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Review: Fresh’s Rose Deep Hydration Sleeping Mask

A few weeks ago Influenster sent me Fresh’s newest addition to their skincare line: the Rose Deep Hydration Sleeping Mask.

I was shocked that Influenster remembered I even exist, let alone sent me something, but here we are.

Bottom line: This has been a great mask for my skin. 

My skin has been irritated from allergies, dust from moving my office to a new building, stress from moving my…

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babumakeanart:

I adore the short interaction you can have in elven alienage!

Just the innocence of this place and the pure faces of excitement when you tell an elven story! (real or not) :‘DD just for me reallly memoriable moment!

and then coming back it just :’))) sad

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Support me on patreon. cz/ babufactory to see more stuff! ❤️

Rating: M (hurt no comfort ~ violence ~ mild description of injury ~ questionable mental state ~ very brief mention of death)

Characters:Midoriya Izuku / Bakugou Katsuki / All For One / brief Kurogiri

Direct follow up to This Is How Villains Are Made.

A/N:I’m sorry. Life’s been kind of hell right now and I’m struggling with all the happy and lovey doves stuff I had been planning on writing. I’m hurting at the moment so apparently that’s all I can write at the moment.

It’s doesn’t take Izuku long to realise that it wasn’t death that had saved him.

Things are blurry at best after he had been taken into the swirling purple mist, only small glimpses of the world making it through the heavy blackness that surround him, pulling him back down into nothingness time and time again. Izuku couldn’t say how much time had passed, having little grasp on the passing of time or even where he was but he had seen enough of the insides of hospitals to know he was in one, though this one wasn’t as bright and clean as the ones he had been to when he was a small child and still ever hopeful that he would someday get a quirk. He really had been an idealistic idiot back then hadn’t he?

Within the small glimpses of reality Izuku had seen people. The same purple smoke man who had found him and saved Kacchan from becoming a murderer was one of them. His voice was a low and soothing rumble, always assuring Izuku that he was safe now and that he could trust him, trust them. Strangely enough Izuku did. It might be the trauma and the blood loss. Maybe he had imprinted on the man or it might just be his naive insistence of seeing the best in everyone but whatever it was Izuku trusted the man who had saved his life, even if he sort of wished he hadn’t.

There was another man as well who was sometimes there when Izuku awoke, short in stature and on the plump side with a completely bald head and a rather large and bushy moustache that reminded Izuku of a video game villain. Izuku didn’t trust him, not in the slightest. He smiled to much but not like All Might did. No this man’s smiles were sinister and threatening and left Izuku feeling like he was a lab rat, waiting to be cut up and examined. The purple man with the yellow eyes told him it would be okay though, that the dr was trying to fix what Kacchan had broken so Izuku tried not to panic when he came back to himself and found the dr smiling maniacally down at him, sometimes blood splattered and wilding instruments that Izuku would rather not think about. They all looked sharp and painful, designed to rip people apart instead of put them back together and he didn’t want to even begin thinking about how they were being used on his unconscious body.

In and out of consciousness he drifted, every waking moment hazy and pain filled, Izuku unable to always grasp what was happening let alone what was being said to him. The pain though was a constant, Izuku’s throat feeling like it was burning as the phantom weight of Kacchan’s hand squeezed the very breath from his lungs. Even in the darkness he couldn’t escape it, those strong and deadly fingers wrapping around his throat, Izuku unable to move as the heat intensified until all he could smell was his burning flesh. Then came the explosions, every one deliberate and thought out. They rip through the already damaged tissue and deep into the muscle, burning the nerves and stealing his voice. Izuku wants to scream, wants to claw at the other boys hand and make him stop but it’s like he’s trapped in his own body, unable to move, unable to make even the slightest sound. All he does is stand there and smile whilst inside he screams and rages, crying out in helplessness and pain. It’s his whole life shrunk down to one moment, one painful and life shattering moment that he will never be able to escape. Again and again he relives the horror of his once friend attempting to take his life and each time he just stands there and smiles, even as blood bubbles up over his lips and the explosions ripping through his neck until his head topples from his shoulders.

