#i didn't know something so simplistic could change but somehow it did

[just-jae]

Hazbin Hoetl 5-6

Spoiler warning!

Not gonna lie, at first I was cringing a bit at Lucifer. I was expecting him the have, like, grace and baddie energy. but he's talking to himself pretending to show off rubber ducks to a crowd.

And of all the potential dynamics he and Al could have had, competing father figures was NOT on my mind at all dude. Al? Dad?

But, I watched these last two episodes a couple (okay maybe several) times over and, it's really growing on me. It was definitely the predeveloped impressions getting in the way of really enjoying these characters. Even the irks I had about Alastor aren't really irks anymore, especially with "Dad beat Dad having much better animation and a banger number for Al (seriously wtf he's horrific in this episode)--

"Could you butt out of my song?"

"Your song? I started this!"

"I'm singing it, I'll finish it!"

Before, I was seeing it as how well they pull off my (and arguably the long simmering fandom's) idea of these characters instead of how well the characters as they actually are are told. So many people thought this show would be a super serious deep dive on Christianity and commentary on religion itself. But at this point, it really feels like Heavan and Hell are metaphores. They focus a lot more on personal issues like relationships, coping mechanisms, flaws like nievety, displaced senses of self worth, etc.

Charlie's idea of what "gets people into heaven" is naive and brochure-like. Adam gave a literal list of three items that seemed overly simplistic (and turned out to be wrong).

But at least they had some idea about it. The higher angels themselves had no clue whatsoever, their only concern was preserving the status quo. And even when things are called to question they fall back to old ways just bc they're scared to change anything. Sera didn't have any malice toward Hell, she just doesn't want to make things worse, having Angels fall, have Hell attack Earth or Heaven, have more evil spread, by changing things.

Getting a better idea of what all of this is about makes it so much easier to appreciate things I initially was put off by. It just has a context that it fits into now.

Lucifer being this disillusioned depressed dork with "yeaaaah, No." energy fits into what we've seen of heavenly culture (uncanny innocence, annoying teen pop-culture energy, being perfectionist yet blind to their own flaws)

And The "Hell's Great Dad" song really broke the ice, especially when Mimzy busted in singing ITS MEEEEEEE-- like

Love her. I wasn't expecting to see Mimzy AT ALL since she was removed from the main cast. And after seeing people talk about her and how they were wondering about her, it definitely felt like popping in the way she did was a response to that. Even I was wondering bc you don't just drop a former love interest for a character like Alastor, but still have them show up in the pilot-- I wanted to see Mimzy lol.

like literally:

"It's MEEE, It's MEEE,

I know you were all waiting for MEEEE!

I'm Here, what a GAAAS,

Took a while but I'm here at LAAST"

Like, im sorry but I felt like she was pointing at me personally, not the other characters, and that was hilarious.

It's so random but doesn't feel out of place at all somehow. The tensions were already super high, so a random screaming woman busting in with even higher energy is like-- wtf?? :'D??

She was a blast the entire time tho, and actually tied into the reoccurring theme of only reaching out to someone so they can do something for you.

It also definitely pinched a side of Alastor, irritating that he does apparently NEED to be there, there's some obligation he actually has to the hotel, or at the very least some stakes to not holding things together, not bc he defended the hotel but bc he specifically says "I can't have that here" , he also doesn't refute the claims Mimzy makes about him. Al clearly adores her and isn't surprised by her antics at all yet still tells her to leave. With the mention of Alastor's "leash" in the same episode BC of Mimzy was just such a great way to use her character. A fun entrance, thematic relevance, and a great plot device to reveal more about Alastor's situation and motives.

Like I said, at first the food tasted cold. I was thinking to myself "Eh, nothing really that crazy ig" but the more I watch the episodes and get over whatever my expectations were, the more I enjoy what's there.

Like, at first I was thinking, "Oh no Lucy's another akward dork, a normie, a loooooserr" (not that being an akward dork or a normie is bad but those were the vibes I was giving off, I'm sorry)

But I keep watching "Hell's Greatest Dad" and NOW it's like

LOOK AT HIM< LOOK AT HIM GO

Like, he's fugghing adorable with the "WAP BAP BOOM"

the puppets and the circus imagery, and just the innocent unmalicious enthusiasm. He's stumbling around over barely knowing his daughter and is now sprinting to make up for being so absent-- and even that absence is implied to be due to chronic depression and pining, missing heaven and having to live in hell forever, not only being the one who supposedly created it by accident, but tried and failed to fix it, even having his own theme park ripped off by a deadly Sin. The show calls it out bluntly, but despite his cheery tone and, yeaaah, no, yeaaah, no" attitude, they did a great job showing that his depression manifested in detachment and disinterest. It sucks for the people it effects but it also sucks to be the one who dropped the ropes in your relationships.

So seeing him brjghtenup and glow over just helping his Charlie put her hotel together was great. He feels useful and wanted again. And imo it's a double edge sword as well if Lucy feels like he has to be useful to be a decent dad.

So, idk. I guess I do want to see how he handles trying to be in Charlie's life again, especially since, at this point Alastor knows and has supported her more than he ever has-- despite the rough beginning and the mockery. (Also Lilith's face being faded out was sus af)

I'm convinced that in Al's case it's definitely not from a genuine place, at least, we still have no reason to believe it is. He was glaring at Lucy as soon as he walked in, and the nearly every comment on how great his relationship with Charlie is was also a jab to piss off Lucy instead of a genuine expression.

A performance, in short.

Still, the fact that someone who's only just met Charlie has a better relationship with her than her father has got to suck to realize if you're the father.

Also-- the scene at the club-- I was pretty mixed about it, like, doing drugs, itself isn't bad-- it can be unhealthy and it can put others at risk if you're resigning your cognizance and self control for the sake of coping with stress-- so it can very easily enable bad things, especially if you become addicted, so,imo is pretty wreckless and definitely a vice. But it doesn't make you a bad person.

But then again angels also seem to think premarital sex and promiscuity is bad too. (Promiscuity puts you at risk for disease, and like drugs can be driven by vices, but, again, the thing itself isn't bad and can still be a healthy practice when it comes from a healthy place)

I'm genuinely proud of Angel for actually growing though, seeing him take care of Nifty and protect her from Val got me on the "Fuck em up" energy. It's always great to see a group of friends watching out for eachother when they know there's a danger to what they're doing-- ESPECIALLY when one of them is new to it all. That's why if you ARE going to do drugs or drink or whatever, definitely don't do it alone or without someone you trust with your safety.

And also never feel like you have to do those things to maintain relationships, some people feel like it would be an insult to imply they dont trust someone or just for being disinterested in their offer. And, frankly there are people who will prey on that.

That was just a great scene. It had some flaws, but was still great.

Also--

PENTIOUS

I HATE

BROTHERMAN MADE ALL THE MISTAKES.

"Bc I'M HAVING SEX WITH EVERY--"

THATS NOT WHAT YOU WANT TO SAY YOU FUCK

Also, not gonna lie but Sera's got me like

Its been a while since I've been down bad for a femenine character.

She is beauty, she is grace~

[alfvaen]

Writing Exercise: Karaoke Gone Wrong

Trevor stood up and accepted the microphone from the previous singer. His last song had gone so well that he'd decided to try something a little harder this time. After all, anybody could sing "Louie Louie", right? So it was time to take it up a notch, and go for "Sweet Child O' Mine".

He stood as nonchalantly as he could in the open area center of the bar, looking up at the big-screen TV waiting for the music to start, the well-known Slash guitar riff (which the guitarist publicly disdained as too simplistic), so he was caught off guard when he heard the opening of "Stairway To Heaven" instead. "Hold on, man!" he shouted at the karaoke host. "That's the wrong track!"

The song stopped, but not before Trevor caught a glimpse of the first screen of lyrics, which didn't look anything like either song. In fact, he wasn't even sure he recognized all the letters.

"Sorry, what's the problem?" the host, a balding fortyish man, asked.

"That's the wrong song, dude," Trevor said. "I wanted 'Sweet Child O' Mine'. You know, Guns 'N' Roses?"

The host peered at his screen. "Huh. And that wasn't it?"

"No, it sounded like 'Stairway'."

"Weird. Must be mislabelled. Uh…that's the only copy of that song I have. Do you want to try it?"

Trevor hesitated. 'Stairway' was a lot longer, and a slower build, but he could probably pull it off. "You know what, sure."

"Just a sec, then, gotta get it back into the sequence."

While Trevor waited, he glanced around. From here, he could see a big table in the corner that he hadn't spotted before, which seemed to be full of aging long-haired men. One of them caught his eye, and Trevor froze. Was that Brian May? From Queen? In this dinky bar? And Roger Taylor next to him? The rest of the figures were more shadowy, but he swore somehow that all of them were part of the bands that had shaped his musical tastes over the years. He gulped.

"Okay, ready?"

Trevor's throat felt like it had closed up. He reached over and grabbed his beer, taking a swig, and of course it tried to go down the wrong pipe. He ended up coughing and spluttering directly into the microphone, which was still on, and everybody in the bar got to hear it up close and personal, at least until the feedback drowned it out. The host shut down the channel until Trevor had recovered, eyes streaming, risking another sip to clear things out, and finally waving to indicate he was ready.

The song started up again, and when the first screen of lyrics appeared, Trevor discovered he'd been right before--that did not look like the right lyrics. Or English at all. It didn't even look like Russian or anything. Gamely, he started singing the lyrics as best he could from memory. After the first verse he glanced over at Brian May's table and saw him frowning and murmuring to his tablemates.

By the next verse, the song had transitioned into something that didn't sound quite like "Stairway" any more. Was that…"Dust In The Wind"? How did that one go? Was this supposed to be the first verse or the second? He squinted at the lyrics, which still didn't look like English, but he was beginning to figure out, somehow, how they worked. He did his best guess, but he was pretty sure he was just making stuff up at this point.

The tempo picked up, and now he was pretty sure this was something by the Eagles. He'd never liked the Eagles. Was this "Hotel California", or "Take It Easy", or what? He was starting to get the hang of the alphabet now, though, so he decided to just go for it and sing what was coming up on the screen, and making up his own melody. Screw it, why not? Maybe he'd get points for style and originality, at least.

