#this is a very surface level explanation because I don’t feel like thinking right now

[jadesarerocks]

Oh I’m sorry. Is your love language “mean words that you don’t actually mean” because no one was ever nice to you and now everyone thinks you’re being a jerk when you’re trying to show love, or are you butting into my life when you shouldn’t be?

[regainingparadise]

Relistening to TMA Season 5, I am again struck by how goddam badly Martin and Jon need couples counseling.

I love them both. I ship them very much. But oh lord they have issues

Like, these are two individuals who, under the very best of circumstances, would really need therapy both individually and together. They are both people with plentiful quantities of relational trauma from childhood that neither of them have worked through even the slightest bit.

And then you throw them into the apocalypse. And you add a metric fuck ton of guilt, helplessness, and the dynamics of being "The Antichrist and +1"?

On a surface level--Jon is in a perpetual state of information overload. Martin is in a perpetual state of "can you please just explain the basics of what's' going on in a given situation and not just say "it's complicated" or launch into a gruesome monologue"

But on a deeper level, their childhood relational traumas have left them each with opposing avoidant tendencies: Jon is unwilling to broach a difficult conversation, which leads him to hide information until he's confronted. Martin, on the other hand, has a finely honed ability to ignore information that he doesn't like until he no longer can hide from it.

Biggest example of their avoidance tendencies: Martin's Domain

Way early on, when we barely understand any of how the hellscape works, Jon mentions it, Martin shuts it down hard and deflects quickly with a bid for affection from Jon

Martin is in deliberate denial, but Jon admittedly wasn't particularly clear to start with.

"We all have a domain."

Jon means it, presumably, as "Me, You, and other 'Avatars.'" Jon is used to being grouped with those empowered by the Entities. Martin isn't. (see also: MAG185: Martin" Is that how these creatures see us now? As one of them?") But that's not what Jon says. And this is MAG167--they've only been through four domains, at least that we've seen. Jon is speaking from a place of knowledge, and assuming his listener has that same knowledge.

And when this issue comes up much later in MAG183, Martin has spent 17 episodes ignoring or forgetting that he has a domain, not letting that information in so that he has never processed it. (See also: Mag170: "Sometimes I wonder if I forget things on purpose. Easier not to think about them, I guess. Easier to just let them… slip away. They can’t hurt you if you don’t think about them.").

Martin confronts Jon on his avoidance (because while Martin may be good at ignoring things he doesn't like, he's far better at bringing up challenging topics), Jon is able to manage some A+ communication on his feelings and the genuine challenging of figuring out how to share upsetting information when he has All The Information, Martin accepts that. I just desperately want a therapist to be there and make them continue this conversation and practice ongoing good communication skills!

Though they resolve this, even though Jon has an explanation that makes sense...he was really leaving this conversation to the last minute. Would he have "[brought] it up at the crossroads" as he claims to Helen? Or would he have avoided it entirely, as she accuses, or waited till they were at the threshold, as he does with The Desolation and the Hunt, leaving Martin to confront terrifying situations without forewarning or planning or explanation.

Again, Jon kind of tried to bring up some of the potential issues with Basira and Daisy before entering the Hunt domain, but kept it Vague and Ominous ("Things aren't...good"). Martin took that vagueness as an opening to avoid engaging with potential bad news. The teensiest bit of therapy for either of them about their communication issues could have let Jon add "I know you're exited but FYI here are some specifics that you should know" and/or Martin go "I'm excited to see them but given that nothing is good right now, can you be more specific?"

Instead, Jon approaches difficult conversations by being Vague and Ominous, Martin gets snarky or passive-aggressive at the vagueness, upset or aggressively avoidant at the Ominousness, Jon closes back up like a turtle into his shell, and the conversation only comes back up when the situation has drastically escalated, leaving them both more upset.

Jon wants Martin to trust him, because explaining what he knows implicitly is an ordeal for him, and because his upbringing by his grandmother has suggested that communicating is generally unwanted and burdensome (See: MAG081 A Guest for Mr. Spider).

Martin wants to know what is going on, because he's in an awful hellscape of shifting rules about what can and cannot hurt them, completely dependent on a brand-new romantic partner for his survival and purpose, and also because his upbringing and coping mechanisms as a caretaker rely on him knowing enough to help, and his time as an archival assistant has given him some not-inconsiderable trauma about being left in the dark (See: MAG118 The Masquerade) (There's also another post in my head about how MAG118 primed Martin for both the Lonely and his development as a more confrontational character in S5)

All that to say.

Martin needs therapy to deal with the way he chooses not to absorb information he doesn't like. Jon needs therapy to understand that sometimes it's ok to bring up important topics even if the other person will be upset. They both need therapy to cope with all the guilt and helplessness around the apocalypse so they stop taking it out on each other. They need therapy together to learn how to work through their conflicting coping mechanisms.

[crowleydeeznuts]

OKAY. SPECULATION AHEAD.

Random. Totally random thing I wanted to add.

Gabriel has a feather Duster and is being referred to as Aziraphale’s assistant.

There’s a butler in Clue, specifically the person that says the “Red Herring” line above. It’s on the same poster as Gabriel is on.

Now, call me crazy, even though those might by definition be different, but I feel as though they could be similar. While saying that, I think this is the role Gabriel might be playing in this season. The Butler from Clue.

There’s small things, how Gabriel tiding up with a feather duster, such a small thing to add to a poster. In Clue, the butler known as Wordsworth, is ALWAYS tiding up because he says (I forgot the exact quote, forgive me for error) something like “I’m the butler, I like to keep things tidy”.

But then there’s even bigger things that I think could be connected. In Clue, almost the entire cast is being blackmailed by a man named Mr. Body who has incriminated information on them. The Butler, Wordsworth, claims to have been the victim of such, but is actually Mr. Body. He pretended to be a victim of blackmail to gather sympathy from everyone else in order to further deceive them.

Gabriel is claiming he doesn’t know what’s going on, and I very well believe his memory was wiped, but I think that his memory was wiped with purpose. To infiltrate the two traitors in order to gain an advantage that would give the schemers (the ones on the right of the poster) an advantage against them in a greater fight.

Now, I should mention, there’s a man that pretends like he’s Mr. Body in the beginning of the movie. Everyone thinks he’s the person orchestrating everything. Now, in connection with what we’ve seen, I think heaven (or at least the people on the left side of the poster) will most likely blame Aziraphale for Gabriel’s lost memory (when they find out he has him). Everyone will think Aziraphale is responsible for this. But he isn’t. Which, I think may prompt the line “I think I may have just started a war.”

I’ll post this and add edits later for when I notice more stuff as time passes. Some of this may not make sense if you haven’t seen the movie, and I do recommend it because it is a great watch. If this doesn’t make sense even with context, let’s say I’m just being wonky lol.

Edit 1: Ima start list off a bunch of theories based off clue with no explanation and y’all can with that what you will.

Everyone somehow contributed to Gabriel’s memory loss (Everyone did it).

Gabriel’s memory loss is intentionally set up to divide everyone on earth, creating a situation that will ultimately lead up to high tensions amongst themselves (for example, Crowley conducting lightening in anger- somehow).

Aziraphale gets blamed for Gabriel’s memory loss because of crepes. Don’t ask me why.

EDIT 2: HOW THE FUCK DID I MISS THIS??? HE LIKES TO “KEEP THINGS TIDY”??? IM ON THE MONEY HEREEEE

Edit 3:

I’d like to add on that I think that my theory for Aziraphale getting initially blamed for Gabriel’s memory loss is contributed to this line right here:

This line (in my opinion) seems to me to be referencing Mrs. Peacock from Clue. This line is stated by the Butler. This isn’t important, more-so that they say “crepes or desert”, and how it appears that Crepes is being placed in this specific line about food with the desert.

Now, Aziraphale and Mrs. Peacock have many surface level similarities. They both are terrible liars, have such vibrant facial expressions, have this sort of energy around them that wants to invite people to talk to them, most likely suffer from “pressure of speech”, and have a moral high ground they stand on and judge others with despite constantly violating their own morals by justifying it for a greater cause. They even have a similar color palette! Now, these things don't seem to matter to why I think Aziraphale might get framed/ blamed for Gabriel's memory loss, but the tweet connects a few things between Aziraphale's character to Mrs. Peacock that I need to explain before I can make the memory loss connection.

First, Aziraphale and Mrs. Peacock both love deserts and seem indulgent in their gluttony. In the scene where Mrs. Peacock is served Monkey brains, she comments that the desert is “one of her favorite recipes” and practically digs right into her food. This may seem unimportant, but small comments and actions in Clue become largely important later in the film. Now, back to the “crepes or desert” line, using this phrase with crepes as a reference to Aziraphale with the important detail of Mrs. Peacock’s love for the desert alike to how Aziraphale has a love for crepes is immediate waving flag to me.

How does this connect to him being framed? Well, Clue has 3 different endings with only one of the three being the true ending. In one of the not-true endings, Mrs. Peacock is found to be the murderer, or the guilty one.

It is a vital detail that Mrs. Peacock’s comments regarding Monkey Brains were key to finding out she was the guilty verdict in the not-true version of this story. She says “this is one of my favorite recipes”, which doesn’t seem much, only that Monkey brains was a rare desert and that it could only be made by a select few. Her former cook being one of them. I only mention all of this because of the significance to how the conclusion was made that she was the murderer was from her deserts.

Secondly, Mrs. Peacock accepts bribes from a foreign power, like how Aziraphale accepts help from Crowley. Now, this is obviously already revealed to everyone else, but could be used as a second basis for getting blamed for Gabriel’s memory loss as “conspiring against heaven” or something.

Even though Mrs. Peacock being found to be the murderer was one of the not-true endings, there’s subtle foreshadowing that he could still be framed despite his innocence.

If they’re treating Gabriel’s memory loss like a murder mystery, then Aziraphale might as well be a good suspect and accomplice to said ‘murder’.

Anyways that’s all I have, here’s the color palette comparison. You gotta see it in the bookshop to really see it (I can’t find good pics of him in the bookshop can someone help me find them 😭😭😭).

EDIT 4: I JUST REMEMBERED they mention armegedon in Clue as well and well I saw this tweet

So like someone look into that please thank you 🫶

Why is @goodomensonprime quoting Clue (1985)??

[ivyblossom]

Stede’s Trauma, and Why Being Sorry isn’t enough

Fandoms are often in these situations where their show has given them a terrible cliffhanger, where beloved characters have been rent asunder by the choices they made, and we are left for years to ponder the horror of it all. And we dig into who needs to do the apologizing, who made the mistake that caused this, etc. etc. It’s fun because it’s so painful! We love fictional pain, it’s just so delicious. Yum yum! Please sir, may I have some more?

And here we are with Stede and Ed: they made an agreement to run away together, and Stede chose to go home instead and leave Ed waiting with no goodbye and no explanation. Pretty clear cut, really. Stede made a bad choice and should apologize, so the story should now be about Stede apologizing.

I mean, yes, Stede should apologize for ghosting Ed in the worst way, sure, but an apology from Stede just isn’t the question or the answer, I don’t think. It’s not enough, for a start, it doesn’t address why any of this happened, and it’s obscuring all the misunderstanding going on just under the surface. 

What we have here, my fannish friend, is a fundamental miscommunication between two complicated people who have big feelings they can’t recognize or cope with, both of whom believe they have done the absolute right thing for the right reasons, and that is literally my favourite situation in the world, so I am in a delirious haze of delight right now, and will probably stay in this fog of fannish delight until s2 airs.

But I wanted to write about Stede, and why I believe he’s also in a tremendous amount of pain, and why his choices make sense. And why apologizing for it isn’t enough.

I think people want an apology from Stede because he doesn’t look like the one who’s hurting. Ed is the one who’s hurting. So we want Stede to go fix his mess and comfort Ed, who is currently falling apart in all the worst ways, until Ed is happy again.

What’s so delightful to me in this story is that I’m pretty sure Stede and Ed are suffering roughly an equal amount. It’s just that Stede has such strong trauma bonds that he’s very adept at embracing and powering through his own nightmares with minimal disruption, which is frankly kind of terrifying.

I’ve only come to understand this later in life, but here is a frightening thing. 

In the face of a psychologically dangerous situation that actively kills your soul, you’d think the healthiest people would be the ones who can withstand it and keep going, the ones who stay in it with a smile and keep on ticking no matter what. You’d think the ones who feel destroyed by the misery fall apart, run from it, the ones who can’t take it, are the most damaged ones. It makes sense. But it turns out, backing away from a soul-rotting situation is a healthy act, not an unhealthy one. It’s a sign that you have enough awareness left of the outside world and of your own self-worth to feel the pain of the damage you’re incurring, but still to reject abuse and reach for something else. It means there’s some distance between your sense of yourself and your sense of this abusive situation. There is a level of psychological abuse where you just give in to the torment, because you know in your heart that it’s where you belong. It is a truth and a reality that you accept, and whatever pain it causes you is what you’ve earned and deserve. So you can stay in a horrible situation that is literally killing you because your head is too turned around for you to be able to even consider getting and staying out. 

The first time Stede runs from something, I think that was the healthiest thing he’d ever done. It was completely ridiculous, but it was honest and true and brave. Life is short, and he’d rather have a short life he loves than a long one he hates. It’s wild, but I think it was the right thing for him to do. He could have done it more gracefully, and not shocked the heck out of his wife and children, sure, but leaving was the right and healthy thing for him. His life had been killing him since childhood.

When Stede runs from Ed, he is willingly running back into his own trauma. His trauma bond is so strong that it come to life and talks to him. He fights against it as hard as he can, but so much of him knows that what it tells him is true. He has come to believe that he isn’t a victim of an abusive situation, he is the cause. 

Stede is willing to give up everything beautiful in his life because he believes the garbage his tormenters told him about himself: that he is worthless, he deserves nothing, he destroys everything good in his world by holding on to it. And in that night when he should have been running to Ed, he saw all the evidence laid out before him. He destroyed his family by leaving them, and he’s destroying Ed by staying. That is so objectively true to Stede in that moment. Stede is willing to walk back into the jaws of his own personal hell, because that’s where he believe he’ll cause the least damage. But it will kill him.

I get that he definitely hurt Ed, and he should make amends for that, but I think we can’t ignore the level of damage Stede’s working with.

It makes sense that Stede thinks he destroyed Ed. Ed was at the top of his game when Stede meets him. Sure, he’s bored, but he appears to be in full control of his life, as far as Stede can tell. He’s emotionally connected to himself and he follows his dreams and desires. By the time Stede walks away from with Ed, he’s lost everything, even his namesake beard, and he is fully prepared to keep on paying. As romantic as that is, it’s also dangerously codependent. Being with Stede appears to require an immense amount of sacrifice, and Stede clearly feels a lot of guilt about that. He doesn’t want to die, but he accepted that the bill had come due when the English came for him, and he has seriously mixed feelings about Ed binding his fate to Stede’s to save him. It’s gloriously noble, but it seems like Stede is carrying a lot of guilt about the damage he’s causing Ed. It’s too big a price, and Stede knows he is not worth that price.

It clearly makes Stede sick to see Ed make himself so small, and he must remember that he told Ed that he doesn’t like him when he’s like Calico Jack. He is shaping Ed to be what he wants Ed to be, just the way Stede’s father shaped him. And Ed is letting Stede do that. That is not a good feeling to Stede. But he doesn’t blame Ed for that. He doesn’t look down on Ed for giving up so much of himself and for being willing to continue to do so. Ed remains lovely. Stede blames himself for requiring this much.

I get why Stede walked away. But I also get that he didn’t do that lightly or as a statement of rejection or a lack of care for Ed. It’s not because he feared running off into the wild unknown. He not rejecting Ed, he’s rejecting Ed’s sacrifice. Stede is seeing this entirely from his own perspective, naturally, and not Ed’s at all. They didn’t talk about this. Stede has said very little that is completely emotionally honest. He wouldn’t even know how to say any of that. 

He can be sorry, and he should be sorry, but the bigger question as far as I’m concerned is how Stede is going to build back enough self-worth to let himself be loved. That’s the bigger challenge, it seems to me.

[todoscript]

SEQUEL TO  “don’t forget it”

SYNOPSIS: One week after accidentally blowing you off on your date, Bakugou Katsuki seeks your forgiveness.

pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader

genre: fluff, very little angst

word count: 5.4k+

warnings: none really accept maybe a character sustaining an injury

author’s note: hellooooo this is a very very very late part 2 of my don’t forget it drabble that many people asked for! i hope this lived up to your expectations and was worth the wait!

Since the events that led you to leave Bakugou’s room in a fit of bitterness after attempting to penetrate that thick head of his, he hadn’t been able to speak to you for a week.

It goes without saying he did his best to chase you down the hallway from his room and toward the elevator the moment he realized his faults. But at the stink eye you shot him through the minimizing slit of the elevator doors sliding into place, he knew he had no right to reconcile with you after pulling a stunt like that. Nor did he think you’d want to spare him any more words to begin with. It was clear you were done arguing with him.

“C’mon man, it’s probably best to let her cool down before you try to make up with her,” was the advice Kirishima offered when Bakugou returned to his room, disgruntled as he heavily fell back into his seat next to the desk. He did the bare minimum to acknowledge his friend’s words with a grunt before resuming tutoring the redhead, his method of teaching suddenly harsher than how it began thanks to his soured mood. He lapsed the day away by pounding Kirishima with problems upon problems against that hard noggin of his, both literally and figuratively.

At the very least, Kirishima earned himself a passing grade on their exam as a result of his hard work and their rigorous tutoring sessions. But what followed Bakugou’s and your relationship was still undetermined.

Days later and you were relentless in giving him the cold shoulder.

Bakugou was met with nothing but empty glances and blatant disinterest whenever he crossed your path. It felt like the wall you slotted between him grew another layer at each encounter, your defenses so impenetrable, it could give Kirishima’s quirk a run for its money. He couldn’t so much as utter a word in your direction without you effectively dodging every possible interaction in favor of joining another conversation nearby.

At first, Bakugou shrugged it off, calling your “childish attitude” unwarranted for something he thought was incredibly trivial. In his eyes, it was just an ordinary date at some run-of-the-mill restaurant he just happened to suggest to you because he took a liking to their spicy food. Not like it was some fancy dinner reservation serving caviar on dry toast beside a pretty, city night skyline. To him, it was nothing special.

However, as the week continued to roll by, it became clear to him how much he hurt you due to his selfishness. In a hangout with the Bakusquad, he learned that you apparently told Mina, along with the rest of the girls, everything during one of your girls’ nights. Which included the events prior to your heated argument in Bakugou’s dorm. And Mina, being just as peeved as you were at how Bakugou stood you up that day, had to let the blond know of the damage he’d done.

.

.

“I swear, Bakugou Katsuki, I know you can be an asshole sometimes—”

“Make that all the time,” Sero quietly adds in the middle of Mina’s rant while he lounges backward on Kaminari’s bed. If it wasn’t for his current dilemma, Bakugou would have elbowed him in the back of the head.

“—but this is crossing the line!” she finishes. Her arms are thrown exaggeratedly over her chest. The amber surrounded by the black scleras of her eyes points a beady look at the ash-blond crisscrossed on the floor between Kirishima and Kaminari.

“Poor girl sat there for hours waiting for you, only to find out she got blown off because you couldn’t even properly check your reminders!” She paces back and forth in the room, feet excessively stepping across the floor as she’s engulfed by the emotions she feels for her friend. “What’s worse? She comes back and finds out you’ve been doing your own thing with Kirishima the whole time!”

“Hey! It’s not like we were playing around! We were actually having a very serious study grind, thank you very much,” the redhead immediately clarifies. Though his explanation doesn’t alleviate Bakugou’s case in the slightest, who pounds his palms against the surface of the table they’ve gathered around.

“Look. I fucking get it, Ashido. I screwed up, okay?! Now what the fuck do you want me to do about it?!” he exclaims, anger overpowering his voice, but it does little to deter Mina.

“Fix it, obviously!” she quips back with equal fierceness, leaning in eye level with Bakugou.

“And how do you propose I do that, Raccoon Eyes? Hah?” Repositioning his elbow to rest on the table, he leans his cheek against his hand. “Y/n won’t even let me within five fucking feet in front of her and you still expect me ‘fix this’?”

Despite the situation weighing heavily on his shoulders, no immediate answer is bestowed upon him. That is, except the obnoxiously loud crinkle of a chip bag popping open next to Bakugou that cleaves into the scene like a record scratch. As if unable to read the mood in his own room, Kaminari fishes a chip to throw in his mouth, stirring the awkward silence into tension.

“Wow, Bakugou. I know you’re bad with girls and all, but you really messed up this time,” he remarks. His voice is slightly muffled as he munches his chips, continuing to wrinkle the bag for more. It incites a vein to swell on Bakugou’s forehead. He amasses all the willpower within him not to blast the bag of chips to ash, and the boy alongside it.

“If you dunce faces are just gonna sit here and throw salt in my wound then I’m outta here.”

“No, wait!” Kirishima catches Bakugou’s wrist before he fully lifts himself off the floor. “Come on, Bakugou, I’m sure we can think of something! We just need to put our heads together! Right, guys?” he assures. Finding it hard to deny his friend’s hardened conviction, Bakugou gives Kirishima the benefit of the doubt, albeit with slumped shoulders and a tentative raise of his brow as he slowly sits back down.

“Right! Everyone, let’s get some brainstorming done!” Mina yells encouragingly.

The atmosphere of Kaminari’s room is consumed by moderately thoughtful silence for the next ensuing minutes. A few hums pass, followed by an exchange of contemplative looks as four of the five rack their heads together to uncover a solution. The one in need of help only hunches in his seat, waiting with mild disinterest.

“Oh hey, don’t we have hero training with All Might tomorrow?” Sero is the first to comment, scooting to the edge of the blond’s bed.

“Yeah. So?”

“He said we were going to work on group exercises this time around. You know, teamwork and stuff,” he explains further.

At that, Mina snaps her fingers, the work of a brilliant idea flickering in her head. “Sero, that’s it! Tomorrow, during training, we’ll just form a group together with Y/n! After all, she’ll have to talk to Bakugou if you two are on the same team!” She claps her hands in front of her, her enthusiasm rippling through her body and shown energetically with each raise of her voice. “Then, while the rest of us ‘split up’ to cover more ground, that will be your chance to make everything better with Y/n! It’s genius!”

“You missed one fucking crucial detail, Pinky,” Bakugou gruffs. “That will only work if Y/n doesn’t join another group. The moment she sees I’m on yours, she’s not even going to hesitate making a u-turn.”

“Worry not~ I’ll just text all the girls except Y/n about the plan later and ask them to help sort everyone out!” She solves the problem with relative ease—quick as a click of her phone lighting up and finger sliding open to her messages.

“Uh, another thing though.” Kirishima raises his hand to spare his concern. “All Might says we’ll be splitting into groups of five at most, but there’s already five of us here.”

