Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Spring is the season for starting fresh, and Katsuki needs a new knife.

Her old one, after long years of whittling and slicing, has finally reached the point of no return- dulled and resharpened to the very core, and thin enough that it’s started to crack. Winter may be months away, but a faulty knife isn’t something she can afford to keep around, especially if she values her life. 

(Also, the roof has been leaking again and she’s going to need it to perform any repairs.)

It’s for this reason that she makes the short hike to the blacksmith’s shop so early in the morning, when the sun has just freshly risen from the eastern horizon. 

The shop isn’t actually open right now- the cool morning air makes it an unsuitable time for starting up the hearth (a fact Katsuki has gained painful first-hand experience with), but Katsuki’s concern is secrecy, not convenience.  The village blacksmith isn’t an asshole, but he’s just as traditional as all the other village elders— last time, he’d refused her as gently as possible, which had pissed off Katsuki more than if he’d called her a bitch and kicked her out of the shop.

The message is clear either way: he thinks she’s better off settling down and won’t let her buy shit. 

“Oh, hey, Katsuki!” Eijirou flashes her a sharp-toothed smile, emerging from the back with a crate of fresh supplies in hand. “Need something?”

His son is a different story.  

She rolls her eyes as if to say Obviously, but there’s no genuine annoyance in it, and Eijirou knows that. “My knife gave out.”

Eijirou is a good guy, if a little dimwitted, but his genuine heart puts him leagues above all the other snotty little bastards in their village- and his willingness to help her out puts him higher still. Katsuki ensures he gets the finest pick of redwood come autumn, and in exchange Katsuki gets the finest pick of weapons and tools come spring- before anyone else. It works out. 

He grins, canines popping, and places a small but varied selection of sheathed knives on the counter. “Had these pre-sharpened for you since last week.”

Katsuki wordlessly reaches for the one closest to her, feeling out the weight and sharpness of each one, humming appreciatively at the way the metal glints. “This shit looks nicer than usual.”

“You think so?” he sheepishly scratches the back of his neck. “Aw. Well, I did try my best–”

“Not that,” she says bluntly, ignoring him when he dramatically clutches at his chest. “It feels lighter.”

“Huh?” he tilts his head before realizing. “Ohhhh, right. Yeah, that’d be the steel. We’ve had way more of it since the last trade.”

“Really.”

“Uh-huh. Seems to be working out better than the iron, actually.”

Katsuki scoffs. “Old Enji finally got his head out of his ass, huh.”

“Eh. Well,” Eijirou shrugs. “He’s a traditionalist, I guess. Dad says it’s more about independence, and, y’know, I get not wanting to owe the Mainland.” He pauses, then adds, “Well. Even more than we already do, that is.”

His tone  has the slightest tinge of bitterness– as bitter as someone like Kirishima can get, anyway. Katsuki understands. It’s a topic that, without even meaning to, automatically dampens the mood. 

She surveys her options a final time, then reaches for the one in the middle. Similar weight, strong quality. “I’ll take this one.”

The market’s not as busy as it usually is, on account of it being early, but many shopkeepers have started setting up their stalls, opening windows and re-organizing, and a few Hunters seem to be camping out for the first pick of weaponry, like she was. Some of the people Katsuki spots have the good sense to look away after making eye contact with her, some sneering at her back when they think she’s not looking. Others-

“Oh! Kacchan, hi!” beams Deku, dressed in a grey tunic that Katsuki has never seen on her before. “What are you doing here? I-I mean, other than the- well, y’know, I figure you’re here to buy something, just-”

It’s definitely a new outfit, Katsuki thinks absently. No frayed edges. No dirt stains. No worn spots or holes. It wrinkles and folds as she gestures around in that Deku-like way she does, but it looks- clean, for lack of a better word. It’s even cinched around the waist by a yellow cloth belt. Deku doesn’t own any belts like that.

“-spring can be really hectic! There’s a lot to do, I always feel so overwhelmed-”

Hell. The embroidery across her neckline, her sleeves, the hem- it’s all clean and tidy. If she squints she can even make out the pattern. A leaf of some sort. That sort of embroidery would be- not insanely expensive, but still pricey. 

They’re not friends, but Katsuki’s known the other girl her whole life. Deku’s always re-wearing old clothes to the point of ruin, and it’s not like her to wear something that’s actually decent quality out to town for no reason. Although, Inko Midoriya is a seamstress…

She wracks her brain- is there a festival later on? Some sort of party? 

“-not that you would feel overwhelmed, of course! Kacchan’s so put together-”

“Needed a new knife,” Katsuki explains, cutting her off, stalking back in the direction she came from. The fact that she doesn’t feel annoyed about Deku’s nonstop rambling doesn’t bode well for her stance of Keeping Away from whatever it is they have going on. “Old one gave out.”

“Oh, I see,” Deku says, following. “Come to think of it, you have had that knife for a while now, huh. It’s the same one Uncle gave you for your ninth- no, tenth birthday, right? Gosh. That’s a long time to keep a knife sharp. Kacchan’s so cool. All my tools go dull so quickly!”

“That’s ‘cause you take shit care of ‘em,” says Katsuki, and Deku huffs a half-hearted protest. “Don’t you sharpen them?”

