doodoodoo

zozo || side account / bnha fanpage (mostly kiribaku) || ao3: efemerald 

[pukingfairies]

I really think he meant it.

[timotaychalamet]

p…….please…………

[thecaptainsandthekings]

Anne Carson, “The Glass Essay”

Florence Welch, “No Choir”

[lexandraws]

neon + pink + house plants = mina

[franeridart]

given names

[pajamaslam-deactivated20190101]

the switch from ‘a girl worth fighting for’ to coming upon the decimated village in mulan is THE MOST kick-in-the-teeth mood change IN ALL OF CINEMA

[furikomaru-deactivated20190920]

That scene shift did more for our generation’s understanding of the horror of war in ten seconds than Game of Thrones did in eight seasons, and it did it without showing us a single dead body. 

[genresavvygentleman]

OKAY BUT HOLD ON THOUGH.

I’ve spent the past… five? Let’s say five - the past five years analyzing the structure of Disney Musicals as part of the process to write my own/a parody of them, and the thing is that all the modern ones have roughly the same number of songs - except Mulan.

Mulan has about half, because after AGWFF ends with that unresolved final phrase, there are no more songs until the end credits, which isn’t even sung in-universe.

Mulan wasn’t even the REALM of fucking around - when they arrive at that village, when the true horrors of war are brought into the story, not only does it interrupt THAT song, it breaks the entire fucking mold - the movie’s damn genre changes; it is no longer a musical.

And the Huns represent this from the start - Jafar and Hades are notable for not having proper villain songs, but Jafar does get his Prince Ali refrain and Hades and his plan get sung ABOUT by the muses. No scene with the Huns has any singing, they are mentioned once in song (the second line of Man, natch), and they of all Disney Villains are probably the most serious - no jokes, no witty asides, no sassy delivery of dry humor. The Huns are an invading army who plan to straight up kill a fuckton of people, including children, and AGWFF’s sudden end is the moment when our happy go lucky MUSICAL protagonists finally come in contact with them and their work directly - and it breaks them. Because shit like the Huns cannot exist in happy go lucky musical world. They just exist in our world. The real world. And you can’t sing your problems away here.

The end of A Girl Worth Fighting For is a brilliant use of metanarrative sensibilities to convey a message. It is utterly perfect.

[truelight8]

Daaaamn, Tony. That’s fucking deep, my guy

[genresavvygentleman]

I didn’t spend two years and thousands of dollars on a Master’s Degree in literature to NOT over analyze every text I engage with.

[venadorosas]

<<Previous Part / Next Part>>

[Press on the pics for better quality]

Part 7 of my kiribaku comic series where Bakugou gets separated into 7 different emotions.

[DO NOT REPOST]

Deviant art: urbangurl123

Instagram and Twitter: sabribsarts

Miraculous Ladybug blog: fuckingchatnoir

[crabbng]

i dont know how to draw sunsets but damn it i tried

Keep reading

[franeridart]

some krbk sap for all your krbk sap needs

[mliju]

hi everyone i’m back on my bs

kiribaku are not the only ones suffering from the knight and prince au bc princess ochako is in love w tsu who is a palace maid by day and part of a secret royal espionage order by night (ft. badass guard tokoyami)

i can’t not do this bc they’re literally princess and the frog 💖💖🐸

[kingsred]

guys stop trying to say kirishima and bakugou are gay

the only person who can make that decision is jk rowling 

[efemerald]

B13 plsss

B13. “Here’s my number!”

Three more months. Three more months until they graduate and go their separate ways. Three more months, and Bakugou will be living 300 miles away.

Kirishima tried his best to shove those thoughts aside – to tuck them away into some lost corner of his mind, where they couldn’t bother him anymore – but to no luck; they sprung back each time, harder and with a greater intensity.