After the next verse, a few more guitars kicked in, and now this was getting more into like Black Sabbath territory. Bit of an abrupt stylistic change, but he was into it now. He screamed out the unearthly lyrics on the screen in his best Dio impression, wailing for all he was worth, until he began to taste blood. And yet he couldn't stop--there were no more breaks between verse or chorus, barely even word breaks any more, just an endless stream of syllables, in what language he was no longer sure, tearing their way out of his throat. And now he could see them, starting to accumulate in the air in front of him, floating glyphs in the red of his own blood, spiraling around and around until he was entirely wrapped in them. He gasped out the last few on the screen just before it was blocked from his view entirely.

And after that it was just red. And screaming.

Brian May shook his head sadly. "Guess he just didn't have what it takes. Okay, so where do we try next?"

[keptalivebymagic]

Reading A Fragile Enchantment by Allison Saft but it's challenging me in very specific ways. I have 75 pages left. Let me just say at the top that I recognize I'm a grown ass adult reading a YA novel. (Spoilers)

It occurred to me halfway through that the third person narrator flips back and forth between omniscient and limited. I'd have to go back and check though.

I got confused and thought both Niamh and Kit were saying they were gay, so I was like 150 pages into this book still wondering if this was actually going to turn into a romance between these two. (Yes, yes, they're both bi. But nobody was saying anything to suggest it!!!)

The oppression plotline is just so bizarre. It's cool in its premise since it's very clearly an English/Irish retelling, but the execution is perplexing. It's so simplistic. Neither Lovelace nor Helen Carlile ever say what it is they want outside of broad strokes. Kit and Helen Carlile even meet in person and still Helen says something like, "tell the Prince Regent that I'm not leaving until he meets with me." Woman, the younger prince is HERE. Why wouldn't this spokesperson for the oppressed immediately try to sway the member of royalty who is standing in front of her? And Kit just goes, "oh okay" and fucks off.

On a similar note; all the underpaid Machlish workers walk off. And all the remaining workers are thus overworked and discontented. We see this having an impact on a dinner function and one daytime outdoor function, but then the problem just fades into the background. Your protagonist is a member of the working class. How is she not commenting on this? Like, who the hell is running this palace?? You're gonna tell me a story with a worker uprising, at least acknowledge that, say, nobody's changing the sheets anymore. Nobody is building the fires. Nobody is emptying the freaking bedpans, surely. Right? Right?? I'm so irked at how low stakes this whole thing is. Nay, I'm rattled.

Kit's horrible, awful, terrible meltdown that almost got Sinclair killed is built up so much, and then explained away by Kit with zero details. This is just shoddy storytelling.

Everyone in this world is so simple. There were numerous incidents where the people working for the King weren't getting paid, including someone explicitly connecting the dots for Niamh, and still Niamh didn't put it together that there was some sort of financial trouble.

These two pop into a little affair and there's exactly zero consequences for it until the Prince Regent finds out. I specifically expected more of a reaction from Miriam. Where did she even go after letting Kit into Niamh's bedroom? She just fucks off immediately after taking care of Niamh and establishing that she's invested in the latter's wellbeing. Again I ask, why are the stakes so low??

Niamh is supposed to have a whole staff but we never get to see them. What are they like? Are they well paid? How do they feel about a Machlish boss? This is all such a missed opportunity to flesh out this world.

The Prince Regent invites Niamh to a whole slate of high society events and Niamh is barely even fazed. What's more, she somehow already has gowns for these occasions. This peasant from the countryside somehow made herself ball gowns?? Not even high society day dresses (of which I could be convinced, given her expertise in this very field), but actual royal ball gowns???

The whole regency era setting is shaky at best. I know it's just a YA novel, but it feels like there could have been some drama if the rules of etiquette, for example, were better established in the story.

The spice in this is slightly more detailed than I expected from a YA book. Slightly. Maybe I just don't read enough YA though.

Niamh's crippling commitment to providing for her family is compelling. That is all.

[knifeinthenight]

Life went on, resisting the temptation to wilt under the strain of circumstance. Even if it did, with effort, and the fortitude that internal will provided, it somehow stood again. Maybe different from before, maybe not even close to resembling how it once was, but that was what life was all about. Change, keeping up with the flow of challenges that would otherwise sweep them all off their feet. It was a simplistic way of looking at it, no less true regardless.

Knives walked with an unhurried pace, almost comically NORMAL when considering the violent history between them. If anyone else would gaze upon them, they would see nothing particularly out of the ordinary. They might not even pay them a fleeting glance or two. They couldn't possibly see the invisible twang of anxiety thrumming done that conscious line, the anticipation, the brutal fact that there had to be something more to it---

There was nothing left between them that could possibly suggest that their encounter was a mere generic catch-up.

There was almost a flutter of a memory tucked away in his mind that threatened to pop up:

"That way!" Nai pointed, though his index finger wilted when he realized the direction he gestured toward was little more than a closet [nothing in it either except for boring, rusty equipment]. The twins often had to think up their own games within the confines of the SEED ship. Creativity was a plus, buuuut, it wasn't always DOABLE. The brain could only stretch so far, after all. At least, he supposed that was how it worked.

"Well...." He carefully adjusted the trajectory of his pointing finger until it indicated the direction of another hallway [close enough to said original target, the CLOSET, that the adjustment wouldn't make too much of a difference, if anyone was keeping track!]. "That way!" He smiled. "You gotta pick a direction and just FOLLOW it! I mean, there's not many places we can go on the ship, but, I'm pretty sure we'll find something new if we follow that theory!"

Indeed, even then, Knives didn't stray from the path he had chosen. He simply walked.

"Vash." Knives let out a breath that partially sounded like a laugh or a sigh of exasperation both. Knowing him it could be either or, or even both in some strange way. "Nai's world was a happy dream. None of that exists any longer. You know who I am." And it wasn't THAT.

"I thought you liked games, little brother?" He only turned his head a slight, catching a flash of his brothers customary red coat. There was no subtleties wearing THAT. Couldn't slip by undetected for anything. "Do you truly want me to tell you and ruin the fun?"

@knifeinthenight

He'd hoped--

He didn't know. He'd hoped, simply, openly, and while he didn't see that hope dashed, exactly, it wasn't encouraged. If anything, it seemed to work against him, Vash making a surprised sound at both Knives' words and the fact that contact was simply dropped. There was nothing particularly special about it, and that...

Maybe that was the surprise. Or disappointment. Or false sense of security, if he was at his most cynical, but he couldn't-- He couldn't. "Nai." Calling to someone he wanted to answer him. Someone who was and was not there. Someone he did and did not see, hear, remember.

Even with the momentary stillness that came with the surprise, of course he followed. There was something he was supposed to... see? He wasn't-- He didn't know, anxiety trailing his steps as he walked just a few paces behind. Measured. Silent for a time, trying to get his mind around what had happened. What was happening.

Whether or not he should run.

"Where are we going?" He tried, soft and conversational. Possibly too direct. Almost, almost, reaching across whatever still connected them to prod as if it were still such an easy, natural thing to do. Maybe it was, really, but that seemed all the more reason to stop himself. Keep it to himself. As if he could fully hide his uncertainty.

He wished he'd held on to that hand just a little bit longer. He wished he'd back away and not reached out at all. It wasn't going to be different that time, either. Meeting up. Even if it had started differently, it was always...

Worth the hope, anyway. Vash gathered his coat tightly around him as he followed, as if he were actually feeling cold.

[thedailycampix]

“With…with, uh…some...members of the…Pokeblogs…community?”

[luvlanadr]

hii there! i'm the anon who had requested the kit walker reverse comfort fluff, I"m just here to thank you and say I actually loved it, it was so sweet!! I really appreciate you had also offered to alter something, it's very kind of you, but don't worry there's no need to change it, it came out really good <3!

btw, I don't want to bother you any further or anything, but if it's not too much and that's okay to ask, i would simply love if you could maybe write a part 2 to this story lol, I felt myself really engaged to the storyline and wanting to know more about what exactly happened to kit in there and all the sweet stuff in their relationship lol... anyways tysm, i really appreciate it <333

hi!!

i'm so sorry this has taken so so long , i loved writing it your prompt was amazing, thank you for your request anon <3

apologies for any grammar or spelling mistakes!!

(just a quick warning, it has been ages since i watched asylum so it may not be the most accurate, regarding the actual plot so i'm sorry!)

𝐤𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

i softly hummed the lyrics to he's so fine, as i prepped the ingredients sister jude had provided for me to make the bread, which she 9insisted i do as my duty for the day.

'he's so fine,' i mumbled as i began mixing the dry ingredients,- swaying my hips ever so slightly 'i wish he were mine,'

i became slightly startled, as i felt a pair of large hands caress my hips, as i felt hot breath against my neck...kit. i had become so highly fixated on the assigned task, that sound of kit entering the kitchen his prescence hadn't even occured to me.

'hiya darlin'' his boston accent thick, yet somehow so gentle, ' didn't mean to jump up on ya', just figured i could help,'

i smiled softly at the simplistic gesture, 'are you sure? it's no bother, i got it,'

he chuckled, 'i want to help, it's no bother suga,' his hands slowly drifted from my hips as he swiftly left an endearing kiss on my cheek; to which i giggled to ever so slightly. 'now how can i help, darlin'

'mhm, well we just mix the dry ingredients, together,' kit just stared at me, listening to me intently as i spoke.

'yes ma'am.' he chuckled, as he followed my instructions.

a huge smile remained plastered on my face as i observed the handsome man before me in sheer awe, how could a man be so perfect. as i inquisistively stared at the busy, fixated kit an impulsive desire hit me, why not just throw a bit of flour on him?

so without properly comprehending it, i did so, i collected some flour and smeared it down the blue shirt he wore, he jumped back in response, chuckling at my stupididty.

'oh were playing like that, huh suga?' he smirked, as he also collected some flour, and booped it on my nose, causing me to huff and cross my arms in response.

'i really didn't think you'd retaliate,' i laughed slightly attempting to wipe the flour off my face, as kit patted it off his shirt.