A pause. Katsuki turns her head to look at the other girl, and Deku flushes and looks away, an evident sign of her guilt.

”Seriously?” Katsuki scowls. “You can’t be walking around with dull tools, idiot, you tryna’ lose your fingers?”

She expects some sort of protest, sheepishly red cheeks and- well. She doesn’t know. Not even a fight. She expects Deku to be stubborn, maybe.

Instead, the silence grows heavy. Deku ducks her head, bangs concealing her eyes.

“I’m not exactly…. uh. Mom doesn’t really want me working with tools right now,” Deku mutters, and the fire in Katsuki dies as quickly as it’d come. Deku, in typical fashion, takes this as an excuse to start word-vomiting.

“I mean. You know she worries about me a lot and we’re nearing- well, the ceremony’s not too far away, and- well, soon, I’ll be- well, I can’t exactly afford to miss this one, and my hands are really, uhm, unsightly? When they’re bare, at least, and I know it’s not really like anyone cares that much about it, I think, it’s just-”

“Breathe,” Katsuki says, and Deku takes a comically deep inhale, and exhales lightly through her mouth, taking the tension from her shoulders and the stiffness of her spine. When she speaks again, she still doesn’t meet Katsuki’s eye, scarred fingers fiddling with the hem of her tunic. Her brand new tunic. “I’m- I’m just- banned, from the tool shed right now, haha, so. I couldn’t sharpen them even if I wanted to.”

She says it like it’s meant to be lighthearted. Katsuki knows it’s not.

“Yagi-san’s helping out,” Deku adds, when the silence drags on. “And Mirio-senpai. So we’re not totally helpless.”

“Didn’t ask,” Katsuki grumbles, instinctively reaching for the knife in her bag. It’s way lighter than her old one. She’s still gotta break it in, get used to slicing and swinging with it. She finds it easier to focus on shit like that instead of the weird empty feeling that’s starting to open up in her chest.

“Sorry, Kacchan,” Deku says, not really sounding sorry. Her entire demeanor seems to have dulled, and not for the first time, Katsuki briefly wishes she was the sort of person who could open her mouth and make things better, not worse. “I should probably… go get those shears, huh.”

Katsuki grunts in lieu of response. Deku gives her a final, strained smile, before she heads off for the Blacksmith’s shop– in the opposite direction as Katsuki. 

She’s not sure what compels her to look back. But she does, standing in the middle of the road with her eyes fixed on Deku’s retreating form. She does look different the last time Katsuki saw her. She looks different every time. A skinny, sickly kid and then a healthy, filled-out woman.

Katsuki, however, isn’t the only one staring. 

One of the junior Hunters elbows his friend as Deku walks past, intensely engrossed in her own head, muttering aimlessly about something. 

“Oi. Check out the heifer.”

“You’re a dog,” his friend says, but the expression on his face makes it clear he doesn’t disapprove.

“A dog drooling over meat,” another friend jeers. 

“What, y’think she’d let you take a bite?”

Laughter breaks out. Scowling, Katsuki forcefully turns her head away and heads back home.

Katsuki is six years old, and she and the other kids are playing Hunters. 

“That way,” she crows, pointing ahead. “I see a beast!”

The other kids cheer, following along behind her. She’s their unspoken leader, even if she is a girl – she’s strong, and her father is one of the most skilled tacticians of the Hunters, after all. They race along, brandishing sticks and planks of wood as weapons and chanting their own Hunter’s march, towards the “beast”-- a large lump made of mud and leftover slush and rocks, with two twigs sticking out of the head. 

Katsuki stares straight ahead and imagines it clearly, like the beasts from the stories: ten feet tall, with large, spiraling horns, eyes as black as night…

She raises her stick in the air and screeches, “CHARGE!”

Her cry is echoed, and all at once, they race forward, weapons poised, ready to–

“Oof!”

A pause. Katsuki skids to a stop, and the others follow suit. They all look back. 

A small, lanky figure slowly lifts her head from the ground, her chubby cheek scuffed. She looks up at them, green eyes immediately welling with tears. 

Just Deku. Silly, clumsy Deku. 

Katsuki clicks her tongue, stepping forward to yank the other girl to her feet, when the lanky kid with shoulder-length hair groans next to her. 

“Here we go.”

“Told’ja we shouldn’t have invited them,” a dark-haired kid mutters to him, and something about his tone, about his implied belief that Katsuki is like Deku, makes her tense up. She steps back immediately, puffing up defensively. 

“Seriously, Deku?” Katsuki sneers, hands on her hips. “You’re such a loser.”

Still sniffling, Deku shakily gets to her feet. “Sorry, Kacchan.”

Katsuki’s tummy flips unpleasantly. 

“If you slow us down again,” Katsuki insists, regardless, “we’ll leave you behind!”

With that, she whirls back around, pushing herself to the front of the boys. She restates their battle cry and charges, and she very pointedly does not look back.

The air is cool on her face as she continues to walk, and she instinctively frowns, kicking a stray pebble off the path. It’s going to start getting humid soon. And rainy. Katsuki fucking hates the rain. 

She walks down the path. And keeps walking, even as the homes become more and more spaced apart, before eventually stopping all together. 

It’s a region of land that remains part of the village by technicality, not occupation- there’s plenty of space for new settlements and newlyweds, but the rougher terrain and closer proximity to the forest means most people tend to stay away.  