No more morning runs, or daytime spars, or late nights in the library. No more sitting in the cafe after school, sneaking glances when Bakugou wasn’t looking; no more accidental touches as they reached for the same pen, or thighs brushing beneath the table when they sat too tightly together. No more long tirades about how much Deku sucked, or brash encouragement when Kirishima felt tired. The thought made his heart sink. Bakugou, whether he wanted to admit it or not, had been his anchor these past three years – he’d been the pillar of support Kirishima needed so desperately during those embarrassing moments of insecurity, and the home to come back to after a long mission. He’d been his rock. And, maybe, Kirishima had been his.

But none of that mattered anymore. Soon, ‘their’ booth in the library would be taken up by some other pair of first years, and it would cease to be ‘theirs’ anymore. The librarians would be grateful to be rid of those noisy troublemakers, he thought. But then, after a year or two, they’ll forget those noisy troublemakers ever existed in the first place. They’ll be practically erased from school memory. In a couple of years, there’ll be an entire generation who’d never heard frightening tales of the hot headed senior, the Bakugou Katsuki, nor fear bumping into him in the hallways.

Worse still, Kirishima knew, is that they’ll begin to forget each other too. Blonde hair, crimson eyes, the smell of caramel skin – sooner or later, these things will fade from his memory. That endearing little scowl twitching on his lips whenever he got frustrated; the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed; the soft smile he wore when they were alone, and he allowed himself to be vulnerable: even if he tried as hard as he could, there will come a day when Kirishima struggles to paint these pictures in his head. Everything he knows so well, down to the finest detail, will become blurry and vague.

And Bakugou? Bakugou, who hated feeling weak, who’d never wanted friends in the first place – he’d forget all about Kirishima as soon as he could. Besides, the constant demand of hero work was bound to replace all thought of UA. Kirishima would become an abstract specter in his mind; just another High School friend you might think to call once or twice a year, but inevitably forgot about by the time you reached home.

Suddenly, his stomach felt queasy. He’d broken out in sweat without realizing, and the room, though stuffy with early Summer heat, suddenly felt too cold. His chest was seized with a flash of anxiety, and he was filled with the sudden need to go and see Bakugou. It felt like if he didn’t go and find him right away, didn’t see him face-to-face, the other boy would fade into nothing but a fever dream.

Swinging his legs out of bed, Kirishima thrust himself onto the floor of his room and bolted upright. In this state of panicked delirium, he just about sprinted to his door, threw it open, and – Bakugou was already there.

The blonde stood stiffly outside, hand raised to knock. Kirishima stared at him; he stared right back.

“I was just about to find you.”

“I needed to see you.”

They both spoke at once. Consequently, their faces flushed an equal shade of red.

“I, uh,” Bakugou cleared his throat. Then, he spluttered out, “Here’s my number.” He thrust a strip of paper into Kirishima’s hand.

Kirishima looked down at it. The gears in his head turned slowly, and he examined the paper with sleepy confusion. “But I already have your number? It’s in the class chat.”

“That’s my extra number,” he drawled, as if it was obvious.

“You have two numbers?”

“Duh. One’s for shitty extras, like our class, and the other is for… family, and stuff.” His cheeks dusted pink. “For people close to me.”

“Oh.”

“I, uh, I use it more often than the other one. I figure you can use it to contact me after we leave. I mean, if you want to stay in touch, or whatever.” The end of his sentence trailed off into a mumble, and he glanced down at his feet.

The full weight of what he said took its time processing in Kirishima’s head. When it did, however, he felt like a sudden weight had been lifted from his chest. His heart soared with gladness. Beaming, he tried to keep the excitement out of his voice when he replied. “Yeah! Of course, bro. I’ll text you every single day, it’ll annoy the hell out of you.”

Bakugou made a grunt of annoyance, but there was no real bite to it. When Kirishima looked up at him, his face was glowing with a faint smile. Easy to miss, if you didn’t know him well enough. If you didn’t know him like Kirishima knew him.

And, he was beginning to suspect, would always know him.

Maybe, if Bakugou wanted this just as much – he dared to let himself hope – then this wouldn’t be a final goodbye after all.