'well i guess i'm not as predictable as you think, darlin,' he sniggered 'but, now we should get to work i'm not trynna have the rath from sista jude,again.'

so we got back to work, and managed to complete two trays of bread, as i continued, kit came up from behind me again.

'can i help you sir?' i giggled, as i spun around to face him, his hands gripped firmly on my hips.

'i don't know, can you?' kit's voice was sensual and smooth, 'you know, i heard ya singing earlier,'

'oh no, please tell me your joking, i didn-' i paused, i was extremely embarrassed, i was just minding my own business no one was mean to hear especially not kit, god

'hey dont worry darlin,' he caressed the side of my face, cupping it in his hand, 'you gotta pretty voice, matches that pretty face of yours.'

i shook my head in response to his rather cringey remark, to which we both laughed.

'shut up,' i joked-gently pushed his hand away from my face, letting out a sigh, any sense of motivation i had before was now non-existent, leaving me feeling agitated with no drive /to work, to which kit immediately picked up on.

'hey,' he spoke with an excited tone, 'i got an idea,'

'mhm, what?' i responded nonchalantly

'don't question it, i'll show you,' i had no desire to pick apart kit's plan, or to interrogate him or his idea, i leant against the countertop, looking at him inquisitively as he stood before me.

'just scooch forward, darlin,' i fufilled his request stepping forward, before kit snaked a hand around my waist taking my hand and waltzing me around the kitchen, causing me to giggle at his romantic jesture.

he paused as he observed me, letting go of me and hurrying behind me where he engulfed me in his embrace, his hand rested on my hip as he left soft,small kisses against my neck. he mumbled against my skin, 'god, you're so pretty,'

'kit walker, how would sister jude react to you using the lord's name in vain!' i jokingly scolded, leaving us both to erupt into laughter.

although we're in an impractical, peculiar circumstance me and kit were the only ones who truly cared and loved one another- and knew each others truths, through the negatives i'd be there and for stupid light-hearted moments like these we'd always have each other.

[mulderscully]

"liv has grown so much without elliot." this keeps coming up in the tags of my edits and in peoples asks and it's driving me a little insane. i have watched every season of this god damn show and i feel like it's such a simplistic way to look at olivia both in the classic episodes and the newer ones.

one, the idea that liv didn't grow at all in the first twelve seasons is absolute horse shit. she says this to nick because the svu writers who took over after s12 actually hate stabler. it is not true and it's unfair to her.

two, yes, she did grow a ton in the last ten seasons. a lot of things have also happened to her. a lot of traumatic and horrible things happen to her and we almost never see her actually get to process them. she just straightens her back and carries on as the strong lieutenant/captain/mother. is this growth? or is it liv repressing her feelings?

elliot, her best friend, abandons her and then liv is abducted by a serial rapist and held hostage for days, assulated, her brother dies of an overdose, her son is abducted by his biological grandmother who she had thought was a friend, barba becomes her best friend and then ALSO leaves her, tucker marries someone else and then kills himself... and when do we have an in depth exploration into any of these things? never. we scratch the surface - like we did on last weeks episode. because we have gone from "liv" to "captain benson" lately.

elliot coming back gives liv a chance to just be a person again instead of just filling a role. she deserves to face and process all of these things starting with elliot leaving her. whether or not you ship them romantically (and i DO think they have always been in love) she literally said elliot was the single most important person in her life, and she absolutely has not healed from him leaving. she could barely talk about it without her voice breaking.

her anger and hurt still exists and are being space to exist, but she knows elliot is in a very fragile state. she can't push him away because if she does and he dies she will regret it forever, like she did with simon and tucker. and elliot wants to be back in her life but he also wants to push her away so she doesn't become a target. this is painfully obvious to me and yet people somehow are missing it and acting like he's just being an asshole for the sake of it and not actually going through a major mental health crisis. elliot has definitely changed as well and become softer and less confrontational in all the ways that matter, but he is also going through something very intense. we are only four episodes into something that is really an exploration into changing this big macho, toxic persona that elliot had. it will take time.

so yes, liv has grown and changed - in a lot of ways for the better. but that doesn't mean that growth will disappear if she is there for elliot or if she lets him back into her life. maybe helping him process his ptsd will finally give is some insight into her own. their reentry into each other's orbits was bound to be rough, and it would be disservice for it not to be - but maybe they can heal and grow together into newer and better versions of themselves and come out stronger in the end. not everything has to turn out negative. let us enjoy this.

[sugarmaplewings-fics]

Big Secret

Pairing: Kirishima x reader, but also . . . pining!Bakugou

Warnings: Mentions of/implied sex, but nothing actually graphically happening. Gay/Bi/Poly fun stuffs. Bakugou doesn’t like the color pink. Also language from YoU kNoW wHo

Author’s Note:

*sips tea*

So.

Technically, no one asked for this, but I wanted to write it anyway. Then someone requested a sequel, so I made this prequel first (because I had a clearer idea, nothing against them). It doesn’t matter if you read Little Secret or Big Secret first, so do whatever if you’re new. 

Little Secret did surprisingly well, so I was more than happy to jump back into the mini AU. This takes place about a month before the events of Little Secret. I could not pick whether this is angst or crack, so I made it both. Both is good.

This is my first crack at angst (haha, see what I did there? I’m so smart and funny). If it’s bad, then it’s kind of just practice for me. If it’s good and you decide you like it . . . hooray! I did something right for once.

Anyway, I’ll shut up now. Enjoy!

-Sugar

⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙

⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙

Bakugou stood in front of your door, scowling as usual.

Ever since you and Kirishima had started dating, it felt like the red-haired hard boy was impossible to be reached, constantly spending all his time with you. Bakugou had expected as much when the two of you had announced to him that you were a couple, but this was starting to get ridiculous. He was starting to feel a little too left out, getting angry at how much he found himself missing your presences as you had once hung out interchangeably in all three of your rooms. But that was before, when you were all just friends.

Just friends.

Bakugou shook his head before rapping impatiently at your door. "Oi, (N/N), have you seen Kirishima?"

"I'm in here."

Katsuki immediately recognized the sound of the redhead's voice on the other side of your door, causing him to frown. Of course. Just as he'd anticipated.

"It's open," you called.

And you were in there too. Gods, he hoped he didn't just catch you two doing something disgusting, like kissing or worse. He was almost to the point of praying that the two of you were at least decently clothed when he opened the door.

What he most certainly didn't expect was the sight before him, immediately smacking him in the face the moment he walked in.

Kirishima had just gotten up from laying belly down on the floor, clad only in a pair of loose black sweatpants, defined muscles clearly out for anyone to see. You were right next to him, sitting in your cute pajamas. Bakugou had tried telling you off for copying him by wearing that black tank top like he did, but you had insisted that it had been as much your idea as it had been his. His gaze wandered to your bare legs, accentuated by a pair of short (F/C) shorts.

The most shocking thing however, was the fact that both your faces were slathered in some sort of mint-green paste, hair tied up and pushed back with fuzzy animal-themed headbands.

"Need something, Bakubro?" Kirishima asked, yanking him out of his thoughts before he could get too far down a rabbit hole that would be painfully embarrassing to climb himself back out of.

"You have my notes. I need them."

It was true, Kirishima had asked to borrow Katsuki's lesson notes, like he always did at the end of the week. Upon finding the boy absent from his room, Bakugou could have easily let himself in and taken them off his desk, right where they always were. But for some reason, he'd been driven to go out and find the redhead. He didn't know why. Maybe it was to torture himself. He never knew why he even still bothered being around you two.

There was a new feeling ever since you'd become official; a sickness churning in the pit of Katsuki's stomach. Oddly, he vaguely recognized it from when that damned Deku would constantly show him up, but this one was always much stronger, somehow even more painful.

Why did he wince every time you went to grab Eijirou's hand? Why did he find himself with the urge to go be sick when he'd first seen Eijirou lean over to give you a peck on the cheek? It had been because it was gross couple stuff, right? Bakugou wasn't here for all that nasty touchy-feely stuff. He'd seen his parents do it, and it disgusted him. And now his best friends were doing it with each other; sometimes right in front of him, sometimes when you thought he couldn't see.

But he saw, and he knew. He'd heard you, late that night after training. Heard the two of you noisily entering Kirishima's room, clicking the lock on the door as you'd stumbled to the opposite wall. He'd listened to everything: the telltale sounds of skin meeting skin and coming together. He'd heard both your sweet, pretty voices, desperately trying to keep quiet as foreign waves of feelings coursed through your bodies on the other side of the wall. The thin wall, where every sound was as plain as if the barrier hadn't been there at all.

He should have stopped himself then. He should have given up all hope, closed down all his feelings. He'd laid awake the whole night, thinking about how his two best friends were now seeing each other in this way. You were third years, and having relationships within the class was to be expected. But his best friends? Together? And now it was just him. The sideliner. The outcast. The third wheel. Alone.

He'd been forced to listen. It hadn't been his choice. It was even less his choice when the two of you had approached him the next day, listening one last torturous time to you as Kirishima sheepishly explained that the two of you had become an item. Bakugou pretended like he didn't already know.

He should have stopped hanging out with you, distancing himself as the two of you grew closer. But this had all happened almost four months ago, and he hadn't been able to force himself away from either of you. He couldn't tell if he resented you both or genuinely enjoyed your company.

What did it matter? It was only his stupid emotions, stupid feelings bleeding through his enforced walls. He had other things to focus on, better things. Like being a hero. Training to be at the top of the class, climbing ever higher to surpass All Might and be the number one hero. That was his goal. That was his purpose. It had nothing to do with his idiot, overly supportive best friends—if he could even call you that anymore.

"Your notes?" Eijirou's voice questioned.

"Yeah," Bakugou said. "Where are they?"

"My desk," Eijirou said. "Like always. My door should be open, you could have just taken them."

Bakugou scowled. "Oh," was all he said.

"Hey, we're having a spa night," you piped up.

"I noticed," Bakugou deadpanned.

"Ooh, you should totally join us, Bakubro!" Kirishima's green-caked face slipped into a grin with ease, flashing his ridiculously cute sharp teeth.

"Yeah!" It was your turn to beam, face lighting up in your smile. "Spa night for three!"

Just the three of you. That sounded wonderful. And also absolutely terrible.