Trapped in the darkness Izuku cries, begs for it to stop. He yearns for the small glimpses of reality, desperately tries to cling on to those moments for as long as he can but those moments of hazy clarity never last, the darkness pulling him back in, his obvious panic ignored as he slipped back under. He was alone once more, trapped in the darkness. Except he was never alone for long. Kacchan always comes creeping back, his mocking words and cruel laughter filling the void and the cycle starts all over again. Just him and Kacchan in the darkness and slowly driving Izuku crazy until he wasn’t sure what was real and what wasn’t any more.

Thenhe came and Izuku wasn’t so alone any more.

It’s just a whisper to start with, a deep and level voice that whispers Izuku’s name from the darkest parts of his mind. Izuku thinks it’s just his imagination to start with, his mind fracturing under the weight of his torment and maybe it is but as the voice grows louder he finds himself uncaring. If this is madness then so be it. At least he isn’t alone in the darkness any more.

Steadily the voice grows stronger, the simple whispers of Izuku’s name replaced by fully formed sentences. Though it remains a body less voice it becomes a welcomed point of contact, something Izuku clings into in an attempt to keep himself grounded though he fears that maybe he is already beyond that point now. The voice is distinctly male, obviously older than Izuku is and most likely the purple mist man as well. His voice hold an edge of authority, a distinct trace of power and confidence that has Izuku equal parts scared and interested. He has always been a curious boy though, desperate to learn new things so he pushes past the fear and unease, trusting in the voice and letting it’s deep rumble chase away the ghost of Kacchan who’s presence Izuku can feel even if the boy remains shrouded in darkness, waiting to slip through the cracks and rip Izuku apart all over again.

They talk for what seems like days, weeks, hours or even minutes. Sometimes the voice only comes to check that Izuku is still sane, though as time passes it’s becoming harder the answer that one. Other times it’s long and lengthy conversations about everything from the unbalanced structure of society to how quirks have impacted the corse of humanity. As these conversations progress Izuku finds his once firm beliefs wavering, the voices explanation of how unbalanced the world is making more sense then Izuku had thought they would.

The world was a cruel and unforgiving place that had no mercy for the weak and undesirable. Izuku had been written off the moment he had been diagnosed quirkless, his life deemed worthless because of that one simple fact that was outside of his control. It didn’t matter that he was smart or loyal or kind. It didn’t matter the potential he possessed to achieve great things. Izuku was quirkless and that was all he would ever be.

It wasn’t fair.

He hadn’t stood a chance against the rest of the world with quirks that made them better than Izuku. He hated them. Resented the fact that there were people out their like Kacchan who possessed amazing quirks with the power to change the world for the better but were abusive and vile, misusing their quirks and thinking that they had superiority over people like Izuku. People like that didn’t deserve the gifts they had been given, didn’t understand how to use them correctly but Izuku did. He had pages upon pages of action plans and battle strategies, books filled to the brim with information on every hero he had come across in his short life and even those in his class, detailed analysis of their strengths and weaknesses, of how to defend and counter almost every attack. Izuku knew how to be the perfect hero. He also knew how to put the majority of Japans top heroes out of a job, or into an early grave depending on how you looked at it.

As his talks with the bodiless voice grew more in-depth, delving into serious analysis of the state of their world Izuku found his opinions on quirks and hero’s shifting, looking at his own experiences with fresh eyes now the rose tinted glasses where gone. His pain had dulled now, Izuku able to stomach the moments of clarity better then he had before. The doctor no longer terrified him when he caught a glimpse, not even when he awoke to find the man hunched over him with a bloody scalpel in hand. Izuku knew now that he would always be in pain, would be forced to live in a constant state of anguish simply because of how he was born. He was resigned to his fate, willing enough to live through the torment though he wished for his death. This was his life and he would live it as best as he could for how ever long he could stand it.

It was then, when Izuku was at his lowest, no longer fighting Kacchan as he reminded Izuku time and time again of his rightful place in the world that the voice asked, “what if you could have quirk?” Izuku had laughed it off at first, informing the voice that his life had been filled with a lot of what ifs and he was through deluding himself with them now. The voice persisted though, often bring it up after lengthy conversations that had Izuku questioning everything he had known but the world he lived in and at some point Izuku had succumbed, the possibility festering inside Izuku’s mind until it was all he could think about.