Not Katsuki. 

A left, a right, a few minutes of walking, and soon enough she finds herself at the base of a small hill with a steep incline and rocky steps.

The hill’s peak subsequently tapers out into a flat plateau of land, extending for nearly a mile before it dips again. It’d taken a shit ton of stockpiled salt and fire and years of work to get the plot as even as it is, but Katsuki regrets none of it. 

Square in the middle of the plot sits the fruit of Katsuki’s three-year long labor and greatest pride: the house. 

It’s of a decent size, considering what she’d had available to her, with sturdy walls and a strong foundation. She’s still working on the interior, but it conserves heat well and keeps the cold out, and she knows from numerous tests that it’s not at risk of collapse. It’s surrounded by clumps of trees and shrubbery, a well off to the side, and, of course, the shed. 

Dynamight, who had been nosing against the base of his post, lifts his head and yips when he spots her, and Katsuki walks over and gives him a fond pat on the head as he sniffs her clothes. 

“You hungry, you little asshole?” she scratches behind his ears. “Hm? Yeah, I bet you are.”

The house is the result of years of hard, secret labor, with sneakily purchased tools and supplies, and countless close-calls.  This is it. Her year. 

Katsuki gazes down the horizon, past the cluster of village homes below, onto the forest. Her jaw tightens. 

She has about eight more months to perfect everything, and that’ll be it. She’ll finally be free. 

Everybody knows about the Forbidden Forest. It’s a big-ass expanse of dense trees and dark canopies that sits right on the border between their little village and a jagged mountainscape and, most famously, remains home to the most fearsome monsters and creatures the continent has ever seen. 

The beasts haven’t attacked the village in nearly a decade now, but Katsuki knows the stories. If you venture deep enough in the winter, you’ll see elk that grow to the size of oak trees, human-hare hybrids with a taste for human flesh, wyrm-like monsters that live in the earth and drag their prey into ditches before swallowing them whole. And the deeper you go, the less and less familiar the creatures become. The more and more terrifying. 

There isn’t a single person who doesn’t have some sort of story about that place, or know someone who ventured in. Supposedly Katsuki’s grandfather had left on the old hag’s sixteenth birthday and never came back. The stories, while undoubtedly old news in this new decade of relative peace and easy kills, still spread far and wide. 

It’s practically the only reason anyone knows of their tiny village at all. The settlement in the north, situated right next to a forest of monsters like a rabbit in a bear trap, where no one ever enters and rarely anyone ever leaves. 

It seems barbaric, even she can admit that. Why would any sane person ever choose to stay in such a dangerous place? 

The answer is very, very simple: an elk the size of an oak tree is still an elk. 

Her first proper End Festival was when she was four years old. 

“Oi!” Katsuki snapped, glaring down at her friend from her perch on the roof’s ridge. “Quit moving so much.”

“But Kacchannn,” Izuku pouted, as a hand shoved at her chubby, freckled cheek. “I can’t see!” 

Katsuki rolled her eyes, peeking out from behind the ridge of the roof to catch a better glimpse of the celebration occurring down below. “That’s ‘cause your feet are still on the rock, dummy.”

A section of the Bakugou family home was built into a rock formation near the foot of Mt. Yuu. This meant that the back of the sloped roof ended halfway, once it met the rock– creating a strange, small-ish crevice in-between; perfect for two nosy six-year-olds to spy on the adult festivities when they should have been in bed. 

Izuku had pouted harder, eyes shimmering. “But what if I fall?” 

“You’re not gonna fall, crybaby,” Katsuki huffed. Generously, she held out her arm and gripped the ridge so Izuku would have something to hold onto. “Here.”

Still sniffling, Izuku climbed up onto the footholds and pushed herself up with Katsuki’s arm. 

A particularly loud cheer from the crowd directed their attention towards the ground. All the villagers, and their familiars – horses, panthers, even a giant tortoise – all gathered together in one large cluster in the center of the village, drinking and dancing and talking, the tops of their heads making them look like ants swarming a hill. Now they parted to make room for a procession of Hunters holding what looked like bones and wrapped meat- the Spoils Parade. 

“Mama says they caught a deer this time,” Izuku murmured, confirming Katsuki’s suspicions. “A really big one.” 

That explained why everyone was so joyous– even more so than they usually were, whenever the end festival rolled around. Sometimes, when the casualties had been too great, the festival was a more somber affair. But just a glance at the amount of meat and fur and bone the Hunters had brought out, as well as the overjoyed atmosphere of the villagers, told Katsuki that this particular hunt had been unusually, spectacularly abundant. 

It took four Hunters– recognizable only through their dark fleece uniforms and red scarves and tunics – to carry the animal’s carcass, still bloody and fresh from the hunt. Another three to carry its antlers, gleaming white and intricate, each easily as tall as a person. 

“Wow,” Izuku breathed, snapping Katsuki out of her thoughts. “That is a big deer.”

It had probably taken the pack about two nights to slay the thing. 

Katsuki huffed, puffing out her chest. “ When I’m a Hunter, I’ll catch one even bigger than that.”

Izuku tilted her head, frowning. “Mama said only men are Hunters.”

