her ignorance.

“Yeah, fireworks! They’re made by combining gunpowder with dyes and other compounds. Then you light them with fire, and they shoot up into the sky to explode into a huge blast of color!” he grinned, gesturing with his hands. Ochako’s brown eyes widened with wonder. Even with his description, she could not imagine such a magnificent display. He leaned back on his hands and smiled warmly at her. “I sailed in with the old man from Edo. Every year, this little backwater village holds a festival to celebrate the river god. It draws in people from all over the country, surprisingly. Me and the old man sail here in May to prepare, and trade with the locals, too, and then in August, we launch all the fireworks to honor the god.” He paused with a frown. “You’re a god here, so surely you must have seen it?” he frowned. Ochako shook her head.

“No. I was born only last summer, very late.” she frowned. “There are many things of this world that I have yet to know and see…” Katsuki grimaced and regarded her curiously.

“How were you born?”

“I am not entirely sure, but I believe I came from the wishes of the locals,” she said with a glance of the plum-laden tree. She smiled wistfully, thinking back to her first prayer, Momo the seamstress. “I came from the hope in their hearts to help grant them fortune in the endeavors of true love. I am not sure if I possess any real power, but I give them my blessing, all the same.” She glanced back at him with a light laugh. “Truth be told, when you first climbed this hill, I thought that you were coming to pray, not sleep!” Katsuki blushed and shifted a little on the ground. “But you are such a handsome human, so surely you don’t need my blessings. I am sure you already have a fine wife.” His face turned the color of her kimono, and he looked away with a pout. Ochako raised her eyebrows. “Am I mistaken…?”

“Yup. Don’t really have time for a woman. We travel all throughout Japan sellin’ fireworks and all. Not too many gals are willin’ to live a life like that,” he said quietly. Ochako detected a hint of bitterness in his voice. Expression concerned, she walked over to kneel beside him, tucking her kimono under her calves.

“Would you like me to give you my blessing?”

“Nah,” he laughed and smiled confidently at her. “I just came here to nap.” Ochako giggled, holding her hand to her mouth like she often saw the refined ladies that sometimes sailed into the village did.

“Very well. I can grant that wish.” She rose and gestured to the circle of shade surrounding the plum tree. Katsuki followed her over, and she knelt once more, then patted the plush of her thighs. He raised a hesitant eyebrow. “It’s all right. I’m sure I am much more comfortable than the ground.” Slowly, he eased himself onto his back perpendicular to her seated form and rested the back of his head on her lap. He wiggled a little to get himself comfortable, then relaxed his hands on his stomach, fingers laced together. His brilliant red eyes sparkled like rubies as they gazed attentively up at her.

“Have you really been alone up here all this time?” he asked her quietly. Ochako blinked, then smiled sweetly and looked out into the quaint little wood surrounding the hill.

“Yes. I am the only one here,” Ochako confirmed, “but it’s all right. I am blessed with the smiles of my patrons and the living creatures of the wood. It may be a solitary life, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. It is a fulfilling existence to bring others happiness. I may be but a minor god, but that is my charge. I will accept that role readily.” She glanced down at him to find him smiling kindly.

“When fall comes, and I sail off, I’ll tell everyone about Ochako the Plum Tree Goddess. Soon you’ll be known far and wide, and a shrine will be built in your honor.” Ochako beamed at that, visions of a sparkling and well-tended shrine with mikos blooming in her imagination.

“That would be lovely,” she agreed with a nod. “But until then, I shall be content if you but visit me.” Katsuki laughed.

“Yeah, okay, Ochako.” His red irises vanished beneath his closing eyelids. His breathing soon became deep and unlabored. Ochako smiled benignly and stroked his forehead, admiring the softness of his fluffy blond hair.

Yes, she thought blissfully, just keep resting here beneath my boughs, and I shall never be alone.

The Coming of a Goddess’ Love

As promised, Katsuki returned to the Lovers’ Plum every day to speak with Ochako. They sat side-by-side against the thin trunk, and he regaled her with the many, many wonders of the human world. Ochako learned more listening to Katsuki than in her year of secretly observing the humans. She was delighted to learn that they were a very innovative breed, creating a plethora of remarkable tools and novelties. Their creativity and ingenuity were unmatched by any being on this earth.

However, she was also saddened to learn that humans could also be devastatingly violent. Katsuki told her of roving bands of rogues who pillaged farmsteads, of great wars waged between immense hosts of forces, of the seeds of evil that germinated within individuals and caused them to steal and murder and rape. Ochako surmised that it was merely the balance of nature, as light cannot exist without an equal dark, but regardless it still depressed her. Humans were such charming beings. She hated that within them festered the tendencies for destruction.

As June passed into July, the air grew warmer- as did their relationship. They took to wandering the woods, admiring the fanciful splendors of the natural world. On one such occasion, they stumbled upon a vast field of wildflowers- a colorful rainbow as far as the eye could see. Ochako squealed and dove into the blanket of petals, watching as her movements sprung them from their confines, and they raced away on the wind. Her fingers trailed over them, feeling their softness, and her eyes beheld fluttering butterflies and bobbling bumblebees gathering the pollen and feasting on the nectar. When she turned to invite Katsuki into the magical field, he was already right there, tucking a bloom behind her ear and giving her a smile that made her heart race in a manner she had never felt.

“Ochako,” he breathed with a gentle look.

“Yes?”

“You’re beautiful.” His fingers took a swathe of her soft brown hair, his thumb stroking along the strands. She flushed and held a hand to her cheek; she was unable to look at him for her bashfulness. He seemed not to mind her lack of response, for he continued to gaze at her with that smoldering warmth that sent unbridled joy pulsing through her body.

From that day forth, Ochako looked forward to his coming with an overwhelming rapture. One day, at the tail end of July, Katsuki posed the notion of venturing into the village.

“I’m not sure, Katsuki,” she frowned, kneeling amongst the roots of the tree. The fruits were growing overripe and falling from the branches, leaving the grasses sticky and coated with the golden juice. Birds and beasts scrounged for the mushy flesh and seed pods left behind in the fruits’ fermentation. “You are the only human I have ever revealed myself to.”

“You don’t have to tell anyone you’re a god,” he reassured. “Please. I want to enjoy more than just a measly hour or two with you.” Ochako flushed at that, fidgeting as that incredible joy wrapped around her heart like ribbon. Curling a piece of her hair around her finger, she pondered the suggestion. I suppose it’s all right, as long as I pretend that I am human. Thus, she agreed, and Katsuki promised to retrieve her that afternoon around sunset.

After he bid her farewell, Ochako experienced true impatience for the first time. She restlessly paced the small area around her plum tree, and even fidgeted distractedly during the few prayers she granted. The sun seemed to mock her by inching along the blue expanse, refusing to go at a pace more than a snail’s crawl. That was actually one way in which Ochako occupied herself- by watching one of the shelled creatures slide along a large grass blade. When it reached the summit, bending the grass blade under its heavy weight, it wiggled its antenna and pondered its next move. It turned around and began slinking down the way it came.