What would his life have been like if he had gotten a quirk? Would he and Kacchan have remained friends, the two of them teaming up to get into U.A? Or would they have still drifted apart, the bullying now becomes of how small Izuku was or how weak his quirk was? Would he have even gotten into U.A or any of the hero schools? Just because he wanted to be a hero didn’t mean that Izuku would have achieved that even with a quirk. Maybe he would have found himself stuck in a boring and mundane life, drifting through unnoticed and unfulfilled as he watched Kacchan achieve his dream and become a hero despite his awful personality and tendency to resort to violence if he was even slightly inconvenienced. Would a quirk even have improve his life or would he still be stuck as he was now, alone and undesirable, forgotten by society as their attention turned to the bright and larger then life heroes who dominated their lives? Heroes that were idolised and worshiped like gods instead of the fragile and expendable mortals they actually were.

There were so many possibilities, so many what ifs and Izuku was drowning under the weight of what could have been. He had desperately wanted a quirk when he was younger and though that desire had never left him as he had gotten older Izuku had accepted the fact that he would never get his wish. So instead he had decided to prove himself without a quirk, convinced that he could achieve his goals with hard work and determination. A childish dream that had brought him more pain then joy in the end. He had long given up hope of being part of the masses, of being a normal member of society but that one question, that what if was making him think about those small slithers of hope that had unknowingly sunk their claws into his heart and mind.

What would Izuku do if he miraculously got a quirk now?

If he had been asked that question before Kacchan had found him in that alleyway Izuku would have been able to answer within seconds. He would want to become a hero. To smile as brightly as All Might as he saved countless lives, becoming a symbol of peace and hope. Izuku would have wanted to protect the very people who had shunned him, put his life on the line time and time again to make sure they were safe from the villains that plagued their city. He would have forgiven them all, dedicating his life to being the best hero he could possibly be, following in his roll models shoes until just the whisper of his hero name struck fear into the hearts of villains everywhere and made the innocent feel safe and cared for.

Izuku wasn’t so sure about that anymore.

Things had changed.

He had changed.

Izuku still wanted justice. He still wanted to save the innocent and protect the weak and helpless but knowing what he did now he wasn’t so sure he would want to do it as a hero, a false god to the adoring masses. He wanted to help others like him, the downtrodden and abused, the ones society tossed aside and forgot about and he wanted to punish those who sat by and allowed it to happen. Those that only saw the worth of others depending on the strength and usefulness of their quirk.

There were so many people who had seen Izuku’s torment and simply turned away, his quirkless status making their actions (or lack there of) seem justifiable to them. All it would have taken was one person to stand up and send him to put an end to his mistreatment but his saviour had never come. Not a single teacher, class mate or passerby had stepped forward to save Izuku from his torment. Not even his own mother had tried to understand why he was so withdrawn, why he took the long way home or always wore long sleeves and trousers to hide the bruises but how could she understand? She had a quirk and though it may be weak it was still something. Something that Izuku would never have. So no, she would never understand what life was like for Izuku, no one but another quirkless genetic mistake could and they were few and far between.

Life wasn’t fair and the odds were stacked so high against people like Izuku that he had never stood a chance in the first place. The harsh reality was that people just didn’t care enough. He knew his mother loved him, knew that she had done what she had thought best but she had been resigned to the fate that awaited Izuku, awaiting the day he just gave up or disappeared into the unknown. Just another statistic. He wanted justice, wanted the world to see what it had become and for those who had made it that way to be held accountable for it. The world was corrupt, quirks the virus that had infected it and heroes the symptoms of the disease. Izuku wanted to reset the balance, make sure only the just and true ascended to the dizzying heights of heroism. People like Mount Lady who only cared about money and fame or Best Jeanist who seemed more concerned with his appearance then helping people, they should never have been allowed to become heroes and yet they were popular for those very reasons. And they weren’t the only ones.