“So?” Katsuki scoffed. The old hag said the same thing, but she clearly hadn’t seen the extent of Katsuki’s devotion. “That won’t stop me. I’ll be so good, they’ll have no choice but to accept me.”

Izuku remained quiet for a while. 

“You don’t want a husband, then?” she asked, somewhat hesitantly. At the undoubtedly perturbed look on Katsuki’s face, Izuku hastily clarified, “Mama says a husband is supposed to build you a house, and protect you, and give you babies.”

“I don’t need any stupid boy for that,” Katsuki turned up her nose. “I’ll build my own house and protect myself. And I don’t care about babies.”

Izuku went quiet. Katsuki felt an unexpected wave of discomfort wash over her, and she turned back to looking at the parade. 

It wasn't like she cared what stupid Izuku thought of her,  she tried to convince herself. 

Finally,  the other girl spoke.  

“I want to be a Hunter too,” Izuku said,  voice hushed. A weight felt like it was lifted off Katsuki's shoulders. “I want to be like All Might.” 

“I’ll be better than All Might,” Katsuki declared, never one to be one-upped. Then, almost as if an afterthought, “I’ll let you tag along, when we start going on Hunts. If you want.”

Izuku gasped, eyes sparkling. “Really?” 

Katsuki flicked her forehead, grinning when Izuku pouted. “Yeah, dummy.” 

The villagers down below had begun to cheer. People were handing out sparklers and mugs of mead. Maybe her seven year old mind was warping it, making it seem grander than it was, but the whole town seemed to glow that night. Brighter than the sun, warmer than fire. 

They didn’t need to say anything to make it official. Izuku gripped Katsuki’s hand through her wool mitten, and Katsuki let her. 

They’d be the greatest hunters the village had ever seen.

It quickly becomes apparent that she's going to be in the village a lot more than she'd initially thought. 

The house, perfect as it is, still has, uh. Some problems. Minor ones. Like the fact that the hearth doesn’t turn on sometimes, or that water leaks in occasionally, or the fact that the well isn’t always as clean as it could be. Nothing that would hinder her, obviously. 

…Probably. 

So, much to her annoyance, she finds herself a frequent visitor of the market sector, trying to seem nonchalant when she starts repeatedly coming in to buy rope and wood-filler and roof shingles. Most people are cordial but distant with her, which she prefers. The people who do bother to acknowledge her ambitions seem to be gleefully obsessed with the idea of her dying at the hands of a rabid beast next winter, and those that don’t–

A boy with choppy, shoulder length hair sneaks a peek at her ass as she walks past. Katsuki doesn't remember his name, but recognizes his face as one of the snot-nosed extras that used to follow her around when she was younger.  She rolls her eyes but doesn't bother making a scene like she usually would; the last thing she needs is to get banned from any more shops. Turn down the son of a baker once, and the next thing you know, you have to travel to the bakery on the other side of the village to get a damn loaf of bread. It’s inconvenient as shit. 

It's not like she doesn't know she's attractive. It's never been a secret, and she's had proposals sent her way since she was capable of receiving them. It’s mainly just that she’s never been interested. 

Honestly, she can’t really remember a time when hunting and fighting and animal taming wasn’t something she wanted to do. When she was a brat, toddling after her dad and brandishing a stick like it was a knife, it was cute. When she was ten, with a proficiency for knives and brawling, it was cool. When she’d tamed Dynamight, the Bakugou family’s remaining spirit guide, at twelve, it was bordering on impressive.

By the time she’d turned sixteen, it had gotten old.

It couldn’t even be considered amusing after a certain point. Everyone thought she’d lost her fucking mind, ditching embroidery classes to practice woodshop and sneaking into the training house, loudly proclaiming that she was going to be the greatest hunter who ever lived. And the years kept passing, and Katsuki kept turning down marriage proposals, and at some point the reality of it all had sort of become undeniable to the rest of the village. 

And they knew it had gotten serious when she’d skipped her first Choosing ceremony all together. From that point on, the entire town’s eligible bachelors had been split into two groups: those who wanted nothing to do with her, and those who were convinced they’d be the ones to change her mind. 

But Katsuki had no interest in settling down, or anything other than being a great Hunter. And if there was a man who could come along and change that, he had yet to show up. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you have pretty eyes?”

That didn’t stop them from trying. It never did. And though some were stubborn and still tried to catch her outside Jeanist’s house so they could plan something spontaneous, most had begun to redirect their attention– 

Deku’s smile is visibly strained. “Uhm. No?”

–elsewhere.

“Because you do,” the boy says, eyes lidded. “Like the Queen’s sapphire.”

While picking out sewing thread from the stall opposite to them,  Katsuki rolls her eyes. 

Please, she thinks. He’s never seen a damn sapphire in his life.

 

(She hasn’t either, but that’s neither here nor there.)

“That’s… very sweet,” Deku says. She sounds constipated. And a little terrified. 

The boy she’s talking to doesn’t pick up on it, leaning against the stall. “Yeah, well. People say I’m a sweet guy.”

“I-I’m sure!”

She doesn’t have the best view of his face, what with her head only partially turned, but she wouldn’t need one– the way he looks Deku up and down, tracing over the curves encased in (oh, shit, another new tunic) her clothing, says enough. And whatever that says, it isn’t good. 