After what seemed a life age, the blue sky began to bleed with red and orange and gold. The sun melted behind the collection of houses hugging the river. One by one, the settlement’s torches blazed to life, illuminating the area with flickering fire. The thatch roofs caught the sunlight to burn gold, and the few glimpses of the water Ochako could catch from her high perch revealed the river to be sparkling like the stars.

“Katsuki!” Ochako squealed when he came traipsing through the bushes. She rushed to him, beaming, and he affectionately ruffled her bouncy brown hair. She crooned in delight and nuzzled into his palm. Though it was roughened by much toil, it still felt nice when he caressed her.

“Ready?” he asked with an endearing smile. Ochako nodded ecstatically. “Let’s go, then.” She blushed bright pink when he offered her his hand. From the way the village girls talked, holding hands was a romantic gesture, at least within humans their age range. Ochako gulped and timidly reached out to grasp his hand. Her fingers slid alongside his like a mechanism locking into place- naturally. His hand was so warm, and the calloused skin felt pleasurable against her soft palm. Her heart jumped in her throat as he allowed their arms to fall loosely between them, and they swung slightly with every step they took down the path. As the buildings grew larger and larger, she found herself pressing into his hefty frame, as if he could shield her from the unknown.

The village rang with noise, even at night.

The air hummed with pleasant conversation. The denizens lounged on their porches to enjoy the warm summer evening, smoking on pipes and sharing bottles of sake. Children squealed as they chased fireflies in their yards or bounced rubber balls with sticks or wrestled with dogs in the mud. The grass gave way to wooden walkways that connected the houses and extended onto the river, where the fishermen moored their boats. With the coming of night, they had ventured in from the water and were clustered around barrels, laughing raucously as they bet on cards or shogi games. Every once in a while, they would get heated and start brawling, only to tumble into the river and come up laughing. The glow from the braziers cast a warm red glow on everything that complimented the natural light of the full moon above. Ochako’s head swiveled on her neck as she attempted to absorb every detail of the humans’ lives as she could. Katsuki watched her with an amused smirk.

“Here’s where I work,” he announced when they had ventured deep into the waterfront settlement. It was a large building set back from the water. It was open to the air, with only a sloped roof to shield it from the elements. Smoke poured from within, and Ochako’s nose wrinkled at the acrid scent of earthy minerals. “Would you like to see the fireworks?” Ochako nodded eagerly; she had been much enthralled with the human device since their first meeting. Katsuki chuckled and brought her inside.

“Eijirou!” he called as he lifted the cloth flap that served as a door, though large open windows framed either side of it. Large tables stretched throughout the space and were laden with a variety of objects Ochako knew not the name for. A redheaded man came trotting out of the gloom, wiping his hands on a cloth with soot staining his smiling face.

“Hey, Katsuki! Comin’ to burn the midnight oil? We still have a lot to do before the River God Festival.”

“Hell no,” Katsuki snorted derisively. He raised his arm to reveal Ochako, who was hiding behind his massive bulk and peering shyly around his ribs at the newcomer Eijirou. “I came to show her around.”

“Oh, is that so? So, you’re the girl Katsuki’s been sneaking off to see every afternoon,” the redhead grinned with a playful wink. Ochako’s cheeks brightened as she peeked up at Katsuki. Does he talk about me? Katsuki tched and gave Eijirou a dismissive wave, but from the delighted twinkle in his red eyes, Ochako could tell that Katsuki looked upon the other fondly. She gulped and snuck further behind Katsuki’s back as Eijirou approached. He gripped his chin and stepped around the blond to inspect her critically. She pressed her face into Katsuki’s back, peering bashfully at him through the gap in her brown hair. “Well, no wonder our Katsuki is so smitten. You sure are a cutie!”

“Oi! Go make yourself useful, Shitty Hair,” Katsuki growled and shoved Eijirou in the shoulder.

“Hey now, hey now, I’m not intruding,” the redhead smirked and pranced away. “I’m just stating facts, that’s all~!” With a giddy laugh, Eijirou made himself busy assembling the fireworks. Curious now, Ochako peeled herself away from the man to ease over. She froze when Eijirou glanced out of his peripheral vision at her, but he only smiled and continued about his business. She crept up to the table, craning her neck to observe the process. He was loading a multitude of grainy particles into a tube, then capping them with a conical shape. A large pile of them already sat on the edge of the table, hued in blues and greens and reds. She poked one experimentally, then tugged at the black strings on the end.

“Careful,” Katsuki warned and gently pulled her fingers away. “Those are the fuses. We light them to shoot them off. Wouldn’t want these exploding down here,” he smiled gently.

“Yeah, the boss’d really kill you then,” Eijirou snickered. Katsuki scowled and stuck out his tongue at him.

“That old man won’t do shit because he’s too busy pining after my old lady.”

“Yeah,” Eijirou laughed, “your mom sure has fun letting him cling to her skirts. You know he bought her a real ruby hairpin the other day? Are you sure your mom isn’t actually-”

“Hey, you watch it,” Katsuki warned and jabbed a finger into his chest. “My mom would never cheat on my old man with that greasy old fart.” Eijirou laughed and held his hands up in surrender.

“All right, all right, I was just kidding.” Katsuki snorted and grabbed Ochako by her elbow to gently lead her out of the fireworks shop. She hurriedly looked over her shoulder and gave Eijirou a wave of farewell.

“Tch. Shitty smiling jerk,” Katsuki grumbled.

“He seems like a good friend,” Ochako smiled. Katsuki blushed, then shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck.

“He’s all right. He makes work a hell of a lot less boring.” Ochako snickered at his reluctance to admit his fondness for the boy. It was a very Katsuki thing to do.

They continued to wander the township, eventually arriving upon a stall selling jeweled accessories. Ochako had always admired the hairpins some of the young girls wore when they ventured up to her plum tree and had secretly yearned for a pretty adornment. She released Katsuki’s hand to scamper over to the stall. She cooed over a bright pink one inlaid with round pink gems and styled in the likeness of a plum blossom. The aged man operating the booth smiled kindly.

“Ah, yes. That’s a popular model. The young girls around here fancy it as homage to the Lovers’ Plum.” Ochako blushed as she was unintentionally praised. She held up the hairpin, admiring the way the moonlight played over the crystalline gems. Ochako knew that such items required money to acquire, however, and as a goddess with no human trade, she possessed no funds. A bit blue, she set the hairpin down on the counter- only for Katsuki to throw down a handful of bills.  

“That should cover it, right, old man?” The stall tender pursed his lips and leafed through the wad of cash, handing a few of them back to Katsuki before pushing the hairpin towards Ochako.

“Katsuki, you didn’t have to-” He shushed her and picked up the hairpin. Her eyes widened as he tenderly pushed the accessory into her curling brown hair, pinning the gorgeous flower right above her ear. His hand fell so that his fingertips brushed over her cheekbone, spreading a pink haze in its wake. The pads of his fingers traveled to her mouth, resting over her lips.

“Beautiful.”