Bakugou scoffed. "You're not going to get me to do your childish nonsense. I need to go study. And then sleep."

"The gren-nerd returns," you said, rolling your eyes. "Come on, Blasty, there is such a thing as too much sleep."

"Yeah," Kirishima agreed. "Besides, it's a Friday night. You have all weekend to do whatever. Have some fun with us and lighten up for a change!"

Katsuki glared at you, hovering inside the door frame. You smirked and began pumping your fists in front of you, maintaining eye contact with him.

"Spa night, spa night, spa night—" Your voice took on a low, stage whispered chant, and soon Kirishima joined in next to you.

"Spa night! Spa night! Spa night—!"

"Fucking dammit," Bakugou finally said, slamming the door shut behind him and stomping over to where you were sitting in the middle of your floor. He hurled himself down into a sitting position, trying to make every possible inch of his body language convey that he didn't want to be here. "You're just a pair of idiots and losers."

"I refuse to be cast down by your simplistic labels and insults," you said dramatically, placing a hand on your chest. "Gimme your face. Now."

Bakugou jerked his head back from you, even though you technically hadn't even reached for him yet. "What are you going to do?" he asked suspiciously.

"We must start with the face mask. Eiji, go get him a headband."

"A what?! I am not—"

"Yes, you are," you said firmly. "Unless you want to go take another shower to get it all out of your hairline, because, trust me, it gets everywhere."

Kirishima came back and flopped back down beside you, handing over a fuzzy, pink and white fabric headband with small bear ears stitched onto the side. Bakugou looked from it to the ones you were wearing. You donned a sparkly pink unicorn themed one, decorated with a horn, ears and a fluffy puff of a mane. Kirishima wore one that was very similar to the headband you were now holding, except his was black and white, clearly panda themed.

Katsuki pointed at Eijirou's head. "I want his."

The redhead blinked. "What?"

"Yours is cooler and not pink. I want that one."

You sighed. "Katsuki, it doesn't matter."

"I'm not wearing pink!"

"What's wrong with pink?" Eijirou asked.

"It's too girly!"

"Hey, pink can be a manly color," Kirishima argued. You nodded your head in agreement.

"Then why aren't you wearing it?" Bakugou shot back.

Eijirou blinked. "I, uh—um—"

"See, you don't want to wear it either!"

"That's not—!"

Bakugou lunged towards Kirishima, grabbing at the item keeping his red bangs pushed off his forehead.

"AAH—hey! It's gonna smear—!"

The boys took a moment to scuffle, Eijirou desperately trying to hold back Katsuki's arms as they grabbed at him. You took a moment to look into an invisible camera like you were on The Office, heaving a sigh.

"Alright, that's enough." You pulled Katsuki off your boyfriend by the back of his shirt collar, shoving the pink headband into his hand. "You can either wear the headband, or you can let it get in your hair. Eijirou was here first, so that one's his. Got it?"

Bakugou donned his 'I just bit into a lemon' face, spitting out a "tch" before reluctantly putting it on his head, pulling it up so his forehead was on display.

You noticed the ears were a bit off kilter, leaning a little too far to the left. It set off a tic in your face, making you reach over and straighten it out. You couldn't help but notice how Bakugou froze when your hands and face came nearer to his own, breaths stuttering and slowing to a stop. You sheepishly finished adjusting it, sitting back when you were satisfied.

In all honesty, you'd tried to ignore Bakugou's shift in behavior around you. He was as abrasive and irritable as ever, but there was something in the way you'd noticed him looking at Kirishima. You'd gotten briefly jealous until you realized he often acted the same around you. You told yourself to pay no heed to it, and now certainly wasn't the time to be sorting out and guessing at the feelings of your emotionally closed-off best friend.

"If either one of you takes my picture like this," Bakugou said. "I'm gonna fucking kill the both of you."

"Sure."

You glanced over and made eye contact with Eijirou. One of you had to do just that without him noticing by the end of the night. He was simply too cute not to; the pink matching his ash blond hair just right.

You tore your gaze away from Katsuki. I have a boyfriend right here, who I love very very much, you reminded yourself.

That much was true. Maybe you weren't allowed to order off the menu anymore, but it couldn't hurt to take another glance.

"Alright," you announced. "I'm getting the face mask back out." You got up and walked to your felt storage container of toiletries, grabbing the same green tube and package of face wipes you'd used only minutes prior.

"So why the fuck do you have three of these?" Bakugou asked, referring to his newly acquired pink ears.

"Sleepovers, duh. Also there was a sale and they're really cute and cheap, so there."

Bakugou let out another tch as you sat back down in front of him. You pulled out a wipe and began to work at his face, removing any oils that might have gotten on there throughout the day.

"Relax your face," you ordered, and Bakugou surprisingly complied. "You'll get wrinkles if you keep doing that. You know, the whole frowny thing."

"You sound like my mother, dumbass," he commented, keeping his lips turned down in a frown.

"Well, your mother is right."

"Feh."

You ignored his dismissive noise. "You have really nice skin, you know," you commented, moving back to your seated position and tossing the wipe in the general direction of your trash bin. "Do you have a routine? I found out today that Eijirou doesn't so that's what got us started."

The redhead shrugged behind you, having taken out his phone while you tended to Bakugou.

"Um, I wash it sometimes," Bakugou admitted. "My mom said something about how our sweat helps keep it clear, but she still sends me stuff every now and then."

"Neat." You sighed. "Wish my sweat actually helped my skin. Other than, you know, keeping it cool and whatever."

You took the tube from the floor next to you, popping the cap open and squeezing some onto your fingers.

"What is that stuff?"

"Avocado oatmeal clay mask," you said, glancing at the label. "Purifying."

"Huh."

You leaned forward again on your knees in front of him, beginning to spread the green paste over his cheeks and forehead like you'd done to Kirishima.

"I'm not a baby, you know," he protested. "I can do it myself."

"Oh, come on," you countered. "It's fun having your friends take care of you. Just let me do this."

Bakugou sighed through his nose. He had to admit, there was a teeny tiny part of him that liked how close you were, the way your fingers glided over his cheeks and forehead.

But you had a boyfriend. A very sweet, loving, cheerful boyfriend. He was yours and you were his, and Bakugou was . . . unavailable. He'd stay yours and Kirishima's friend, and he'd just have to accept it.

You finished fixing up his face, going back to your criss-crossed sitting position and wiping your fingers off with a tissue.

"Now what?" Bakugou asked.

"We can wash it off in about ten minutes, we just have to wait for it to dry."

Bakugou sat back, assessing the sensation of the mask on his face. It was cold and sticky, but he had to admit it smelled good. He'd never done anything like this before, and the tiniest part of him actually didn't hate it.

You started talking about a meme you'd seen on Instagram, and you laughed with Kirishima. You both were cute in your face masks and headbands. He would never admit it, not even to himself, but maybe Katsuki would be willing to sit through something like this again if it meant seeing you both like this.

You sat back and seemed to go into thought for a moment, as if trying to decide what to do next. "Eijirou, let me see your nails." He presented them to you, his face questioning. You studied his cuticles, clicking your tongue. "Imma get you some nail oil. We could probably all use some."

You got up again and grabbed the little bottle, twisting off the cap and beginning to brush the liquid onto your boyfriend's nails.

"What does that do, exactly?" he asked, watching you concentrate.

"Strengthens your nails," you explained. "Keeps them hydrated so they won't crack and break off so easily."

"Look at that Bakugou!" Kirishima proudly proclaimed. "I’m gonna have strong, manly nails!"

You giggled, beginning to blow on them so the solution would soak in and dry faster.

"Babe, I just realized something," Kirishima said.

"Yeah?"

"We look like Shrek."

You looked up at him, his face caked in the solid green mask, then turned your gaze to Bakugou. "You know, I wasn't going to say anything, but, yeah, we totally do."

You both started cracking up again, and Eijirou laid down on the floor as he laughed. He had the sweetest laugh, the absolute best. You provided hefty competition, however; your slightly higher voice adding to your own pretty sound.

"No hate on my mans Shrek, though," Kirishima said, sitting back up as his audible joy died down a bit.

"Shrek is love, Shrek is life," you said, nodding your head solemnly.

"I thought I was love. For you." Kirishima's expression changed to puppy eyes, pretending to be more hurt than he was.

"Uh, yes. But I've known Shrek longer than you, so he represents life."

"What the fuck, guys."

You both ignored Bakugou's comment, proceeding to bicker.

"But he doesn't love you like I do," Kirishima argued.

"He's shrekxy."

"I—" Kirishima blinked, shaking his head a little in bewilderment.

"Fite me, it's a scientific fact."

Instead, Kirishima turned his gaze to the blond, who was watching the full affair with barely concealed intrigue. "Bakubro, I'm getting jealous of a fictional 2-D green swamp ogre. I think my girlfriend is going to leave me for him."

"Actually he's 3-D," you corrected.

"See?" Kirishima exaggeratedly gestured at you in mock offense. "She doesn't appreciate me anymore for who I am. I'm going to rebound to you, Katsu."

Bakugou stiffened at the proposal. He knew it was just a joke, but now he couldn't get the thought out of his head of actually being with Kirishima. Allowing his hand to grasp his. Placing a kiss on the boy's cheek. Waking up next to him in the morning. Was that his problem? He wanted what you had with Shitty Hair? Or did he want what Kirishima had with you?

"Like I'd ever date you!" Bakugou finally spat, after maybe a bit too long of a pause. "You're a dumbass idiot, just like your girlfriend. You two are perfect for each other!"

Both you and Kirishima blinked at Katsuki's outburst, turning to make eye contact.

"Thank . . . you?" you said, unsure if you should take it as a compliment.

You were both used to Bakugou being brash and loud, often yelling insults he probably didn't mean. But this was a bit unusual, even for him.

What is going on with you, Katsuki?

You sat back and made a little "pthbb" sound with your lips, taking the cuticle oil and starting to apply it to your own nails.

"So when are you going to go back to rubbing my back?" Eijirou asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "Or is that only for Shrek?"

You snorted. "I love you, Eiji. I'd give you a kiss on the cheek to prove it, but you've got some artificial avocado there."