So may heroes were only in it for the money, the fame, the power it gave them and yet they were still showered with praise and affection even those like Endeavor who were a little to aggressive towards the villains they captured but society turned a blind eye to unnecessary violence, letting the man get away with it simply because he was a hero, the number two, coming second only to All Might, the grate pretender. There were others like Endeavor, heroes that didn’t care if the villains they apprehended had a few extra cuts and bruises, maybe a broken bone or two. How had he not seen it before? How had he been so naive and stupid to think that these so called heroes were justified some how? He had been just as guilty as the rest of them, buying into the notion that heroes were somehow above the law as they were the ones upholding it, protecting people and keeping the world safe but not anymore. Izuku could see it for what it was now and the truth was ugly and vicious.

Izuku remained trapped in the darkness for so long, the voice gone and just his thoughts and Kacchan for company. He had no idea how long he stayed trapped there, stuck in a constant loop of fear and pain but Izuku didn’t stop thinking, didn’t stop turning over what he now knew, the thoughts sinking in and festering within his fragile and splintering mind. Izuku’s perspective shifted, an understanding settling over him. If left as it was the world would never change but it would not awaken on its own. Someone had to show the world the truth, had to open their eyes to the lies they had been sold to make them feel safe when they were anything but. Izuku had a responsibility now, to help those that couldn’t help themselves, that didn’t know any better and he knew the perfect place to start.

When the voice returned, seeking to make sure Izuku was still sane it was to a pool of blood, Izuku’s hands and chin dripping with the stuff and Kacchan’s lifeless body laying at his feet, the blondes head dangling by its hair from Izuku’s fist. There was no horror, no declaration that Izuku had done wrong. There was only laughter, deep and rumbling and a question that he had been asked time and time again but now felt ready to answer p. “What if you could have quirk?” Izuku had smiled then, turning his blood splattered face towards where the voice had come from and simply answered “then I would set the world free”. That laughter had rung out around the darkness, echoing back at him endlessly. Izuku knew he should probably be scared, that same sense of danger prickling along his spine but he was beyond fear now. What was there left to be scared of when he had already been through hell?

“Then awaken my son and begin your crusade”.

The darkness thickened, Kacchan lifeless body being swallowed up by the shadows as they advanced until Izuku was blinded by it, unable to even see his own body through the darkness. The laughter remained, echoing hauntingly from inside Izuku’s mind and twisting his stomach. It felt like the darkness was pressing down on him, forcing him to his knees and still moving ever closer, pressing on his chest and stealing his breath away. A bright burning pain erupted in his throat and head, like Kacchan’s quirk but from the inside out growing hotter and hotter till Izuku was convinced he was on fire, the flames choking the life from him. His hands clawed at his throat or yanked on his hair, desperate for it to stop but it did nothing to dull the sensation, the pain so intense that it felt like he knew nothing else, his whole body burning with it now. Izuku screamed but in the darkness that to was taken, the empty nothingness ringing with its silence. The darkness pressed in, the shadows claiming him as it forced its way into his burning throat, his ears, his eyes, his nose until it swallowed him whole and chocked the very last breath from his lungs.

Izuku Midoriya was no more.

Rating: M (hurt no comfort ~ violence ~ mild description of injury ~ bully Bakugou ~ self hatred ~ no happy ending ~ Bakugou is not a good person in this)

Characters:Midoriya Izuku / Bakugou Katsuki / brief Kurogiri

Part 2I Know Whose Side I’m On

A/N: I don’t know what this is. I wrote this instead of sleeping. Now it’s your problem. To those who are waiting for the next instalment of twos company threes a crowd I am sorry but this is not it. Life’s been getting me down lately and I just can’t do lovey dovey at the moment.

Things don’t go as planned but Izuku has found that they rarely do.

He’s worked hard his whole life, tried to be the best possible version of himself and look where it’s gotten him, bloody and broken and left to rot in a back ally amongst the trash. He should have known that standing up to Kacchan would have ended up like this. He had been stupid and naïve to think that if he stood his ground for once that the other boy would back down. He knew better then that. Knew that Kacchan would see it as some kind of slight against him and yet Izuku had still tried. He had wanted it all to just stop, wanted the pain to go away but instead it had just gotten worse. So much worse.

He knew he had at least a couple of broken ribs, maybe even a broken wrist from the way it was throbbing and hanging limply at his side. He could taste blood in his mouth, his left eye already swelling shut from the force of the other boys punch. His whole body hurt, a thousand bruises blooming to life across his skin like some sort of twisted watercolour of purple, blue and yellow. It all hurt but the worst one of all was the one around his throat because it didn’t hurt at all.