It was in that moment that Ochako the plum tree spirit realized that she was head-over-heels in love with the human Katsuki Bakugo.

The Coming of the Colorful Night

A delighted smile graced Ochako’s lips as she admired her reflection in the rain puddle. The flower hairpin glimmered in the sunlight, accenting the rosy blush ever-present in her youthful cheeks. She sighed dreamily and laid on her belly in the damp grass, kicking her feet over her back. She imagined the smirking personage of Katsuki in the water, and the way he smiled so affectionately at her that night. She whispered his name, and just that small action sent tingles of joy flooding through her nerves. With a squeal, she clutched her beating heart and rolled over.

At last, I know what it means to be in love!

It was a wonderful feeling. Ochako knew now why the humans so desperately sought its graces. Her soul felt like it was continually floating on air, giving her a blissful weightless sensation. Her face ached from incessantly smiling, but it was a good ache. She could occupy her mind for hours reminiscing of their many ventures. She sighed wistfully again and watched the breeze toss about the emerald leaves of her tree. The golden light was filtering through, dappling her body with shadow.

Unfortunately, Katsuki would not be visiting today. It was the afternoon of the River God Festival, and the shop owner had insisted on his presence. However, Katsuki did promise to collect her near sundown so that they could watch the fireworks together. When she had inquired if that would anger his boss, he haughtily replied that he didn’t much care. The sun was sinking through the sky, drawing ever closer to the horizon, and Ochako was awaiting his arrival with bated breath.

Tonight, I am going to tell him that I love him!

She rolled onto her belly and watched a ladybird crawl up a blade of grass. Resting her cheek on her forearm and smiling blissfully, she fantasized about her impending confession. Surely, Katsuki loved her as well; she was not ignorant of the way he looked at her. He actively sought out her presence and often called her beautiful or gorgeous, and he always held her hand tightly, as if he never wanted to let go. Then that look in his eyes- that look like he was beholding the most sublime creature on earth, one that held his entire body and soul. If that was not love, then Ochako didn’t know what was.

She hopped to her feet when she heard the familiar sound of footsteps.

“Hey, Ochako,” Katsuki beamed when she jumped up to scuttle over to him. She threw her arms around him in a hug, burying her nose into his sternum and breathing in the strong scent of sulfur and gunpowder that clung to him. She had grown used to the odor and now found it very soothing. His strong arms surrounded her in a returned embrace, and he pressed his face into the top of her head. “Are you ready?” She nodded ecstatically and looked up at him with sparkling eyes.

“Let’s go, hurry so that we can find a good spot!” she demanded and tore away from him to start running down the path. He grabbed her wrist, and she jerked back. When she looked at him confusedly, he gestured to the plum tree. “We’ll be able to see them from here?” she asked and looked down the path again, unsure.

“I promise. After all, all we only need to see the sky,” Katsuki said and pointed above their heads. Ochako looked up with a frown. The sky above the plum tree was remarkably clear and wide, not tainted by the light of the township below. Ochako elected to take him at his word, and they tromped over to the tree, sitting at its base. Their sides pressed together, and Katsuki kept their hands linked, running the pad of his thumb over the top of her hand. It made jolts of electricity travel up her arm, but she loved the feeling.

The sun slowly sank into the river, and the watchful night closed in. One by one, the stars blinked into existence, sparkling like gems in the vast expanse of the blue-black sky. The crescent moon hung low, bathing the world in just enough of its glow to cast long black shadows. The gloom enveloped Ochako and Katsuki like a blanket. Even in the darkness, his ruby eyes glimmered as they flickered to her. His smile curled on his lips, but when she went to speak, he put a finger to his mouth and gestured upwards with his chin.

There was a sound like a shriek, and then a resounding pop. Ochako jumped at the sudden noise, but it was soon forgotten as color exploded against the dark backdrop of the night sky. Ruby-red sparkles filled the air, spreading like tree roots across the blackness before fizzling out. More shrieks sounded in the distance, and the sky came alive with more color than Ochako had ever seen. Her mouth hung open as she gawked shamelessly at the splendorous display unfolding before her.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“Yeah. It sure is.” She glanced at him to find him staring right at her. That sweet smile like she was the thing dearest to him graced his lips, and his vermilion eyes glimmered with a roaring flame no water could ever douse. Her heart thumped hard against her ribcage as his gaze dropped down to her lips. She gulped slightly, digging her fingers into the fabric of her kimono, as his hand slowly rose to cup her cheek. “Ochako,” he breathed. His thumb traced a trail across her cheekbone in repetitive caresses. She watched with lidded eyes as the colors played across his face, dull glows of red and blue and green and gold kaleidoscoping in a beautiful array. His face edged closer, and her eyes fell closed in anticipation.

His lips molded over hers like the sweetest honey. Ochako’s chest swelled with a deep inhale at the wondrous feeling. It felt like she had long been lost, and she had finally returned home. She pushed into the kiss, desperate for more contact, and her hands jumped forward to splay across his chest. His hand pushed into her hair to grip the back of her head and angle it, kissing her with more fervor. The fireworks continued to explode overhead, but Ochako no longer thought them magical. No, the magical thing was this man in front of her, the man who had appeared so suddenly one day and taught her what it meant to love.

When they pulled apart, tears glimmered in her eyes.

“Katsuki. Katsuki, I love you,” she blurted. The words had ballooned within her, filling her chest with a painful tightness. She suddenly had the suspicion she was going to disappear, perhaps even before her waking eyes. “I love you so much. Please, I-” He gently shushed her and placed two fingers over her lips, then leaned in to press a sweeter, chaste kiss to her mouth. His other hand fell to grasp hers and interlace their fingers.

“I love you too, Ochako,” he murmured against her mouth, eyes still closed. Ochako groaned and melted against him, savoring their way their parted lips meshed and their breath mixed in the warm night air. He gripped her hips and pushed against her, and her body obeyed his silent command, laying back into the cool grass. He climbed atop her, her legs slotting perfectly before his spread knees, and he began to pepper her face with little kisses.

“I’m so fucking grateful I stumbled upon this fucking plum tree-” he growled, his kisses becoming more fervent and open-mouthed. Ochako mewled as he dropped his head to plant lingering, ardent kisses along the column of her neck. His hands kneaded the plush flesh of her hips. She threaded her fingers into his tousled ash-blond hair and peered through her lashes. The emerald leaves of the plum tree blanketed them, and beyond that bloomed a brilliant night sky alive with all the colors of the universe.

There, with only the plum tree and that sky to bear witness, Ochako and Katsuki sealed their love for one another forevermore.

The Coming of the End

Katsuki didn’t come the following day, or the next or the next. Ochako surmised it was the constant rain. It poured endlessly from the heavens like they were weeping, saturating the earth. Puddles bloomed on the ground and grew larger every day, and they melded into each other to create a latticework of water channels and small ponds. The water streamed down the slope of the hill to pool in the lower lands, and soon the path flooded over completely. Isolated atop her lonely knoll with the plum tree, Ochako recalled Katsuki’s hands blazing trails across her body, and the clouds of their breath misting in the cooling night, and the way they sang each other’s names to the skies.