“Izumi, right?” he drawls, eyes lidded. Deku stiffens, then slouches a bit, nervous. 

“...Izuku,” she corrects, voice so quiet it’s barely audible. The guy freezes for a split second before he turns the charm up all the way. 

“Izuku,” he repeats, stretching out every syllable in a way that’s almost obnoxious. “I’m-”

“I know.” A beat passes, and Deku starts sputtering, probably realizing how that might've come across. Katsuki sees her frantically wave her hands. “I mean! I think we’ve– I’ve seen you around, before, just…”

He interrupts her muttering with a laugh, loud and amused, and Deku ducks her head, embarrassed. 

Whatever he says, next, Katsuki doesn’t bother listening in to; she turns away with a scowl, focusing back onto her very important task of… of…

“Uhm,” says the woman manning the stall, brows furrowed. Katsuki startles. “Did you… need any help, or…?”

Flustered at being caught, Katsuki snatches a random spool, pays with a stiff nod, and storms off. She does not think about stupid Deku, or stupid boys, or stupid boys who like to flirt with stupid Deku like people aren’t trying to get their damn chores done. 

She makes her way back to the house, only occasionally looking back to see if anyone is following her. She doesn’t think about Deku. Dynamite greets her in his usual, eccentric way– licking at her face and sniffing at her clothes, before wandering off to go chase a stray squirrel or something. She doesn’t think about Deku. Katsuki sighs, crouching down at the tear in her bed– bad enough that if she left it for any longer she’d risk mites and maggots worming their way into the cotton, somehow. She doesn’t think about Deku.

She readies the sewing needle, and reaches into the bag for the thread she just purchased.

Predictably, it’s bright green.

The summer they both turned ten was really when everything started to go downhill. 

“They’re sending out the pack in four days’ time,” her father had told them, a somber tone in his voice. “I don’t… I don’t know how long we’ll be gone for.”

Katsuki had frowned, wiping the grease off her mouth with her wrist, ignoring the way the old hag scolded her for it. “Hah? It’s summer.”

The winter was when the Forest ran amok with creatures, a dangerous No-Man’s Land in which only the best of the best could dare enter. In the summer, the Forest could almost have been mistaken for a regular forest. Regular-sized deer and rabbits and birds and squirrels, and not a beast in sight. 

“I know,” he replied, looking down. 

“I doubt you’d find anything,” the old hag murmured, wiping roughly at Katsuki’s cheek with a washcloth. Katsuki sputtered and protested in response. “They only come out when the land freezes over. Waste of time and resources, if you ask me!”

“The beasts,” he began, voice calm and quiet in that way that always subtly, quietly, commanded attention, “Head Aizawa thinks they’re sleeping. Deep in the forest. Deeper than any of us have ever gone before.”

The silence had settled. Ma’s eyes sparked with realization, and Katsuki’s gaze darted between her and her old man’s in confusion. 

She’d later come to learn that the village Heads had formed a plan: if the beasts remained tirelessly awake throughout the Winter, then the only explanation for why they were never seen in summer was some sort of estivation. Sending the Hunter pack out during the summer, should they be successful, would be hugely beneficial in every possible way– easier kills, more spoils, and less to worry about come winter. They’d have more fur and bone to send to the Mainland, which would practically guarantee more resources. Iron, flint, fabric and food. 

Ambushing the beasts while they slept… it seemed genius, if not risky. 

So, on the first day, one hundred Hunters had kissed their wives, embraced their children, and bid-farewell to their families. The air was brighter, more hopeful than it usually was when the Hunters normally left off, because everyone thought it was such a smart idea. So great was their trust in the Hunters, so sure were they in the newfound weakness of the beasts. 

Katsuki had been, too. She’d boasted loudly about her father’s inevitable success, amusing all the adults when she declared she’d be just like him when she grew up. She was sure they’d win. 

She’d been sure when he’d announced it, sure when he packed, sure when he held her hands before departing the house and gently entrusted her with his own childhood dagger, for “safekeeping”. Because when all was said and done, he was her Dad, and he didn’t care that she was a girl. He would always come back to her. She’d been sure. 

She really had been.

After the fifth consecutive instance of her oven not working, even after numerous repairs, Katsuki kind of has to face the facts. She knows how to build a house, but she might – might – have some issues running it. 

Putting things into perspective: at the rate things are going, the house is going to fall apart before the Choosing ceremony. And if that happens, she’d either have to bear the humiliation of joining the rest of the debutantes, most (if not all) a good three years younger than her, or she’d have to bear the humiliation of officially going back to live with Jeanist. And spend the rest of her life having everyone know of her failed attempt at independence and hold it over her head for the rest of her pathetic life. 

Either way, Katsuki would rather die. So she makes another trip to the village. This time, it’s not for the market. 

“I see,” Jeanist says, after he’s poured her a warm cup of tea, and Katsuki has reluctantly shared her plight. His house hasn’t changed much since she was a kid, which is sort of good because most of the town assumes she still lives here. 

Katsuki blows on her tea to cool it down. “Yeah. Can you help me or what?”

Jeanist takes a sip of his own tea. When he sets the cup down, he genuinely looks almost remorseful. “I’m afraid I can’t.”

She frowns. “Huh? What do you mean, you can’t?”

“I inherited my house from my father, remember?” He stirs the liquid idly with a spoon. “I wasn’t the one who built it.” 