There’s a brief moment of deadpanning until Mina speaks casually. “Oh, that’s right. Kaminari. Take one for the team and make sure to join another group, ‘kay?” She settles without batting a lash.

Kaminari almost chokes on a mouthful of chips. “H-Huh?! What?! Why me?!!” he sputters.

“Because you’ve been eating chips this entire time and haven’t contributed to anything.”

“Hey, I offered the room, didn’t I?!” He tries justifying but is inevitably rejected by Mina’s wagging finger.

“Ah-ah, no complaints! Besides, it’s only one day of training. If we want this dilemma between Bakugou and Y/n fixed then we all have to play our part, got it?” Mina finalizes with a firm point of her finger nearly grazing the tip of the blond’s nose as he leans back to avoid it, eyebrows scrunched in discontent at the role he’s been reduced to.

“Alllllright!” Kirishima springs from his seat with outstretched arms and tightened fists. “Operation: Get Y/n to Forgive Explosion Boy is underway!”

“Dude, that’s a terrible name!” Sero laughs but rises from the bed to join the redhead’s cheer alongside Mina, the group already in high spirits.

Despite rolling his eyes at their swell of confidence, Bakugou does not object to the state of things. As crazy as it sounds, one could almost decipher the cusp of a grin pulling the seams of his lips as a possible sign he’s actually all for this extravagant little plan. Quite a first for Bakugou, but then again, there’s not much else he can do in this situation except rely on his pack of chumps.

Meanwhile, Kaminari grumbles something beneath the salty grit between his teeth.

“Alright, can you all get out of my room now?”

.

.

The scowl etched on your face carries a strong air of disdain that dampens the mood around your teammates considerably. Well, no one should be surprised. With Bakugou standing across from you, staring into the void of your expression, it’s to be expected that you wouldn’t be happy with this outcome.

No, “unhappy” doesn’t quite do your circumstance justice. You are beyond livid.

You feel your eyebrow twitch as you try quivering your lips to form a tinge of a smile. Unfortunately, all that quickly falls apart when you suddenly recall the disaster of last week, triggered by an accidental glance at Bakugou’s mug.

Trying to simmer down, you release a mental sigh amidst the turmoil boiling inside you.

Okay, maybe you’re over-exaggerating. Maybe you’re still just a bit too bitter for your own good and letting your emotions get to you. But in a class of twenty or some students, how did you end up in a group with the one person you were actively trying to avoid?

The moment All Might gave everyone the go-ahead to form their teams for today’s training exercise, you swiftly made a beeline toward two particular star students. Midoriya and Todoroki.

It was simple really. Your experiences throughout the school year told you Bakugou planned on staying away from his rivals when it came to teamwork, regardless of whether you’re there or not. He’s a competitive ass whose goal is to beat anyone he deems a threat in his climb to be the number one hero. It’s only logical you partner with people he adamantly dislikes to evade him.

Yet it seems fate has other plans for you today. By the time you found yourself pacing over to the two students you had in mind, they’d already gone and picked their own group members, forming teams before you could even ask.

Your nose wrinkles like you’ve taken a whiff of something rancid. Or, to be more specific, something fishy. Hooking an arm around Mina’s elbow, you drag the pink-haired girl off to a corner somewhere while tilting your head back at the three other boys.

“Ex. Cuse. Us.” Your words sound as stiff as cardboard. It comes out in practically a hiss when your eyes cross Bakugou. Once you’re positive you’re out of earshot, you whip your head at Mina.

“Mina, what the hell? When you dragged me over here to form a group with you you didn’t tell me he’d be there,” you groan. Childish and petty as you may sound, you just couldn’t fathom the idea of confronting the boy so soon.

Mina holds her hands out, ready to rationalize the whole ordeal. “C’mon Y/n, this is actually an advantage for us! With us four plus you on our team, we’re sure to knock the rest of the other guys out during training today! I mean we showed pretty good teamwork together at the sports festival, didn’t we?”

Steadying your gaze, you hold a finger below your chin as you slowly buy into the explanation. The reasoning is there. It’s hard to argue against a case like that, fully aware that being on the same team as explosion boy will easily snag good results for you and your party. ‘Cause as much of an arrogant jerk as he is, you have to admit Bakugou Katsuki knows his way around hero action like the back of his grenade gauntlets.

“Besides it’s not like you could avoid him for the entire school year. I mean, you two are in the same class. It was only a matter of time before you had to—”

“I know, Mina,” you interject, not wanting the rest of her sentence about the inevitable fall to your ear. “I just… Agh, you know what I mean!” You ruffle your hands through your hair in confliction, unsure how to piece your thoughts together.

Tilting your head over Mina’s shoulder, you sneak a glimpse at Bakugou, watching him as he’s cast to the side with the others. He’s fending himself from Kirishima and Sero’s combined jokes, that usual look on his face sending glares at the two and yelling something you could almost pick up on if you honed your ears a bit more. Surprisingly, when his eyes meet yours for a split second, he stands there looking nonchalant again. Both of you immediately avert your gazes.

Mina pats your shoulder, bringing you back to the conversation at hand. “I know, I know, but after this, I’m sure you can go back to ignoring his ass. After all, it’s just one training exercise, right?” she says. As her words deliver some relief to your ill-timed situation, you give in with a sigh.

Unbeknownst to you, turning your back to Mina and striding toward the rest of your teammates again, you miss the small glint in her yellow eyes, along with the subtle gestures she aims at the three boys, waving her pointed thumbs over your head secretively.

“So I take it you’re on the team with us, Y/n?” Sero asks when the two of you return. You nod in reply and the boy flashes his pearly whites in a wide grin that Kirishima mirrors. He nudges Bakugou at his sides which you subtly catch in the far corner of your eye.

You raise a brow suspiciously at their fidgeting, wondering why having you on their team warrants such enthusiasm, but you’re thankful for their energy at least. Someone has to lift the atmosphere for this not to be a complete drag and Bakugou surely isn’t going to be the mood maker of the group.

The blond scoffs. “Yeah, well, if you dumbasses are going to form a team with me, you’ll follow under my leadership, got it?”

The three readily agree. Though you roll your eyes, you don’t challenge his position, considering no one else is that much up to the task as he is. You’ll simply have to deal with the fact that you’re forced to tread through the day under his leadership. So with no objections, the five of you walk back to the class, gathering around the entrance of today’s battlefield.

Jumping into the activity, All Might goes about explaining today’s lesson to the four sets of teams—consisting of a group exercise to heighten teamwork. The name of the game? Capture the flag.

In short, each team will be split off into different sections of the labyrinth where their assigned flag is stationed. The objective is to not only protect your flag from being stolen but also try and steal an opposing team’s flag from their base and escort it safely to your home field. Nice and simple.

Not long after All Might’s explanation, the gate to the training grounds opens and you all scatter off into your teams, navigating through the twists of the maze to locate your flags. Once your group situated themselves onto your home base, you assemble in a huddle to devise a strategy before the game starts.

“So what’s the plan?” Kirishima asks, eyes darting around his teammates until they rest on Bakugou—the team leader. The ash-blond crosses his arms, a confident sneer plastered on his face as he’s already thought of his plan of action the moment All Might announced the mission.

“Easy. I’m going straight to the front-lines to swipe one of those dumbasses’ flags. You lot are gonna stay here and guard ours until I come back.” He delivers the strategy in a matter-of-fact tone that you quickly don’t take a liking to. Your fist curls in irritation.

“What kind of a plan is that?” you question audaciously, your voice louder than you intended. “So you’re just going to do all the work while we sit around and wait for you?”

Bakugou grits his teeth, leaning further into the huddle to direct his senseless logic. “Look, it’s the fastest and most surefire way to snag our victory without sacrificing anyone,” he says. Playing over his words again, he finds it surprising he even chooses to offer his reasoning. Because if it were anyone other than you he was arguing with, he’s certain he’d leave it at that.

Knowing the current tension between you was a result of his misjudgment, it feels only right for Bakugou to make an effort in communication. He ignores the antsy expressions belonging to the others who signal from behind you to follow along with their original plan.

You don’t seem to catch the hint, nor do you buy into his ridiculous strategy. “Oh, so you’re that confident you won’t get taken out by the other team then?” you quip. As a result, Bakugou’s brows tighten at your noncompliance.

“I know how to take care of myself. You of all people should realize by now that no other nerd in this whole damn class can outmatch me.”

“And what about an ambush? How do you know they simply won’t anticipate your strategy and see you coming?” You fire another counterargument and the boy purses his lips, beginning to find this quarrel spiraling into a headache rather than a step in the direction of reconciliation.

While Sero and Kirishima stand there, shifting their heads back and forth throughout the fiery exchange, Mina speedily reacts. The gears of that cunning mind of hers click into place again.

“You know what, Y/n’s right. Why don’t you two go together then?” she proposes boldly. Her suggestion catches you by complete surprise. You veer in her direction with an incredulous look blown in your eyes.

Before you can open your mouth to protest, the two boys standing beside her immediately back her up.

“Hm, Mina has a point. The chances of you falling into a trap wouldn’t be much if you two work together,” Sero remarks.

Kirishima follows, “Yeah, you guys can watch each other’s backs while going to collect the flag! It’s safer to go in a pair than by yourselves I’d say.”

The three seem adamant about the idea, sharing equally content expressions, and with all that said, you find it hard to dig yourself out of this situation. In a way, you practically volunteered yourself after questioning Bakugou’s plan and doubting his abilities. The group only feels it’s right you come along as his support since you clearly must be worried about his well-being.

Pushing your objections down your throat, you reluctantly agree to tag along with the blond. What you find exceptionally shocking is how Bakugou doesn’t oppose these new conditions. Given his hard-headed temperament, you thought he would’ve scoffed and turned his back at being paired without notice, but no such things were happening here.

...Odd.

“Tch, whatever. Let’s get going then,” is all he gives, starting in the direction into the urban area of the training course.

You trail behind him. “Coming, Boom-Boy…” you mutter the last bit but don’t suppress the urge to let your words be known. Bakugou turns his head and gives you a look akin to an uptight six-year-old you just offended at your local playground. You shrug in response, a corner of your lip pinched upward. He doesn’t pick a fight over the nickname, but his eyebrows remain fiercely slanted, and coupled with his heavy steps and the excessive swinging of his gauntlet-clad arms, it tells you of his emotional constipation plain as day.

.

.

The journey toward the other teams’ flags is cloaked in strained silence and the physical gap between you two does not encourage any of you to speak up. At this point, both of your levels of annoyance for each other have mellowed out. Now it just feels... awkward—strange. You don’t see his expression, nor does he see yours. It feels like you’re being left in the dark, having only the back of Bakugou’s head to stare at the entirety of the way, and though you supposedly have his back, Bakugou feels precarious in this state as he trudges along at the front, not daring to turn his head to cross your eyes.

The ambiance is reminiscent of the ancient Greek legend of Orpheus and Eurydice. Where Bakugou walks through the depths of the underworld, seeking you out in hopes you’d join his side once again. If he turns around now and spills his thoughts to you too soon, he fears that your forgiveness would be whisked away, thoroughly beyond his reach, and replaced with your promises of retribution.

That was the eloquent version of the situation anyway. To put it bluntly, Bakugou was just impatient as hell to say something to you. The silence suffocates him to the point where the words are nearly about to be squeezed out of his throat, but he bites his lip to snuff out the urges.

The more he keeps them in, the more fidgety he becomes, hands itchy and mouth trembling with grit between his teeth. The idea of not letting his voice be heard was something Bakugou detested. Mainly because it was already such a challenge to even keep his mouth shut, given his fiery attitude and lack of patience.

Man, what the hell am I hesitating for? he asks himself, that outspoken side of him spurring him on.

Ah, screw the uncertainty, he thinks. If he doesn’t say anything now, then he won’t get to say anything ever.

Bakugou stops in his tracks, turning his head. Here goes nothing,

“Hey, Y/n, I–”

“Katsuki–”

Words collide into each other, jumbled and incoherent, which take you two by surprise as you meet each other’s furrowed gazes. It’s quiet as you both piece your way through this, eyes trained like you haven’t seen each other in months when the reality is that a week of bitterness has somehow made you act like strangers. The bewildered look crossing his features is foreign to you; you’ve never quite seen Bakugou as taken aback as he is now.

“You first,” you grant before Bakugou could mix up your words again. Even being given permission, the blond still isn’t sure what to say, his thoughts lost on him the moment his voice clashed with yours. He takes a deep breath, calming his senses and steadying his mind for what he wants to convey.

“Look, Y/n, I don’t know how to put this as nicely as I can,” he begins, tone consistent yet wary, assessing your expression, “but I know I fucked up and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you there all by yourself. I shouldn’t… have blown you off like that and forgotten about you.” He delivers this bluntly—honestly—as open as a boy of his nature can muster with arms spread out, willingly exposing him to his faults and your reprisals.

Looking at you, he finds your eyes are cast to the floor, assuming to be reflecting on his words carefully. After some deliberation, you come across the vermillion in his eyes.

“Frankly, I haven’t entirely forgiven you just yet. But I will say that despite how I’ve been acting, I’m not as mad at you as you think,” is what you give, and Bakugou would be lying to himself if he didn’t achieve relief at your statement. He mentally releases a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding throughout the exchange. However, you aren’t done yet.

“I just want you to understand what moments like those mean to me. It’s during that time where I can share my feelings and learn more about you—understand who you are,” you say. Bakugou latches onto every word. “And it goes both ways, you know. It’s hard to want to stay in a relationship with someone who doesn’t make an effort to make time for you.” It’s obvious you aim that comment at him as Bakugou’s eyes soften slightly hearing it. His calloused, glove-clad hands wrap into his palms. Man, he really was a jerk.

“Still… I know you’re making an effort to be sincere and that you’re genuinely sorry for what happened, especially considering how the others seem to have set this whole conversation up, right?” Bakugou winces over the Bakusquad’s ploy coming to light and makes a note not to follow along next time unless those dummies can scrape up a more elaborate plan.

Despite that, he presses on, “So, what does this mean?” A smile settles on the curve of your lips, sensing his impatience as his voice hastens you along.

“Well…” you begin, speech drawn out in anticipation as you step toward him to where Bakugou follows your movements. That is until he catches a few shadowy figures shifting around atop the small building behind you. Before you can open your mouth to continue, his instincts flare to life.

“Hey, look out!” he exclaims, already acting on his warnings by lunging forward to push you out of the way. Your breaths draw back into your lungs, your body thrust abruptly into the opposite direction. Landing on your butt, you wince at both the shock and the pain, but your whines desist when you witness Bakugou taking a force to the head as a result of coming to your aid.

“Katsuki!” you yell, immediately getting off the ground to rush to his side, but he can’t find it in himself to respond. Afflicted with a substantial blow to the crown of his head, his whole being throbs and his vision spins.

Fuck, is Y/n, okay? is the first thing on his mind, ignoring the liquid trickling down his forehead. His question is answered upon turning his head to meet your anxious expression—your eyes wide and lips quivering as they move to say words he can’t exactly make out beneath the pounding sensations consuming his mind. As he feels a set of arms wrap around him, he tries discerning his surroundings to form a reply, but can only capture bits and pieces.

“—tsuki! ...old… n!”

“...god—! I’m so dead!”

A sputter of words tangling together is the last he hears before his vision fades to black.

.

.

The next time Bakugou awakes, his eyes slowly sever open to come face-to-face with a blurry white ceiling. The lights assault his vision as his senses take time to adjust, unraveling the environment to realize he’s laying on a bed—a hospital bed to be precise.

He attempts lifting himself but is met with retaliation in the form of his pulsating head which he immediately flinches at. His hand goes to rub his scalp to soothe the ache and he finds bandages wrapped tightly around him. “What the hell happened?” The last he remembers is traversing the urban area with you for the capture the flag mission before finally confronting the subject that had been plaguing your minds for a week now. After that, he caught sight of some object descending toward you and before he had even realized it, his feet had moved on their own. Next thing he knows, he’s waking up in the nurse’s office with a headache from hell.

Wait, what about you? Were you okay? Surely, he had to have pushed you out of the way in time, right?

His head moves quicker than it should’ve, revealing the other hospital bed in the room to be unoccupied, vacant. He sighs and his relief is further bolstered by the door to the nurse’s room opening to unveil you unharmed with only your heavy look of concern troubling him.

“Katsuki, oh thank god, you’re okay!” you say, quickly pacing over to his side with a glass of water in hand. You leave it at his bedside, sitting before him. Gauging your appearance up and down, Bakugou tries making out even the smallest details.

“You aren’t hurt?”

You’re appalled he would ask this despite clearly being the one patched up in a hospital bed right now, and likely sporting some serious head trauma.

“Of course I am, you’re the one that lunged forward to protect me,” you tell him. Bakugou looks down at his lap, figuring that was what happened, but hearing it from you comforted him more than he thought. However, his comfort is wretched from him by the intense pressure persisting in his skull. Seeing him in pain, you urge him to lay down and rest.

“How the hell did I end up here anyway?”

You fidget with your fingers, hesitating on answering. At that, the blond lifts a brow, suspicious.

“Mineta… accidentally dropped a rock on your head.”

“...You gotta be joking, right?”

Bakugou leers hard, finding the reason he was out of commission to be a damn pebble hitting his head a detriment to his pride. And because of Mineta of all fucking people. Still, if he hadn’t acted as quickly as he did, you would’ve been the one to meet his fate instead, and he weighed this outcome to better than the former.

Then you explain how the teachers had temporarily intervened to bring his unconscious body to the nurse’s, where the old lady went about tending to his injury. Said she did her job and all he needed was to rest and let her quirk take fuller effect within that time.

“So did we win the game?” He switches the topic to today’s mission of capture the flag that was cut short on his end.

You shake your head, but at least grant him the benefit of knowing Mineta’s team ended up placing last. At that, his eyelids shut and he crosses his arms behind his bandaged head. “Yeah, well, it wasn’t my intention to win anyway.”

You give him a look. “...Liar.”

Bakugou cracks an eye open at you. “Hah? What do you mean I’m a fucking liar?”

“I know you, Katsuki. I dated you, after all. And the Katsuki that I dated is an arrogant, competitive jerk who thinks of being the best above all else.” Bakugou scrunches his nose, wondering what you’re implying through your... overly frank descriptions. “Still… he’s sweet and caring at times… and reliable when he needs to be,” you continue, tone softening that draws Bakugou in, “And the kind of guy I want to give a second chance to.”

Absorbing your words, Bakugou blinks. “S-Seriously?” He doesn’t mean to stutter, but the offer catches him off-guard. He replays what you just said. That’s what he heard, right? A second chance?

You giggle at how uncharacteristically astonished he sounds. “Yes, seriously.”

“Does that mean you forgive me for what happened last week?”

You hum between pursed lips in playful contemplation. “Well, maybe you can redeem yourself by going on another date with me then?”

Hearing your proposal, a wide grin arcs his lips, edging into a smirk.

“That’s it? Well, I can definitely fucking do that,” he states, confidence rejuvenating his body at the new, hopeful chance before him.

“Oh, just one more thing though,” you suddenly add.

“What?”

“We are not going to that Chinese Restaurant again.”

[chewiedon]

hello! could i maybe request a sort-of follow up to ur toxic traits genshin post? maybe something where g/n reader breaks up with them and they’re (genshin) miserable over it? would love to see!

aaaa ofc ofc !! i worked on this longer than i probably needed to lol. i couldn’t make all of them, so i just put the top three :D

DILUC

You had told him right after Angel’s Share had closed and the tavern was empty besides you two.

His first thought when you told him you wanted to end it was that it was a joke.

After a long conversation with him about it, the only emotion coursing through his veins was hot and burning rage.

You, breaking up with HIM? It’s the biggest insult to him and his ego and pride had taken a swan dive off of the summit.

He tried his best to be reasonable and not get violent, but as soon as you had raised your voice he backhanded you right across the cheek.

After the breakup he had assumed you’d come crawling back. But you didn’t.

Regrettably, he had threatened to blackmail you. Threatening to leak all your precious little secrets, however none of them were directly illegal. Just embarrassing, nothing that’ll get you into much trouble.

Somehow he went from threats to straight up obsession, taking whatever remnants he could find of you. If you drank out of a certain cup at his tavern, he’d drink from it too. Diluc’s obsessed with the idea of ‘indirectly kissing’ ever since the breakup.

_____

“You’re being delusional, (Y/N). You don’t want to leave, you just feel pressured to.” Diluc’s voice was low.

You huffed, in awe almost, “Delusional? No. You don’t know when to get off your high horse and I’m sick of it. I thought you might have a change in heart but you’re too stubborn to see mistakes, especially in yourself.”

You had tried your best to keep your voice level to a minimum, not wanting to yell at him. Diluc set his hands on to the counter, and after a brief moment of silence he slammed his fists on to the wooden surface making you jolt. You could hear the glass bottles around you almost begin to shatter at the sudden shake.

“You’re being unreasonable!” Diluc started, “I’ve done so much for you just to leave me high and dry… Am I just some wallet to you (Y/N)?”

Your heart rate began to race, hoping to the bottom of your heart he wouldn’t hurt you. Quickly, you stood up and walked towards the exit.

“No, I loved you. For a long time, but not enough to deal with your bullshit.”

KAEYA

Plays it cool, thinking it’s some kind of prank or something like that.

After a while, he starts to realize you’re being serious and something inside him snaps.

“I was just kidding, princess! You know that right? I’d never do anything to deliberately hurt you, I’m not like that!”

He refuses to let you go, even after you’ve ended the relationship he still tells people you two are still dating.

“(Y/N)’s just throwing a little tantrum, nothing serious.”

_____

You stormed into Kaeya’s office, slamming the door behind you. Kaeya was sitting on his desk, his left leg over his right skimming through a book that rested on his lap. His attention gliding over from the text to you, slowly.

“You’re a real fucking riot you know that? I told you I was sick of your shit and now you’re clinging on to me like a piece of gum on to the bottom of my shoe,” you hissed, malice laced in your tone, “Stop playing like I’m the bad guy, grow a pair and move on.”

Kaeya’s cocky tone sounded like nails on a chalkboard to you, “Baby, you know you can’t get rid of me just like that, right?” he demonstrated with a snap of his fingers. “It’s cute watching you try though-”

“Keep this shit up and I’m quitting, the knights have opened up more than enough opportunities for me. I stayed here because a part of me wanted to hang on to you, even though our relationship has ended.” You emphasized the last part.

A quick click of his tongue and his smirk faded.

“You know what I’m tired of? The miscommunication, I don’t think you understood when I said you were mine.”

A moment of silence before the clicking of his office door filled the walls.

“I’m not some toy you can choose when, and when you can't play with.”

Another loud slam from you as you had shut the door on the way out, with hopes you’d never have to step into that horrid room ever again.

ALBEDO

His work was precious to him, and you respected that as much as you could.

You only had so much patience, and each of his projects were running it thinner by the day.