The rain continued for several weeks, and then it stopped. The sun finally breached the barrier of the gray clouds to shower the earth in its spearing rays. Slowly, the voluminous water soaked into the ground. Curious to how the humans fared, Ochako ventured down to the village-

and was greeted with nothing short of a tragedy.

The swelling of the river had ravaged the small settlement. It still exceeded its banks, pouring over the porches of the low-lying houses. Furniture and trinkets and clothes that had once carried sentiment floated in the current, occasionally catching on the spindly fingers of broken branches and even wholly uprooted trees. The wooden walkways were now roads for the river trout, and the townsfolk meandered between the flood buildings in their boats. A few of the vessels had not been so lucky. They were either sunk into the depths of the river or had crashed into the houses. The air was rank with depression and anxiety. The fireworks workshop had collapsed, with the roof sticking up out of the water at an odd angle and the cloth door floating on the surface. Ochako couldn’t find the little accessory stall at all.

Ochako fled back up the hill, unable to bear the sadness any longer. She collapsed at the base of her tree and wept. Clasping her hands together so hard that her knuckles glared white, she prayed, and prayed, and prayed. She prayed for Momo and her fisherman husband, for Kyoka and Mina, for the grumpy fireworks shop owner and Eijirou and the friendly accessory shop owner- and for Katsuki, she prayed aloud until her throat was raw and she was coughing up blood. Yet she kept praying, until finally, darkness took her, and she melted into unconsciousness.

When she awoke, he was sitting up against the plum tree with her head in his lap. She would have jumped up and hugged him if his expression had not been so miserable. His fingers slowly teased through her locks of chestnut hair. He had been doing so a while, as evidenced by the channels parting the swathes of her locks. Frowning, she raised a hand to brush her fingertips over his chin.

“Katsuki, what’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer her immediately. When he did, he cast his vermilion eyes into the distance, as if he could not bear to look at her. Finally, he whispered, “You’re going to die, Ochako.”

She sat up, her frown deepening. Katsuki clicked his tongue at her expression of confusion and looked down at his lap.

“What? I don’t understand.”

“The locals say the flood was the wrath of the river god. Apparently, they think that revering the plum tree has angered him, and he flooded the town in vengeance. They-” he choked on his words. He pushed his fist into his mouth as tears blossomed in his eyes. “They’re going to cut the plum tree down.” Ochako paled as frightening realization dawned upon her. Ochako was born of the plum tree and its associated prayers. If they removed the plum tree and ceased to pray, Ochako would disappear. Terrified, she jumped forward to cling to Katsuki, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Katsuki, I don’t want to die!” she wailed in dismay. Her heart hammered in her throat, and a tremor gripped her body. Katsuki threw his arms around her in a smothering embrace, burying his face into her hair as he hiccupped with a broken sob. She snuggled into him, surrounding herself in his warmth and gunpowder scent, as if it could shield her from her coming death. It could not, however; she could hear the mob approaching already, shouts and curses floating on the early morning air.

“I won’t let them,” he snarled and hugged her tighter. Ochako whimpered, but as much as she would admire him for defending her honor, she could not allow it.

“No, Katsuki! If you interfere, they’ll murder you,” she insisted, prying herself away from him. She sucked in a deep breath and wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands, slowly bringing herself down from the fearful mania. He stared at her incredulously.

“Ochako, if we do nothing, they’ll murder you!”

The shouts and curses grew louder. Birds took to the air, startled by the aggressive ascent of the river folk. Time was running out.

“I have an idea,” Ochako said and hopped to her feet. She clambered into the boughs of her plum tree to pluck the last remaining fruit of the season from its branches. Falling back to the flats of her feet, she tore away the golden flesh to reveal the pit within. She thrust it out to Katsuki, and he took it with startled hands. “This seed contains the essence of my birth tree,” she told him firmly. “Take it far from here and plant it. As long as my tree can bloom once more, and you continue to believe in me, I shall not cease to exist.” She smiled painfully as his expression contorted in pain. His quivering hand brushed over her cheek, and she leaned into his touch.

“Ochako, no,” he begged. Her heart shattered as his voice cracked with agony. The tears flowed down her cheeks like the accursed rain, burning as it trailed over her skin. “I can’t watch them do this.”

“You must, and you will,” she told him gently. She grabbed his hand and turned her head to press a long kiss into his calloused palm. “I will see you again,” she vowed, looking at him with heated brown eyes. He choked out another sob again, then grabbed her wrist to yank her forward. Her body fell upon his, and their lips crashed together in a tumultuous, passionate, heartbroken kiss. Katsuki kissed her right up until the moment the mob stormed into the clearing before she vanished before his eyes. The angry mob shoved him to the side despite his fragmented pleas, and he crashed to the ground. He watched, wide-eyed and clutching the little seed pod to his chest, as they swung the axe into the skinny trunk of the plum tree. It only took the one swing to bore deep into the heart of its wood, and with a noise not unlike an agonized scream, the tree fell backward and crashed into the earth. The leaves quivered with dying breaths, and sap poured like blood from the wound.

The rain began to pour though not a cloud was in the sky. It was as if the world was lamenting the loss of its purest soul.

The Coming of the Legend

Katsuki Bakugo sailed away from the riverside town that very afternoon. He bought a little clay pot and took some soil from the hill to plant the plum tree seed, and he waited. The boat meandered along the river to destination after destination, festival after festival, but the seed did not take root. Yet he waited, optimistic that his love would return. He slept with the little pot of dirt tucked against his chest, and sometimes, he imagined it was Ochako’s heartbeat and not his own pulsing through the clay and earth. Three months went by, but nothing ever sprouted from the seed. Hope was all he had, and he clung to it like a lifeline. His boss once ridiculed him for obsessing over the empty pot and had attempted to toss it into the river, and Katsuki broke the man’s nose and an arm struggling to get it back.

The old fogey finally fired him for that stunt.

Katsuki returned home to his lofty home on the outskirts of Edo. His mother had made her fortune designing kimonos. Even the waiting ladies to the wealthiest samurai wore her designs, or so it was said. Ginkgo trees and cherry blossoms and pines towered above the ornate building, but their sprawling garden did not possess a plum tree. Katsuki found a patch of earth about the size of the hilltop and planted the seed, which had not rotted even after three months in the small pot of soil. He took up a profession cooking and made more money than he ever had crafting fireworks. Every night when he returned home, arms aching and smelling of various spices and meats, he would go to the garden and look for a sprout.

He’d kneel at the spot and pray until his throat bled raw, and blisters burst on his clasped hands, and he would water the earth with his tears.

The servants began to whisper that he had gone mad over the drowning of his lover in the riverside town. His mother and father looked on in concern but allowed Katsuki his grieving. Katsuki had always been a hothead, but his temper shortened a drastic amount; he would scrap with strangers in the streets if they so much as looked at him the wrong way. He punched holes in the walls and kicked over furniture at the slightest provocation. He’d grab his clothes and tear them to shreds, simply because his world was falling apart around him, and he didn’t know how to deal with it.