Bakugou's frown shifted a bit. At least the masks were good for one more thing.

"Where?" Eijirou teased, feeling at his face as though it wasn't slathered in a thick layer of green paste.

"Ha ha," you said dryly. "I'll go back to personal masseuse-ing after we wash these off."

"When's that?"

You leaned over and tapped at Bakugou's face, finding his still a little moist. "Five minutes," you wagered.

Eijirou started a conversation about training, lightheartedly arguing with Bakugou over one of his techniques.

You watched the nuances of how the two interacted. They'd been friends for so long, they just sort of flowed together and bounced off each other perfectly. Kirishima was clearly more physical, wrapping an arm around Bakugou's shoulders or touching him on his arm or his back. Bakugou never yelled about this like he would with probably anyone else, instead choosing to silently glower while Eijirou finished his thought.

Finally it was time for the masks to be washed off, the three of you crowding around the sink in your cramped bathroom. Eijirou helped you wipe yours away first with some damp paper towels, delighting in being so close to you and your beautiful face. Bakugou opted to simply wash his own off in the sink, splashing cold water over his cheeks. He watched the little green flakes and chunks swirl down into the drain, some of them catching stubbornly on the porcelain surface.

He straightened and looked at his newly washed face in the mirror. He didn't look or feel any different, sans the fuzzy pink bear ears that still wrapped around his forehead. Bakugou tugged them off, stepping away from the sink so Kirishima could take his own turn in washing.

The blond watched the both of you finish up, Eijirou rubbing gently at his face while you patted toner into yours. There was something so mundane about it, even in your tight closet of a toilet space. He liked the little smile you took on as you gently slapped liquid onto your cheeks, and how Eijirou squeezed his eyes shut and gave little shakes of his head to escape from the rivulets of water streaming over his features.

Kirishima stood back up, taking a look at himself in the mirror much like Bakugou had done moments before. "Wait a minute—I still have acne!" He leaned in and closer examined a small cluster of raised bumps.

"Of course you do, ya goof," you said, snickering and setting down your bottle of toner. "It's just a clay mask. If you want magic, use calamine lotion overnight. That should do the trick."

"Why didn't we do that instead?"

"Because these are more fun. And a lot shorter."

Eijirou shrugged and pulled his own headband off, soft red bangs falling over his eyes. Katsuki took a second to admire it. What would it feel like under his fingertips? He wondered for a brief moment how soft it truly was before he ripped his eyes away again. No. No. NO.

"So are you going to rub my back again?" Eijirou asked, puppy-dog eyes shining at you hopefully.

"Maybe later," you said, sliding your headband over your head and undoing your hair. "Right now it's Katsuki's turn. And mine, if it's not too much trouble."

Kirishima sighed tragically, slumping forward. You grinned and went up behind him, rolling the pads of your thumbs into his shoulder blades. He tilted his head back, sighing and closing his eyes at the feeling.

"Babyyy," he said, drawing out the last syllable. "Don't tease me like that."

You giggled and kissed his shoulder. "I'll get back to you soon enough, just be patient."

Bakugou watched the two of you yet again. He had a strange feeling like this was more complicated for him than it should be. Why couldn't he just pick one of you to hate more than the other and move on? Why couldn't he decide which one of you he would rather be in your situation?

"Yo, Katsu," you said to him, bringing him out of his own head. "Get over here." You had sat yourself back down on the floor in the middle of your room, and Kirishima was stationed behind you.

Bakugou walked over and flopped down in front of you, unsure of what to expect.

"Lay down perpendicular to me," you said, tapping his shoulder.

"What? Why?"

"You'll relax more. Do it."

The blond grumbled a bit more before turning himself and laying down on his stomach. "Happy, dumbass?"

"Indeed." You began to work at his shoulders through the barrier of his shirt. Behind you, your boyfriend did the same, running his large hands over the muscles on your back. "How often do you get this done?" you asked the boy under you.

"What? A massage?" Bakugou was really trying to ignore how good your fingers felt on him, pushing and applying pressure in places he didn't even know he needed.

"Yeah."

"Never," he admitted.

"Wait, what?" Eijirou said from behind you.

"Yeah, how?" you asked, stilling your hands. Bakugou resisted the temptation to squirm under you to get you to resume what you had been doing. "That can't be good what with all the training you do."

"I have those foam rollers," he said. "They work just fine."

"Aw, come on," Kirishima said. Bakugou was glad his face was more or less planted on the floor so he wouldn't have to look up at him. "It feels so much better when you have someone else do it for you."

"Tch."

"Katsuki, Katsuki, Katsuki," you tsked, going back to your motions on him.

The blond quietly sighed through his nose, allowing himself for a moment to sink into the feeling of your fingers dancing over his muscles. As much as he hated to admit it, even to himself, it felt really nice. He was surprised at how skilled you were, alternating between your thumbs and your knuckles to provide the most pressure, working out tension as you went along. Your hands, which were so small compared to his and his friend's.

Maybe he was starting to like this a little too much.

You and Eijirou had picked up another conversation about nothing. Bakugou was more than content to zone in and out of it, picking up on your even voices. He listened to the little breathy sighs you'd let escape as the redhead pushed into your back much like you were doing to Katsuki. They were almost too cute, and the more he was left in his own mind, the less comfortable he became.

He began to shuffle under you, a part of him wanting to get up and leave, another willing himself to stay.

"You comfortable, Bakugou?" you asked him. "Want a pillow or something?"

The way you'd said his family name; Bakugou. He was an outsider. He shouldn't be here. He pushed himself up from the floor and out from under your hands.

"Woah," Kirishima said. "Where you going, man?"

"I need to leave." Bakugou rammed his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants and turned to your door.

"Wait, are you okay?" you asked, moving to get up too. "Did I do something wrong?"

Bakugou ignored you, adjusting his black t-shirt as he flung your door open and shut behind him.

You slumped back into Eijirou in defeat. "What is going on with him?" you lamented, eyes glued to the closed door.

Your boyfriend rested his chin on the top of your head, pondering as you pressed into him. "I have no idea. He's been acting weird for a while . . . . Could it be something going on at home?"

Your eyebrows scrunched a bit in thought. "I don't know about that. Do you think it could be us?"

Kiri shifted himself so he could lean in and look at your face inquisitively. "What do you mean by that?"

"I don't know," you shrugged. "It's just that . . . you and I are together and he's . . . alone. I mean, we're still friends, but he might feel . . . left out."

"Ohhh." Kirishima sat back again, pulling you further into his chest. "What should we do?"

You sighed, curling up against his bare skin. "I don't know."

...

Bakugou sat, finally alone in his room. What was happening? What was going on? What was wrong with him?

He hated this, these new feelings. The jealousy he felt whenever you and Kirishima were close and he was left to the side. He wanted to join you, feeling your arms wrapped around him and Eijirou's kiss on his cheek.

But he would never be able to.

Surely, you both would hate him if he said anything. You'd think he was just being sad and greedy, maybe even a creep. It would completely destroy your relationship with him, and he'd lose the two best friends he'd ever had.

Katsuki's bed dipped beneath him as he sat down onto it, placing his head in his hands. Infinite loops of yes and no spiraled forever around in his brain, willing him to just do something.

But he couldn't. There was nothing he could do. He'd have to choose either parting ways with you both or just feeling this way . . . forever, keeping it to himself. He was tired of it already. He wanted the feelings to go away. He wanted to stop hurting like this and being so confused. His rational mind told him to just turn and leave. It made sense. He'd be able to focus fully on his ambitions and become the best hero ever. And yet a tiny, stubborn little part of him knew, just knew that he wouldn't be able to go. There was something between the three of you, and even the tsundere-lord Bakugou Katsuki couldn't ignore it.

He laid back on his bed, closing his eyes. In the dark, he listened. But this time there was no sound. His mind wouldn't rest however, racing and screaming and hurting. It would be hard, but Bakugou would have to do it.

This would all just have to be his big secret.

⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙●⊙

[Little Secret]

[Disclosed]

Author’s Note:

No happy ending?? Well guess what, this is a three-parter. The epilogue/sequel/part three will be purely Kiribaku(+you) fluff, so get ready for that. I know I am!! Also remember Little Secret exists. CUDDLES!! and TICKLES!! YES!

Thanks for reading,

-Sugar

Taglist: @basicaegyo​ @iiminibattlehero​ @katsugay​​ @nabo39​​ @pyrofanatic​​ @sendhelpimstupid​ @sokkasangel​​ @xoxopam4​​

[babyboyblasty]

CHAPTER 12:

All the girls had at least one bag in their hand. Momo had eight (some big but most of them medium sized that only contained one or two things each), Mina four, Hagakure two, Jirou one, Uraraka one, Tsuyu two, and Aoyama five. The only one without any bags was Bakugou since he hasn’t bought anything. So far— and he will rather die than admit it out loud— hanging out with his classmates wasn’t the most terrible thing that has happened to him these past three days. He was actually kinda having a good time.

"You should have come with us to get your nails painted too, Bakugou-kun" Hagakure placed an invisible hand on his shoulder where he saw some glittery blue polish.

"Yeah! I think a nice /green/ would look great on you" Uraraka smiled, giving a wink to Tsuyu who shook her head.

“Actually, I think Bakubabe would prefer a firetruck /red/ ” Mina nudged Jirou who gave her friend a knowing look.

"On the contrary, I believe a nice dark color like black or purple would suit Bakugou-san best" Momo suggested, oblivious to what her other friends were hinting at. "Perhaps Bakugou would like to join us on our next trip?" she turned to look at him and he looked back at her then the rest who were waiting for his answer like they were insane.

"But I won't be a girl then" he replied like they'd forgotten. 

"We know that, kero, but Bakugou-chan is fun when he is not yelling," Tsuyu responded, a finger to her cheek.

"You joining us again would be très bien, monsieur" Aoyama smiled over at him, wiggling his fingers in front of his face to show off simplistic french tipped fingernails. 

Bakugou didn't really respond but he did smile a little on the inside. Not that they needed to know that though.