Not to mention how much time he spent with Sucrose alone, and whenever you brought it up to him or Sucrose herself the both of them seemed speechless.

When he came back to Mondstadt briefly to go over some plans with Sucrose, and you had got Jean to squeeze in some time to have a small conversation with Albedo himself.

“Darling,” he said as he embraced you, his limbs seemingly tired, “I missed you so much, why are you here?”

After a careful explanation his face seemed unreadable, disbelief was all over his features. His eyes fell onto the floor while his throat swelled up.

You had to leave with a very heavy heart and an even heavier burden of guilt.

Albedo comes to your formerly shared home almost nightly, to grovel at your feet begging you to take him back. Spewing inaudible apologies.

_____

“I’m so sorry,” you shifted your body away, about to exit the knights’ headquarters.

“Wait!” Albedo’s voice echoed through the halls, stopping you in your tracks.

“Please don’t go, I’ll do anything but please don’t go… I can’t do any of this without you. I’ll work less, I’ll do anything for you, I promise-!” he tripped over his own feet, Sucrose rushing to his side.

“No! Don’t leave me! You’re all I have left-!” His cries were silenced at the quiet slam of the door closing.

Your figure disappearing from his view.

[dopepoisonivyoncrack]

Going for a blr comment instead of AO3 as I feel this might get lengthy. 

Firstly, something that has been popping in my mind while reading for a while and some lines in this chapter fully cement the feeling so I think it's well due that I say it. You write like Astarion loves. And the smut parts rise to the level of his lover skills. 

The rest of my thoughts here concern Ava (and Tav). *Taking a deep breath*:

It might be the way I got deeply invested in this story and how Tav is written in a way that I can connect ~100%, but Tav said to Ava here exactly what I thought of a few days ago. Almost word-for-word, I had to put down the phone for a break. 

“It is not. Whatever bond you think you share with him is superficial and frail. There's nothing to be jealous of.” 

*screaming and shaking like a chihuahua* Of course this is the kind of thing this Tav would say to her when accused of jealousy! I would also say she is right, especially because she is talking to Ava. 

That woman also had something to say that made me go up the walls anyway. In her talk about Astarion’s “devotion”, feeding on Tav and her experiment on the spawn, I got that she is hinting that Astarion’s feelings for Tav are actually, somehow, an effect of Tav’s blood. Like HOW DARE SHE??? 

Tav and us readers may not know enough to pass a judgment on Ava, not on her being a friend of foe, not on her as a person, which is one of the main frustrations BUT Lord, is every conversation with or about her full of red flags! Everything she says or does, the more it is exposed, while not enough to support accusations, is enough to sustain distrust, wariness, anxiety, anger, general feeling that something is not ok, maybe quite bad actually. I feel like she is manipulating Tav this whole conversation, while keeping Wyll out. It is clear what she wants now, what the knife and glass are for, she wasn’t even subtle. While Tav wouldn’t be one to agree to her proposition, I feel like she will now try to exploit Tav’s protectiveness towards Astarion, and it's enough to make fury bubble in me right behind the surface.

And her killing her companions and searching for Astarion to do all this now… again, not enough to pass judgment but doesn’t sound right at all. Instead of an explanation and assurance that she is not a foe, is quite the contrary. More like her “genuine care” for him is twisted, sick, and most importantly detached from who he is. Fundamentally different from Tav's feelings for Astarion, although in story a nice thing to make comparations. Ava sounds crazy…. which might explain why Astarion is ok with her company… and Tav may not know enough to judge why she killed her companions, or how she feels for Astarion, or their bond. But Ava doesn’t know about Astarion and Tav’s story either, not their travels, not their quest in Cazador’s palace, not their bond. She may know enough to try to exploit it, but not to appreciate its true value and depth. I don’t believe her saying she would stop if Astarion asked, I don’t believe her change of heart is with good intentions, not towards Astarion, or the other spawns, not towards Tav. Even if she thinks its for good, her very perception of what is good seems twisted at best... in which case, given she seems also smart and cunning, makes her feel so dangerous.

Ava does feel complex and intriguing as a character. She obviously is great enough to keep my mind busy…busy rotating her like a pig on a spit above fire, anyway. Chewing on her character as we speak.

Thank you for providing us with such delectable story and new characters! I love it so so much, this fic has me in a chokehold

The Arrangement (8) - Revelations

Chapter summary: You finally confront Ava, but the conversation takes an unexpected turn.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: Innuendo. Mentions of abuse and trauma.

Word count: 5.3k

Series Masterlist

You found him by the edge of a cliff overlooking Baldur's Gate.

The first rays of light began to spill into the morning sky in hues of yellow fused with orange. You would never tire of watching the city you called home being engulfed in such beauty.

“Enjoying the view?”

Astarion was holding a somewhat mellow smile on his lips as he turned to face you.

“I hadn't seen this much colour bathing the city in over two hundred years.”

You stopped next to him, looping an arm around his and resting your face against his shoulder.

“It's beautiful, isn't it?”

He sighed. “I do not want to get too attached to it. In case things go awry, that is.”

‘Awry’ meaning that he wouldn't be able to ascend…

It always made your heart clench to think about how much Astarion still held on to that.

But you didn't want to think about such things for now.

For now, you were more than content to share this moment with him.

“The sun looks beautiful on you,” you said truthfully.

It wasn't exactly a challenge, but you adored praising and stroking his ego.

A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest. “As most things do, darling."

"That is true.”

He then placed his cold hand atop yours. “As you once did.”

His words hit you with such force that you felt your chest too heavy all of a sudden.

You glanced up at him, meeting his soft crimson eyes. “Astarion…”

Would he ever move on?

Would he ever move on from you?

He offered a defeated smile. “I know, I know. Just friends, right?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

He didn't utter another word as he looked on ahead.

You kept your grip around him, enjoying his firmness and how he made you feel so safe and comfortable.

Deep down, you were just thankful he couldn't see the single tear that streamed down your face.

The cold and wet trail brought you back to witness the sight of the sun emerging on the horizon line. 

You pulled your legs up so you could rest your chin on your knees, hugging yourself as the breathtaking view filled your vision.

How you wished you could share this with him like many times before.

As lovers.

As friends.

You wiped the tear away with the back of your hand as sadness spread inside you.

There was no point in dwelling in the impossible. At least until you found a way for him to experience all the colour the world had to offer with no limitations.

Sleep hadn't come to you this night and it wasn't because of nightmares or the fact that Astarion had left you painfully yearning for his touch.

Your mind was just all over the place, trying to make sense of how things felt with him after that conversation.

Truth be told, you were more than happy with the occasional intimacy and giving him space.

But his taunting words still lingered in your mind.

You were certain he craved more than a friendship, but how much of that spread beyond carnal lust was something you weren't sure about.

Maybe even Astarion didn't know.

As much as you longed for more, you still wanted to mend your friendship first and bridge the distance that had come between you two. 

As you pushed yourself from the bed and slipped into your robe, you took a quick glance at the mirror in front of you.

Eyes puffy and reddened paired with deep eyebags.

Wonderful.

You heaved a deep sigh as you exited the room, heading towards the kitchen area to brew some tea.

The door to his room was firmly shut and you hurried past it with bare feet.

The entire house was still swallowed in silence and darkness.

You quickly lit up a few candles before reigniting the fireplace and putting the kettle on.

The familiar squeak of the door to his room filled your ears.

As the water came to a boil, you poured a few herbs inside the cup as you poured the scalding liquid.

You heard him call out your name and your stomach immediately fluttered as he came into view, slowly pacing towards you.

“How did you know it was me?”

Astarion's lips curled into a smile. “I know the sound of your footsteps by heart.”

There was no trace of deceit in his remark.

His voice rang true and not as a mere attempt at flustering you with honeyed words.

He meant it and you felt the warm embrace of his presence tightly enveloping you.

Astarion had learned the way to your heart like no one else had ever tried to. 

He could crawl under your skin and have you yearn for him like no one else could.

And he did all of this effortlessly and like second nature.

You returned a warm smile, feeling the addictive embrace of his presence.

He felt like the home you longed to come back to.

As you moved to sit on the sofa nearby, enjoying the warmth that radiated from the cup in your hands, he eventually sat next to you, crimson eyes meeting yours and, for a moment, you held your breath.

He was your home.

“You look horrible.”

A snarky one.

You chuckled at his bluntness, taking a sip. “Didn't get much sleep.”

“Nightmares again?”

“No. My mind was just busy…”

He slowly nodded. “Was it too much? What we did?”

You glared at him in surprise. “What? No. What about you?”

His eyes narrowed. “I wanted more.”

“That doesn't answer my question.”

He crossed his legs, adjusting his elegant shirt. “It wasn't nearly enough.”

“You were the one to stop it…”

“Because I had to. Gods know how long it took to… calm down, so to speak.”

The implication that dangled from his words wasn't particularly subtle.

Oh.

Oh.

Your cheeks flared up. “I… didn't hear you…”

Astarion flashed a teasing smile. “I know how to avoid being heard, unlike a certain someone.”

Bad timing had you nearly choking on your tea.

“Careful, darling. You'll get all wet… again.”

The nerve!

You shot him murderous glare, wiping your chin.

Then the two fell into a comfortable silence.

You melted into the backrest of the sofa, cradling the cup in your hands, humming a tune that you had almost forgotten about.

“I find myself missing our journey, you know?” he said after a while.

“Even having to play the hero?”

He tapped his chin pensively. “Even that, as surprising as it sounds. I could have done without all your ridiculous acts of heroism, but I grew to enjoy indulging in some of them.”

Your heart thudded happily at his honesty.

“Who would have thought that you’d find joy in being selfless,” you teased with a smile.

He lifted one finger. “Do not misunderstand. I still come first. I spent too many centuries not being able to and I won't give that up now.”

You nodded, fully understanding his line of thinking.

In the meantime, your hand had dropped in between you two and you felt coldness reach your fingers.

You looked down, startled, only to be met with his fingers gently brushing against yours.

And just like clockwork, your heart sped up.

Astarion had his eyes fixed on the swirling flames that emanated from the fireplace.

Little by little, his fingers began to intertwine with yours until his hand gripped you tightly.

Your mind blanked for a moment at how unexpected this was.

In time, his cold skin began to warm up against yours.

And then it dawned on you that he had never held your hand this way.

He had helped you up on your feet more times than you could count.

He had gripped your hand in his as both of you hurried along collapsing halls and while being chased by the most vicious of creatures.

But he had never held your hand as if seeking for silent comfort.

You shifted so you could rest your head on his shoulder.

He tensed slightly under your touch, but eventually relaxed and you seized the opportunity to melt into his side, enjoying the familiar scent of bergamot and rosemary.

Home.

You weren't sure how much time had passed, but the tear in your cup had gone tepid and you began to feel guilty.

You had considered not telling him about confronting Ava.

But you didn't want to lie and hide anything from him, especially if it concerned him in the first place.

You pulled slightly away from him and he met your gaze.

“I'm going to meet Ava tonight.”

You expected an angry outburst of indignation from him, but were met with an inquisitive glare instead.

“Why doesn't that surprise me at all?”

That was it?

“Wait… you are not going to talk me out of it?”

At this, he faintly chuckled, still firmly gripping your hand in his.

“Honestly, darling, when has that ever worked?”

Point taken.

He knew of your stubbornness all too well.

“Besides, do you intend on killing her?”

You widened your eyes. “I – no? I don't think so?”

Though you couldn't swear on this until you were actually absolutely sure she was as harmless as he claimed her to be.

“Then, you have my blessing.”

You then narrowed your eyes suspiciously at him. “You don't even want to go with me?”

“Do you want me to?”

“It's not necessary.”

He shrugged. “Then I won't.”

Astarion was acting uncharacteristically accepting of your intrusion, and that rang a plethora of alarm bells in your head.

It was as if he knew you'd have no reason to harm her.

“Why are you so… calm about this?”

His eyes met yours. “I am well aware you can turn Ava into a pile of dust should she cross your path. But I don't believe you will do such a thing.”

“Why not? I don't trust her.”

His grip around your fingers eased slightly. “I don't expect you to, but you do trust me, don't you?”

“Yes.”

You didn't hesitate for a second. After all, you had trusted Astarion through things that most people would have staked him for. The two of you were way past the uncertainty of not trusting each other's intentions.

It was more evident that the glaring issue that plagued your relationship was rooted in miscommunication and not mistrust.

“And I trust her.”

That ground on your nerves. “But why?”

“Because I have to.”

You immediately dropped his hand, turning in your seat to fully face him, already feeling the familiar irritation that came with him not being fully open with you at times.

“Astarion, you need to start telling me why you hold her in such high regards,” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You can also trust me. Whatever it is… just tell me.”

He glared at you with a faint scowl. “She is taking my blood with the intention of lessening some vampirism weaknesses.”

Oh?

“Such as?”

“Well, the insatiable hunger is the main focus.”

You stared at him in silence, not quite sure what to make of this.

The Wish Spell could grant him the ability to walk in the sun again, but this seemed even more ambitious.

And dangerous.

“Obviously, this is all rather theoretical, but it seemed like a sound prospect,” he went on, sinking into the sofa with an exasperated sigh. “As selfish as I am, I also considered how this could be helpful to the spawn in the Underdark.”

His words took you quite aback.

“This… seems too good to be true,” you said hesitantly.

“Oh, I'm aware. That is why I am keeping my expectations in check.”

You really, really wanted to hate Ava.

But if her motifs were truly this altruistic, then you were going to have a hard justifying that feeling, which provided another added layer of anger altogether.

“So, if you want to talk to her, you are free to do so. Seeing is believing or so they say,” he said with a witty grin.

You sighed.

Astarion was a bad planner.

No. He was a terrible planner.

He could identify the end goal, but would have no clue how to get there and would merely make adjustments as he went along, hoping for the best.

Luck had been on his side as of late, but you lacked that optimism.

And he obviously saw that splattered across your face.

“Oh, please. I know that look – just say it,” he scoffed.

You weren't even sure what you wanted to say.

Deep down, you felt extremely protective of him and didn't appreciate that she was exchanging lessons in intimacy for his blood.

It all seemed very one-sided and the promise of also helping him – and by extension, the spawn in the underdark – still seemed unrealistically… convenient.

“Are you even sure any of this will work? Has she made any progress with your blood?”

“Some progress. Not enough to keep me too hopeful, but I will take anything these days.”

You could sympathise with the sentiment, but…

“I still think there is something off about her.”

Astarion just looked as amused as ever. “No jealousy?”

You rolled your eyes. “No.”

“Well, she would have nothing to gain from sending us both to prison,” he said. “She knows I exclusively feed on you and that I do need to feed regularly.”

The nonchalant way in which he uttered those words, brought a wave of heat to your face, as the events from a few hours earlier resurfaced in your mind.

There was a hint of intimacy in the act itself, but also in the aftermath. Astarion's senses would be sharpened as your blood coursed through his body.

“Seems like I broke your concentration, darling,” he said teasingly, effectively snapping you from your thoughts.

You jolted briefly and then scowled, annoyed that he could see right through you so easily.

“Don't flatter yourself.”

He gave you a devious smile. “I don't have to. Not when your body provides the finest flattery there is.”

Gods.

You wished you could turn off the effect his honeyed words always had on you.

Clearing your throat, you straightened up in your seat. “Very well, then. I am willing to be enlightened.”

A teasing smile tugged faintly at his lips. “Good girl.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

Regaining your composure, you said, “Wyll is going there with me tonight.”

Astarion drew a sleazy grin this time. “Oh, so that was what the two of you were plotting yesterday.”

You rolled your eyes.

“And here I thought sweet Wyll had finally mustered the courage to take you out on a lavish date,” he said with a dramatic and forceful pout. “Seems like romance is dead, after all.”

For some odd reason, Astarion was under the impression that Wyll harboured feelings for you that surpassed friendship.

But what Astarion didn't know was that your heart was too full of him to allow room for anyone else.

His taunting words created the perfect opening for you to return the gesture.

“No jealousy?”

His smile only grew wider. “Do you want me to be jealous?”

You were entering his territory, and should tread lightly. 

“Maybe you should be jealous,” you whispered.

He shifted closer to you and you held your breath.

“And why is that? Why should I be jealous of your friendship with him?”

Gods, he was good .

Your heart drummed faster in your chest as his face drew near.

He was a master at disarming you with carefully laid out traps whilst using his words as alluring bait.

“He's very… friendly.”

You inwardly cringed at your ridiculous remark, which earned a chuckle from Astarion.

At this point, he was so close you almost feel his cool lips on yours.

“Well, hopefully not this friendly.”

That was it.

He was going to kiss you and you couldn't give a damn about it.

But before he could do so, the faint rhythmic thud of footsteps pulled you out of immersion, and the two of you pulled apart at once.

Lae'zel.

She reached the bottom of the staircase, eyeing both of you like she had just run into the most disappointing event of her life.

“The sun has yet to fully rise, and the two of you are already at it again,” she said with a scowl. “Wasn't the coupling from last night enough?”

Your jaw dropped open in sheer mortification.

Surely she hadn't… heard anything… right?

“Where is your sense of decorum, Lae'zel?” Astarion clicked his tongue, leaning back against the sofa once more.

She gave him a stern glare. “You wouldn't know decorum if it hit you in that pale face of yours, Astarion.”

He chuckled. “My, my… someone is feisty today.”

“The sounds you two made could raise the dead from their graves,” she said, moving swiftly towards the front door with her sword keeping her company. “I am not sure how much more of this torture I can take.”

You stood up at once, feeling embarrassment take over. “Oh! We… uh… Astarion was just feeding and–”

She held a hand up. “Spare me the grotesque details. I'll be going out on a hunt. Don't expect me for lunch.”

And without a further exchange, she slipped through the door.

Astarion was now on his feet and heading towards the staircase.

Somehow, you couldn't help but feel a tad of disappointment as he left your side.

His company was something you reckoned you'd never tire from.

“See you later, darling. And do fix that lovely face of yours,” he teased dramatically. “Rose water works like a charm.”

And you couldn't hold back an endearing smile.

The night came quicker than you had hoped.

Confronting Ava made you feel truly uneasy, especially after learning some more about her.

As promised, Wyll had come to you, escorted by two Fists. The mage slayer stationed outside, quickly joined the four of you, and you felt the magic within you dip dangerously low from her presence.

The journey to The Blushing Mermaid proved to be rather uneventful and you were more than thankful for it.

“Does Astarion know about this?”

You nodded. “He has also told me the reason why she's taking his blood.”

Wyll's eyes met yours and you could see the tension on his face. “Whatever could be the reason?”

Fortunately, the two Fists walked far behind the two of you to preserve some privacy.

“She wants to lessen the effects of vampiric hunger.”

He arched an eyebrow and you approached the familiar tavern.

“That sounds too convenient .”

You almost pulled Wyll into a kiss as he unknowingly validated your concerns.

“Exactly. Maybe I am overthinking it, but I need to make sure nonetheless.”

He nodded firmly.

Those crowding the entrance immediately made way for you to walk inside, and you heard a few salutes as others inside bowed to Wyll.

Bork approached the counter with a tilted smile on his face. “Duke of Ravengard. To what do we owe the pleasure? Hope we are not in trouble?”

A few drunkards nearby erupted in laughter.

“Unless you have indeed done something unlawful, I wouldn't worry too much, Bork.”

He offered Wyll a forced smile, which he didn't return.

“We are looking for Ava,” you chimed in impatiently.

His face instantly dropped. “Ava? Is she in trouble?"

Honestly, what was with everyone and this woman? Was she some goddess in disguise?

“We just wish to talk to her,” Wyll answered.

Bork hesitated at first, but glared at the two Fists flanking you. “First floor. Third room to your left.”

You nodded and swiftly made your way upstairs, feeling your heart hammering fast in your chest as you paced along the corridor.

Wyll knocked thrice on the large door.

It swung open almost immediately, and Ava came into view, holding a knowing smile.

“I was expecting you.”

A swirl of nausea settled in your stomach.

She extended one hand, standing to the side so you could walk in.

“As pleased as I am to be visited by our Duke, I shall ask for you not to enter.”

You immediately turned to see Wyll scowl deeply. “Tonight I'm no Duke – I'm her friend and you shall let me enter.”

Ava tapped on the door lightly. “These are my quarters, and unless I am being charged with wrongdoing, I have the right to decide who to invite inside, Duke .”

The two Fists were gripping the handle of their swords, ready to draw them.

Wyll motioned for the to be at ease and turned his head to you. “I will be waiting outside.”

Ava wiggled her fingers dismissively, further gnawing at your nerves.

“Do not try anything witty, hunter,” Wyll said in a tone you hadn't heard since he last faced Mizora.

She chuckled. “I have abandoned those ways. You may simply call me Ava.”

But before he could reply, she pushed the door closed in one swing and glanced at you with an excessively sweet smile.

“So? I don't believe you came all the way here to simply gawk at me.”

You cleared your throat. “I have a few things I need to discuss with you.”

“Of course. I would be surprised if you didn't.”

Your patience was running thin.

“It concerns Astarion.”

“Still not surprised,” she said with a tilted smile. “I'm all ears.”

“He's told me about you.”

“Hopefully not everything, but do go on.”

She moved to a table and poured a red liquid into a goblet. “Can I tempt you with some red wine?”

You scowled and she laughed. “It is not poisoned, though I do understand your hesitation.” She then took a long sip.

Glancing around the room, you realised it could easily pass off as the inside of an apothecary store. There were endless rows of shelves and cupboards that housed countless vials of glass with suspicious content.

There was a small fire burning by the window with a large flask set right above, the flames barely reaching the bottom as a deep dark red liquid gurgled.

Ava sat on a lavish armchair, holding the goblet to her lips.

“I know you're taking his blood for some experiment in regards to vampirism,” you began, keeping your voice steady. “Even to supposedly help the vampire spawn in the Underdark.”

Her pleasant face wavered momentarily. “He's offering it to me. Freely.”

“You are taking advantage of him.”

“I am not taking advantage of anything. It's a mere transaction that we have both agreed upon.”

“Blood for intimacy?”

“That seems rather… crass.”

“You are taking advantage of his… wounds…”

“Why are you so hellsbent on accusing me of being the one taking advantage of him? He also has much to win from this arrangement.”

“Because you have the upper hand here. The price for a chance at healing from his wounds seems rather unbalanced,” you said, feeling heat flare throughout your entire body. “You get his blood, which is a sure thing, and he gets a ‘perhaps’ on all fronts: intimacy and that hunger “cure” you're promising.”

Ava glared at you with eyes slightly narrowed, chin resting on the back of her hand.

“There are wounds that take time to heal. Some never heal at all, my dear.”

“I'm aware.”

“Are you? Are you, really?” Ava said with a scoff. “I am not the enemy here. Your vitriol against me is rooted in something primal.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Primal?”

“Is it jealousy, I wonder?”

You clenched your fists. “It is not. Whatever bond you think you share with him is superficial and frail. There's nothing to be jealous of.”