His muscles wasted, for he had not the care to tend them. Weight sloughed from his frame, as food or drink tasted like ash in his mouth. His body took to a persistent cold, but no doctor could mend him, for his illness was of the heart. The whole world seemed dark, for his sun had been cruelly snuffed out of existence.  

Six months to the day after the felling of the plum tree, he fell to his knees before the buried plum tree seed and beseeched the glittering night sky. He screamed, and he roared, and he yelled, and he cried, begging the gods to take mercy on a virtuous plum tree spirit who graced the world with love and light. The servants looked on in awed horror as he begged the heavens for recompense until dawn began to peek over the horizon, and then darkness took him.

When he awoke, it was beneath the shade of a fully-grown plum tree. His head was cushioned by something soft and plush, and someone was stroking his ash-blond hair with loving fingers. His vision gradually cleared to reveal a smiling brunette, with round cheeks and a blissful smile and eyes like the earth.

“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, Katsuki.”

As generations came and went, the landscape of Japan changed, and so did the illustrious manor of the Bakugo family- yet the plum tree remained, a monument to an era long lost. The household had been torn down and rebuilt many times over, remodeled by inheritors of the family’s fortune.

Yet, they never touched the plum tree. That’s because everyone knew the legend of the Lovers’ Plum- the saga of a love so powerful that no force on this earth could break it. Rumor says that the plum tree spirit still inhabits the tree and grants wishes of romance to those who reach her ears, and that on nights where fireworks fill the sky, one can see her and her human beloved seated beneath its boughs, holding hands and staring into one another’s eyes. 

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

[embklitzke]

UNSETIC Files Side Trip - “The Crawl”

              “We should do this more often.”

               “Oh god,” Brigid said, trying to stifle another tide of giggles as she shared a knowing look with Bryn.  “No, no, we should not do this more often. Come morning, you will absolutely understand why.”

               AJ shot her a quizzical glance, then shrugged, ducking into the vestibule of the next bar on their crawl.  They’d started downtown at four.  It was nearly ten, now, and she’d lost count of how many bars they’d been to between here and there.  She could hear music through the doors, though, and it made her smile. “This sounds like a good one.”

               “We’ll know that once we see the bar.”  Tim dropped a kiss on his sister’s temple and opened the door, holding it for the rest of them.

               Mat lingered out on the street, staring up one of the fliers pinned to the bar’s windows.  “Are you guys sure that we want to—”

               “The decision is already made,” Kate said, holding up a hand, one finger raised.  “We agreed on the rules.”

               “But—”

               She’d already breezed inside, following Bryn and Brigid through the door Tim held.  AJ was already inside, probably already finding somewhere for them to sit and checking out the bar’s selection.

               Jim stepped back out of the vestibule to wrap his arm around Mat’s shoulders, steering him inside.  “You heard the lady.”

               “Okay,” Mat said.  “I was just—”

               He didn’t finish.  He didn’t have to.  The rest of them were already inside and had figured out what he was trying to warn them about.

               “Oh shit,” Kate muttered.  “It’s not.”

               “Oh, it is,” AJ said, grinning as if this was the most amusing coincidence that could have ever happened to them.  “Karaoke night.”

               “We are not staying for this,” Kate said, holding up her hands.  “We’re not. My ears can’t take it.”

               “Weren’t you just the one that told Mat that the decision was already made?”  Brigid squinted at her.  “So we have a drink and listen to some really bad singing for half an hour and we’re on to the next place.  What time was Chris expecting us back?”

               “Not until at least three,” Bryn said.  “We have plenty of time to blot out the memory of this with alcohol, Kate.  It’s fine.”

               “It is not fine because that.”  She pointed toward where AJ stood at the bar, thumbing through a stack of papers and chatting with one of the bartenders.  The man pointed toward a high table about halfway between the bar and the stage and AJ grinned up at him, nodding before she turned back to them and waved.

               “Well, she got us a table,” Brigid said, shrugging slightly.  “What’s so bad about that?”

               “Nothing yet,” Kate said, brow furrowing.  “But I’ve still got a bad feeling about this.”

               “Nothing some alcohol won’t solve.”  Bryn threw her arm around Kate’s shoulders, steering her toward the table.  Tim glanced at Jim, his brow arching slightly.

               “This could get interesting,” Tim said, a slight smirk curving one corner of his mouth.

               Jim deadpanned at him.  “Anytime you say that, I start worrying.”

               “That’s because you’re a smart man.”  Mat threw his arms around both of them.  “Come on.  I sense some really strong drinks in our future.”

               “Hey Mat?”

               “Yeah?”  He didn’t like the look that Tim was giving him.  It was a familiar one—a look in his longtime friend’s eye that spelled nothing but mischief of the highest order.

               “You remember that night in Tel Aviv?”

               His eyes narrowed.  “Yes.”

               “Okay.”  Tim sounded far too cheerful as he ducked out from under his friend’s arm, his pace quickening as he headed to the table.

               “My bad feeling just got worse,” Jim said.

               “Yeah, that’s probably a smart reaction,” Mat answered.

               “What happened in Tel Aviv?”

               “We do not have the time for that story,” Mat said honestly.  “But something tells me we’re about to get a variant on it.”

               “That is not comforting.”

               “As long as nothing gets set on fire and we don’t have to pay for any damages, I wouldn’t worry, Jim.  Honestly.  Don’t worry.” Mat paused.  “Much, anyway.”

               “That is also not comforting.”

               “Lucky for us,” AJ was saying as they reached the table, “the sign-up list isn’t that long.  Not many people are singing tonight.”

               “Thank god,” Kate said as she settled into a chair. “Maybe we can drink and get out before too much happens.”

               “What’s your problem with karaoke?” AJ asked, her brow furrowing.  Kate just shook her head.

               “That there’s too much bad karaoke in the world?”

               Tim smirked at his wife.  “You’re not wrong.  But what about some good karaoke?  Would that be so awful?”

               “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, completely straight-faced.  “Is there a waitress coming, AJ?”

               “I’ll just get it from the bar,” Brigid said, standing.  “Same round as the last?”

               “Lemon drop for me this time,” Bryn said.  “The one that girl over there’s having looks good and I want to try it.”

               Brigid nodded.  “Anyone else changing it up?”

               “Surprise me with a micro,” Mat said as he settled into a chair next to AJ, wrapping his arm around his wife’s shoulders.  It was their first big night out as a group since Daniel and Fiona had been born and while they’d all seemed to be enjoying it, the urge to call Chris to check on the newborns was running strong in all four of the new parents.  Their three companions seemed less worried, more relaxed.

               Either that or they were just hiding any anxiety better.

               Brigid flashed a thumbs-up, glancing at the others for any additional last-minute requests.  Getting none, she headed for the bar to put in their order even as Tim studied Kate for a few seconds.

               “So what are the odds, do you think, that any of the singing is going to be good?”

               “So low that I will bet two weeks of laundry duty that we don’t hear any good singing.”