At some point between Kacchan throwing him against the wall and breaking the second rib Izuku had started to apologise, begging for the other boys forgiveness and for him to stop. That had been yet another mistake in a string of bad decisions, his wailing just seeming to make things worse. Kacchan had yelled for him to shut up but it was like a damn had burst and Izuku couldn’t stop, the words tumbling out of his trembling lips and tears streaming down his face. So Kacchan had shut him up himself, wrapping his hand around his throat and squeezing tightly until Izuku was gasping for breath. He had tried to pry his hands off him, panicking as Kacchan’s hold got tighter and his hand began to warm. He hadn’t listened though, hadn’t let Izuku go and dropped him to the floor like the worthless worm he was always telling Izuku he was. No, he had leaned in, snapping and snarling about how weak Izuku was, how pathetic and disgusting he was and how his very existence was a stain on humanity.

On and on he went, his words cutting into Izuku like fine blades, slicing away at him until he was nothing but a bloody and mangled mess. He just kept squeezing, Izuku barely able to suck in a breath. He had felt light headed, his vision going hazy and arms falling limply to his sides. Kacchan had said he would do him a favour, do the whole world a favour and put an end to his misery and in that moment Izuku had both feared and welcomed his death, wanting the pain to stop and fearing what came after the darkness. His breath had stuttered, vision almost gone apart from those angry and vicious eyes staring back at him. Eyes of a demon, a monster, a future hero. Izuku had enough time to fear for those who Kacchan ever went against before an all consuming pain ripped through him, chasing any other thought from his mind.

He screamed, Izuku was sure of it. How could he have not with the feeling of a hundred little explosions going off against his delicate skin, burning away his flesh and eating away at the muscle below. His ears were ringing with it, the smell of burning flesh filling his nose and making his stomach churn. It hurt, the worse pain he had ever experienced, all consuming and endless, stretching on until the end of eternity, until it was all Izuku knew. There was nothing else, just his scream ringing in his ears, a pain so bright it felt like it was burning him alive and those red eyes, bright like a blood moon and ripping into his soul.

And then everything had stopped, the world consumed in darkness and his mind blissfully empty.

When he had come to everything had still been hazy, Izuku struggling to stay conscious. There had been a voice, familiar but yet unrecognisable in the panic and fear that dripped from everyone word. There had been hands on him, shaking and petting as that voice begged for Izuku to stay with them. He tried to answer, tried to ask for help but his throat was raw and every time he tried to speak it was like he was swallowing razor blades. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t see past the spots in his vision and the unfocused image of someone running away, their retreating figure a black silhouette that disappeared into the far off light at the end of the alleyway.

Izuku had been alone then, body burning and unable to call for help or force himself to move towards the light. He stayed where he was, slumped against the dirty wall and surround by trash. Used and thrown away like a broken and useless toy. That was what Izuku was after all. Useless. Unloved. Unwanted. He wasn’t worth the air he breathed. Pathetic. Quirkless. Society didn’t want him, didn’t see any value in a quirkless runt with dreams far beyond his station. He was so stupid, completely delusional. How could he ever have hoped to be a hero, saving lives and defeating villains when he couldn’t even save himself. Kacchan had been right all along. He really was a useless Deku.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, eyes closed and body getting colder by the second. It felt like time had stopped, dragging out his suffering one sharp and jagged breath at a time. He thought of his mother as he waited for the darkness to take him once more. She had tried but even she had been unable to love him the way he needed. She hadn’t encouraged him to go for his dreams, hadn’t told Izuku that he was capable of achieving anything if he just put his mind to it but she hadn’t outright told him no either. Never once had she told Izuku to stop, to give up his foolish dream and strive for something obtainable. She had left Izuku in some kind of limbo, not encouraged but not dissuaded either.