“Actually, I do believe your words… it is not jealousy, indeed,” she said, tapping a long nail on her chin. “But rather… protectiveness.”

You remained silent.

“I dare say that protectiveness can blind even the wisest.”

“I am not blinded. I can see there is something unsettling about you.”

“You look, but you do not see,” she said as she took a sip of her wine. “Your attachment to him is your weakness.”

“Caring for others isn't a weakness.”

“You taught him that, did you?”

The faint mockery wasn't lost on you, and it made your nails dig further into your palms, regning in your temper as best as you could.

“He doesn't need to be taught anything. Astarion may need some guidance, as we all do from time to time.”

Ava merely chuckled. “May I see your neck?”

What?

Her words caught you off guard, but you did not move an inch to comply with her request.

“Ah… your reluctance is answer enough,” she tutted. “He has fed on you recently, hasn't he?”

Now, that immediately had your stomach turn in revulsion, realising just how transparent she truly was.

“So this is what it's all about – you just want him to feed on you instead.”

Ava rolled her eyes with a forced yawn. “On the contrary. Of course, I have vaguely wondered what it feels like, but Astarion is far too devoted to your blood to even entertain the idea.”

“Then why did you complain to me about him not feeding on you?”

She crossed her legs elegantly under her emerald green dress. “I was merely taunting you. Again, his devotion gets in the way.”

“I wouldn't necessarily call it ‘devotion’.”

“Oh, but I would. See, Astarion's bond to you is exquisite and much welcome… to say the least.”

Her flowery words were really testing your patience now.

“Elaborate.”

“The last time he fed on you and gave me his blood was right when you left The Blushing Mermaid. A few days later, I tried his blood on some spawn in the city outskirts that have taken to living underground in search of a cure.” She paused briefly to take yet another sip from the goblet. “The results were vastly different from my previous experiments.”

“Can you just get straight to the point for once?”

“Oh, you really are a feisty one…” Ava said with a teasing smile. “As I was saying, the results were rather interesting and unexpected. The spawn reported feeling sated much quicker than before, but the effect wore off in the first hour, which was a disappointment.”

You froze instantly. “You're… using my blood?”

“Well, yes… and no,” she said in a casual tone. “Your blood mixed with his, that is. Before that day, I had never tried his blood after he fed on you.”

You felt as though you might be sick as your stomach lurched violently.

“This is… I – does he know?”

“Well, I haven't been given the chance, considering how the two of you got thrown into prison,” she said with a shrug. “And I am fully aware you think I am somehow responsible for it.”

You were still so taken aback by her earlier revelation, that you had momentarily forgotten about that detail.

“Now, what would I gain from setting you two up, especially after I just told you this.”

She did have a point.

Seemingly.

“You mentioned other spawn – why not use their blood instead? Why his?”

“Oh, darling… ” 

The way that word rolled out of her tongue grated on your nerves, and you realised only one person could masterfully use it without provoking a visceral reaction.

“Astarion isn't really your regular spawn, is he? Even when he was under Cazador Szarr's influence, he would still rebel against his commands while his siblings cowered in fear of defying their master.”

An overwhelming sense of dread took over at once.

Astarion has revealed how Cazador had kept him buried alive for a whole year as punishment for letting a potential victim go.

He had clawed his hands raw from despair as he wished for death to just take him.

Even remembering this vaguely, made your heart hurt for him.

“How do you know that?”

Ava rose to her full height, brushing her long and dark curls from her shoulders.

She paced towards a desk and began ruffling through pieces of parchment.

“I was a monster hunter for over twenty years and my group kept a close eye on Cazador and his spawn,” she said, not lifting her eyes. “Astarion had been on our radar for a while, but he was quite experienced in slipping through the cracks whenever we tried to go after him.”

You swallowed.

“Imagine our surprise when he suddenly goes missing. My partners were dumbfounded beyond belief. No vampire spawn is able to resist the compell of their master for that long.”

She then moved back to the armchair, flipping through a couple of scrolls.

“We thought he had met his demise somehow, so imagine my surprise when I find out that he's back in Baldur's Gate. Walking in the sunlight and next to… you.”

You weren't sure where this conversation was headed and you weren't sure you wanted to know.

Ava took your silence as encouragement. “Cazador was attempting to become the Vampire Ascendant and we were set on stopping him, but were instead met with his manor bathed in blood and corpses littering the place.”

So they had gotten there after your group stopped the ritual and prevented the rite from taking place.

“So now you're suddenly an alchemist who wants to help vampire spawn? Why the change of heart?”

Ava met your eyes and her face was void of any amusement. “Astarion and I connect in more ways than you think.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms and waiting to hear some circus clown reasoning.

“I wasn't a monster hunter by choice,” she said sternly. “I was born into it and molded into their ways.”

Your defensive demeanour wavered momentarily.

“I shall not go into details, but all you need to know is that once Cazador Szarr was gone, I was driven by curiosity and sought Astarion out so I could learn more about what makes him so different from all the other spawn I've come across.”

You narrowed your eyes at her. “So you just left your group? Just like that?”

She snickered. “They were killed.”

“What? By whom?”

She snickered as she took another sip. “By me.”

You were left speechless.

“I thought that if a vampire spawn could break the chains from his master and embrace freedom again, so could I.”

She let out a chuckle, emptying the goblet in one sip.

“So, I offered to help him as he's helped me. No more, no less.”

You really wanted to hate her.

You wanted her to give you a solid reason to be suspicious of her intentions.

But…

“So you genuinely care for him?”

She nodded. “I do. And if Astarion were to walk through that door and ask for us to part ways, I would accept it. It would essentially kill my research until I found someone remotely adequate, but I would make peace with it.”

This conversation had not taken the turn you expected.

At all.

“I can see the confusion in your eyes. You truly believed I am out to get you when I'm probably your best option right now.”

“Best option? In regards to what?”

She extended her arm towards a chair in front of her. “Take a seat.”

You did so, reluctantly, never letting your guard down and her out of your sight.

“Cazador Szarr had many enemies, but he also had many allies. People who were not pleased with his death.”

She now had your undivided attention and you felt your palms sweat.

There wad actually someone going after you? After Astarion?

“I have ways to find who they are.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” you immediately asked, feeling rather unsettled by her words.

She clicked her tongue. “I need assurances first, and I have a proposition to make.”

You saw the flash of a knife emerging from her sleeve and a tall glass container being placed on the table by her side.

TBC

Ao3

Series Masterlist

[itsclydebitches]

I keep seeing people calling Good Omens queer bating and a I can't help but ask why? I read the Aziraphale/Crowley relationship threw an Ace lens and they are clearly as close to married as they are probably going to get without stepping on holy ground.... and they love each other... why is it considered queer bating?

Personally, I think it's mostly young queer fans turning legitimate grievances on the wrong target. A case of getting so fed up with queerbaiting in media as a whole that they're instinctually lashing out at anything that seems to resembles it on the surface, without taking the time to consider whether this is, in fact, the thing they're mad at. Good Omens is a scapegoat, if you will. The equivalent of snapping at your partner after a long day. Your friend was an asshole, your boss was an asshole, the guy in traffic was an asshole, and then you come home to your partner who says something teasing and you take it as another asshole comment because you've just been surrounded by assholeness all day, to the point where your brain is primed to see an attack. Your partner wasn't actually an asshole, but by this point you're (understandably) too on guard to realize that. Unless someone sits you down and kindly reminds you of the difference between playful teasing and a legitimate insult - the nuance, if you will - your hackles are just gonna stay up and you'll leave the room, off to phone a different friend to tell them all about how your partner was definitely an asshole to you.

Only in this case, that "friend" is a fan on social media doing think pieces on the supposed queerbaiting of Good Omens, spreading that idea to a) people who aren't familiar with the show themselves and b) those who, like that original fan, have come to expect queerbaiting and thus aren't inclined to question the latest story with that mark leveled against it. Because on the surface Good Omens can look a lot like queerbaiting. Here are two queer coded characters who clearly love each other, but don't say "I love you," don't kiss, don't "prove" that love in a particular way. So Gaiman is just leading everyone on, right?

Well... no. This is where the nuance comes in, the thing that many fans aren't interested in grappling with (because, like it or not, media is not made up of black and white categories; queerbaited and not-queerbaited. Supernatural's finale is proof enough of that...) I won't delve into the most detailed explanation here, but suffice to say:

Gaiman has straight up said it's a love story. He's just not giving them concrete labels like "gay" or "bi" or "asexual," etc. because they are literally not human. Gaiman has subscribed to an inclusive viewpoint in an era where fans are desperate for unambiguous rep that homophobes cannot possibly deny. The freedom to prioritize any interpretation - yes, including a "just friends" interpretation - now, in 2021, feels like a cop-out. However, in this case it's an act of world building (they are an angel and a demon, not bound by human understanding of identity) meeting a genuine desire to make these characters relatable to the entire queer community, not just particular subsets. Gaiman has said they can be whatever we want because the gender, sexuality, and romantic attraction of an angel and a demon is totally up for debate! However, some fans have interpreted that as a dismissal of canonical queerness; the idea that fans can pretend they're whatever they want... but it's definitely not canon. It is though. Them being queer is 100% canon, it's just up to us to decide what kind of queer they are. This isn't Gaiman stringing audiences along, it's him opening the relationship up to all queer possibilities.

We know he's not stringing us along (queerbaiting) because up until just a few days ago season two didn't exist. Queerbaiting is a deliberate strategy to maintain an audience. A miniseries does not need to maintain its audience. You binge it in one go and you're done, no coming back next year required. The announcement for season two doesn't erase that context for season one. No one knew there would be more content and thus the idea that they would implement a strategy designed to keep viewers hooked due to the hope for a queer relationship (with no intent to follow through) is... silly.

In addition, this interpretive, queer relationship between Crowley and Aziraphale existed in the book thirty years ago. Many fans are not considering the difference between creating a totally new story in 2019 and faithfully adapting a story from 1990 in 2019. Good Omens as representation meant something very different back then and that absolutely impacts how we see its adaptation onto the small screen. To put this into perspective, Rowling made HUGE waves when she revealed that she "thought of" Dumbledore as gay in an interview... in 2007. Compare that to the intense coding 17 years before. Gaiman was - and still is - pushing boundaries.

Which includes being an established ally, particularly in his comics. Queerbaiting isn't just the act of a single work, but the way an author approaches their work. Gaiman does not (to my knowledge) have that mark against him and even if he did, he's done enough other work to offset that.

Finally, we've got other, practical issues like: how do you represent asexuality on the screen? How do you show an absence of something? Yeah, one or both of them could claim that label in the show, outright saying, "I'm asexual," but again, Gaimain isn't looking to box his mythological figures into a single identity. So if we want that rep... we have to grapple with the fact that this is one option for what it looks like.

Even if he did want to narrow the representation down to just a few identities for the show, should Gaiman really be making those major changes when he's only one half of the author team? Pratchett has, sadly, passed on and thus obviously has no say in whether his characters undergo such revisions. Even if fans hate every other argument, they should understand that, out of respect, Good Omens is going to largely remain the same story it was 30 years ago.

And those 6,000 years are just the beginning! Again, this was meant to be a miniseries of a single novel, a novel that, crucially, covered only Crowley and Aziraphale's triumph in being able to love one another freely. That's a part of their personal journey. Yeah, they've been together in one sense for 6,000 years, but that was always with hell and heaven on their backs, to say nothing of the slow-burn approach towards acknowledging that love, for Aziraphale in particular. We end the story at the start of their new relationship, one that is more free and open than it ever was before. They can be anything to one another now! The fact that we don't see that isn't a deliberate attempt on the author's part to deny us that representation, but only a result of the story ending.

So yeah, there's a lot to consider and, frankly, I don't think those fans are considering it. Which on a purely emotional level I can understand. I'm pissed about queerbaiting too and the knee-jerk desire to reject anything that doesn't meet a specific standard is understandable. But understandable doesn't mean we don't have to work against that instinct because doing otherwise is harmful in the long run. We need to consider when stories were published and what representation meant back then. We need to consider how we adapt those stories for a modern audience. We need to acknowledge that if we want the inclusivity that "queer" provides us, that includes getting characters whose identity is not strictly defined by the author as well as characters with overtly canonical labels. We need both. We likewise need to be careful about when having higher standards ends up hurting the wrong authors - who are our imperfect allies vs. those straight up unwilling to embrace our community at all? And most importantly, we have to think about how we're using the terms we've developed to discuss these issues. Queerbaiting means something specific and applying it to Good Omens not only does Good Omens a disservice, but it undermines the intended meaning of "queerbaiting," making it harder to use correctly in the future. Good Omens is not queerbaiting and trying to claim it is only hurts the community those fans are speaking up for.

[writing-for-life]

You know, I’m thinking about this often, too, and all I (like you) can say is:

We don’t know the full story.

I actually start to think, more and more, that there’s something conceptual/metaphysical in there. Because Nada is the only of Dream’s ex-lovers who killed herself (provided that part of the story is true).

Suicide is the end of all hope, hence all dreaming (and Morpheus would know, because that’s exactly what he does later, both in real terms and metaphorically/metaphysically).

That isn’t just a rejection for a “good” reason like the no mortals rule, or because she is afraid for her people. It is the rejection of his very essence, the rejection of, and the severing herself from, all that is D/dream. It’s still petty, but I feel this is the only distinguishing factor, compared to his other failed relationships.

Edit to add: There’s a lot in the lines that she’ll never give up hope BUT we also learn between the lines she is possibly (!) only in hell because she somewhat believes she belongs there. So if she is looking for forgiveness, she truly needs to start dreaming/hoping again, and maybe she just didn’t for 10,000 years? Meeting him again when he is in hell might have been the catalyst for that? Also, she was hoping for his forgiveness, but maybe she didn’t forgive herself? Which is tragically also mirroring Morpheus tbh.

Just ideas I’m throwing around, @rey-jake-therapist and @poobtato , but I feel they could be going into a direction that’s not just surface level and engages more with Dream (and hope) as a concept.

Other than that, we only know bits that Dream told us. We can surmise certain things from what Desire and Death say. We can even tell a few bits from Dream’s and Nada’s conversation after he freed her.

The prevailing consensus seems to be: It was an overreaction and unjust, I think so much is clear.

But what exactly the catalyst was? I think we’ll never know, unless they decide to show us.

Even the women’s version wouldn’t be enough—after 10,000 years, all stories that are solely told orally change to a significant degree. Via omission, via addition.

The only chance we would ever get is if Nada told the story herself (and we assume she is honest of course).

Or if we showed their story as it unfolds, instead of having a narrator of sorts telling it.

I sometimes wonder if Dream projected his deep loathing of Desire onto Nada. The sibling relationship was already deeply fractured at that point, so who knows. But that seems too simple to me. So I’ll stick, for now, with the metaphorical and somewhat metaphysical explanation and say:

Something about the fact that she killed herself and hence stopped having hope/dreams was the catalyst, because it’s a much deeper rejection. And that she didn’t have hope/dreams for 10,000 years, and that seeing Kai’ckul again made her dream/hope again, which then sets things in motion conceptually.

It doesn’t make Dream right, and it also makes him a hypocrite if we judge him by human standards. But if we judge him as a concept, it maybe makes sense?

I was reading @tickldpnk8 's excellent meta about Desire, when something they said about Dream disapproving of Destruction's relationship with Ishtar the goddess of love planted a series of questions in my mind...

First question: how their function influences the Endless' love life? Why was Destruction drawn to a goddess symbolizing Love? Why did Dream disapprove it? Why did Dream neglect Calliope after she gave birth to Orpheus and why did he really severe his connection with them both?

Was it all just..... personal?

When I read that Destruction had a romance with the goddess of Love, my first reaction was to find it.... weird. What do Destruction and Love have in commun? At first view, not much even nothing... except maybe that destruction Can happen because of deceived love?

Dream is the romantic of the family, it's Destruction himself who states it in Song of Orpheus when he tells Orpheus he's just like his father. Dreams inspire the artists and the poets, so his union with Calliope, the poet's muse, probably made sense to everyone (except her sisters, who thought in their great wisdom that Dream was an asshole 😂). But Destruction and Love? Yeah I can totally see why it raised a few eyebrows in the Endless family. I mean, we know Dream in particular disapproved the relationship but Ishtar told her friend that her romance with Destruction ended because of "his family" not just her brother in law, so my guess is that she had to deal with vehement hostility, from everyone not just Dream.

Why would be that? My headcanon's now that the Endless feared that Love would be a bad influence on Destruction, because he would be less kin to do his job right since he would start seeing things differently, about humans, the love they can have for each other and the beauty of it. And I actually suspect that his relationship with Ishtar may have had him question his function indeed, and its necessity. Maybe it's really because he knew Love (he sort of dated it!) that he walked away from the Endless family and didn't choose anyone to succeed him? He knew that love would always end up destroyed but he didn't want this responsibility anymore?

(Please notice I'm mostly talking out loud here.... these are just some random thoughts and questionings....)

Now, Dream and Calliope. In the Wake, Calliope says Dream was basically the perfect husband until she became pregnant. It's often thought that their relationship was damaged by what happened to Orpheus, but the fact is that they started drifting apart long before that. Of course as humans it's tempting to think that Dream lost interest in his wife because she became a mother and he looked at her differently: that's what men often do, right? But Dream isn't a man and Calliope is a goddess; the product of their union was Orpheus, who represented "the supreme power of poetry and music to enchant all natural things". If I look at the evolution of Dream and Calliope's marriage purely on their respective function, the fact that 1. they had separate lives even when they were in love and happy 2. They drifted apart once Orpheus was conceived, both things make perfect sense!

It's often assumed that Dream "gets tired" of his lovers once the thrills is gone aka once the seduction phase is over. But I think it's oversimplifying and again, forgetting that Dream isn't human, he doesn't think like one. My current headcanons regarding Dream and Calliope are that,

They got married first because it seemed to be the perfect union regarding their respective functions. It doesn't mean they didn't love each other, but Dream has loved others before and after Calliope... she's the only one he married, and I don't think it's a coincidence.

They didn't live at the same place, Calliope visited Dream' realm only when she wanted: doesn't it reflect perfectly what inspiration does to us? Coming and going through our dreams, being absent sometimes for months even years....

Once Orpheus was conceived, it's possible that Dream's interest in the relationship faded because... His union with Calliope had filled its purpose. Yeah, I'm aware of how bleak it sounds, but again I'm thinking strictly in terms of concepts, which Dream and Calliope are.

The fact that Dream severed his connection with both Orpheus and Calliope is of course explained within the story told in the comics, but it also can find its roots in the humans'world: the vision that humans have of art, dreams and gods HAVE changed. They don't seem as intrinsically connected as (maybe?) they used to be, at some point science took over and humans kept believing in dreams, but in gods and mythology in general? Not so much. The divorce between Dream and Calliope, I think, symbolizes this dissociation.

I can't NOT also tag @writing-for-life and @poobtato on this big subject ;)

[fishstyx]

russian roulette.

featuring. nagito komaeda x fem!reader

wc. 2.0k

genre. smut, dark/taboo

tw. 18+ nsfw, noncon, penetration, gunplay, degradation/humiliation

synopsis. nagito follows you into the final dead room and shows you the proper way to play russian roulette. drv2 spoilers/context (chapter 4) ahead.

“And just what do you think you’re doing here?” Nagito says from behind you, his sudden utterance booming off the solid concrete surroundings. An uncharacteristic disgust drips from his every word, drawn out so painfully slowly that you’re convinced he thinks you a mere toddler.

“Playing the Life-Threatening Game,” you reply as nonchalantly as possible, but he’s caught you unawares. You startle even as you speak, the shudder of your body undoubtedly making its way into your voice. You’re sure that the door had locked behind you, so just how did he manage to slip in while the game was still in progress? Not to mention that the person in front of you doesn’t truly seem like Nagito Komaeda. Sure, he’s always had his quirks, but right now it feels like you’re talking to… somebody else.

“With only one bullet?” is Nagito’s only response as he creeps toward you, frown deepening when you back away, gun clutched to your chest. 

“And what about it?” You do your best to plaster on a brave face, but your arm hits the wall behind you and you’re suddenly hyper-aware of how small, how suffocating the Final Dead Room is with another person in it. He lets out a heavy sigh as he corners you, box of bullets in hand. The clatter of metal rings in your ears when he presses you into the blood-stained walls, leaning into your ear to whisper:

“That’s not nearly enough.” He fishes the revolver from your shaky hand with ease, the clinking of extra bullets following soon after. “Even someone like you understands, don’t you?” He loads round after round into the gun, pressing bullets into each chamber until they’re flush against the cylinder surface, and it’s all you can do just to watch. “That the payout of this game rests upon the difficulty you set it to.” 

On top of you still, he picks the sixth bullet up and waves it in your face, almost mockingly. “It’s safe to assume that the killer, a coward among cowards, played it safe and loaded a single bullet same as you did. And as for me—well, I’ve already cleared the highest level.” Sliding the final bullet in with a click, he pushes the cylinder back into the gun frame with marked familiarity. “At least, I thought it was the highest level.” 

“H...huh? Highest level?” you wonder as loud as you dare, earning a scoff from Nagito. 

“And here I was thinking you could follow along with a simple explanation. How short-sighted of me. Well, you can save your questions for later.” Smirking at the sight of your mouth agape, he spins the cylinder before you can interrupt again. “As I was saying, I only thought I was playing at the highest level. But thinking back on it now...” His face draws close to yours, hot breath tickling your skin as he rests the muzzle flat against your quivering lips. “Wouldn’t it be something if you survived this?”

Holy shit.

You struggle under Nagito’s weight, legs going weak under the looming threat of death. How did you let this happen? One wrong move and you’d be nothing but an addition to the bloodstains behind you. “T-This isn’t funny, Nagito.” Your lips tremble around the revolver, heavy and icy to the touch, when it doesn’t budge an inch. 

“What I’m trying to say,” he continues, unfazed, “is that your efforts will be pointless if you don’t go all out here. We’ll learn nothing new if I let you play the way you want to.” You hear the words, and yet you can’t make sense of them. Not when the classmate before you holds your very life in his hand.

“Nagito, please—” you say more forcefully, heart pounding all the while.

“Please what?”

“P-Please put the gun down.” But one look at his face and you know he’s not having it.

“Oh, so you’re not going to pull the trigger? Even if I do it with you?” Sheer disappointment crosses Nagito’s features as he deliberates, armed hand never so much as faltering. He studies your face in silence, the break from his ranting more eerie than comforting. The temperature of the room drops several degrees when he finally speaks again. 

“Oh, I know.” He lowers the gun only to drag it down your neck and along your chest, drawing wide circles around your buds. “Hopeless halfwits like you need a little incentive, don’t you think?”

“That’s not what I—” 

You’re cut off by your own sharp inhale as the gun presses into your abdomen, tracing the outline of your thighs and traveling even lower still. It runs up and down that sensitive spot between your legs, poking and prodding near your deepest nooks and crannies, testing for a reaction. And he eventually gets one, a soft groan tumbling past your lips when he grinds the muzzle against your clit—and although clothed, it sends waves of electricity straight to your core. 