               “Really.”  Tim sounded both thoughtful and mischievous now.  “That sure, huh?”

               “I know that look,” AJ said, staring at her brother. “Do not take that bet, Kate.”

               She glanced over at him, her brow arching. “What is going through that head of yours?”

               “I’ll do it if you will.”

               Her brows shot up.  “What?”

               Tim smirked.  “I’ll do it if you will.”

               “What, take the laundry duty bet?”

               “No,” he said, standing up.  “Sing.”

               Her brows climbed even higher.  “You’re serious?”

               “You know it.”

               Kate stared at him for a few seconds, then smirked herself.  “Fine. You’re on.  On one condition.”

               “What’s that?”

               She spun a finger at the rest of their companions. “That all of us sing.  At least one.”

               “You’re trying to guarantee some bad,” Mat said, rubbing his temple.  “You really are.”

               “Am I?”  Kate smiled.  “Am I really?”

               “I guess we’ll find out,” AJ said.  She didn’t seem at all perturbed or displeased by the turn of events.  “I’ll grab the sign up.”

               “Let me handle it,” Tim said.  “Trust me.”

               His chair scraped against the floor and he passed Brigid on her way back from the bar.  She rejoined them at the table, her brow furrowed.

               “Why does he look like he’s about to cause all kinds of trouble?”

  ��            “Because he is,” AJ said, then grinned.  “Hope all of those lullabies have limbered up your vocal chords.”

               Brigid’s expression slacked.  “He’s not.”

               “Oh yes,” Kate said, leaning back in her chair. “He is.”

               Brigid looked back over her shoulder toward where Tim stood at the bar, pouring over that same stack of paper his sister had been before.  “You’re sure I can’t kill him?”

               “Settle down,” AJ said, waving her back into her seat. “It’ll be fun.”

               “Depends on your definition of fun.”

               AJ grinned at Bryn.  “Trust me.”

               Mat toyed with his wedding band.  “She’s right.  We’re in for a show—even though we’re part of the show.”

               “It’ll be fine,” AJ said.

               Mat’s gaze slid toward her.  “You know he’s going to make us duet.”

               “Oh, I’m counting on it.”  She leaned up and kissed his jaw.  “I am absolutely counting on it.”

               Tim returned at about the same time as their drinks arrived.  As he settled back into his chair next to Kate, he glanced at Jim.  “You and I are up first.”

               Jim blinked.  “Wait, what?”

               “You heard me.”  Tim lifted his glass, swirling the bourbon around before he took a quick sip.  “You and I are up first.  You’ll sing the Bob Seger part.”

               Jim’s brow furrowed and he squinted at him. “What did you do?”

               Tim grinned.  “You’ll see.”

               And they did, about five minutes later when the announcer called for Tim McConaway and Jim McCullough to come up to the stage to sing.

               “Don’t embarrass me up there, Jim” Tim said as they stood from their chairs.  “I’m counting on  you.”

               “Then you have made a grave mistake,” Jim said, not quite glowering as they headed for the stage.

               They settled on the stage and the projector screen behind them flashed the title and artist for the song.  A slow smile spread across Bryn’s face and she glanced at Kate, who leaned back in her chair, looking a little wistful.

               “Oh,” Kate sighed softly.

               “This already looks like a good choice,” Bryn said softly.

               The first few notes of “Landing in London” started and right on cue, Tim started to sing.  Kate felt her cheeks start to get warm in a way that had nothing to do with the fact that she’d lost count of the number of glasses of whiskey she’d had that night.  Brigid glanced at her and AJ, her brows shooting up.

               “I didn’t realize he could sing like that.”

               “That’s why she didn’t take the bet,” AJ stage-whispered, then turned her attention back to the stage.

               Jim, despite his initial surprise at the song selection, started in on his own cue.  The harmony and back and forth between the two men was impressive and by halfway through the first chorus, it was dead silent in the bar except for the music and the voices of the two men on stage.  Tim wasn’t looking at anyone, instead lost in the music, his eyes closed as if he knew each and every word to the song by heart.

               Kate had no doubt that he did and it made her heart ache.  There had been so much pain for so many years—pain for both of them—but until that very moment, she hadn’t quite understood its depth.  Her fingers tightened around her glass and she blinked back tears.

               Thank god he was hers.

               Dead silence followed the last notes of the song for a beat, then another, then the applause started.  It took a full two minutes for the emcee to get things quieted down enough to call the next singer up—Brigid—but by then Tim and Jim had made it back to the table.

               Kate stood up to hug him.  “I’d forgotten.”

               “I don’t sing that loud when I sing Fiona to sleep,” he said softly, kissing her lightly.  “I don’t want to wake you when I do.”

               “For that, you can wake me any time.”  She leaned her forehead against his, arms wrapped loosely around his neck.

               He grinned back at her, stealing another kiss.

               “Hey, Tim?”

               He glanced at Brigid, his brow arching. “Yeah?”

               “Before I go up there, I’ve gotta know,” she said. “What song did you pick for me?”

               He smiled weakly.  “You’ll see.  I’m sorry if it makes you cry.”

               She canted her head to one side, shooting him a look that was curious and suspicious all at once, then shrugged slightly and headed up to the stage.  Once the title and artist flashed up on the screen, it all made sense.  She shot him a pained smile as she lifted the microphone and the first few piano chords of “Glitter in the Air” began to play.

--------

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[candysams]

Entr’acte: Haruki

This is a chapter from my ongoing fic, Practice Room 1021. All chapters can be read as standalone and I’m really proud of this one! Overall the fic is Aki/Uge focused, but this chapter is Aki & Haru.

Chapter Rating: G

Chapter Summary: Akihiko thinks Nakayama from lecture is... interesting, to say the least.

*****

On the first day of class, Akihiko ended up sitting next to a man named Nakayama Haruki.

It was completely by chance that he’d mindlessly chosen a seat and wound up next to such a pretty face. Judging by the expression on Nakayama’s face when they first spoke to each other, he hadn’t been expecting to sit next to Akihiko either—he had a reputation, and it was rather unsavory. They had passed each other on campus a couple times, but this was their first official meeting. Akihiko could only hope that rumors trickled slowly from the music undergrads to Nakayama’s circle of film postgrads.

If Nakayama knew about the whispers surrounding Akihiko, he didn’t bother to mention them. Instead, they filled the spaces between their professor’s ramblings with blissfully mundane subjects like smoking, papers, and music. Akihiko loved when they talked about music.

Nakayama hadn’t dedicated his school years to music, but it was clear he held an easily stoked passion for the subject, hidden by his outward love for film. He had been playing the bass for nearly as long as Akihiko had been playing the violin and could read all four music clefs. He had a wealth of experience performing on stage with various bands, and the way he described the rush of a live show gave Akihiko goosebumps. Nakayama may not sell out a concert hall, but his confidence and passion intimidated Akihiko.