The conversation was dropped to start another one about what they've bought so far, cuticle care (via Aoyama), and what they wanted to do tomorrow in their free day. That somehow turned into Momo recalling a restaurant she visited with her parents where the food was magnificent and that led to Bakugou claiming he can make the best damn breakfast they've ever had and Jirou challenging him to cook breakfast for them tomorrow to prove it. He agreed of course and the girls couldn't wait. They already knew Bakugou was a great cook but challenging him was always fun for both them and for Bakugou since he liked to prove he was the best.

After walking around for a bit, the girls decided that they wanted to go into a store that just recently opened. It was one similar to Victoria Secret that sold lingerie and other intimate clothing that Bakugou didn’t feel comfortable in so the blonde stayed outside on his phone. 

"Is that Bakugou Katsuki I'm seeing? Or do my eyes deceive me" Bakugou could practically hear the smirk and sarcasm dripping from the words. Looking up, he saw Emo Deku 2.0 walking over to where he was standing, the smug bastard. 

"Is that the human vibrator I'm seeing? Or is it just a big pile of dog shit" he countered back, baring his teeth up at the guy. Shindou Yo always rubbed him the wrong way and just the sound of his voice and that dumb way he patronized and looked down at him like he was better was enough to make his blood boil. He thought he’d seen the end of him after their provisional hero license exam when he was a first year and Shindou was a third year, but fate has a funny way of working and Bakugou seems to run into the guy more often than he'd like when he's out doing public service hero work or at internships. 

"No need for insults, Bakugou. I was just surprised to see you, that's all. I heard about what happened over at the agency but I didn't believe it. I mean, you /are/ supposed to be the best, right? So how on earth was I to believe that a small time thug got the upper hand on the Great Explosion Murder God DynaMight?" Shindou tilted his head, looking down at Bakugou with fake curiosity and concern. "I could see I was mistaken though. Maybe you're just not as amazing as they say you are /just/ yet. That's okay though. It took me all three years at Ketsubutsu Academy to fully learn how to be a great hero but I guess some people need more time. It's okay being a late bloomer. Isn't that right, Katsuki?"

Bakugou was positively fuming and it took everything in him not to launch at him right then and there. He wasn't the same explosive boy from his first year that couldn't control his impulses. Besides, making him lose his composure is what that asshole wanted and he won't give him the satisfaction. He won't compromise his perfect record and possibly endanger someone by using his quirk in a public setting. Clenching his fist as hard as he could, he let the sparks threatening to ignite die in his palms.

"What? You've got nothing to say, Katsuki? How very unlike you" the black haired boy teased. It's been two years since Shindou Yo graduated from Ketsubutsu Academy High School and half a year since he's been working as a rookie pro hero. He was assigned to this mall by the agency he works at and imagine his surprise when he saw Bakugou just standing there in the open like that. Really, he just couldn't resist coming over and saying hi. The blonde was always so entertaining. 

"Pro-hero Grand! May we have your autograph?" a small girl and boy ran over to them, each holding a pen and notebook in their hands up to Shindou's face. The man's condescending smile changed into a friendly one at the flip of a switch. "Of course! It'd be an honor" he laughed and gave them both his signature. Bakugou let out a 'tch' sound, crossing his arms over his chest. "Thank you for your support!" he waved them goodbye and the children waved back with a 'thank you', running off back to a woman who they guessed was their mother.

"Does it ever get tiring being a two-faced bitch?" Bakugou growled and Shindou turned back to him, letting out an amused laugh.

"See? There he is. Or should I say she now?" he made a thinking face and laughed when Bakugou audibly growled like a dog. "That's what I like about you, Bakugou. Always so feisty" he cooed before stepping a bit closer. Bakugou kept his ground so they were almost chest to chest, Bakugou glaring up at the guy because of his new height. If he was smaller by one or two inches before, he is now nearly half a foot shorter than the bastard. "You know, this look actually kinda suits you. It makes you look cute when you're angry so really I can't even take you seriously. Not that I did before, but now I get the sudden urge to hug you. Isn't that funny?" he smirked.

"Well take a good long look, perv, because I'll be turning back to normal tomorrow morning," Bakugou spat. Shindou looked genuinely confused for a split second and it made Bakugou get a sinking feeling in his chest.

"Tomorrow morning? Are you sure? Did Eraser tell you that?" the pro hero raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at his lips. 

"What the hell are you getting at?" Bakugou frowned. 

"Oh nothing, don't mind me. If that's what your teacher said then it must be true" he shrugged.

"Is there something you're not telling me? If there is, spit it out already."

"Like I said, it's nothing. Anyway, I must be getting back to work. The streets don't keep themselves safe, you know?" Shindou smiled and turned to leave but Bakugou immediately grabbed his arm, spinning him around to face him and gripping onto the black and gold top piece of his hero costume to pull him down to his eye level.

"Woah there Bakugou. Aren't we moving just a bit too fast?" the older of the two chuckled.

"Listen up, dumbass. I swear if there's something you're not telling me I'll—" he growled out before getting interrupted by a stern voice.

"Bakugou! What is going on here? Let go of him immediately" Iida stepped up to both of them. Midoriya, Todoroki, and the other three standing behind the tall, navy haired male were all ready to intervene if need be, Midoriya and Todoroki more so than the rest.

Bakugou unclenched his hands from Shindou's hero costume with a huff and Shindou smoothed it out with a throaty laugh.

"Thanks for that. Iida Tenya, right? Ingenium's younger brother?" Shindou smiled. 

The class rep nodded and answered 'yes, I am' before putting his hands together. "Pro-hero Grand," Iida gave a deep bow, "I apologize in advance for my classmate's despicable behavior. As class rep it is my responsibility to ensure everyone acts their best in order to better represent the name of U.A. My apologies again, sir!" Iida was practically yelling and it caused a few heads to turn their way in curiosity to what was happening, but they all looked away with a sharp glare from a certain ash blonde that basically told them to mind their own fucking business. "Is everything okay? Was Bakugou bothering you?"

Bakugou could have laughed. Of course they'd think that so he wasn’t even surprised.

"What?" Shindou laughed before the black haired hero began maneuvering the younger so that he had an arm around Bakugou's shoulders and his other hand was holding one of Bakugou's wrists like they were the best of pals. "Oh no, not at all. Bakugou-kun and I were just talking about old times. I was giving him a few words of my experience so far and some advice as a pro hero" the male gave a bright smile. "What you saw just now was a new move Bakugou was demonstrating to me. There is no problem here, right Katsuki?"

"Whatever."

Midoriya's eyes flickered over to Kacchan. Honestly, he doesn't think that that was what happened at all. He thinks Shindou said or did something that made Bakugou react that way. He's known the blonde for a long time now and while his childhood friend might be a hot head, he wasn't the type to start fights without reason. Todoroki, Shoji, and Koda thought the same but didn't say anything. They didn’t get good vibes from Shindou either.

Todoroki didn't like the interaction between those two one bit and Izuku felt the need to go up and pull his Kacchan away from him.

"Well, that's a relief" Iida answered with a bit of hesitance. He was still a bit suspicious but let the matter slide.

"I hope to see you all out in the field in a few years. Work hard" Shindou said his goodbyes to all of them individually before turning to Bakugou. "It was nice bumping into you, Katsuki-chan. And I meant what I said earlier too. You look good" he winked and Bakugou growled. "Take care, guys" he smiled, waving goodbye. 

They all watched the hero go before Iida was turning to Bakugou. "What happened between you two, Bakugou?" he frowned and Bakugou grumbled.

"Nothin' that concerns any of you. Now quit buggin me."

Iida tried not to take offense. After a few years of being classmates, he should be used to the blonde's somewhat hostile way of speaking. “As you wish. Why were you alone? Where are the girls and Aoyama?” he asked.

“In the store” he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

Almost as if by magic, Bakugou’s group started walking out of the store, some carrying new small bags. 

“Deku-kun! Iida-kun!” Uraraka grinned, going up to them excitedly.

“Uraraka-san. It’s good to see you” Izuku smiled. The rest of them caught up before Iida started lecturing the girls about leaving Bakugou alone.

“I can take care of myself, four eyes!” he yelled but Iida paid no attention to him as he continued talking to the rest about what he saw happening with Bakugou and Shindou earlier to make a point about why we should all be in groups or in pairs at all times. Mina gasped loudly and Momo turned around to look at Bakugou with sympathy.

“Did he do something to you, Bakugou?" the pink girl was stomping over to him, a furious look on her face. "Where is he? I’ll beat him up I swear” Mina frowned, looking around to see if she can spot the black haired hero around. For his sake, he better pray she doesn't. Apparently she thought the same thing Midoriya did.

"Bakugou-kun! I am terribly sorry we left you alone. I should have known better and stayed behind with you. I am so sorry for your troubles" she apologized.

"Hah? Do you think I'm some type of damsel in distress now or something? It's fine, ponytail. Quit apologizing" he grumbled, looking away. “You too, Pinky.”

Momo gave him a soft smile and went in for a hug. She was sure he'd most likely push her off so when he didn't, she was very surprised. He didn't hug back but Momo didn't expect him to and she hugged him a bit tighter, the rest of the girls going in for a group hug as well. The boys were unsure what to do (even though some of them really wanted to join) so they stood to the side and watched how Bakugou started telling them to quit being "sentimental fucks" and let go already. They could tell he didn’t really mind it when he didn't immediately threaten to blow them up though.

Bakugou couldn’t wait until he went back to normal tomorrow.

[ word count: 2318 ]

(the shindou and bakugou inspiration for this chapter was these two pieces of fanart!)

[paganchristian]

A picture I took out the window, a peaceful ride in the country, the rolling hills, the cows, the clouds, the blurry images streaming by like a tape, a childhood feeling, memories of gazing at the sun or the moon out the window and the ribbons of powerlines dancing, how beautiful they felt to me then, how full of happiness they seemed to be, dancing in such lovely curves, in rhythm with the music on the radio. 