“You were saying?” Nagito laughs when you fail to respond, mortified by your own body’s betrayal. It’s as if you’re frozen in time. Your heart practically leaps out your chest and your eyes, wide as saucers, flicker from the gun to Nagito, Nagito to the gun, and back again. It feels like an entire lifetime passes you by when he continues to brush against the sensitive nub, chasing after another reaction, but you’re paralyzed now. You watch in slow motion as he grows impatient, fingers dipping below your waistband, pulling your panties down just far enough for the tip of the barrel to kiss your bare cunt. 

Move. Move. Move, you tell yourself. Your head throbs and your fingers twitch. He can’t kill you, not in the middle of an investigation. Not when another student was just murdered. Not unless... 

You search Nagito’s cat-like eyes for some glimmer of humanity, a silent plea, a probe into the void itself—one that leaves you with more questions than answers.

Not unless he’s the killer himself.

With the wicked smile he’s sporting, much too twisted and much too wide, you don’t doubt it for a second. But he gives you no time for critical thought, instead plunging the gun deep inside your pulsating pussy, not a moment spared to prep you.

Your back arches instinctively; you weren’t ready for this, not in a million years would you ever be ready for a pistol to slide inside you, such a cold and stiff thing spreading your walls without so much as a warning. It’s so far up that the trigger guard presses into your clit, bundle of nerves puffy and swollen from all the stimulation. A searing sensation emanates from between your thighs and you can’t help but let out a little yelp.

“N-Nagito! Wait...” you try again, a pathetic mewl more than anything else, but it doesn’t seem to register. His expression is unreadable as he inches the gun out little by little, sliding your pants down to get a better view. And then he pauses when the muzzle surfaces from your entrance.

That’s when you see it. The gun’s barrel, glistening with arousal, glistering in liquid coating, and he just holds it there as if to say, would you look at that—you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?

“You know, it’s hard to understand you when you mumble.” You choke up when he suddenly jams the gun back in, stroking—no, pounding your gummy insides with fevered delight, your slimy slick squelching below you, pit of your stomach unraveling as the metal warms itself up with the heat of your core. 

A shameless whimper escapes you when he keeps up the pace, dynamic movement burying the pain in pleasure, your mind swirling with delirity. This shouldn’t feel good. And when you stop to think about it, it really doesn’t. Your walls are raw, sensitive, and throbbing, but some primal part of you is overflowing with desire, getting off on the thrill. 

Because every time the rigid ridges of the barrel burrow into you, the knot in your stomach tightens, threatening to cut loose. The gun bottoms out inside you over and over again, relentless in its constant push and pull. It forces your body into submission, coaxing it into something limp, ragdoll, and unrecognizable because the stimulation is just that overwhelming. Your knees begin to give out; it’s too much, the way your tight heat flutters around the pistol, his pistol, juices soaking your clothes and dripping out onto the floor. 

“Nng-Nagito, please stop, I-I can’t—” You struggle to find the right words, stuttering incomprehensibly.

“Hmm, can’t go on? Would you rather be doing... something else?” He cocks the hammer to remind you of your place and you shake your head vigorously, trying desperately not to think about the possibility of death, as well as the ache that grows ever stronger in your core.

“How utterly disgusting. So you admit you actually want this,” he practically spits, your pathetic pussy pulsing in response. 

That’s not true. 

“With a body like this, are you sure your talent isn’t the Ultimate Slut?” 

It really isn’t, you think. But something about his tone of voice makes you clench even tighter around the gun’s barrel, senses punctuated by his ceaseless pumping into that one spongy spot that has you curling your toes. Saltwater threatens to spill over your eyes when he points it out: “I can’t believe it, you’re basically sucking it in. Dirty fucking whore, making my job harder for me.” 

Your cheeks heat up in shame, thighs shifting wider when he nudges them apart, holding them right where he wants you. You squeak when he plunges the gun impossibly deeper, eyes rolling to the back of your head when you realize you’re about to come undone.

The world shudders when you cum on and over the pistol, the overflow drenching Nagito’s hand. A lewd moan like no other resonates throughout the room—and then you realize that it’s yours, that it’s you who’s moaning, you who’s seeing stars while creaming all over a loaded gun. The tears are painting your cheeks now, exquisite sting doing little to comfort you. His hand stills and you collapse to the floor, exhausted from reaching your high, gun still nestled deep inside you.

Sighing in defeat, Nagito crouches beside you, eyeing you like one would a wriggling maggot. You can’t even begin to imagine what you look like, arms and legs splayed out in haphazard angles, eyes glazed over, your mouth wide open as you pant like a bitch in heat. He taps the side of the gun with a sole fingernail.

“Go on, then. Take it out.”

It takes the last of your energy to swing your arm over, hand clenching the grip of the gun in slothful momentum. It’s hard to think straight. It’s hard to think about anything at all besides your sluggish relief. 

Finally. It’s finally over. The lingering effects of your orgasm die out as you’re left with nothing but the violating weapon stuck up your abused hole. It’s all you can do just to tug on it.

But as soon as you start to pull on it, Nagito grabs ahold, his grip much stronger than your own. Everything in its place, exactly how he wanted it. His smile is torturous, haunting.

“Got you.” He guides, or rather forces, your index finger to its rightful place on the trigger, and you do little to struggle.

“No, no more—” Your voice comes out a meek rasp, labored breath falling upon deaf ears.

“Bang,” he says unceremoniously, pressing your finger into the trigger.

“Say, Nagito, tell me something.” Monokuma turned his gaze from the pitiful sight of your passed out form, left to soak in your own juices on the cold hard ground. “You didn’t happen to rig the game, now, did you?”

“Don’t be a sore loser, Monokuma,” Nagito said as he snatched the prize from the duocolor teddy bear, a hefty file embossed in gold letters that read, clear as day: Makoto Naegi. A knowing smile crept to his lips as he pawed through its contents. 

“The gun jammed, fair and square.”

fishstyx © 2021 ✸ all content and their rights belong to me. do not repost, reproduce, or modify anywhere.

[marauderundercover]

Taking Chances Ch. 14: Back to Basics (De-Aged)

AO3

Prev

The constant attention after her temporary death was a little stifling. Adrien was good about not overwhelming her. He’d seen her take bad hits before and he knew (from personal experience) that the cure would bring the two of them back to normal. No, despite being there in person as she died, Adrien was not drowning her in attention. She was thankful.

Her family, despite her constant reassurances however, did not get the memo. That she was okay. That she would be okay. Now and in future attacks. No, instead they constantly blew up her phone. ESPECIALLY during akuma attacks. Which was one of the only times she didn’t even have her phone on her. But whatever. One good thing did come from her temporary death though. She was talking to her dad. Like, actually talking. The bonding kind of talking. He wouldn’t talk to her about hero stuff (though she imagined he also wanted to forget about her “death” seeing as it was the third time he’d seen the dead body of one of his children). No, instead they got to know each other. She asked about Bridgette, which led to her finding out about his fiance- Selina Kyle. Marinette was really looking forward to meeting her, hopefully next time she took a portal to Gotham.

They also talked about Marinette’s designs- Uncle Jagged, MDC, how the company started, where she wanted to go with the company. Most of their conversations stayed at the surface level of getting to know you, but they were definitely getting closer. Though, she thought that if he’d just talked to her about hero work already (or took her on another patrol), their bonding would happen more naturally. Less like twenty questions. Her brothers, though…

Her brothers were constantly asking questions about how she was, how she felt, if she was safe, if she was sure they couldn’t convince her to leave Paris. It was a lot. But still nice. Nice to know that they cared so much, even if her death was only temporary (as she’d tried to remind them a million times).

The whole “dying painfully and then being resurrected after the battle” thing also led to her and Adrien making a lot of plans. Different ideas and things to do in case of certain akumas, types of attacks, deaths, just a LOT of contingency plans. She’d filled Alfred in on some of the plans, since several involved that half of her family or running to Gotham. But she didn’t tell her brothers. Or her dad. No need to worry or stress them out more than they already were. So she moved on. For several weeks. An entire month passed without Hawkmoth using a nightmare inducing akuma. It was nice. --- Adrien Agreste was not having a good day. It wasn’t really anyone’s fault though. Well, okay that’s a lie. It was definitely his fault. He’d thought after his crazy declaration in Gotham, asking Mari out would be easy. Simple. It was not. All the times he’d said she was “just a friend” were definitely coming back to haunt him. Every single time he tried to ask her out, something happened. An akuma attack. Marinette fell. Emergency photoshoot. Mari dropped all of her stuff and was almost late to class. Lila got someone to confront Marinette about something. He suddenly had an extra fencing lesson with Kagami.

But no more. No. Even though today hasn’t exactly gone as planned (overslept, late for photoshoot which made him extra late for school, got permission to eat at school but forgot to bring his food and then Mari left lunch instead of staying because her brother called so he didn’t even get to see her, forgot his science homework- yeah, bad day) it would be better. Because now he’s walking over to Mari’s and he’s going to ask her out if it’s the last- The shrill blaring of the akuma alarm breaks him out of his thoughts. Really? Now? Groaning, he darts into an alley.

“I blame you.” He deadpans to Plagg, glaring at the kwami’s maniacal laughter.

“Sure kid, sure. You know Pigtails is crazy ‘bout you. Doesn’t mean anything that you can’t ask her out.” He says once his laughter dies down.

“I hope you’re right.” Adrien mumbles. “Plagg, claws out!” He smirks as he’s transformed, feeling a lightness he hasn’t felt all day. He immediately uses his staff to launch himself onto the roof, taking in his surroundings. No crazy weather. No giant stone monster or baby. Nothing flying around. Nothing looks out of the ordinary. Frowning, he retracts his staff to call Ladybug. It rings, but she doesn’t answer.

“Hey Bugaboo. Where should we meet? I don’t see anything unusual. Call me back.” He hands up and decides his best bet is to patrol around, keep an eye out for anything unusual. Just as he starts to think that maybe it was a false alarm, a red blob flies at him. He blinks.

“Chat! Follow me!” Tikki directs, whirling around and zooming away. Adrien’s heart sinks. Please let her be okay. I can’t watch her die again. Please. The words go on a cycle in his head as he runs behind Tikki, too worried to ask. He frowns when she dips down into an alley where someone- not Mari- is waiting.

“What’s going on?” He asks, completely confused.

“The akuma was able to get to Marinette before she could transform.” Tikki explains and Adrien frowns.

“Marinette? Are you- that’s Marinette?” He asks in bewilderment. The girl standing in front of him couldn’t be older than three.

“Unfortunately. The akuma can de-age people.” Tikki says with a sigh.

“Oh gosh, okay. Hi, I’m Chat Noir!” Adrien says, squatting down so that he’s eye level. He extends a hand, smiling at the girl.

“Kitty!” She giggles, throwing her arms around him.

“Oh, uh, hi.” He says, putting his arms around her and picking her up. He turns to Tikki.

“So is this one of those “take her to Mr. Wayne until the fight is over because she can’t be Ladybug right now” situations? Or a “hide her until this is all over” situation? We had  a lot of plans. De-aging was not one of them.” Adrien asks.

“Take her to Mr. Wayne. This akuma is sneaky and we can’t risk Marinette revealing her identity.” Tikki says.

“What?” Adrien asks. How could a baby Mari reveal her identity?

“Adri, wanna cookie please.” Mari says with a pout. His jaw drops and she giggles, patting his face. “Silly kitty!”

“She still knows?” He asks, his voice jumping an octave as he panics. How much did she know? Did she still know everything about the other kwami and the other heroes and- oh god, her dad is Batman. Oh this could be bad. Very bad.

“Okay, nevermind that, where are the glasses? I’ve got to get her out of here before someone hears her tell everyone’s secrets.” Adrien says, suddenly understanding the entire situation.

“Here go!” Mari says, pulling glasses out of her purse. Adrien takes them with a forced smile and merges Plagg and Kaalki. Though the akuma didn’t appear to be deadly, it was going to be a long battle for just one person. Especially since this akuma was actually good at hiding. He makes the portal and steps through, scoffing at the immediate defensive stances from her brothers.

“I’ve been here before.” He reminds them, letting his transformation fall.

“Who’s the kid?” Jason asks, going back to his breakfast when he deems Adrien not a threat. Adrien grimaces.

“So, yeah about that...um, Plagg will explain.” He says, slipping the ring onto Mari’s finger and taking the earrings. Time to get out of this mess. --- Bruce blinks as Adrien leaves as quickly as he came, no explanation. Only a ring of light. He glances at the little girl and frowns. Based on pictures he’d seen, he’d guess the girl was Marinette. But his daughter was a teenager. Which meant this little girl couldn’t be Marinette. But then who-

“Daddy!” She squeals, finally looking at him with her bright eyes. She runs up to him and raises her arms. He blinks, unsure of what she wants. She huffs. “Up.” She demands. He picks her up, eyebrows furrowed as she squeezes him tightly.

“Marinette?” He asks, still confused. A loud cackling draws his attention to the tiny floating black cat at the other end of the table. Of course.

“Pigtails is gonna freak about this later.” He says with a snort.

“And you are?” Bruce asks, wary of the creature. It was definitely not hostile, Adrien did leave it here. But he was still uncertain of its intentions.

“Plagg. The black ca kwami. Akuma back in Paris hit her and you all are her safe house. If she’s unable to fight as Ladybug, someone is supposed to bring her here. The kid or her, if she can still use a Miraculous.” Plagg explains, glancing around. “Say, you got any cheese?” He adds, and just like that, the kwami is off-supposedly to find cheese in the kitchen.

“So- how does she know you if she’s this little? She’s gotta be like, three.” Dick asks with a frown. “You just met.”

“Cause I’m Batman!” Marinette says, mimicking his voice. Jason snorts.

“Sure Pixie, and I’m Ladybug.” He says, reaching over and ruffling her hair.

“No, I am!” She pouts, crossing her arms. “You can’t be, you’re Red Hood.” She adds. Tim- who had been silently sipping coffee- spits over the entire table.

“Good job Drake. Now breakfast is ruined for everyone.” Damian sneers.

“She knows! But she’s tiny! She shouldn’t-” Tim rants.

“It’s magic, Drake.” Damian says, cutting him off. “I am unsure of what you expect. Now, since breakfast is ruined, I will be taking Titus on a walk.” He adds, standing up and starting to leave. Bruce is barely able to stop Marinette from falling as she leaps from his lap and rushes to Damian.

“Can I come?” She asks with a wide smile. Damian hesitates, glancing at him. Bruce shrugs. “Can I come, please?” Marinette adds, sticking out her lip in a pout.

“Tt. I suppose you can come with.” He says with pursed lips. Marinette squeals, grabbing Damian’s hand and tugging him along. The sound of a camera shutter makes Bruce whirl around to see- of course. Dick had his phone out and was taking picture after picture, a wide smile on his face as the two walked away, Marinette babbling on about how cool superheroes are as they walk.

“Who would’ve thought we’d be able to get pictures of baby Mari with us!” He says cheerfully, looking down at his phone. Bruce stills. He could have pictures with one of his kids, as a baby. He glances over at Tim, trying to figure out a way to ask that wouldn’t be too weird. Was the request too weird?

“Don’t worry, B. Already on it.” Tim says, shaking his phone. “Got several pictures of your little hug situation.” He adds. Bruce nods. Still…

“Everyone in the parlor in five minutes. Make sure Alfred comes too. I’ll go get Damian and Marinette.” Bruce says, standing from the table.

“For what?” Jason asks, visually bristling at the orders. Though their relationship was getting better, it was still rocky. And it likely would be for years.

“A family picture.” Bruce says simply. They’d have to take another when Marinette is herself, but he wasn’t about to miss this opportunity. --- Damian Wayne was many things. A former member of the League of Assassins. The current, (and in his unbiased opinion, best) Robin, an animal lover, a brother and a son. He also enjoyed drawing, occasionally painting too. What he was not, was a babysitter. He did not enjoy small children. They often cried for no reason, talked too much and smelled odd. His sister, luckily, did not smell odd. Nor had she cried. She was, however, babbling incoherently. And smiling. Nonstop. It was odd, but not awful. Looking down at the small girl, he was suddenly struck with the awful memory of her death. Of the sword that- no. She was fine. She may be a toddler now, but she was still fine.

“And then, Chat was a bad guy.” She says as he tunes back into her words. He frowns. That’s odd.

“What do you mean?” He asks, sure he misheard her.

“Chat! His suit turned bad and the moon went boom!” She exclaims, gesturing with her hands to mimic an explosion. Why was there no footage of this?

“That sounds like a very bad dream.” He leads, certain that it was just one of her fears. He knew Marinette struggled with anxiety and doubted herself as a hero. Surely that’s all she was referring to. She shakes her head.

“Nu-uh. Not a dream.” She denies, frowning. He starts to ask for clarification, to try and help, when she squeals and runs forward, wrapping her tiny arms around Titus. Damian sighs. It was useless to attempt to have an actual discussion with her right now anyway. Perhaps later they could revisit the topic.

“Careful, Titus.” Damian says, slightly concerned for how the large dog would react to Marinette. He had never really been around small children before, and while he was nice, some dogs just disliked children. Not that Damian blamed them. Instead of knocking her down or growling at her though, Titus nuzzles into her. Gently pushing her along as they walk around the gardens. Damian feels his lip quirk up in a smile. Pulling his phone out, he takes a quick picture, certain Marinette would like to see it later. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Father walking towards them swiftly.

“Father.” He acknowledges.

“Damian. We’re going to take some pictures together before she turns back.” Father says, glancing at Marinette who was giggling against Titus. She turns and notices the two talking, her smile growing even wider.

“Daddy!” She cheers, running forward and jumping into Father’s arms. Damian quirks an eyebrow at the uncharacteristically large smile on his father’s face. It was odd, but he also knew that his father regretted losing so much time with both him and Marinette. The others it was to be expected, but to not even have that time with his own blood children….

“Did you have fun with Damian, sweetheart?” He asks, and Damian blinks at the surprisingly soft tone. Very odd. He suddenly couldn’t wait for Marinette to turn back. He did not care for the sudden changes in his father.

“Yup! Dami showed me the flowers and the trees and Titus is so silly!” She rambles, nearly whacking Father in the face as she gestures wildly. Damian barely holds back a snort as he watches them.

“I’m so glad you had fun. Can we go inside now, there’s some things we want to do before you go back to Paris.” He explains. Marinette frowns, a pout replacing her large smile.

“I don’t wanna.” She whines, and Damian is shocked to see tears. Actual tears.

“Why don’t you want to go home?” Father asks, and the look on his face makes it obvious. He’s thrown.

“Tired.” She says, laying her head on Father’s shoulder. “Akumas are bad.” She adds.

“We’re going to help Marinette. You won’t be alone anymore. You and Chat Noir will both have help. We’ll figure this out.” Father assures her, holding her.

“Perhaps we could continue this conversation later, Father. You wanted to take pictures and there is no guarantee how long she will be...young.” Damian points out, making a mental note to also bring up the ‘Chat was bad’ scenario later.

“Er, yes. Let’s go. Come on honey, it’s okay. You’re still here.” Father says, turning and walking towards the house, quietly reassuring Marinette until she starts smiling again. While seeing his older sister younger than him was entertaining, Damian much preferred older Marinette. She had a better handle on her emotions. And though he would never admit it to her face, was also much more bearable in conversation. --- Jason was not fond of family pictures. Hell, he wasn’t fond of most things that involved family bonding. He’d been around more since they discovered Marinette, but that was mostly to make sure that Bruce didn’t fuck it up too badly. The kid was the most emotionally available one he had. She could do more than brood. And Jason was not about to let Bruce mess that up by being an asshole. So, sure, he’d been around more. But that didn’t mean he had to be in a family picture.

“I don’t wanna.” He argues, glaring at Dick who was trying to get him to come stand next to him. Dick, Alfred and Replacement were all coming up with poses will B got Demon Spawn and Pixie to come back inside. Jason wanted no part of any of it.

“Master Jason, this is a unique opportunity.” Alfred chastises. Jason rolls his eyes.

“I’ll join when he finds another kid.” He mumbles, trying not to sound too bitter. He wasn’t mad at Marinette, not at all. But being Bruce Wayne’s kid was a fucking recipe for disaster. Three of them had died (and come back). All of them were a vigilante or hero of some sort. None of them had a normal life. So as nice as it could be, being a kid of the Bruce Wayne, it was also a bit of a curse.

“Jay!” Marinette squeals, practically throwing herself from Bruce’s arms as they walk into the room. Jason lunges forward, catching her.

“Shit, Pix, you just about fell.” He swears, eyes wide as she giggles uncontrollably.

“Language.” Dick calls. Jason narrows his eyes, about to argue, when Marinette shifts in his arms. Oh yeah. She’s kind of tiny right now. Probably shouldn’t say anything too bad.

“Daddy says we’re gonna take pictures!” She says, grinning widely. Jason winces. Damnit Bruce.

“Really? Well, I’m sure you’ll have lots of fun.” He says, preparing to put her down so that he can dip out.

“We have to get a picture of just the kids too! Daddy says we’ll take more another day, but we gotta hurry.” She rambles, struggling in his arms to be let down. He sets her down, taken aback by how strong she is as she grabs his hand and tugs him behind the couch. Standing right next to Dick. Of fucking course.

“Pix, I don’t-” He tries to say.

“Nope. Picture time!” She cheers, running back to Bruce. Jason shakes his head. Of fucking course the Pixie was gonna get him to do some stupid shit he didn’t want to do. Of course. --- Alfred glances at the new pictures on the wall as he walks down to the kitchen. It had been a few days since Miss Marinette had left. A few days since he was able to see a genuine smile on Master Bruce’s face. The family had managed to get dozens of pictures and videos on that day, including a picture with himself, Master Bruce and the children. Glancing at the picture of just the children, all laughing and cuddled up on the couch, Alfred smiles. It was nice to have these pictures, pictures with genuine joy on his family’s face. Even if it happened because of a villain attack.

Next

Master list

Tag list: @maribat-bdbwm @vixen-uchiha @stainedglassm @liquid-luck-00 @jayjayspixiepop @jjmjjktth @mizzy-pop @trippingovermyfeet @queenz-z @thepaceperson @iloontjeboontje @waiting247 @laurcad123 @toodaloo-kangaroo @ritacrow-blog @deathssilentapproach-blog @kittenmywaythrulife @nerd-nowandforever @tazanna-blythe @jaybird-and-co @jumpingjoy82 @imarivers8 @when-no-wings-do-broomsticks

[snowbearyy]

Can I get the reaction of the Brothers randomly getting dumped by MC with no reason, only to find out later that MC was insecure and thought it was better since he such a powerful demon that he was too good for MC? Thank you!