He wanted to steal some of that fiery passion, even if it was only enough to light a candle. He longed for the day he could pursue music simply because he loved it, without others pulling him in like a fish on a hook. He dreamed of the heat of the stage lights, sweat sticking his shirt to his back as he poured his soul out with every hit to his drums. He wished he got a dreamy look in his eyes whenever he thought about music, the same look Nakayama boasted when he shared a new bass line he had composed.

It was the same music Akihiko had always loved, just in a different package. Akihiko would chase it to the ends of the earth if it brought him a shred of happiness.

Akihiko had been blind before meeting Nakayama. There was a plethora of music and passion and opportunity hidden just past the scroll of his violin, but he had been ignorant to it until his classmate offered to share his earbuds. Akihiko wanted his music to be free, just like Nakayama’s.

Somehow, Akihiko had a bad habit of wanting things he couldn’t have or couldn’t keep.

Nakayama had asked about Akihiko’s snare once, but nothing had come from that conversation just yet. Akihiko wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to come from the sideways glances Nakayama snuck of him and his instrument during class, but he didn’t bother to ask Nakayama. Still, he brought his snare every week, hoping it would trigger a further reaction from his classmate.

It was nothing more than wishful thinking. Nakayama’s last band had disbanded before the semester started, but there was no way he didn’t have other options to explore. Akihiko had listened to a recording of him improvising and it was clear he was talented, even more than some of his fellow music majors. There was a chance Nakayama just wanted to focus on film for the time being, or maybe he was playing support for a couple groups, or maybe he just didn’t want someone like Akihiko to taint something so special to him.

Akihiko didn’t blame him, but he continued to bring his snare to class. Just in case.

He had almost completely dozed off when he felt an elbow nudging him awake. Nakayama was staring at the board at the front of their room as if he hadn’t done anything, dutifully copying down the details of their next assignment. Akihiko straightened up, copying down the due date as his classmates started to file out of the room. He tried not to sleep during class, since the risks of him being caught chewing in his sleep by Nakayama were far too high, but a long night in someone else’s bed had left him completely drained.

“Smoke break? Nakayama offered, holding up a fresh box of cigarettes. Unlike Akihiko, he looked too wired, like someone had spilled a container of sugar in his morning coffee. “You look like you need it.”

Akihiko scoffed. If he hadn’t been so tired, he would have mentioned that Nakayama spent the entire class period fidgeting in his chair, tapping his foot at varying speeds like a metronome gone haywire. His constant movement and leg-shaking had made it a little harder for Akihiko to doze off during class until the very end, when he finally took a breather and stopped fidgeting long enough for Akihiko to close his eyes.

They meandered to the rooftop, where a couple other students were milling about and smoking their own cigarettes. It was windy, but not windy enough to put out the light of a cigarette. Nakayama lit his first, then passed his lighter as if Akihiko didn’t have his own.

Nakayama was just like that. He offered his lighter—and cigarettes—without asking. His notes were detailed and color-coded with impeccable handwriting. He once showed off pictures of his bass with the same amount of excitement and wistful longing that someone would devote to a beloved pet or newborn child. If a joke was funny enough, he laughed so hard his face turned bright red and he started to hiccup. Even in the nastiest of breezes, his honey-blond hair looked soft and tangle-free, framing the pale skin of his face.

If he couldn’t have a purpose and he couldn’t have his best friend, perhaps he could have this?

He wanted this. He wanted Nakayama Haruki in whatever capacity he was allowed, even if it was just for the occasionally smoke break after class.

“Stop staring at me like that.” Nakayama snatched his lighter back, a raging blush coating his cheeks. Akihiko hadn’t realized he had been staring long enough to be noticed, but it didn’t matter. Nothing would come of this anyway.

He pressed his cigarette to his lips, directing his attention to the smoke he exhaled drifting away with the breeze. If he timed his breaths right, the smoke mingled with Nakayama’s before dissipating.

“You’re acting weird.” Nakayama said.

“So are you.” Akihiko replied. Nakayama squawked, his face turning pink, as if he hadn’t expected Akihiko to notice. It was hard not too; Akihiko’s ear had been pressed to the table, amplifying Nakayama’s excessive pen-tapping.

“Can I say something crazy?” Nakayama asked, squeezing his cigarette between his fingers until it gave in the middle.

“Go ahead.”

“I want to start a new band!” Nakayama exclaimed, loud enough to garner stares from a couple students passing by on the sidewalk below them. Akihiko didn’t doubt that he’d see more curious eyes if he turned around to look at the other roof occupants. It sounded like a bad love confession, an expulsion from his heart because his chest couldn’t bear the weight of it anymore. Akihiko guessed that everything he said came so honestly from his heart, with varying degrees of excitement and anxiousness. Nakayama didn’t seem like one to hide himself from the world.

“I think you should do it.” Akihiko wasn’t sure what he was expected to say, but reassurance was probably close. For someone of Nakayama’s caliber to feel like this confession was ‘something crazy’ meant he probably just needed the confidence to go through with it. The rest would click into place once he got the ball rolling.

Nakayama spun around to face him, so suddenly that Akihiko nearly dropped his cigarette. His eyes were wide and honest and… desperate?

“I want you in my band!” A finger poked his sternum, so unapologetically bold that Akihiko wondered if Nakayama was actually home sick and had sent his more confident twin brother to class in his place.

“Me?” Akihiko was so stunned that he couldn’t get out more than a word in protest.

“You’re a drummer, right? I’m a bassist.” Nakayama took a step closer, eyes sparkling with hope and determination. Akihiko wasn’t sure how he’d be leaving the rooftop if he dared to say no. “I met a guitarist last week who might consider leaving his current band if we got together. I’m sure we could convince him, together.”

Akihiko found that he really, really didn’t want to say no.

“Even if he doesn’t join us, we can still make music!” Nakayama continued. “We can try composing together and work on finding a different guitarist! Then we could play at lives and—”

Akihiko had to stop him. Nakayama wanted too much, his hopes were too high. Akihiko didn’t know how to hope without it biting him in the ass later, and he didn’t want to crush Nakayama’s spirits or hurt him later. Regardless, he had already made up his mind.

This could be fun.

“I’m in.” He grinned, bringing his cigarette back up to his lips to disguise anything that might give away his excitement. It didn’t matter, given the way Nakayama’s face lit up at his words. He was starry-eyed enough for the both of them.

“Really?” Nakayama pumped his fist in the air, too excited to notice his cigarette falling onto the concrete under their feet. Akihiko stamped it out, amused. “Yes! This is going to be great; I promise! This kid’s incredible, I think you’ll really like him.”

Akihiko laughed. “You talk too much, Nakayama.” He pulled out a fresh cigarette and lit it, passing it to Nakayama to make up for his loss.

Despite his cool tone, he couldn’t help but feel just as excited as the bassist.

“Haruki.” Nakayama giddily accepted the offering, although he simply let it rest in between his fingers. “Call me Haruki.”

“You talk too much, Haruki.”

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Goretober (Day 3)

Prompt: Poisoned

Fandom: Avatar The Last Airbender

Character: Azula

Song Rec: PEAKi - You Died That Day

Summary: Azula, having been poisoned joins Zuko for the war-end anniversary feast so that she can make one final spectacle before she passes.