“I know that,” she snaps, without heat, “But you gotta fuckin-”

“Language.”

Katsuki grits her teeth. “You’ve got to know how to at least, like, keep your oven from breaking down.”

“I don’t.”

This guy. “And why the hell not?”

He takes another long sip, giving her a pointed glance. “Because when my home needs maintenance, I call the Hatsumes.”

Katsuki clicks her jaw shut. 

The Hatsumes are excellent carpenters and repairmen, but they’re also chatty as all hell. Their eldest son would probably kill to work on a house largely built by one woman who was just that committed to not getting married– and the cost would be the entire town knowing about her best-kept secret within seconds of the repairs being completed. And they’d know she was struggling. 

Katsuki sets down her cup, drags a hand over her face. “So I’m fucked.”

“What about that boy you’re friends with?” Jeanist asks, without making a comment on her language, so Katsuki knows she’s right. “The Kirishima’s son, the one with the red hair?”

“Doubt his family would want him spending time with an unmated girl when he’s got a fiance to worry about.” Also, Kirishima tells Mina just about everything. Her secret would, once again, be as good as out. 

“Ah.”

It’s a stupidly frustrating predicament. There’s no shortage of men who would be able to help her with the house repairs, is the thing – they’d all been taught since they could walk on how to fix up a house, so one day they could build their own home for a future wife (if they weren’t the heir). They can help her. She just knows they won’t.

What man in their right mind would help her with this? The mere suggestion would be emasculating, or whatever. 

“I’ll come by tomorrow and see what I can do,” Jeanist says. 

There’s not much else to worry about, so Katsuki packs up her bag and gets ready to head off. Jeanist offers some new blanket textiles he’s been working on, she refuses, same old song and dance. 

And then she opens the door, and comes face to face with an agonizingly familiar pair of bright green eyes. 

“Kacchan!” Deku blinks in surprise, beaming. “Hi! I didn’t know you still lived here!”

“Deku,” Katsuki reluctantly acknowledges, before squinting. “Wait. What?”

She tilts her head. “What?”

“The fuck do you mean, you didn’t know I still lived here? The hell? Where else would I live?”

Jeanist smothers a snort from behind her. Asshole. 

“Ah, no, no, I didn’t mean,” she waves her hands in protest. “Just- I haven’t seen you around here much, that’s all.”

Katsuki stares her down, just in case she can catch a hint of knowing in Deku’s eyes. Any sign of maliciousness, of smug superiority. As usual, she finds none. “...Whatever.” She lets the girl in. 

“You needed fabric, Midoriya?” Jeanist calls, heading to the storage room. “I set aside some just for you.”

Deku smiles politely, hesitantly taking a seat in the same place Katsuki had been sitting, posture straight and prim. It’s odd to see her act proper in any sense of the term, honestly, because this is the same woman who’s spent most of her life knocking shit over by breathing too close to it. 

Deku has been off for a while now, actually. 

Katsuki sees her in the market with combed, clean hair and nice, new clothes, yet always fidgeting with her scarred hands like she’s not sure what to do with them, trying to soothe the persistent ache that Katsuki knows flares up periodically. Heat helps, Auntie had told her once, but stupid Deku didn’t like how limiting wearing mittens everywhere was. 

Not that she cares, just…

“Here,” Katsuki murmurs, shoving a mug of tea in her hands. Deku blinks, looking up at Katsuki with wide eyes, and she scoffs, turning her head and praying her ears don’t look too red. “You’re fucking annoying.”

“But I haven’t said anything!”

“Y-Yeah, and you’re annoying!”

“Kacchan’s so mean,” Deku pouts, but her toothy, amused smile gives her away. The tension in her hands has already seemed to seep out, her hands unstiffening in real time. She looks down at her tea with a soft, unguarded look, and it makes Katsuki’s stomach flip. 

The hell?

“--dyed wool, some embroidery thread,” Jeanist says, emerging from the back room with a neat bundle of cloth in his arms, startling Katsuki out of her thoughts. “And some un-dyed wool as well. I’m sure your mother will be pleased with the colors.”

Deku hastily takes a sip of tea, burns her tongue with a yelp, sets the cup down with enough force to shatter it, before reaching out to Jeanist and taking the bundle from his hands with a hoarse Thanks. Katsuki rolls her eyes at the display. 

“Oh, Jeanist, these are lovely,” Deku gushes, running her hand over one of the blends– sheep’s wool, dyed a deep, blue-toned green color as rich and bright as the forest pines in the summer. “Mom’ll love them.”

Jeanist arches his brow. “Just her?”

A confused frown makes its way onto Deku’s face, before she blushes and sputters. “Oh! Uhm, I like them a lot, too, they’re- they’re lovely, just… you know me, haha. I’m not… used to–”

“Wait,” Katsuki interrupts, brows furrowing. “Wait. Those are for you?”

Deku’s smile becomes strained. Jeanist fixes her with a flat look. 

“I’ll remind you it’s never too early for a young lady to prepare for the Choosing ceremony,” Jeanist scolds, but there is a slight undercut of knowing humor in it that Katsuki has learned to pick up after years of living with the guy. After all– he knows her situation. He’d been the first person to ever properly be supportive of it. 