(This took forever. Sorry! And I changed formats about halfway through, so that's why Levi's is like that. I didn't really know how to convert it... 😂)

Lucifer

He would be very angry and upset but he wouldn't show it

He'd probably stay in his room for hours during the day just to avoid you

When he'd cross your path, he'd just nod awkwardly

The brothers would be so frustrated with this because there'd be a weird tension in the house

But he's mature to a point, so after a few days he'd want to sit down and have a serious conversation with you

After you tell him the reason you broke up with him, he'd be baffled but relieved at the same time

Relieved that he didn't do anything to hurt you, but baffled by the fact that you felt that way

"MC... I understand that I am a powerful demon, but you are a powerful human. I would not be so infatuated with you if I did not believe you were strong, capable, and worthy. I have never once thought I was too good for you. I love you. You're the only person in the three worlds I want to be with." He grabs your hand, "Now, would you be mine again?"

Mammon

He would be crushed

He'd refuse to come out of his room

When he'd have to, he wouldn't make eye contact with anybody

If he had something to tell you, he'd ask one of his brothers to tell you for him

Everyone would definitely be annoyed

When you tell him how you feel, he has conflicting emotions

He doesn't know whether to be flattered that you viewed him so highly or concerned at your level of insecurity

"I mean, yeah, we're powerful demons, but I didn't know you... I- I mean, why would The Great Mammon be with anybody he didn't think was equally as great?! There's no reason for you to be insecure around me. I love you, you know! So just... don't worry about stuff like that, okay?"

Levi

This man would be beyond shattered.

If you think he holed himself up in his room a lot now, you ain't seen nothing yet.

The vibes surrounding his room would be just dreadful.

Nobody would even bother asking him to come out for anything.

You knew he had snacks and stuff in there, but you were concerned about his nutrition so you decided to check on him. When you knocked, there was no answer. The door wasn't locked and there was no request for a password. When you walked in, you saw him in front of his TV with his headphones on, playing a game. You tap on his shoulder and he flinches, face dropping as soon as he sees you. "Levi, can I talk to you?" you ask. He tries to seem nonchalant but you can tell he's very nervous. You explain to him everything you've been feeling and he looks confused, but a bit more relaxed. "You... felt that way about me?" Processing this information takes a few moments for him. "Well, I... I don't really see why you would! I guess I could be considered a powerful demon, but what good is it when I'm like this?! Please don't.. feel that way about a shut-in like me. You're far more amazing! I don't consider myself 'too good' for anything, especially not you! So can we.. go back to the way things were? Please?"

Satan

On the surface, he would be very mature about it. He wouldn't lock himself away in his room or avoid you.

He would try to act like everything was normal

In private, though, he'd be fuming

He'd get really irritated at minor things and snap at his brothers occasionally

Though, he would start to suspect there were strange reasons as to why you broke up with him

He would confront you

When you explain it to him, he'd be really happy

Like an "oh, that's it? we can work it out" type feeling

"I understand, MC. I realize it can be a bit intimidating, but I hope you know nobody views you as a lesser being. You're smart and wonderful and you've changed our lives for the better. I'm especially grateful to you. Because you taught me what it's like to truly love someone. And if you allowed me to continue loving you, I'd greatly appreciate it. Even if you said no, I'd do it anyway."

Asmodeus

He'd be super confused

Like, what did he do wrong?

He'd take a few days to himself

And then after that, he'd convince himself he was back to normal but everybody could tell he's upset

But I think he'd be really upfront about wanting to know the reason why

So it wouldn't take long for him to ask for an explanation and understand everything

He'd also be shocked that that was your reason

"MC... We're totally different species! It's pointless to compare yourself to me. You have so many great qualities, too! I could list them for hours. And I will! But right now, I'm telling you this: I love you more than anything! So I'm not letting you go!"

Beelzebub

He'd feel so guilty and worried that he did something to hurt you

But he'd respect your decision

He wouldn't really know how to treat you after that

Should he give you some space or act like nothing happened?

Because of this, he'd probably end up distancing himself from you regardless

Explaining everything to him gives him peace of mind

And now he's determined to build you up

"I'm sorry you felt that way. If there's anything I can do to make you feel less insecure, please let me know and I'll do it. But you're not weak by any means. And I'm proud of you every day. So, please don't compare yourself. You are perfect. And I love you so much."

Belphegor

He would be... depressed

He'd sleep a lot more than he usually does

He wouldn't blame you, but he'd be upset with himself

He wouldn't want you to see him so he'd hide in the attic or his room most of the day

After talking to him, though, he feels better

He understands you 100%

"I can see why you'd feel like that, but... you're too important to me to give up. I've never compared you to anyone because you're so special. If you think anything can stop me from loving you, you're wrong."

[happylittledrabbles]

Sour, Then Sweet

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugo x Eijiro Kirishima

Rating: 18+ (DO NOT INTERACT IF UNDER 18)

Genre: Fluffy smut

Word Count: 7K

AO3

-

Kirishima used to like having sex with Bakugo...until he had to keep calling in sick every time they did it because Bakugo was so rough, it hurt doing Pro Hero work the next day. He avoids having sex with his boyfriend until Bakugo thinks that he isn't attractive anymore, causing a miscommunication between the two men. Kirishima eventually fesses up, and Bakugo reveals he's preferred romantic sex over rough the entire time.

Then, they try it out.

-

Eijiro Kirishima liked sex. Keyword: liked.

It’s not as if he’s completely averse to it now. No, he enjoys it—it’s very evident every time he does it. But, well, the effects of the deed afterward left much to be desired, and now, whenever Bakugo initiates, he can’t help but imagine the amount of pain he’s going to feel the next day. Bakugo is…rough. Very rough. Kirishima used to like it…the first few times. Really only the first time. But that’s probably because that was when he was between Pro Hero jobs and didn’t have to get out of bed the next day and do actual work.

“Oh, my God, just tell him!” Mina would say whenever Kirishima would FaceTime her, but he’d just change the subject and promptly hang up.

There’s no way in hell he’s going to talk about something as embarrassing as a sore butthole or the fact that his hips feel so rickety that he has to call in sick for work. Actually, he’s had to call in sick every single time they have sex. The fading hickeys on his neck don’t get the chance to fade away before being replaced with a fresh set; usually, that’d be very sexy to the Pro Hero, but when he has to go out as a venerated public figure, being seen by children and old people, it’s very much not desired. Mina lent him her concealer, saying “It does the trick” with a wink, but Pro Hero work isn’t exactly conducive to keeping makeup looking flawless. Thankfully, Pro Hero work is conducive to explaining away the scratches and “bruises” on his chest and neck.

Bakugo is genuinely concerned whenever Kirishima has to call in sick, but the redhead just pushes him out the door saying that he was fine; he just isn’t feeling it that day. But the excuses are running thin. There are only so many times he can call in sick without losing his spot in the top ten of Pro Heroes, and above all, he needs to help people. He can’t help but turn on the TV and watch in horror as depressing story after depressing story popped up on the news, all while lying on his side because sitting on his ass hurt too much.

So…he’d started turning down sex. And never initiating it. Well, he’d stopped initiating for a while. But he’d never turn it down. Now, before getting home, he’d use his trip home to think of all the excuses he could use when he climbed into bed with his boyfriend later that night if Bakugo was in the mood. He knows a simple ‘no’ would satisfy the blond and earn him a forehead kiss before being left alone, but…he still feels guilty. Therefore, the excuses came rolling in.

“Ah, sorry, just ate a big burrito.”

“I just took a shit. Ha.”

“Look over there! Oh, no…our potted plant broke. Gotta fix that.” (Kirishima pushed it off the dresser.)

“I’m really sweaty from work…no, it’s not sexy. No—a villain pissed on me, too.” (They had not.)

Bakugo, instead of being sexually frustrated, has been panicking. The main worry on his mind hasn’t been “Fuck, blue balls again?” Rather, it’s been “Is Eijiro not attracted to me anymore?” He hasn’t put on any weight. In fact, he’s gotten more muscular as an effect of his Pro Hero work. U.A. was challenging, especially with the League of Villains always up their asses, but at least they had their teachers and other Pro Heroes looking after them. Now it’s all up to him. He thought this feeling of losing control would stay at work, but clearly, it’s followed him back home because he can’t get a grip on Kirishima. Any time he thinks he’s figured Kirishima’s feelings out or gotten him close to talking about his feelings, he slips right out of his hands and locks himself behind a door, both metaphorically and physically. He’s already losing control and stamina in his Pro Hero work; the last thing he wants is for that to happen to his relationship.

Bakugo’s frustration boils to a point after a particularly hard day when he comes home and sees Eijiro on the couch, and instead of his boyfriend greeting him with a hug and a kiss, he stiffens and looks over his shoulder with a weary smile.

“What’s wrong with you?” Bakugo shouts, throwing his hands up in the air as he kicks off his boots. His anger subsides immediately when he sees Kirishima’s face fall, and he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “No, that came out wrong. I mean, why have you been acting weird?”

Kirishima frowns, visibly confused. “Weird? What do you mean?” He gets up from the couch and pads over to his boyfriend, his hands nervously laced together in front of him.

Bakugo’s scowl deepens, his eyebrows furrowing in the middle of his forehead. He snaps his arm forward, motioning to Kirishima’s hands. “I mean, you won’t even touch me. Why are you acting so nervous every time I get close to you?” He steps forward, and Kirishima takes a step back. Bakugo’s heart falls to his feet, cementing them to the ground. He’s paralyzed.

“See?” he adds with the smallest voice he’s used in a while.

It’ll be painful for Kirishima to explain why he’s been avoiding sex. But it’s even more painful to watch his boyfriend, who is usually so full of gusto, look like a timid mouse before him, pleading with him to explain himself. Kirishima never thought that communication would be this hard. It’s so simple out on the field: “Uravity, on your right!” “The villain is heading west down Third Street!” It’s short, informational, and unimportant in the long scheme of things. But relationships are a whole ‘nother level.

“I—” he starts, but panic sets in and closes his throat to any speech.

“Spit it out!” Bakugo’s hair is standing on end, and he lets out a long breath. “C’mon, Eijiro. You’re treating me like a villain here.” He hesitates before asking quietly, “Are you not attracted to me anymore?”

Kirishima’s chin dimples as he tries to hold back tears. He’d never thought that he had been hurting Bakugo, too. But clearly, he had, to the point of the other thinking he isn’t attractive. That is the most ludicrous thing he’s ever heard. So ludicrous, in fact, that out of pure spite, his mouth opens to offer the explanation once and for all.

Kirishima groans from frustration. “No, that’s not it at all! You’re still the most attractive man ever! Like, the first time I saw you, I was like ‘wow.’ Then when I saw you blow stuff up, I was like ‘wow.’ Like, you went kablam and kaboosh! It was so cool! What’s there not to be attracted to?”

Bakugo scowls. “Then why won’t you have sex with me?! Why do you keep putting things off? If you don’t want to do it anymore, that’s fine. I guess.” He begins to stutter out his next sentence before stopping to recollect himself. “I just want to know…if I did anything wrong.”

Kirishima’s never seen his boyfriend so downtrodden. He’s desperate to put a smile back on his boyfriend’s face, but the only way to do that would be to have sex with him, and well…

He purses his lips before coming clean. “You didn’t do anything wrong, I promise! I’m sorry, Katsuki! It’s just…you’re…” He looks up from the floor to meet Bakugo’s eyes, the blond’s ruby eyes darker than usual. Kirishima inhales sharply and balls his hands into fists by his sides, finally yelling, “You’re too rough!”

When he has the courage to open his eyes, they reveal a thoroughly confused Bakugo. His head is cocked, and his scowl has morphed into a straight line.

“…What?” Bakugo asks, lifting his hands up to look at them. “Like…my voice? Or how I act?”

“Uh…” He’s gone this far. Time to come clean. Kirishima rubs the back of his neck awkwardly and groans before saying, “In…in bed. You’re too rough in bed.”

It’s comical how quiet the two men are and how quickly they meet eyes. They just stand there, staring at each other for what feels like eons before Bakugo takes a step forward, an unreadable expression on his face.

“I’m too rough…in bed,” he repeats, and Kirishima feebly nods.

“I’m sorry for letting it drag on for so long; I know that isn’t really manly of me. But I didn’t…I didn’t know how to tell you. It’s embarrassing, but I can’t do it anymore. My ass hurts so much after, and—and the hickeys and bruises are embarrassing, and—”

Kirishima is silenced by the softest pair of lips upon his own, a mere brushing of lips together. He barely would have noticed had his vision not been clouded by a flurry of spiky blond hair and blushed tan skin. His hands are up in the air, unsure of what to do with them, until they come to rest on Bakugo’s shoulders, his fingertips digging gently into the hard muscles underneath them.

“You fucking idiot,” Bakugo whispers underneath his breath before diving in for a deeper kiss, making sure to keep it passionate but gentle. He lets his hands roam Kirishima’s torso with a feather-like touch before resting them on his hips, giving them a tender squeeze to let the other know that none of his words have any bite. But Kirishima has known that for a long time. Ever since they first met at U.A., while everybody feared Bakugo, Kirishima knew there was something else under the surface. And there was. Pure, unadulterated love.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Bakugo asks, pulling away for a short second before going back to kissing. “You should’ve told me.” Kiss. “Why don’t you ever tell me anything?” Kiss. “Now I feel like an asshole.” Kiss. “You’re the asshole for not telling me, asshole.” Kiss.

“If only you’d let me talk!” Kirishima exclaims with a laugh, cupping a hand over Bakugo’s mouth to stop any further kisses for a moment. “I know, I am the asshole. But it’s humiliating, Katsuki! Admitting that your butthole hurts? Why the hell would I ever tell anybody that? Especially after doing hard anal the day before? Mina laughed in my face—”

“You told Mina and not me?!” Bakugo roared, tearing Kirishima’s hand from his mouth. “You are dead. You’re fucking dead. You both are dead, you and that purple shitbag.”

Kirishima has to hold back a chuckle. “She’s pink.”

Bakugo’s head whips back to his boyfriend, his eyes flaming hot. “Not the point!”

Kirishima laughs again and cups the sides of Bakugo’s face, which is now a mild shade of red. He leans forward and plants a butterfly kiss on the tip of his nose, drawing himself back with a soft smile on his lips. “I’m sorry, Katsuki. Seriously. I really should’ve told you. I just figured that you really like rough sex and didn’t want to get in the way of that. We can still do it…just on a weekend or a day off so I can recover.”

“No, no.” Bakugo wipes Kirishima’s hands off his face and laces his own fingers through his boyfriend’s, dropping their hands between them. “We’re not doing that anymore. Unless you want it. I just…”

Now Bakugo’s face is the shade of the hot sauce in the fridge. He suddenly understands why Kirishima was so embarrassed now. Talking about sex is…embarrassing. Their first time, while sentimental, is not something he wants to remember often. In fact, his brain only brings it up when it wants him to cringe, like on a random patrol down the block. Full of misunderstandings and miscommunications, it was a jumble of body parts and weird fluids and Kirishima’s head hitting the headboard so hard he got a lump afterward. Well, the misunderstandings and miscommunications clearly didn’t stop there because they are in the same situation—just without the jumble of body parts and weird fluids. Not yet, anyway.

Bakugo inhales like Kirishima did, using the short time to build up the courage. “I thought you were the one who liked it rough. You seemed…really turned on that one time in the love hotel. With all the, uh, handcuffs…and stuff. So I just…kept on doing it like that.”

Kirishima’s eyes are wide as an owl’s, and he tries not to bite through his lip with his sharp teeth with how hard he’s attempting at not laughing.

“You based…our entire sex life off one time where I seemed particularly turned on?” Kirishima asks, his voice wavering as the laughter tries to butt in. “Is that what the logic was in your head?”

Bakugo yanks his hands back to himself and starts toward the bathroom. “Shut up, you idiot! Forget I ever said anything.”

“No!” Kirishima practically throws himself at his boyfriend, wrapping his arms around the other’s waist. “No, I think it’s adorable. You just wanted to make me happy, right?”

Bakugo stiffens before relenting with a nod.

Kirishima rubs his cheek against Bakugo’s back and grins. “You know, I was so excited that one time because of when you weren’t rough. When I had the blindfold on and I couldn’t see you, and you slowly dragged your fingers over me…” He mimics what he’s saying on Bakugo’s chest, stroking his pecs with the tips of his fingers. He lifts them up to the skin above the deep V of his costume, feeling the warmth of Bakugo’s skin skyrocket.

“That’s what made me so excited,” Kirishima explains. He begins to step away from Bakugo, but his hands are firmly kept against Bakugo’s chest by the other’s grip on them.

“Don’t move.” Bakugo’s voice is strong but with a needy undertone. He turns around in Kirishima’s arms, his eyes looking down at their feet. “I’m sorry.”

Kirishima chuckles. “That’s not something I hear every day. This is a cause for celebration.”

Before Bakugo can retaliate or stomp away in a fit of rage, Kirishima stands on his toes, kissing the firecracker on the forehead. “There’s nothing to apologize for. You’re still my favorite manly man.”

Bakugo manages a smile despite his previous bitterness and nods. “I’m gonna go shower.”

Kirishima nods along with him. “I’ll shower after you. Mind throwing a frozen pizza in the oven while I’m in there for dinner?”

Bakugo’s smile fades, and he hums absentmindedly as he turns around to go to the bathroom. “Yeah, sure.”

Kirishima’s smile fades as well at that response. Hadn’t everything been resolved? Why was his boyfriend still acting like that?

His worries continue for the better part of the evening, especially when Bakugo steps out of the shower and doesn’t say anything in passing before flopping on the bed and going on his phone. Kirishima tries to share a smile with him, or even just a glance, but there is no contact. He frowns to himself and goes to shower, his mind swirling with panic the entire time he’s in there. Once he’s done, he steps out and wraps a towel around his waist before walking into the bedroom. However, he doesn’t walk two steps in before he spots Bakugo sitting at the foot of the bed, smoothing the throw blanket down.

“Babe, what’s going—”

“Eijiro, c’mere,” the blond says, his voice gruff but sincere. He pats the spot next to him, and Kirishima obeys, nervously fumbling with the towel as he sits down. Bakugo places a hand over his boyfriend’s hands to still them and looks up with a gaze of pure love and admiration. His eyes rake over Kirishima’s body, the tan skin still dewy from the shower and his stringy hair framing his angular face. He truly is the manliest man, Bakugo thinks before biting back a snicker. That is clear evidence that he’s been spending too much time with the redhead: he’s even starting to think like him.

Maybe that isn’t such a bad thing.

“Eijiro,” Bakugo starts but hesitates. He clears his throat before saying, “Y’know, I like rough sex, but I’ve always been more of a romantic guy. Um, like…” He sheepishly scratches the back of his head, his eyes refusing to meet Kirishima’s. “Candles…or rose petals. Or…like, soft music. I don’t know. But…I—I like that more.” He bites his lip. “Especially with you.”

Kirishima’s eyes are wide as saucers. He knew that Bakugo didn’t always act like the rude stereotype people make him out to be, but never in a million years did he think that he would purposefully like lovey-dovey sex. He didn’t like fucking—he liked making love. Just the thought gives Kirishima butterflies, which are now running rampant in his stomach. He places a hand over it to stop the feeling from going down too far, but the look in Bakugo’s eyes makes it seem as if that isn’t so bad.

“I…I want to try it,” Bakugo finishes, twiddling his thumbs anxiously for his boyfriend’s response.

However, he doesn’t even need to think about it. He replies, “Then let’s try it.”

Now Bakugo’s eyes are wide, his head turning slowly to meet Kirishima’s determined gaze. He wants to laugh at how adorably resolute his boyfriend looks. Instead, he whispers, “Eijiro,” but he doesn’t finish his sentence, letting it trail off as he leans forward and touches his top lip with Kirishima’s. Both their eyes are lowered, their breaths quickening and their heart rates jumping.

Kirishima closes the gap and nearly falls into their routine foreplay of smashing lips and roughly tearing their clothes off each other like hungry animals. It’s strange doing it so slowly; he’d never felt Bakugo so vividly before. He can taste the strawberry lollipop some kid probably gave him on the street. He can feel every wrinkle, every cut on his bottom lip from how he’d anxiously bite it. The kiss has no teeth, no sharpness at all. Just the soft smacking of their lips and their warm breaths against each other’s chins.

It feels juvenile, all of it. As if they’re going to have sex for the first time and getting to know each other’s bodies. Bakugo lifts his hand and hesitates before gingerly placing it on Kirishima’s chest.

Cute, Kirishima thinks of Bakugo’s nervousness.

“You can touch me, Katsuki,” he whispers, guiding Bakugo’s hand to press firmly into his chest. He’s certain Bakugo can feel his heartbeat going at the speed of a hummingbird’s, but he’s not embarrassed. It’s perfect: it shows how much he’s enjoying this without him having to voice it.

“Okay,” Bakugo replies and returns to kissing, cupping Kirishima’s pec in his palm and giving it a tender squeeze.

“Mm,” Kirishima breathes, breaking the kiss.

Bakugo’s face was already red, but now it’s horridly scarlet at the mere sound of the soft groan. He’s also nervous; he knows that Kirishima will tell him—now that they’ve worked everything out communication-wise—if he’s being too rough, but the panic still lingers.

“Good?” he asks.

Kirishima can tell Bakugo’s being overly cautious, and all he does is direct his boyfriend’s hand to go lower down his torso, letting out another shaky breath. “Y-yes,” he replies, his eyelids heavily lidded. “Good.”

Bakugo nods, and they return to kissing, the one thing both know how to do softly by now. It’s everything else they need to learn how to do. One step at a time. The only “rough thing” they do is when Kirishima playfully nips at Bakugo’s bottom lip with his sharp teeth, eliciting an irresistible groan out of the other.

Bakugo laces his fingers with Kirishima’s and gently pushes him down onto the mattress, never breaking their lip-lock as he turns to settle himself between his legs. While one hand is secured in his boyfriend’s, he uses the other to roam Kirishima’s body, of which he had missed for far too long. He caresses his soft stomach, feeling the strong muscles underneath the thick skin. He runs his fingers down his black happy trail (he burst out laughing the first time he saw it, saying “So the carpet doesn’t match the drapes?” earning a swift kick to the head). His fingers’ journey is stopped by the towel, and Bakugo separates from Kirishima to look down at him for approval.

“Yes, Katsuki,” Kirishima mumbles, his breaths already heavy with anticipation. “Touch me.”

Bakugo smiles and slips his fingers underneath the towel, his hand bumping into Kirishima’s cock only a few centimeters down.

“You’re that excited for me?” Bakugo asks, gripping Kirishima and drawing out a shrill gasp from him. “I’m flattered.”

Kirishima’s about to say something before he’s cut off by his own moan once Bakugo begins pumping his hand, his head falling to the side and his free hand coming up to cover his mouth. He bites his knuckles as Bakugo’s lips fall to his jaw, then to his chin, then to his neck, leaving his skin prickling and pink wherever those lips fall.