 It reminds me of something simpler, more innocent, and more joyful, and more hidden, from the world, untouched, unseen, unfound, but wholly at home, loved and belonging, not alone, just almost yet unborn, living in a cocoon where the smaller and more simple the world, the better it is, and if the only other creatures who know me best are my other friends who are children.  And we all inhabit a secret world where innocence is everything and nothing but innocence exists. My sisters, though, weren’t that innocent and kind in all ways, to me.  And disturbing things had already taken root in me, in religious obsessive confusion, at that young age, and a feeling of numbness was starting to settle in, and a repression of my natural personality had already begun to work its way into my life.  It’s visible in home videos where my behavior began to change, and though no one says they knew why, I recall that a teacher was an influence upon me, to stifle my joy and exuberance, and as submissive as I had been taught at home too to be, I willingly shrank into a tiny shell.  But if I just vaguely let my memory rewind itself into the territory of faulty memories and feelings that tell more than facts, I can tap into a sense of pure innocence that I think is actually a mixture of reality, and fiction, and wishes and present tense life that has let me regain a feeling of childhood again, and paradise regained.  

I think that my relative is reachable, if only I reach them in such a delicate way, and I found and really saw and wanted to read again, this book I’d gotten, about mental health issues, certain mental health conditions they have.  It’s been sitting there but something just suddenly made me want to read it again, so eventually I may, though I’m having some difficulty with it, because I feel depressed by the subject matter.  I feel unsure that it will really help me.  Their particular manifestation of this condition is not typical and I don’t know if the book addresses this variation.  But maybe I can find other books or good websites that address that particular variation of the condition.  And really that condition might be a secret locked door that will let me reach them much better, if I can find the key to open things, because it is well known to have tremendous impacts on relationships of all kinds.  Whether it extends to our family relationship, they seem to have the idea that it doesn’t but after all I’ve read, and sensed and they have seemed to hint, I wonder if it does.  I wonder if I could help them much better with their problems if I understand all this, and yet, this condition is notoriously hard to treat so maybe it is more of a matter of accepting what is.  Sometimes it’s treatable but often it seems to be very resistant to treatment, unless the person with the condition t is very willing to cooperate.  

And I’m not a therapist of course and they’re not coming to me for psychological treatment, yet sometimes loved ones can help far more than therapy, as was the case for me, with my bipolar and anxiety, and yet my case was different, by far, than average.  And the loved ones and friends helped a while, but then I changed myself over decades of struggle and isolation and being totally alone and unable to voice my feelings to those who didn't’ care any longer (and therapy and drugs didn’t help either, but I was never treated for bipolar type 2/cyclothmia, only depression, so not sure about that aspect of the drugs).  Sometimes family and friends and loved ones can help, other times not.  Then the ones who helped me eventually turned their backs on me, but maybe it was too much, maybe it’s more of a burden than most can stand after a while.  

Even therapists are often depressed and they have one of the highest suicide rates of the occupations, I think I read.  It makes sense, if you think of the burdens they are feeling if they can’t help but feel overwhelmed by all they hear from others and then not being able to help them, as often people don’t respond well to treatment, and then therapist likely was attracted to that occupation because of relating and sympathizing with those suffering, which means they are more likely to be depressed or vulnerable to depression or mental illness, you would think, than the average population.  It’s not uncommon for therapist to have their own therapists too.  

But anyway, if I just have to accept my relative’s issues rather than help them, because their mental condition is often not responsive to treatments, well, ok.  And that makes me think, about the idea that maybe sometimes we can’t even stand to see our flaws, and it will destabilize us if we do, and not only that, but we need to be validated in our wrong ideas, so that we feel like we have a sense of purpose and worth, and it’s really strange to think of that.  Usually people don't think that way and yet I have lived that out myself and it really feels, looking back, that I did need that.  As long as it doesn’t do any kind of harm to anyone and it’s the best you can do, then maybe sometimes people are so trapped in their delusions in certain ways for the time being that they might need that. 

I think that I don’t have to worry so much about upsetting the fragile balance of my family member, if I just don’t go too in depth or say too many things that seem too challenging, too judgmental, or whatever, about their issues.  Not that I’d say it as criticism or advice or even suggestions directly aimed at them anyway, but just like I said, if I made a blog or wrote letters or made a website or whatever like that and shared it with them, this is my life, my interests, and instead of expecting you to be interested I will just give this to you to do as you so choose, to read it, or not, to respond or not.  It’s not directed at you, just a depiction of my life, my life story, my interests, my passions, the things I’d share if I felt I could share, but since I don’t want it to be a burden or an obligation, since I feel like maybe I’m too far out on a limb for anyone to relate to all that much, I will just share it in this distant, kind of detached way.  

If you really want to talk and enjoy responding to what I say, maybe we can find new things to talk about but if not we already talk a lot, every once in a blue moon, which is enough for me.  This is just throwing this out there, just in case we can be even closer than we are (We are now already close in this rarely talking but I trust and love you so much kind of way, even if we don’t need to talk much, maybe couldn’t find anything to talk about in common.  But we’re there if things fall apart, or if we just have to vent to someone.  That kind of “close-ish” family relationship type of thing).  

And I know that if I did that my views, my values will be confrontational and challenging to them, because they have expressed such extreme sensitivity and offense and misunderstandings over other people that I know they would see my views in the same way and they have told me they stew in rage and self-loathing and bitterness and feeling abandoned over the littlest of things.  I know it’s fragile and yet I feel like if I just keep things very low-key, simple and only  occasionally hint little bits of what might be considered “too positive”, or “too simple”, or “too spiritual” or too cool and aloof, too detached, or too whatever it is, too judgmental, that they might read and distort and misinterpret me to mean...  

Then I think I can write these things.  I just have to carefully weigh each word, even when I’m putting it in this detached, distant space that is not directed at them, but just my own thoughts.  My relative needs someone to help them somehow, and they are not willing to reach out or look for help in many places at all, so I’m one of the very very extreme few people (or maybe the only person) who is in a position to help them.  The only other person they are very open to is just as stuck in the same mental condition they also have and so I don’t have any real hopes for them to help.  

I don’t feel the best qualified to help myself.  I’m not always the most optimistic or the most encouraging or the most good at compliments and cheering people up and framing things in this really friendly, kind, gentle, uplifting way.  I try m y best but it seems that it just flies by me and I’m oblivious.  I see others responding in much more helpful ways but I don’t even understand how they do it or what they’re doing but I just see that it’s much more uplifting and encouraging and validating and enthusiastic and whatever.  More insightful, clear and well-articulated, more helpful, and so many different things I see many do much better than me, when it comes to cheering up people or helping people who are down and troubled.  

 My main strength, I think, is that I don’t judge and expect too much, and I’m actually not overly optimistic, not unrealistically, so, and not overly simplistic, because I’ve been there myself.  Yet because I’ve overcome things in this really weird and difficult way, sometimes what I say sounds too simple and easy, but it’s not.  It’s just so simple it’s hard to trust and be willing to try (and others may need other things but my case was not and is not minor and if it worked for me, it can work for some of the worst cases of depression, which mine was one of the worst my former psychiatrist, an expert in the region, said he’d seen, in his many years of treating people.  He expected I might be depressed all my life).  It’s not that I needed only simple things to help, because what helps me is elaborate and complex, many-layered, immense, and even still, fragile, and only healing but not curing me,...  But parts of what have helped me the most are very simple and sound dismissive to some people, but it’s not.  

Anyway, maybe I can learn how to be more helpful and encouraging in ways I see others doing so much better than me.   But it’s just one more thing for me to try to figure out, when life feels like too much.  And when I can’t just wait before I act to figure it all out, because they need my help and care right now.  Though sometimes things change much more quickly than you would ever expect, once you have the right information and take the right actions to grow, improve and change yourself.  So I am hopeful.  And I ask God for help, as ever.  Yet when I wrote all this about my relative on this blog, things seemed to change, and I noticed and felt like reading that book though before I’d had it on the shelf for months and it felt hopeless, worthless, but suddenly I saw it differently.  Something about blogging, what is it, it changes my feelings.  Maybe it’s some mysterious energy of people reading or maybe it’s something else, like my own consciousness reacting in new ways to the focused sort of social atmosphere and the endorphins of that or maybe it’s something else.  I wonder what it is.  

[sidhelives]

Oh Good, You're Here

Fluffcember 2020

Prompt: Gifts

Full text under Read More

Anders found that he liked the relative quiet of Skyhold. It reminded him of places that, for a time, he had been happy like Vigil's Keep and Aria's Estate. Not absolute silence, the eerie vacuum that was the Deep Roads, nor the cacophonous rabble of Kirkwall, but something in between. It was a lived-in quiet, and like those happy places, was permeated with a feeling of safety. 

At Vigil's Keep he had been, for the first time his life, free from the Circle and protected from the threat of Templars.

Aria and her home in High Town had been safe havens from the chaos of Kirkwall and the looming possibility of either a forced return to the Wardens or Tranquility.

Skyhold was a different, more pervasive safety. Divine Victoria, the mysterious Sister Nightingale, had abolished the Circles of Magi. The Grey Wardens of Fereldan were independent of Weisshaupt and rebuilding on their own, with no interest in tracking down their strays. And the Inquisitor…

He didn't know what Desdemona was. The idea that she was his enemy had withered and died at some point in the months since his arrival, but did that make her his friend? His lover? Certainly by definition. They had never discussed what they were to each other, if what they had was more than two broken souls fumbling for any touch which might chase away the painful memories of heartbreak. Anders wasn’t sure he wanted to have that conversation; he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

"Ser Anders."

The voice caught him off guard, as did the honorific. Anders had been staring at but not seeing one of the fine stained glass windows in the library, an open book in his lap forgotten as he had become lost in thought. The red-headed elf who had spoken his name was familiar, she lurked in the rookery: receiving reports from scouts scurrying up and down through the library and sending ravens to the Grand Cathedral. "Just Anders, please. What do you need?"

"Anders." The elf nodded. Her name was Charter, Anders remembered. "The Inquisitor would like to speak with you."

Speaking of demons, Anders thought. He set the book aside and stretched as he stood.

"Any chance you know where I would find Her Worship?"

"She is in her chambers."

"Alright. Thank you for the message."

Charter saluted him, another irregularity that made his stomach wobble, then curtly turned and headed up the stairs to the rookery. Anders took the stairs down, passing through the brilliantly painted rotunda. He tried not to look at the walls as he walked between them, their clean lines and bright colors reverberating with Desdemona's grief. She had never spoken to him about the room and, to his knowledge, she had stepped foot there only once since his arrival at the fortress: he been above in the library and she hadn't noticed his observation, too busy angrily upturning a table and muffling furious, anguished screams between her teeth. He had spoken to others in the keep, however, about the paintings, the strange distant elf who had created them, and his sudden departure from the Inquisitor's side.