“Yeah, Mom was saying the same thing,” Deku says, but her voice has taken a noticeable flat tone. She doesn’t look either of them in the eye, gaze instead fixated on the fabric like it’ll tell her what to say. “You know. ‘Better to catch their eyes early’, that sort of stuff.”

Katsuki doesn’t know what to say to that. She’d forgotten all about the Choosing ceremony, which is startling because her own mom had been obsessed with it. It’d come up in nearly every conversation, how she shouldn’t slouch at the table, how she shouldn’t swear or sneer or make ugly faces because it’d be her undoing at the Choosing Ceremony. But that had been before… well. 

Nowadays, Katsuki has no reason to care about the damn ceremony. She’s not ugly, and she knows people want her– she just doesn’t care. She doesn’t want to be chosen by any half-wit chucklefuck who sees her as some pretty trophy akin to the mounted deer antlers hanging in the Elders’ House. Jeanist supports her, even if he doesn’t fully understand it, and Katsuki is sure enough of her own capabilities that even if her house is a mess, she knows she’ll survive the winter. 

Deku had been the same way, once– too fixated on Hunting and too uninterested in looks to ever even consider showing up. 

A lot seems to have changed since then. 

“I should go,” Deku says, seeming to come back to herself. “Uhm. Thank you for the tea. It was nice to see you, Jeanist, Kacchan.”

“Come by again soon,” Jeanist replies, walking her out. He glances at Katsuki, as if checking if she wants to wish her friend goodbye.

Katsuki doesn’t. She watches Deku go. 

On the second day, a messenger pigeon had emerged with a note tied to its ankle. It proclaimed the Hunters had reached the midpoint mark without trouble. 

On the third day, they had traveled behind the furthest marked point.  

On the fourth day, there was silence.  

No pigeon, no message. The forest stood exceptionally still.

The silence continued for the fifth day. And the sixth day, and for the next week, and the week after that.  

No one ever came back.   

Katsuki’s getting frustrated. The house is always jumping between working fine and being on the brink of falling apart, and nothing she’s doing seems to help; the situation keeps worsening, and worsening, and at this rate she really is going to have to move back in with Jeanist. 

She’d woken up to water dripping onto her face. Rainwater from last night, leaking through yet another weak spot on the roof. Her pillow was wet as a result, so she’d needed to leave that out to dry, and in the process she’d somehow managed to send her entire laundry system tumbling to the ground. 

So, after a moment of weakness that involved a lot of muffled screaming and tiredly seeking comfort in Dynamight’s warm fur, Katsuki returned to the market, her knife, a canteen of water, and some coins loosely tossed into a bag. 

People had already started to recognize her as a regular. Worse– they had started to mistake her increased presence in the village as interest. She could already hear the boasts about whose ugly-ass son had gotten poor, reclusive Katsuki to come crawling out of her shell– and she wasn’t even exaggerating. Apparently there was a betting ring going around amongst some of the older folks. 

“That Katsuki… she might be lacking a mother’s touch, but she’s a sweet girl deep down. She’ll come around.”

It wouldn’t even be that bad if everyone didn’t make it painfully obvious what their intentions were. Boys looking at her and then at each other, establishing an unspoken bet in which she was both the subject and the prize. Older women trying to force her to talk to their sons whenever she tried to buy shit from their stalls, older men teasing her like she was going to marry into their families. 

And, damn it, she knows how the village is. She’s been privy to it since she was a brat. It just pisses her off, and reaffirms that no matter how hard it gets, the house is the right choice. Anything but be stuck in a life she doesn’t want. 

But perhaps she is too frustrated. Too high-strung. Maybe if she’d been calmer she would have paid attention to her surroundings consistently, and not just after she’d directly collided into somebody. 

Katsuki’s bag falls out of her hands. She stumbles, seconds away from falling on her ass—

A hand loops around her waist. 

The next thing she knows, she’s being pulled into somebody’s chest. Their hand remains firmly planted on the small of her back, keeping her in place. 

“You alright?” a voice calls, trying far too hard to be suave and innocent. Katsuki goes stiff with apocalyptic rage. 

Very, very slowly, she looks up. 

The guy has a square face and clean white teeth, thick dark hair and eyes that are far more knowing than she’d like. 

She scowls. Shindo Fucking Yo. 

Even if the village hadn’t been tiny as it was, Katsuki would’ve known him. Son of the former Head Hunter, an expert tracker, and (allegedly) one of the handsomest motherfuckers to ever grace the Kingdom– Deku had the biggest crush on him when they were both brats, even if he’d never spared her a glance. He’d always rubbed Katsuki the wrong way. 

A rattlesnake coils innocently around his shoulders, boredly nosing at the tips of Katsuki’s hair. She glares at it. 

“Don’t mind Grand, here,” he teases, jutting his chin at the snake. “He’s harmless. Sweet as can be.”

He moves his hand, as if going to brush her hair out of her face. Katsuki snaps back into action and shoves him away, face pinched in abject disgust, dusting off her clothes in indignation.  

“Don’t touch me,” she snaps. Shindo puts his hands up in mock defense, grinning playfully. She can tell, right off the bat, that he doesn’t take her seriously. Most people don’t, but this asshole…

“My bad, my bad,” he says loftily. “Didn’t mean to freak you out.”