In the back of her mind Azula knows exactly what is happening. She just doesn’t want to believe it. There isn’t much that she can do, save for laying down and waiting for the end. Her hands feel like ice. Like she’s been meandering about in the Water Tribes without gloves. She looks at her hands, her veins appear, raised and black. She doesn’t know what kind of poison is coursing through them.

Azula wanders down the hallway. She only has herself to blame. She hadn’t been vigilant enough and she is paying the price. She has been a fool, knowing that she has so many enemies but leaving herself open to attacks. 

It could be anyone from a servant to a member of the political opposition. Or even a civilian who hadn’t taken kindly to her return from the institution to the mainland. She found it a hint ironic that after purging the paranoia that had sent her there in the first place, that her fears would come into fruition. 

She feels dizzy and like she may vomit at any moment. She ought to lie back down and die in private. But she wants them to see--who ever this person is--she wants them to see what they have done to her. 

Azula often found that those who used poison were the cowardly ones. The ones with the weak stomachs who couldn’t stand to actually see their victims die. 

She makes her way to the dining hall where a feast celebrating the anniversary of the end of the war is taking place. 

The music and chatter puts a pounding in her head and hikes the sense of vertigo up a notch or two. She slips into her usual seat.  Despite the frigid feeling in her veins, she is sweating profusely.  A sense of anxiety and impending doom lets her know that it is almost time. 

The walls seem to shift and the table bulges. She can’t tell if it is part of the illusion or if her hands are actually swelling. Either way around, they look puffy and bloated. She turns her attention away, her stomach is queasy as it is. 

“Are you okay?” Zuko’s voice sounds distant with an extra layer as though there are two of him speaking. His face seems to distort, his scar leaking down his face like a blur-brush effect. Azula’s head dips and lolls. 

She feels firm hands, they are the only things keeping her from faceplanting into the table. 

“Azula?” He asks giving her a solid shake. Her head lurches back and it begins in full. She lets out a piercing scream as a deep stabbing sensation assaults her brain. The veins have bulged black up and down her arm and begin to appear on her neck. Her eyes roll back as a fluid of the same consistency and color of her poisoned blood leaks from the corners of them. Her nose is gushing too and the sharp stabs persist. 

Tears intermingle with the black ooze. 

She falls forward and into Zuko. She doesn’t know how he hasn’t recoiled in disgust. She tries grasping at his shirt but she can’t fully close her fist, it is all the confirmation she needs that her hands are indeed swollen. 

She doesn’t have much time to think about it as the first tremor wracks her body. Before she knows it, she is on the ground with her back arched as her body begins to seize uncontrollably. A grim conclusion of black ooze and froth leak from her mouth as her eyes glaze over. With a few final spasms, her body goes still. 

The only movement in the room seems to come from the inky fluid dripping from her nose and mouth, down to her chin and from her eyes down to her cheeks. 

Zuko loses his meal and the crowd erupts into a series of chatters both nervous and morbidly curious. Within are murmerings to the effect of, “this is a blessing.” Others vocalize that the princess hadn’t deserved that. 

Mostly, there was fear. Potent and intense fear that there is another politically-charged war on the verge of breaking. Fear that, perhaps, someone is simply beginning a sick game and they wanted to make a bold introduction. 

.oOo.

Fear turns to revulsion when the princess rises.

It happens nearly a week later, just before the conclusion of the open-casket parting ceremony.

Her eyes feel like they have been stitched together and her vision is misty and gauzy when she manages to pry them open. Her skin feels as though it is made of a hot and soft wax. At first she can’t move. She can only make out Zuko and TyLee’s weeps and a choir of consolation. 

“I’m so sorry.” “It’s almost over.” “She didn’t deserve to go out like that.” “Yes, she did.” “Really, truly sorry, your majesty.” 

Azula tries to sit up once more, but she can’t. She is afraid that they are going to close the coffin on her. She can make out a fuzzy shape, presumably Zuko, reaching an arm out to do just that. So she tries to speak. 

That garners better results, but not the result she was hoping for. Her voice sounds strange; low and slurred and horrifically sloppy. She didn’t even make out a full sentence. But it halts Zuko from closing the casket. 

Azula finds the strength to lift her arm, her hand grasps at the air like a newborn testing its limbs. And perhaps, in a sense, that is exactly what she is. She can’t speak right, she can’t see right, she can’t walk nor take care of herself, and her brain is practically mush. 

Zuko lifts her out of the casket and cradles her in his arms. She can only babble incoherently as she tries to articulate what she wants to say. What does she want to say?

The crowd looks at her with pity and disgust and some with relief and joy to see her moving again. But, once again, fear is the dominating emotion. It is so palpable that Azula could grasp at it. 

Of course they are afraid, a dead woman has just reanimated. She wants to tell them that she is still her. That she doesn’t plan on harming anyone who didn’t deserve it. But vocabulary seems to be lost on her. And even if it wasn’t her tongue seems to fill the entirety of her mouth making it hard for her to breathe let alone produce any human sound. 

She does have the vocabulary for one thing though. To the best of her ability, she tries to ask Zuko to help her. To fix her. She doesn’t quite understand what is happening to her and she is afraid too.

More so than anyone else. 

Azula’s foggy eyes grow wide. 

She doesn’t know what she has become or how to fix it. 

The film seems to clear from her eyes after she blinks them rapidly. She understands their repulsion and terror when she looks at her hands. They are sickly pale and decorated with spiderwebs of pulsing and prominent black.  Still bloated, perhaps more so after having begun the putrefaction stage. 

She wants to be dead again.

Dead for real. 

Azula doesn’t know how he manages but Zuko still holds her, rubbing her back soothingly. “You’re going to be okay. I’ll find a way to fix this.”

She wants to tell him that fixing this is as easy as sending a bolt of lightning through her heart, but she can only manage an indistinguishable gurgle. 

“I promise, I’m going to fix this. You’ll be your old self soon.”

Her mind may have been ravaged and dumbed by death but she is not stupid enough to believe him. She can’t say as much. But, to some degree, she can cry. And she does, tears roll down her corpse-like face. Her fingers clutch at Zuko’s shirt. Maybe it is good that she can cry, the display of human emotion seems to quiet the blood-thirsty mob some. 

Zuko carries her into the palace and tucks her into bed. She realizes that she has lost sensation. She can’t distinguish the coolness of the outside breeze from the still warmth of the blankets she is now cocooned in.

She can’t smell either. Neither the smokey scent of Zuko’s skin nor can she smell herself--smoke and perfume--on her pillows. 

Azula wonders if she is being punished for her misdeeds. Why else would she be thrown back into a semi-decayed body with a mind that can barely function? She just hopes that the few kind deeds that she had done, post-recovery, will be enough karma to either restore her to what she once was or to kill her for good.

Zuko moves tangled and stringy hair from her face. “You’re going to be okay, I promise.” 

She wonders if they ever caught the person who poisoned her in the first place.