He told himself that it was none of his business, but something inside him curled with revulsion at the sight of the frescos. Something that had a name, and on occasion, a voice.

The stairs up to the Inquisitor's chambers were arduous, and gave Anders time to focus on the question of why she had summoned him; a change in contemplation which quieted Justice's ire. Desdemona had never been shy about tracking him down when she wanted to see him: appearing out of nowhere to share a letter from Varric or discuss magical theory or, occasionally, to shuffle him into a broom closet for hasty half-dressed sex. 

He suspected these irregular visits had more to do with loneliness than her desire to speak with him specifically. Most of her companions had drifted away from Skyhold after the Breach had been closed. Some, like the Qunari, The Iron Bull, was often present, but others, like the infamous Lady of Iron, had been gone before Anders even arrived. Those that remained had started making their departures once it was clear Anders was no longer a threat. Hundreds of soldiers and mages had also evacuated the keep, returning to their families or joining with the newly formed College of Enchanters. At the middle of it all was Desdemona, the unrelenting Inquisitor, continuing the thankless job of doing right in a world that was no longer sure it needed her.

Desdemona was social, and bold, and fed on the interaction with the people around her. When she desired company she sought it out. So why would she send another in her place to request his presence?

"Oh good, you're here." Desdemona spotted him the moment his blond hair cleared the landing. She looked gorgeous and stately as usual, but Anders noticed a nervous energy in the way she tossed her hair behind one shoulder and gripped her elbows as she crossed her arms.

"I'm here. What did you want to talk to me about?"

She gestured for him to come closer. "I have something for you— well not you exactly."

With a quizzical expression, Anders crossed to her, noting the uncharacteristically humble tone of her voice. He reflected that he had never before the Inquisitor sound unsure about anything. When Desdemona spoke her words became truth: she could announce that the sky was purple and he would take it as fact. "For me but not for me. What does that mean?" One corner of his lips quirked up.

Desdemona glowered at his grin. "It's for Justice."

Anders's curious amusement vanished, replaced by slack-jawed shock. He stared at her, waiting for a "gotcha" or some other walk-back of the statement, but she appeared completely serious. He felt the spirit's attention stir: like a coiled snake raising its sinuous head at movement in its vicinity.

"You have something for… Justice?"

"Yes." Desdemona shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "A gift."

Justice seemed to cock its head in interest at that. "Oh?" Anders asked, sharing the spirit's curiosity.

"It was The Well's idea." Desdemona crossed her arms defensively. 

A shiver slid down Anders's spine. The Well, like Justice had, seemed to respond to mention of it. Through his connection to the spirit, Anders could feel the awareness of the entity: not a spirit but not entirely unlike one, a consciousness based in the essence of justice, but more nuanced and terrifyingly human in its motivations than the simplistic spirit which rode along with Anders.

Desdemona's statement clarified nothing about the situation, so Anders continued to stare gormlessly at her, awaiting an actual explanation. She was grinding her teeth, body language spelling out exasperation with his confusion. Mouth half open, presumably to call him an idiot, she stalled. Her eyes fluttered closed and her head tilted to one side, as if listening to voices from an adjoining room. The voices, Anders knew, were inside her: the vir'abelasan, millennia of knowledge from the ancient elves hitched into the back of her mind. Desdemona took a deep breath and her eyes opened again, the aggression in them having melted away.

"Justice is a part of you, just as The Well is a part of me." She sounded surer, more confident, more like herself. "If we are going to continue carrying on as we have, it is included in that. Call it a peace offering." She held out her hand, but Anders couldn't see what she held, his attention caught on her steady expression.

He felt adrift, emotions erratic and unable to settle on any one feeling. Desdemona's words crept between his ribs, reaching and clutching at his core. It was a queer sensation: part awe, part apprehension, and underneath his own reaction was the ballooning approval of the spirit. Justice had already liked Desdemona, or perhaps it was her invisible passenger that it liked, but this offer of amity seemed to solidify its approval.

Anders, for his part, found himself concerned with the implication of her overture.

"Do you intend for us to continue carrying on?" He asked, all levity set aside from his tone.

"I do." Neither her hand nor tone wavered. "If your intentions are the same."

Anders studied her face: the tousled golden curls spilling from her crown like the crest of a mighty waterfall, her ivory pale skin, the sharp acid green of her eyes, her full but petite carmine lips, the imperfect bend of her narrow nose. Nothing remotely like Aria's tanned, dark, regal features. Aria had looked like an exotic goddess of battle; Desdemona resembled a porcelain doll, but for the fire behind her eyes.

He slowly looked down at what she held. It seemed to be a perfect sphere of air with a glowing, pulsing blue heart at its center. He realized it must have been glass or some perfectly clear crystal, cast around the core as it had no seams to speak of, with a loop at one end which a leather cord had been fed through to make it a pendant. Anders felt Justice rise more noticeably to the surface of his consciousness. 

Lyrium.

The word vibrated through Anders's skull. Pure, poisonous lyrium. Knowing what it was he could feel the slight power it emanated, insulated somehow in its crystalline casing.

He looked back at Desdemona's face, a slight smile creasing the skin around her eyes. "I believe it possessed something similar many years ago, lost when it abandoned a former host." She said softly. "This one, however, poses no danger to your body."

Justice affirmed this, showing Anders flashes of a pure lyrium ring gifted to him by the Warden Commander, the touch of which would have eaten away at living flesh. Desdemona's knowledge of this was a mystery to the spirit, as even Anders only vaguely remembered the band of blue sunk deep into the rotting flesh of what had once been Kristoff. The Well, he remembered. It must have somehow shown her the ring and Justice's regret over its loss. The spirit confirmed that this was the only explanation.

Anders began to raise his arm to take the pendant, lips slightly parted, a thank you ready on his tongue, then froze, petrified by sudden indecision.

If your intentions are the same. 

Were they?

He felt himself slipping into her eyes, their hue so like the Breach which had split the sky, a portal to another world. His chest felt tight, heart stirring with a gentle, familiar warmth. It had been there a while, he realized belatedly, slowly building as they discussed societal reform and shared their similar stories from growing up in the Circle. Anders had ignored it, his subconscious deciding that the feeling had no place in what it had worked hard to convince him was a purely sexual relationship. Of course, looking back, it had never been purely sexual, that was merely easier to navigate.

Desdemona's gift forced him to acknowledge that the situation was not so simple.

"You feel affection for this creature."

Justice's voice was low, a vibration in Anders's skull rather than a sound, and made the hair on Anders's arms stand up. He bit his lip, a tactile reminder not to speak out loud before responding. "I do."

"Why do you feel guilt over this fact?"

Anders didn't need to consciously respond, images of Aria flooded the strange byway of their communication: Aria in battle, splattered with blood and eyes sparkling with manic violence. Aria drenched in sweat, lips parted in ecstasy, her hips rolling against his. Aria curled into his side in front of a roaring fire, warm mug in one hand and his clasped tight in the other.

"She is gone."

He felt himself wince. A year gone. Eleven months and five days to be exact, the date etched into his bones. It seemed such a short time to mourn, he should be mourning.

"This creature is not your Hawke. Feeling affection for her does not replace the part of you which the Hawke's passing has rent."

Anders's brow knit. Justice had hit upon the crux, the unacknowledged fear that had made him reject even the passing notion that he might have feelings for the Inquisitor. Aria had been his and he had been hers. He would have faced anything with her by his side. Without her, his vengeance was all that remained: anger and hate for a world that had stolen her from him, but Desdemona had doused the embers and left him with nothing. 

And wasn't that what he deserved? To remain a shrine to the undeserved love given to him by a great woman? To even dream of love or happiness without her was heretical, he was not worthy of such things.

"You are wrong. You do an injustice to yourself, and to the Hawke as well."

Anders felt his skull rattle with the intensity of the spirit's declaration.

"The Hawke affected you profoundly. Nothing will alter that fact. To imply otherwise does a disservice to her memory. I am inclined to believe that the Hawke would wish you happiness."

"Anders?" Desdemona had one eyebrow raised.

With a start, he refocused on her. He reflected that the interaction with Justice had probably occurred over seconds, but the expectant expression she wore made him feel sheepish. She had clearly not anticipated any delay in his response.

"Sorry, I—" Anders cleared his throat. He raised his arm, the movement feeling heavy, and lay his hand over the trinket she held, the edges of his fingers brushing her palm. He could feel the magic dancing within it, almost hear the time which conducted it. 

"Thank you." He managed the words, voice lower and softer than he intended. "Justice, and I, appreciate the gesture." He left unspoken the gravity of what she offered him, and the counterbalance of his conflict with it. The way her smile bloomed and shoulders relaxed at his words suggested explanations were unnecessary, and hinted at a parallel struggle as invisible as his own.

"I hoped you would." She snatched her hand and the pendant from below his. "Let me help." Before he could respond, Desdemona had draped the cord around his neck, the orb of lyrium hanging just over his heart. With a smirk, she readjusted the bauble so it slid under his tunic. "Against skin is better."

"Speaking of," Anders's wry smile slipped into place as quickly as his thoughts turned to lighter matters, grateful for something other than his turmoil to focus on. His hands came to rest in a featherlight touch on her hips. "Do I get a gift?"

Her eyes lit like a gas-fed stove, igniting with a heat that made Anders feel much too warm in his light garments. "I don't have anything prepared, but I could throw something together for you." Her hands slid down his chest to the waistband of his trousers. "Although I expect emphatic thanks." She raised one shapely eyebrow again, her fingers losing the catch on his belt as they drifted lower.

The edges of Anders's vision wavered as he felt her touch through sturdy cotton. "I'm indebted to you, now on Justice's behalf as well as my own. Expressing my gratitude could very well take hours."

Desdemona chuckled, a sound that made Anders's spine turn to jelly, even before she carefully lowered herself to her knees, eyes burning like two miniature stars. "I suppose we should get started then."