Katsuki scoffs, grabbing her bag from off the ground. It feels like the whole market has gotten the tiniest bit quieter, like people are staring at her, waiting to see what she’ll do. Waiting to see if she’ll explode again.

She won’t give them the satisfaction. 

“Whatever,” Katsuki mutters, turning to leave. She can fix the damn roof later. It’s not worth this. 

Shindo blinks. “Wait, hang on–”

He grabs her by the arm, immediately dropping it when she shoots him another look. Seriously, who the hell does this motherfucker think he is? 

His smile strains for a split second, but he recovers annoyingly quickly. “Just, uh. You here for anything in particular?”

Katsuki snorts. “The fuck does that mean? Would I be at the damn market if I wasn’t?”

If he’s surprised by her language – doubtful, because in spite of Jeanist’s best attempts, everybody already knows about Katsuki’s disposition– he doesn’t show it. “Well, you know how… overprotective, some fathers are. Guess I should be grateful yours isn’t.”

He leans in, uncomfortably close. His eyes are lidded, his smile easy– but Katsuki knows it’s practiced. The next words out of his mouth practically confirm it. 

“After all,” he murmurs, “it’d be a crime to hide such a pretty flower.”

Katsuki’s entire body stiffens. 

Hang on a goddamn second. She’s heard that line before. 

The pieces click together fairly quickly– a hazy face from the market, looming over a girl Katsuki’s known her whole life, voice smooth and careful and—

Katsuki can’t hide the evident disgust forming on her face. 

Seriously? She thinks. Shindo Yo? The guy from the market three days ago? The one chatting up–

“Kacchan?”

She would’ve had more respect for the bastard if he’d stayed in place when Deku makes her way through the busy crowds, but, in typical, cowardly fashion, he takes a good few steps back and focuses his attention onto her, like he hadn’t been practically manhandling Katsuki not even a few minutes ago. 

“Izuku,” Shindo calls, face bright. He wraps an arm around her shoulder, ignoring the awkward way she yelps in surprise. “There you are. I was looking for you.”

Katsuki rolls her eyes so hard she nearly gives herself a headache. Yeah fucking right.

“S-Sorry, I- I guess I got sidetracked,” Deku mutters sheepishly. “I, uh– I-Is everything alright?” she asks, looking between them. Her brow is furrowed, like she’s genuinely worried for Katsuki, or something. She’s not sure what it is, the frustrations from this morning, or the vice grip Shindo has on Deku’s shoulder, or the way she’s clearly uncomfortable but won’t say anything–

“Fine, fine,” he murmurs, gesturing off-handedly to Katsuki. “Katsuki and I were just–”

“My father’s not overprotective,” Katsuki says bluntly. “He’s dead.” 

Shindo freezes, mouth open. He stands there gaping for a good few seconds; even his grip on Deku’s shoulder seems to loosen, and the girl in question stands still next to him, like a deer that’s just noticed the arrow pointed at its head

“I…” he chuckles, looking awkward. “I don’t-”

“I’m not stupid enough to think you remember everything about every extra you flirt with,” she sneers, “but for fuck’s sake. Learn to watch that mouth, or I’m gonna watch it for you.”

With that, she spins on her heel and leaves. She ignores Deku’s calls after her, ignores the slight whispers– few were watching, but gossip spreads like fire around here. She dreads even imagining what people might say, how they might twist it, so in typical Katsuki fashion– she just doesn’t bother. 

The roof is still leaking by the time Katsuki gets home, and the bucket she’s placed under is already full. She tosses it into Dynamight’s bathtub, grimacing at the splash, and places it back under, ignoring the immediate resuming of water droplets hitting the bottom of the bucket.

Dynamight moves over to her, looks up at her with big, stupid ugly-cute eyes, and Katsuki gives in and pats his head.

“We’ll live, right, buddy?” His fur is sort of matted from his time chasing prey in the forest– definitely due for a bath. Because that’s another thing Katsuki has to do, apart from the roof and the laundry and the oven and new winter clothes and fixing the damn mattress because her stitch isn’t strong enough, or whatever. She’ll live, they’ll live. It’s just- “Just a bit longer.”

Just a bit longer. Things would look up eventually.

By just a bit longer, Katsuki had not meant literally less than two hours later. And by looking up, Katsuki had certainly not meant ‘go horribly fucking wrong’.

But that’s what happens. Midway through chopping up the rabbit she’d caught and killed earlier, the unmistakable sound of Dynamight's barking, of him leaving his post, becomes more and more audible. 

At first she thinks he’s seen a squirrel, or even smelt a far-off animal familiar– she’d visited the Todoroki family home once when she’d been younger and the imprinted scent of panther is still embedded into her wolf’s nose. 

Then she hears a yelp. A very human, very familiar yelp. 

“Ah- Dynamight, hang on– oof! W-wait, I– hehe, stop, that tickles-!”

Nah. She’s hearing things. She’s delusional and paranoid and she’s hearing things–

A ram bleats loudly– muted, to an extent, but still sudden enough to snap Katsuki out of her stupor. 

“M-Mighty! Not so loud, I’m okay, I- ack–”

Katsuki opens the door. She stops to process, to ensure, that she’s not having some sort of fucked up dream. She stares. 

Bright green eyes stare back.