The knuckles provide the bare minimum of sound dampening, his voice still echoing off the sides of their bedroom as Bakugo’s stroking gets faster and his kisses grow more feverish. He resorts to draping his forearm over his eyes, squeezing his eyelids shut underneath the darkness his arm provides. If he’s going to be heard no matter what he does, then he’ll hide whatever embarrassing expressions he’s making. Usually, the foreplay and sex go by so quickly, there’s no time to even look at each other. But he can feel Bakugo’s eyes on him, on his body, and the thought makes him squirm.

“Before you say anything, no hickeys, got it,” Bakugo says after pulling away from kissing. He takes a moment now that he’s hovering over Kirishima to admire his body as it is. Usually, they went too fast to savor each other’s bodies. For instance, he didn’t know his boyfriend had a freckle in the middle of his sternum. Or that his nipples are slightly mismatched—but are gorgeous all the same. Or how his stomach expands then contracts erratically to compensate for his hurried breaths.

“You’re beautiful,” Bakugo whispers, diving in to kiss Kirishima’s jaw.

Kirishima chuckles before letting out another soft moan. “I’m a man, you’re supposed to call me handsome.”

“You’re a dumbass,” Bakugo replies, tweaking Kirishima’s nipple playfully and earning a surprised yelp and displeased grumble. “A beautiful dumbass.”

“I’m going to harden and crack you across the face.”

“But you’re already hard.”

“Hey-!” Before Kirishima act out his promise, Bakugo tightens his grip on him and strokes him even faster, pressing his thumb into the head and smearing the precum around it. “A-ah!”

Kirishima shivers, but Bakugo isn’t done with his compliments, even though his boyfriend thinks he doesn’t deserve them.

“Beautiful nose,” Bakugo says, kissing the tip of Kirishima’s nose that’s peeking out from underneath his forearm.

“Beautiful cheek.” Kiss.

“Beautiful jaw.” Kiss.

“Beautiful neck.” Kiss.

“Beautiful chest.” Kiss.

“Beautiful stomach.” Kiss.

Bakugo sits back on his haunches as he pulls the towel away completely, revealing the rest of Kirishima’s body. Another shiver racks Kirishima’s body at all the compliments, his legs self-consciously shutting closed at all the love. He isn’t used to being looked at. To being revered. Of course, Bakugo compliments him, but it’s usually laced with an insult or said begrudgingly. Not like this. Not so easily. Not so…tenderly. It’s…nice. The butterflies are at full speed now, and he’s feeling dizzy as he watches Bakugo continue to press kisses into his skin. Probably because all the blood in his body is draining into his dick. With each compliment, his head gets fuzzier.

“Cute dick,” Bakugo says, which brings Kirishima’s mind back to fully functioning.

He tosses his arm off his face and sits up to look at his boyfriend staring up deviously at him from between his legs, his cock right in front of his face. “What? Not beautiful? Cute?” he exclaims, his voice breaking.

“Yeah, now shut up,” Bakugo says, pushing Kirishima back onto the bed and giving the head a kiss before the redhead can retaliate.

“T-that’s playing—ah! D-dirty…” Kirishima says before dissolving back into his moans.

Bakugo snickers and gives his cock another lick before kissing the tops of Kirishima’s thighs, delighting in seeing them flinch at the touch. “Beautiful thighs.”

He lifts Kirishima’s leg to his shoulder, all the while still pumping him vigorously.

“Beautiful calves.” Kiss.

He kisses the top of Kirishima’s foot. “Beautiful feet.”

“You’re into feet now?” Kirishima asks with a half-laugh, half-gasp.

Bakugo doesn’t answer. He knows that what he’s about to do will be funnier than anything he could say. He licks a trail from Kirishima’s ankle, putting down his leg in the process, to his thigh, watching with satisfaction as his boyfriend’s back arches off the bed. Without giving Kirishima time to recover, he engulfs his cock in his mouth, nuzzling his nose into the black happy trail before coming up for air.

“T-too fast!” Kirishima cries out, his forearm pressing down on his face while his other arm was outstretched, his hand fisting Bakugo’s spiked blond locks. “I’m gonna come…”

“From just that?” Bakugo teases. When he feels Kirishima’s legs tense underneath him and try to close, he forces them back open, leaning forward to give the tip another kiss. “C’mon, Eijiro, I thought I knew you better.”

But what Bakugo is really thinking is: If this is what it takes for him to come so easily, no wonder it took him so long when we were doing it rough before.

He makes his way back to Kirishima’s cock and lays his tongue flat against the base before licking up the shaft, giving special attention to the head before doing the whole routine again. He takes it into his mouth again and, using the spit pooling at the base, wets his fingers and circles Kirishima’s entrance.

Wait, he thinks, stopping himself. That’s too rough.

He lifts himself from his mewling boyfriend, reaching over to the nightstand and retrieving a condom and the lube bottle rarely used since they get to the deed so quickly, there’s barely any time to stretch.

Fuck. I’m an idiot. No wonder Eijiro was complaining about the pain. It must’ve hurt like a bitch.

He coats his fingers in a generous layer of lube and lowers himself back onto Kirishima, rounding his entrance tantalizingly.

“Katsukiii!” Kirishima whines, his hand back in Bakugo’s hair. “Please!”

“Patience, babe,” Bakugo replies nonchalantly. “Didn’t you say you wanted it slow?”

“Not this slow!” the other exclaims from underneath his forearm. His legs spread apart to make room for his boyfriend, his body language much more communicative than his words.

Bakugo is about to tease Kirishima some more before he gives in and works in a finger, spreading Kirishima’s walls and pumping it back and forth. He’s just as needy and impatient; sure, he loves some romantic lovemaking, but damn, did he want the main course.

“Does that feel good?” he asks, looking up at his boyfriend while he busies his mouth with his cock.

Kirishima feebly nods. “Getting t-there.”

“Just have to find the right spot,” Bakugo whispers to himself, using Kirishima’s moans and sighs as a guide to where his prostate is. He has a vague idea; however, yet again, they went too fast for him to properly know where it is.

He inserts another finger, scissoring Kirishima open while trying to find his spot at the same time. All the while giving him a blowjob. Why hadn’t he done this earlier? The delicious moans and cute exclamations and sultry expressions Kirishima’s releasing is addicting, and Bakugo can’t picture their future sex life without any of it. Even though they’ll probably be having sex less often with how long the process is going to take now, it’s completely worth it.

“Yes!” Kirishima cries out, his back arching again and his head flying backward into the pillow. His legs begin to tremble the more Bakugo massages the bump raised from the velvety walls around it. “Katsuki—hnngh! Feels…so g-good…”

Bakugo puts all his energy into working Kirishima open so that he feels no pain the next day while paying special attention to that special bump, sending Kirishima into a pleasure-fueled frenzy.

Kirishima’s tripping over his own words, his tongue getting caught in “C-coming! I’m—"

“Not so fast,” Bakugo says after popping off his cock, slowing down his hand and slowly slipping it out. Kirishima lets out a high-pitched whine at the loss inside him, and Bakugo chuckles as he pushes himself back up to his boyfriend’s face and kisses his cheek. “Just a little more, baby. You can take it.”

Kirishima’s panting like a dog in heat at this point. The only reason he isn’t completely humiliated is because his forearm is his saving grace, but even that is taken away by Bakugo. He grips Kirishima’s wrist and uncovers his face once and for all, pushing his wrist into the mattress.

“I want to see your face,” he whispers in the other’s ear, giving the lobe a feathery kiss. Kirishima grumbles something under his breath but complies to his boyfriend’s request since, after all, how is he supposed to see Bakugo’s face and all his expressions if his eyes are closed?

Bakugo uses his free hand to lift the condom up to his mouth. He uses his teeth to tear the packaging, spitting out the corner and retrieving the condom from inside. He meets Kirishima’s eyes for the first time the entire night, which are dark with lust and wild from unadulterated pleasure. “Mind putting it on me?”

Kirishima’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly, but he eventually nods, pushing himself up by the elbows and taking the condom from his boyfriend’s fingers. He reaches forward, pinches the tip, and slides it on with ease, giving Bakugo’s cock a gentle squeeze and quick stroke to tease him back for everything he’s done.

“Fuck,” Bakugo mutters with a heavy exhale. He smirks and looks up at Kirishima, who’s now laying back down with his hands fisting the pillow underneath his head and his pink legs spread wide open in invitation. “You can be a little devil, can’t you?”

Kirishima lifts a hand to Bakugo’s face, drawing him closer until their lips are touching once again. Bakugo’s blond eyelashes tickle his cheeks, and he smiles. “Make love to me, Katsuki.”

Bakugo’s power trip is gone, replaced with highlighter bright red cheeks. That’s it. He’s going to only make love to Kirishima from now on, especially if it means this.

He nods; it’s the only thing he can do. He glides his hands into Kirishima’s, prying them from the pillow and pressing them into the mattress next to his shoulders. Their hands are so warm together, slick with sweat, their knuckles white from how tightly they’re clutching each other. Their hands are their anchors. Bakugo nor Kirishima can imagine separating them now.

“I love you,” Kirishima whispers, placing a butterfly kiss on the tip of his boyfriend’s nose. “So much.”

Bakugo smiles and presses his sweaty forehead’s into Kirishima’s. “I know.”

With that, he slowly slides inside, letting out a low groan at the sudden warmth and tightness surrounding him. Kirishima, on the other hand, is speechless. He’s confused; either it’s the combination of the lube and the stretching or he’s just gotten looser from all the rough sex, but…it doesn’t hurt. He just feels full, yet to feel pleasure, but if he shifts his hips a specific way, he’s certain he’ll feel it in no time. But it’s the lack of pain that he’s surprised about. He couldn’t be happier.

“You okay?” Bakugo asks from the crook of Kirishima’s neck, where he buried his face, his voice muffled by the soft skin underneath.

“Move,” Kirishima demands, moving his hips down and whirling them around. He’s left speechless again as Bakugo’s cock brushes against his prostate, his eyes wide and his nails digging into Bakugo’s knuckles. “Move, please.” He doesn’t want to rush it in case of injury, but damn, he’s on cloud nine.

Don’t need to ask me twice, Bakugo thinks. His hips move on their own, rocking forward slowly and drawing groans from both men. He starts up a languid rhythm, listening to the noises spilling out of his boyfriend’s cherry-red mouth both because it’s music to his ears and for any signs of distress. But there is none. Just begs and whines and mewls.

“Faster,” Kirishima pleads, his thighs clinging to Bakugo’s sides. Bakugo can feel them shaking, as well as the rest of Kirishima’s body. And he gladly complies, ramping up the speed, but it’s nothing compared to their fuckfests. Even though it’s slow compared to their other times, Kirishima is treating it as if he’s going a hundred kilometers an hour in terms of going absolutely crazy. His back is arching so much, his stomach meets Bakugo’s, their chests touching every time Bakugo pushes inside. His neck might break with how far his head is thrown back, allowing his Adam’s apple to protrude from his neck and dance along to every single moan and whimper that comes out like samba music.

“Yes, Katsuki—fee…ls s-so—nngh!” He dissolves into blabbers and incoherency, working his hands free from Bakugo’s to cling onto his back for dear life, leaving ugly red scratches along the way. “I want…I want—ugh!”

“Use your words, baby,” Bakugo murmurs, and Kirishima’s shoulders hike up to his ears at the warm breath on one of them.

“Mm… deeper, harder—” That’s all that comes out of Kirishima before he’s overtaken by moans again.

Bakugo works out his pace. Usually, he just goes fast. But Kirishima isn’t asking for faster anymore, he’s asking for deeper. Harder. Same speed, but just—

SMACK!

“GUH!” A guttural cry escapes Kirishima’s throat, and Bakugo groans along with the hard thrust. It echoed off the walls, the bed creaking to show its displeasure with the move.

“Yes! Like that! Just like that!” The scratches are numerous and ugly now, covering the majority of Bakugo’s back.

“Good boy,” Bakugo mumbles, pressing a kiss onto Kirishima’s forehead adorned by beads of sweat. “You did good. F-fuck.” Now Bakugo’s getting incoherent, unable to form a singular thought as he continues the punishing thrusts and slow pace. “You f-feel so good, baby, so good…”

“Close…I-I’m close,” Kirishima warns, crossing his ankles behind Bakugo’s back to push him even closer. He drops his hands from Bakugo’s back and cradles his face with them, bringing his boyfriend’s face back to being nose-to-nose with him. “God, I love you. Make love to me, Katsuki. Love me, love me, love me—”

“For the rest of my life,” Bakugo murmurs back against Kirishima’s lips. “For the rest of my goddamn life, I’ll love you.”

That’s all that Kirishima needs. Yes, the pleasure he’s receiving from his prostate being abused by Bakugo’s cock is more than enough to push him over the edge. But hearing his boyfriend, the man he wants to spend the rest of his life with, confirm that he in fact feels the same way and is using passionate sex to communicate that to him…it’s more than enough.

“Katsuki, I’m gonna come—I’m—!”

With one last snap of Bakugo’s hips, Kirishima’s done. White blurs his vision, his entire body racked with pleasure, tears, and electric pulses, both across his skin and deep in his muscles. His hair stands on end, goosebumps decorate his skin, his body is pink and glistening with a sheen of sweat, and his come is the last garnish on the eye candy that is Kirishima’s orgasm.

Bakugo would’ve come anyway from how tight Kirishima’s clamping down on him, but just the look of ecstasy on his love’s face pushes him over the brim. He buries himself deep inside Kirishima and grabs one of Kirishima’s hands on his face for support, burying it in the mattress. He rides through the demanding orgasm that commands his entire body, his hips continuing to snap forward because of the aftershocks, causing even more oversensitivity to torment his body. He feels the ends of his hair singe from how hot he’s burning, and he’s afraid that the intense orgasm will lead to him burning down the apartment.

“Fuck!” he growls, using Kirishima’s lips to silence himself.

“Katsuki, Katsuki…” Kirishima pants, trying to separate from Bakugo’s kisses. “I love you…”

The two men stay there for a few more moments catching their breath, Bakugo long since collapsed on top of his redhead. Their chests rise to meet each other, their skin sticking together like glue. Their hands are still joined together, making a nice imprint on the mattress. Everything about them is joined together.

Somehow, Bakugo finds the courage to push himself off Kirishima and pull out. Both men hiss with displeasure, the loss of warmth on Bakugo’s end and the loss of fullness on Kirishima’s end. He carefully rolls the condom off him and ties it at the end, tossing it in the trash and flopping onto his back. Kirishima immediately saddles up next to Bakugo, tossing a leg over Bakugo’s hips and laying on his chest.

“Thank you,” Kirishima mumbles, giving the skin underneath him a kiss.

“For what?” Bakugo asks then laughs. “For giving you the best night of your goddamned life?”

Kirishima laughs and hardens his fist to punch Bakugo playfully on the chest—delicately enough to not scar, but hard enough to hurt. And it does: it elicits a great yelp of pain from his boyfriend.

“No. I mean, yeah, but—I mean, there will be other nights—ugh, that’s not what I’m trying to say.” He props himself up on his elbow to look Bakugo directly in the eye, unhardening his fist to slide it up to cup his boyfriend’s cheek. “Thank you for understanding. For not making fun of me. I…” He sighs. “I regret not talking to you. I’ll always regret that. But I just wanted to make you happy and being rough seemed to make you happy. So, I went along with it.”

“Eijiro—”

“Let me finish,” Kirishima stresses. “You didn’t force me. I liked those times. But this…this is different. I’ll tell you what I’m in the mood for. I will let you know.”

Bakugo’s eyelids are heavy with fatigue, but he nods and runs a hand through Kirishima’s damp hair, shaking the hair into his boyfriend’s eyes with an amused smile. “Okay, babe. Just don’t pull that shit again.”

“I won’t, I promise,” Kirishima says. “Manly men don’t break their promises.” He winks before relaxing back into his boyfriend’s side. “I love you.”

Bakugo snorts and drapes a lazy arm over Kirishima’s waist. “I love you, too. Idiot.”

They’re both drifting off to sleep when Kirishima whispers, “Who would’ve known you’re just a big ol’ softie for lovey dovey sex in the end.”

Bakugo stares at the grinning redhead through the darkness.

“Ow! Okay, I get it, sorry! Stop burning me!”

…

When Kirishima awakes, Bakugo’s already left for the early shift he picked up from Ingenium since he’s sick. When Ingenium’s sick, that means something is really wrong with him since that nerd always clocks in, even if he has to wear a face mask because he’s hacking up his lungs from the flu.

He stretches his arms over his head, delaying the inevitable: the sharp pain in the ass from sitting up. He’s woken up with this pain one too many times, so he turns to slip off the bed instead of sitting up. However, out of habit, he sits on the edge of the bed to stand up, and he almost misses it before he stands up. His ass is fine. He has no pain. He feels nothing. It’s almost as if they didn’t have sex last night.

Did they? Yesterday feels like a fever dream, but that doesn’t make the fact that he feels no pain after sex any less real. He stands up, almost as if testing the waters, and walks around. No pain. He slips on some boxers, which includes lifting his legs, which also elicits no pain. He sits down on their ottoman. No pain. He gets in the shower to clean himself up, pressing his fingers inside himself. No pain, other than the usual sting from going in dry. No throbbing, no swelling, no puffiness. Nothing.

No more pain.

Kirishima has successfully had sex without needing to call in sick afterwards. And he’s ready to celebrate.

He cooks himself a giant breakfast fit for a king and goes out on patrol with a grin so big, it startles a few children. He knows his coworkers know that he got laid, but they don’t know why specifically he’s so happy about getting laid. He can actually walk. And use his Quirk without a flare-up of pain in his lower back. And he doesn’t need to worry about bruises or hickeys to cover up. Mina sees his joyful demeanor and tries to “accidentally” wipe away the concealer on his neck as a joke, only to reveal that there’s nothing to cover up.

“Did you even have sex?” she asks, and Kirishima gleefully nods.

“Yep.”

Mina’s eyes snap open. “What? How are you standing? Why didn’t you call in sick?”

Kirishima smirks and shrugs. “No pain.” He winks at his pink friend and throws her two finger guns. “I worked it all out.”

Bakugo, on the other hand, is suffering from taunts from everybody in his department. He has a relatively conservative costume compared to Kirishima’s, but his shoulders are still exposed for all the world to see as a spectacle. Kirishima made sure of that. They’re tattooed with angry red scratch marks, and anybody can see that they lead to a maze of many more rows underneath his shirt. Bakugo can’t even think of an excuse. Yes, a villain is an obvious excuse, but with how airy and normal he’s acting at the agency, anybody can infer what happened. He’s blowing up a lot less and isn’t using his Quirk on innocent bystanders to intimidate them.

“You should get laid more often,” one of the Pro Heroes in his agency mutters under his breath, and in return gets his eyebrows singed off.

But it’s true, and Bakugo can’t deny it. When he gets home, he finds Kirishima on the bed sitting back on his heels, his eyelids heavy and his sharp teeth tugging on his bottom lip in a smirk. He takes full advantage of the fact that his good behavior at work earned him a day off and that Kirishima got a day off from so efficiently handling villains by making love to his boyfriend all night. When Kirishima wakes up the next day to reveal, yet again, that he has no pain, he can’t help himself to a morning lovemaking session as well. And the cycle continues.

Eijiro Kirishima likes sex. Keyword: likes.

[earth-ambassador-jim]

Parent/Mentor Swap AU

The swaps:

Aaarrrgghh – Bular

Blinky – Nomura

Barbara – Strickler

 Yeah so this was meant to just be a short explanation but it’s not so please enjoy my 2500ish word backstory for this AU. (Jim will still be the Trollhunter.)

Bular

Shortly before the Battle of Killahead Bridge Bular is talking with his father about their plans for their future kingdom. In the course of the discussion Gunmar reveals that he wants to eliminate all humans and bring about a literal Eternal Night. (Gunmar has talked about the Eternal Night before but Bular assumed it was a metaphor.)

Bular doesn’t like humans per say. He definitely agrees that their numbers need to be reduced. He certainly wants them to be cast down into the dust and subjected to the rule of trollkind…

But he doesn’t want them gone.

The thought has frankly never occurred to him.

Humans are pests but they are tasty and create useful things. The world will be worse off without them.

The second point is even worse. Bular may be rash at times but he is not a fool. Trolls may not survive under the sun but they won’t survive without it either. Bular has traveled far and wide recruiting trolls for Gunmar’s cause. He’s seen what the Northern Lands become during the winter when for a time the sun ceases to rise.

Based of off that he has a fairly good idea of what the surface will become like under the Eternal Night and it is not desirable. There is no point in taking over the surface only to decimate it.

He tries to argue these points but his father will not listen. Eventually shutting the conversation down entirely with a warning snarl.

Bular is left uneasy. He wonders if it is wise for Gunmar to be the ruler anymore. He wonders if there might be more substance to the rumors of his father’s madness then he thought.

As the War comes to a head and the Battle of Killahead Bridge draws near, Bular tries to convince his father to change his mind. He receives only growls, sneers and a couple beat downs for his trouble.

Eventually he decides that other measures must be taken.

He considers starting an uprising but he doesn’t want to kill his father. Eventually he learns of Deya’s plan to banish Gunmar into the Darklands and decides to assist her. He thinks that spending some time in a world without humans or the sun might bring Gunmar to his senses.

Unfortunately Gunmar learns of this.

Bular, not wanting to fight his father, flees. Gunmar can’t leave to pursue his son, so he sends a detachment of soldiers lead by his most trusted general Aaarrrgghh after him.

Centuries later he comes to Arcadia. He is not accepted by the local troll population for a very long time. They don’t believe he’s really changed sides. It also doesn’t help that unlike Cannon!Aaarrrgghh he is not a pacifist. (He has sworn off eating humans however.) He eventually wins them over by helping the Kanjigar protect Trollmarket. He’s brought into the market for the first time because his energy drops to dangerously low levels (he’s completely catatonic when Kanjigar finds him) because he hasn’t been near a heartstone for centuries and doesn’t eat humans anymore. (I headcannon that eating humans allows for trolls to live away from a heartstone because humans produce a similar energy but in very small amounts).

 Aaarrrgghh

Aaarrrgghh’s origin story is the same as in cannon: he was given to Gunmar by Usurna to be his champion.

In this story he doesn’t switch sides at the battle of Killahead. Seeing the destruction wrought by humans on uninvolved trolls leads him to believe that Gunmar is in the right about wiping them out. When the battle of Kilahead happens, he and his detachment of soldiers become the only Gum Gums outside of the Darklands (or rather the only known Gumm-Gumms) because they were hunting for Bular at the time.

Aaarrrgghh works rather loosely with the changelings as well as doing “recruiting” of more trolls to the Gumm-Gumm cause. (More like threatening into obedience).

Aaarrrgghh comes to Arcadia when he learns of the Trollmarket and Trollhunter’s presence there.