Sometimes he wished she had put a stop to his hero worship. That she had refused to indulge his All Might obsession and pushed him to be realistic. He was quirkless after all and everyone had known that there was no miracle great enough to grant his wish and make him a hero. It would have been harsh, probably would have broken him a little but it would have been better than this. Izuku was pretty sure he was going to die here, alone and forgotten and he knew it would hurt her, that his mother would blame herself for this instead of Izuku’s blind determination. She was his mother so his death would be her failure and Izuku would never get the chance to tell her that he forgave her, that this was his fault and his alone. He really was a horrible son, to put her through this. She was going to have to bury her only son and no matter how much of a disappointment he was Izuku knew that she would grieve for years to come. Maybe even decades.

At least she wouldn’t be alone once he was gone. She had friends, Kacchan’s mother her closest one. She would look after his mother, would make sure she continued to live when he didn’t. Unless they blamed her of Izuku getting Kacchan in trouble. That was if he even got into trouble for this. Izuku was a quirkless nothing wheres Kacchan had a promising future ahead of him. Izuku’s death would probably end up marked as an accident, a quirk mishap and Kacchan would get a slap on the wrist and be free to carry on with his life, probably uncaring that he had taken a life. Doing the world a favour, that’s what he had said because Izuku’s death now meant that he wouldn’t get himself and others killed in the future when he tried to play hero and it all went wrong. Kacchan, always the hero.

If Izuku could if he would have laughed but all that came out was a scratchy cough, fresh blood trickling over his lips and his throat being ripped to shreds. Kacchan, a hero. It would have been laughable if it wasn’t going to happen. The boy was psychotic, more a villain than anyone aiming for the U.A hero course had the right to be. Kacchan was a monster. A bully with a vicious streak a mile long and an explosive attitude to rival his quirk. He had anger issues, a superiority complex and if Izuku was right an inferiority complex to. He was more likely to blow someone up than save them, yet he would be the one to become a hero.

Why? Why did people like that get the chance for greatness when Izuku was condemned to be the lowest scum of society, even blow the villains that caused so much pain and destruction? It was fair. Izuku deserved more than this. He had been a good boy, studied hard and always polite. He helped his mum out around the house and always made sure to stay out of trouble. Well, stay away from trouble that wasn’t Kacchan but the blonde was impossible to ignore considering they were in the same class. Izuku had deserved a chance to try. Had deserved to be treated better than a walking talking punching bag. He deserved more than for society to turn a blind eye to his suffering. Izuku deserved respect, to be judged by his capabilities and not by his genetics. He deserved all of that and more but now he would never get the chance to achieve anything. Now he was just another statistic about how quirkless people didn’t make it to thirty.

There was a noise in the distance, like footsteps but they seemed so far away that Izuku wasn’t sure that he hadn’t imagined them. It was probably the last slither of hope, reaching out for even the slimmest possibility that someone cared enough to help. No one cared though, never had and just because he was inching towards death didn’t change that. He’s resigned himself to this. To sitting quiet and still until he’s finally free. He should just give in already. Should let it all be over so he can start again. Maybe Kacchan will be right. Maybe in the next life he will get a quirk and finally be worth something to the society he is born into. Maybe he’s wrong. Maybe there’s nothing but but empty blackness waiting for him. An eternity of nothingness. Whatever there is waiting for him Izuku wished it would hurry up. He didn’t want to feel anymore. Didn’t want to think.

Someone is talking a deep and steady voice that strangely calming. It’s talking to Izuku, something about a waist and taking him somewhere. It must be death, come to take Izuku away. He smiles at that, tries to thank death but all that comes out is a rough and strangled noise that has him coughing up more blood. Death shush’s him, tells Izuku not to speak and save his energy for what’s to come. That strikes Izuku as odd. Surely he wouldn’t need the energy to do anything now? It takes a lot more effort that Izuku thought to pry an eye open, his eyelid heavy like it was made of lead. There’s a purple mist before him, dancing and moving like wisps of smoke in the air. Yellow slits stare back at him, empty and endless and yet full of possibilities.

Izuku’s eyes flutter closed, blessed darkness so close now and he willingly gives himself over to it, gives himself over to the vision of death before him. There are hands on him, an arm sliding under his knees and one behind his back, lifting I g him from the ground. Izuku feels weightless, cradled in deaths arms and his body limp and useless. In the distance someone calls his name, the same guilty and panic stricken voice as before but it’s to late now, death has him and as that purple mist consumed him Izuku finally feels at peace.

Free.

Finally.

Side project?