Aaarrrgghh’s presence combined with his small battalion results in more skirmishes with Trollmarket than in cannon. Bular and Draal work with Kanjigar to protect trolls that go out to scavenge against the Gumm-Gumms. The Janus Order has their hands full keeping the constant fighting secret.

Aaarrrgghh generally stays in Barbara’s basement which has a tunnel connecting it to the sewer system. (Disguised with magic so Trollmarket trolls and maintenance workers don’t find it.)

He often leaves the window open and tries to lure cats in for him to eat. This is how he meets Toby.

Toby happens to be looking for one of their missing cats. He finds paw prints leading to the open basement window. He attempts to get in the window but is shoved back by a pole. (Aaarrrgghh has been told repeatedly to not eat the neighbors since this will draw to much scrutiny and they will have to find him a new den if he does.) This distracts him from the cat as he is now more interested in learning about the strange something living in the basement of what he thought was an unoccupied house. He starts asking Aaarrrgghh (who he can’t see) questions about himself and Aaarrrgghh (who isn’t quite sure what to do in this situation) awkwardly responds.

Eventually Toby falls into the habit of visiting Aaarrrgghh’s basement window in the evening and jabbering to him about his day. He brings him little treats and will occasionally ask him questions.

Aaarrrgghh ends up growing fond of him and decides that while he doesn’t like humans in general this one is okay and he starts making plans to keep Toby alive after Gunmar returns.

  Blinky (Bartholomew Georgiou)

Blinky is given as a whelp to the Gum-Gumms by his brother Dictacious (who was working as a spy for Gunmar at the time) and made into a changeling. He’s slightly older than Barbara.

Blinky works at the Arcadia museum. He is in the habit of swapping out old, rare books with exact replicas so he can horde the originals in his secret library.

He has an incredible collection of books from many ages and places. He guards them zealously. Entering his library without permission is suicide and generally ends in the offender being blown to pieces by one of Blinky’s booby traps.

He has very few books of Trollish origin and would do just about anything for more.

 Nomura

Nomura was stolen by the Gumm-Gumm’s when she was a child but her parents survived the initial raid and several decades later they are able to rescue her. Her time with the Gumm-Gumm’s have left its mark, however, and she no longer fit the other trolls in her clan. Her family eventually moves to Dwoza Trollmarket.

She doesn’t really fit in with the younglings her age there either but she makes friends with the archivist. He eventually takes her on as his apprentice and when he passes she takes over as the Trollmarket librarian. She takes her job very seriously and does not tolerate loss or abuse of books.

She becomes friends with Draal (due to having similar temperaments) and later she becomes the first troll to truly accept Bular in the Arcadia Trollmarket.

 Barbara

Barbara is a 700(ish) year old changeling (equivalent of 40-50 human years) and the head of the Janus Order. She’s still a doctor and has the most knowledge of how troll and human bodies work of any one person on the planet. This is partially due to how long she’s been alive but also to the large number of often highly unethical experiments she’s carried out on both species.

Barbara meets James Sturges when she’s working on retrieving a piece of the Killahead Bridge in Maine (officially she’s just a nurse at the hospital named Janet). They hit it off and start dating. Barbara finds his expectations for how she’s supposed to act a little annoying but it suits the role she’s currently playing so she goes along with them.

Then James makes the mistake of breaking one of Barbara’s rules and goes through some of her off-limits stuff, so she kills him and disposes of the body.

She assumes that’s the end of that but about 4 months later when she tries to shift into troll form she can’t. Aside from a curse, there is one thing that will prevent a changeling from shifting back into a troll. A trip to the local pharmacy confirms it: she’s pregnant.

This is certainly a dilemma.

Until she’s done with the pregnancy (one way or another) she’s trapped in her human form.

In the past she would have had an abortion without a second thought, but with Gunmar’s release and the destruction of the human race drawing closer and closer this will probably be her last real opportunity to experience pregnancy. So out of pure scientific curiosity she decides to go through with it.

Quite a few arrangements have to be made but soon she’s on her way to her hidden cabin out in a remote area of Alaska.

The pregnancy and birth go well and soon she is the mother to a little boy. She names him James after his father, figuring that will keep her from getting attached. She plans to keep him for two or three years to observe his growth and see if any changeling traits manifest after which point she’ll drop him off at an orphanage or something. As far as the Janus Order can tell human-changeling unions produce completely human children, but one can never beat first hand observation and experience.

She initially chalks up the warm and mushy feelings she’s getting to hormones. It isn’t until Jim is about two and a half that she’s tucking him into bed one night and Jim gives her a sleepy smile and leans into her hand that she realizes that she really truly loves him.

This was not in the plan.

After Jim is asleep, Barbara calmly goes outside and devotes an hour to cursing. (One of the perks of living centuries is that she’s had ample opportunity to amass an extensive collection of swear words.) After that she feels a lot calmer and more ready to look at the situation in a rational manner.

The fact of the matter is that she genuinely cares about Jim. She’s developed feelings for people in the past but it’s always been something she’s been able to pass off as part of her cover. (She still misses her pirate crew sometimes). Jim however is not. Barbara has a lot of enemies. If Jim’s relationship to Barbara is discovered he will never know peace and if Barbara keeps Jim around it will be discovered.

So it’s with a strangely heavy heart that Barbara realizes that this changes nothing: the best thing for Jim is for her to give him up.

On his third birthday she gives him some tea that will make sure he stays soundly asleep. Barbara can’t go through the legal process of giving up a child because: A. Jim does not exist in any legal manner and B. As changelings are everywhere and Barbara is well known (infamous really) there is a very real possibility that someone would find out. So she leaves him on the doorstep of a foster family she has carefully vetted out as responsible and trustworthy and keeps watch from some hidden cameras until she knows he has been found and is going to be taken care of. With him are a note with his date of birth and first name and a necklace with a pendant carved from Barbara’s own stone (Barbara isn’t very good at magic but she was able to enchant it with a simple protection and luck spell.).

Once she’s satisfied that Jim will be cared for she goes on her way and forces herself to not look back.

Nine years later she moves to Arcadia and three years after that she is very shocked to find a found add describing the Amulet of Daylight of all things. She calls the number but is told that the amulet was already claimed. Further investigation reveals that the amulet has chosen its first human bearer (or so everyone thinks). Barbara feels a bit of a twinge in her heart when she learns that the new Trollhunter is about the same age her son would be and that his name is Jim but doesn’t think too much of it. There are a lot of Jims in the world after all and she left hers in Alaska.

She immediately arranges a very minor “accident” as an excuse to make contact with his father in order to keep an eye on him.

 Walter

Walter Strickler is a history teacher at University of Alaska Anchorage. He enjoys his life and his job but there’s one thing lacking: he’s always wanted a child.

He’s had a few relationships over the years but none have ever stuck. He’s also of the opinion that he shouldn’t go into a relationship specifically with the end goal of having a kid.

He weighs his options and decides that he’s financially very stable at the moment. His work hours are consistent and he can afford to cut back a little; especially since his stock investments have been doing well in the recent years. All things considered: he decides he’s in a place that he can be a single parent.

He begins looking into adoption.

Eventually he finds Jim. As Jim has no parents or relations on record, the adoption is relatively simple.

Jim is very shy at first (having spent his life so far out in the woods with only his Mom for company). Eventually he warms up to Walter and then becomes very clingy. Living with only one other person for his early years and then being left behind has left Jim with some attachment issues.

Walter ends up taking him to his classes where he sits in the back and doodles while Walter lectures. He’s a rather quiet kid (most of the time) so this works out well. Walter’s students adopt him as the class mascot.

When Jim is five, right before he’s ready to start Kindergarten, Walter’s mom falls ill. Walter is an only child, so after some debate he ends up moving back to his hometown of Arcadia, California to care for her.

He meets Nancy Domzalski through the chest club and through her Jim meets Toby. The two boys become fast friends.

When Walter’s mother passes away four years later, he decides to stay in Arcadia. Jim is well settled and Walter enjoys his job teaching history at Arcadia High School.

Things are going well.

Then his son finds a strange blue amulet in the canal. It looks fairly expensive so Walter puts a found add up and assumes the owner will give him a call. Then settles down to work on grading papers.

He is definitely not prepared when his son, sitting across the table from him, reads an incantation off the amulet and starts floating.

He is even less prepared when a large stony monster the size of a large grizzly barges into their house.

Bular attempts to explain the situation to the father-son duo but they both faint from terror.

Not quite sure what else to do he wraps them up in a tarp and takes them to Trollmarket. He figures Vendal can sort it out.

[highsviolets]

INTERVIEW NO. 1: RACHEL @djarinsbeskar

hello hello! i am so happy to announce that rachel — aka the immense talent that is @djarinsbeskar — has agreed to be my first interviewee for this new series! thank you to rach and to each one of you for all of your support. to read more about the project, click here, and to submit an author, click here.

| why rachel? |

Rachel captured my imagination from the first time we interacted as mutuals-in-law. She’s bursting with energy and vivaciousness, with a current of kindness just underneath everything she does. Her work is no exception. Oftentimes gritty, raw, and exposing (in … ahem…more ways than one), Rachel challenges her readers to dig deeper into both the story and themselves. Her smut brings a particular fire as it’s laced with need, desire, and mutual trust that leads us deeper into the characters’ identities and how physical affection can mimic other forms of intimacy. She’s a tour de force in this fandom and an absolute joy.

| known for |

Engaging with and encouraging other authors, cultivating inspo posts, attention to world building & character development

| my favorites |

Stitches

Boxer!Din

Full Masterlist • Ko-Fi

| q & a |

When did you start writing? What was that project, and what was it like? Has that feeling or process ever changed over time? Why?

I can’t remember a time I wasn’t writing. I was an avid reader, as I think most writers are—and I remember, after picking up Lord of the Rings—that I could live so many lives, experience so many things, all from the pages of a book. I could make sense of the world through words and ink and paper. And it offered me a level of peace and clarity I wanted to share with others. So, I started writing.

My first project I remember to this day, was a short story about a dog. I had been so heartbroken when I learned that dogs were colourblind. I must have been about seven or eight at the time, and I was fixated on this idea that dogs couldn’t see the vibrant hues that made the world beautiful. It was something I wanted to change—and with all the righteous anger of a child not getting their own way, I sulked over the fact that I couldn’t. Until I wrote it down.

“How do dogs see colour?”

And much like my writing today, I answered myself.

“Dogs don’t need to see colour. Dogs smell colour.”

And so, I wrote a story, about a puppy being brought on different walks by its owner. And with every new street it walked down—colour bloomed with scent. Colours more beautiful and vibrant than we could ever hope to see with our eyes. And it gave me solace and helped me work through an emotion that – granted was immature and inconsequential – had affected me. To this day, I still smile seeing dogs sniffing at everything they pass on their walks. Smelling colour. It gave me the key to my favourite thing in life. I don’t think my process has changed much since then. Much of what I write is based on a skeleton plan, but I leave room for characters to speak and feel as they need to. I like to know the starting point and destination of a chapter—but how they get there, that still falls to instinct. I think I’ve found a happy medium of strict planning and winging it that suits me now—and hopefully it will continue to improve over time!

When did you start posting your writing, and on what platform? What gave you the push to do that?

I mean, fanfiction has always been part of my life. I think anyone who was growing up in the late 2000’s and early 2010’s found their way to fanfiction.net at some time or other. The wild west compared to what we have now! My first post was for the Lord of the Rings fandom on fanfiction.net. It was an anthology of the story told through the eyes of the steeds. Bill the Pony, Shadowfax—it was all very innocent. That was probably in 2010 when I was fifteen. I had been wanting to share writing for a long time but was worried about how it would be received. I didn’t really have a gauge on my level or my creativity and – one of the many flaws of someone with crippling perfectionism – I only ever wanted to provide perfection. That was a major inhibitor when I was younger. By wanting it to be perfect, I never posted anything. Until that stupidly cute LOTR fic. It was freeing to write something that no one but me had any interest in, because if I was writing for myself then there was no one to disappoint, right? And that was all it took. I had some pauses over the years between college and life and such, but I’ve never lost that mindset when it comes to posting.

What your favorite work of yours that you have ever written? Why is it your favorite? What is more important to you when considering your own stories for your own enjoyment — characters? fandom? spice? emotional development? the work you’ve put into it? Is that different than what you enjoy reading most in other people’s fics?

I don’t think it’ll come as much of a surprise when I say Stitches. While not original, I mean—it follows the plot of the Mandalorian quite diligently, it is the piece of work I really hold very close to my heart. Din Djarin as a character is what got me back into writing after what must have been five years? He inspired something. His manner, his personality—he resonated with me as a person in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time. And gave me back a creative outlet I had been missing.

It’s funny to say out loud—but I wanted to give him something? I spent so long thinking about his character that half my brain felt like it belonged to him—how he reacted and responded to things etc. and of course, like every dreamy Pisces—I wanted to give him love and happiness. So, Stitches came along. Personally, when writing—it’s a combination of characters, emotional development and spice (I can’t help myself) and when we can follow that development. With Stitches, it’s definitely the spice that is the conduit for development—but I adore showing how the physical can help people who struggle to communicate emotions too complex for words.

I don’t usually read for Din, as most people know—but I do enjoy reading the type of work that Stitches is. Human, damaged—but still with an undercurrent of hope that makes me think of children’s books.

You said, “much like writing today, I answered myself.” Could you talk about that in relation to Stitches?

So, I’m endlessly curious, it has to be said. Especially about why people are the way they are. Why people do A instead of B. Why X person’s immediate thought went to this place instead of that place. And I’m rarely satisfied with superficial explanations. One of the most exciting parts of writing and fanfiction especially, is making sense of that why. There can be countless explanations, some that are content with what is seen on the surface and some that go deep and some that go even deeper still.

Stitches is almost a – very long winded and much too long – answer to the questions I was so intrigued by about Din Djarin, about the Mandalorian and about the Star Wars universe as a whole. I often wondered what happened to people after the Rebellion, the normal people who fought—the people in the background. What did they do next? Did some of them suffer from PTSD? What was the galaxy like right after the Empire fell? That first season of the Mandalorian answered some of those questions, but I wanted to know more. So, I created a reader insert who was a combat medic—and through her, I let myself answer the questions of what happened next.

Regarding Din as a character, I wanted to know what a bounty hunter with a code of honour would do in certain situations—what made him tick, what made hm vulnerable. I wanted to explore the discovery of his identity. Din Djarin didn’t exist after he was taken from Aq Vetina. He became a cog in a very efficient machine of Mandalorians—and it was safe there. I wanted to see what – or who – might encourage him to step into his own. Grogu was that person in a familial sense, but what about romantically? What about individually? There’s so much to explore with this man! So many facets of personality and nuances of character that make him so gorgeous to write and think about.

Talk to me about the Din Djarin Athletic Universe. How does Din as all of these forms of athlete play off who you see him as in canon?

The Athletic Universe! How I adore my athletes. Despite being in a modern setting, I have kept the core of Din’s character in each of them (at least I hope I have!). I like to divide Din’s character into three phases when it comes to canon because he’s not as immovable as people seem to think he is. We discussed this before, how I see Din as a water element—adaptable, but strong enough that he can be as steadfast as rock. But I digress, the first phase is the character we see in the first episode. Basically, before Grogu. There’s an aggressive brutality to Din when we see him bounty hunting. He works on autopilot and isn’t swayed by sob stories or promises. He has the covert but is ultimately separate. Those soft feelings he comes to recognise when he has Grogu are dormant – not non-existent – but they haven’t been nurtured or encouraged. This is the point I extracted Boxer!Din’s personality and story from.

Cyclist!Din on the other hand—is already a father, a biological father to Grogu. And his personality, I took from that moment in the finale of Season two where I believe Din’s transformative arc of character solidified. He was always a father to Grogu, but I do believe that moment where he removes his helmet is the moment, he accepts that role fully in his heart and mind. And that is why I don’t believe for a second, that removing his helmet was him breaking his Creed. In fact, I believe it was the purest act he could do in devotion to his Creed—to his foundling, to his son. The Cyclist!AU is very much the character I see canon Din having should Grogu have stayed with him. This single dad who isn’t quite sure how he got to where he is now—but does anything and everything for his child without thought. It’s a natural instinct for him, and I like exploring those possibilities with Cyclist!Din.

You also said, “he has the covert but is ultimately separate.” What does it take for him — and you — to get to that point of being ‘not separate?’

I mentioned this above, but one of the biggest interests I have in Din as a character is his identity. He’s a Mandalorian, he’s a bounty hunter, he’s the child’s guardian but those are all what he is, not who. I think Din is separate while being part of the covert because he doesn’t know. I don’t think anyone can really be part of something if they don’t know who they are or, they struggle with their identity. It’s curious to me—how you can deceive even yourself to mimic the standard set for the many. In the boxer verse, he identifies himself in relation to his boxing—and every part of his outward personality exhibits those qualities. But when he’s given a softer touch—an outlet of affection, and comfort—we see the softer side of him surface. It’s very much the same with Stitches Din. Identity is like anything, emotions—relationships, bodies. It needs nurturing to thrive, an open door—a safe space. At least, that’s what goes through my mind when I think of him.

Who is your favorite character to read?

Frankie because there are so many ways his character can be interpreted and there are some stellar versions of him that I think of at least once a day. Javi because he reminds me of kintsugi-- golden recovery, broken pottery where the cracks are highlighted with gold. I also adore reading for Boba Fett, Paz Viszla and the clones!

Is there anything else you want your readers to know about you, your writing, or your creative process?

Hmm... only that I am quite literally a gremlin clown who is always here to chat Din, Star Wars, literature, book recs and anything else under the sun! I like to hear people's stories, their opinions etc. it helps me see things from alternative points of view and can truly help the writing process! Other than that, I think I can only thank readers for putting up with my ridiculously long chapters and rambling introspection. Thank you for indulging me always! ❤️

[botanicallyinclinednerd]

In my quest to examine the canon s4 dynamic between Leon and Gwaine (they interact so very little) I found that the scene in which they interact the most is from Lamia. Specifically the scene where they try to kill each other. Now, if you operate under the assumption that Lamia's influence causes the Knights to say and do things they never even would have thought under their own will (as much of the fandom and fanfic writers seem to do), then this scene isn’t significant to their dynamic. But, (and please bear with me, just hear me out) what if their actions, their words, do come from deep within them? Deeply buried resentment, long ignored beliefs and grudges being brought back to light, brought back to the surface and amplified by 100. It certainly would explain a lot. The behavior had to come from somewhere, it makes sense that the lamia would dredge up long past intrusive thoughts, ingrained prejudices and biases, grudges, buried instincts, and resentment in her victims and make it volatile enough for them to act on that influx of negative feelings while feeling only adoration towards her in order to keep herself safe and her (for lack of a better term) prey vulnerable to her attack. It’s not how they think now, but it was at some point or another.

I think that this is a logical explanation for the knight’s behavior in the episode. The whole reason I was watching through scenes with Gwaine and Leon in season 4 in the first place was because I wanted to see if there was any canon evidence for my headcanon that Gwaine was hostile towards Leon in the beginning due to Leon’s noble status and Gwaine’s hatred for nobility which caused their relationship to be rocky in the beginning. Lamia was the only episode I clearly saw evidence of this, but if my theory about the why of the knight’s actions is correct, then its all the evidence I need. If Gwaine originally hated Leon because of his nobility, then that would be brought to the surface. And indeed it looks like it was as it was Gwaine that antagonized Leon and initiated  the fight between them. From Gwaine (the episode) we know that one of the things Gwaine hates about nobles is their belittlement and mistreatment of servants. Well, shortly before the scene where Leon and Gwaine fight, Leon yells at Merlin and dismisses him by yelling at him “you’re nothing but a servant!” and if you watch Gwaine in the back ground, his face is twitching and he looks pissed at Leon. So not only is Gwaine’s hatred for nobles brought into play, but specifically his dislike for Leon because of his nobility (which he just displayed towards Gwaine’s best friend). This is further backed up by Gwaine saying to Leon right before the fight “Why don’t you watch your damn tounge” which doesn’t really connect as a response to “Why don’t you watch where you’re going” but it does connect to Leon berating Merlin earlier. And then of course they try to kill each other, which is why I think they didn’t always got along, because while Gwaine had reason to be pissed at Leon, Leon didn’t have reason to be as pissed at Gwaine as he was unless there was past conflict and disrespect between them.

Now the part of this I was dreading: explaining the knight’s behavior towards Merlin (and Gwen, but mostly Merlin). I’ll start with Percival. From his actions in the episode, I don’t believe Percival’s aggression towards Merlin has anything to do with the fact it’s specifically Merlin. We know Percival lost his family and while we don’t know if this entailed parents and siblings or wife and children, it would be reasonable to conclude that he was protective of his family. That is what Lamia is manipulating, making Percival feel protective of her the way he would a family member and causing him to treat anyone who causes her fear or discomfort like a foe. If she had acted afraid of one of the other knights, I believe Percival would have treated them the way he treated Merlin in the episode. 

I don’t have a whole lot to say on Elyan because he was unconscious for most of the lamia business, but he was dismissive of Gwen so maybe Lamia used a past sibling grudge or sexism to cause him to be short with her and dismiss her opinions. It might be a reach though.

Now Gwaine: I stand by what I said earlier that he fought Leon in part because of his treatment of Merlin. But we must remember that Gwaine was raised as a noble, so that view may have been a result of him realizing that what he was taught as a child about class treatment was not fair or right. But that still stands that it was a view he once had, allowing the Lamia to make him act on it. I fully believe that the end result we see is why Gwaine hated nobles so much, and why he hid his nobility and would not act on it. Because he didn't actually seem overly aggressive or violent towards Merlin until Merlin told him not to do something and grabbed Gwaine's arm. A sign of friendship, of familiarity. This could come from the servant thing, it could also come from a place of "fuck authority" since Gwaine doesnt like that Merlin told him what to do. I just know my heart breaks at Merlin's flinch and expression.

Finally Leon. He was by far the most aggressive towards Merlin, both verbally and physically. I believe that the lamia was dredging up Leon’s past prejudices and biases, as well as potentially previous thoughts and beliefs. I want to stress that these are past feelings brought forth and amplified by the Lamia. I’ll start with the very painful “you’re nothing more than a servant!” Well. Leon is a noble, a knight, and he was raised in Camelot which is very classist. This could very well have been Leon’s upbringing talking, or just as likely, this could have been part of Leon’s opinion of Merlin back when he first became Arthur’s servant and was very snarky and bold (like he is in this scene that sparks this remark): that he should not be so bold to talk to those above him like that because of his status as a servant. Much of his behavior towards Merlin and Gwen can be attributed to this, as Leon got mad that he was being contradicted and questioned by servants which was not the status quo in Uther’s Camelot. I’m not going to go in depth on it because I hate it, but Leon attacking Merlin is coming from the same place of Servants should stay in their place and if they don’t they deserve to be punished. I think his anger and short fuse also speak to how his patience and level head is a result of effort and is not his default.