“Hey, Hair for Brains, are you there?” Bakugou’s usual gruffness was back in full force, and he snapped his fingers by Kirishima’s eyes. “You’re zoning out on me. What’s wrong?”

Kirishima startled, and he laughed. “Nothing, Blasty.” He pocketed the number. “Wanna go play video games?”

Bakugou eyed the clock; it was 11pm, 3 hours past his bedtime.

But then, he figured, there were only so many more chances to do this before they graduated. And whether he admitted it or not, he wanted – no, needed – to make the most of this time with his best friend.

Rolling his eyes, he pushed past the redhead and into the bedroom. “Obviously. I’m gonna kick your ass, Shitty Hair.”

Send me a prompt!

[efemerald]

C19?

C19 “Want some tea?”

Kirishima thought it must hurt when the Queen wrenched her son’s arm like that. Logically, he knew it was necessary – the prince had an unstable power, with a capricious temper to match. But even so, every time he saw the boy’s arms wrapped in those horrible chains, Kirishima couldn’t help but feel guilt gnawing on his insides, like a stone pit in his stomach. 

As usual, once the chains were placed, the prince was sent up to his chambers. The queen watched him disappear up the stairs, cheeks red with exertion and pupils blown wide, before whirling on the waitstaff. “No dinner tonight.” she snapped. “And no communication with the brat either. Maybe that’ll teach him some respect.” She was seething like a dog. 

There were murmurs of assent among the servants, along with cries of support from a few elderly women. She gave them a curt smile of approval. 

Then, gathering her robes, she stalked out of the dining hall, pausing only once to comfort a visibly bewildered Kirishima. “Apologies for the disruption, your highness.” she bowed shortly. “He’ll be better behaved in the morning.” 

In some ways, this was true, Kirishima thought. After having stayed as a guest for the last few months, and having witnessed this same ritual at least twelve times, he knew that Bakugou would be made docile and tame by the deprivation of basic comfort. He also knew that the boy would be uncomfortably timid for a number of days, before eventually lashing out again, repeating the whole cycle all over.

Not that Kirishima minded Bakugou’s fiery side. He enjoyed the company of an unrestrained, reckless Bakugou; he thought that his fearlessness made him manly. Plus, the number of adventures they’d manage to sneak in during those brief intervals of freedom – they’d been infinitely superior to any of the luxuries he’d been showered with at the palace. 

He almost opened his mouth to say so, but then the Queen was walking off again, crown held between pale clenched fingers. With an angry whip of her cape, she receded into the distance. 

Kirishima looked at the meal in front of him. Steaks, roasted vegetables, even a small purin on the side – they’d gone to great lengths in catering specifically to his tastes. Suddenly, however, he found he had no appetite. He excused himself, and let the servants take his food into the back. 

On his way up to his own chamber, he passed by a familiar stone door. Bakugou’s name was etched on the front. A vulgar stream of curses were pouring out of it now, echoing against the dark cobble tiles and wafting down the empty corridor. Hearing it made the pit in Kirishima’s stomach grow just a little bit heavier. 

Pausing, he brushed his hand against the face of the door – it shook beneath his touch, as if someone inside was desperately fighting with the walls. Kirishima heart flared with anger. This, walking by and doing nothing – this wasn’t manly at all. Before he could think better of it, he formed a new resolve. 

It was such that a little over twenty minutes later, he stood anxiously outside of Bakugou’s door, tea tray in hand. The platter was covered precariously in porcelain pots and cups, all clattering against each other and steaming with white vapor. The slightest stumble, Kirishima knew, and they’d all come crashing down. 

Now that he thought about it, this plan seemed stupid. Kirishima’s grandmother taught him that tea was the best way to form bonds between two people – but did that same rule apply when one of those people might not want to see the other at all? His cheeks heated in embarrassment. This might be the dumbest idea he’s ever had. 

Well, he figured, there’s no backing out now. 

He knocked at the door with his foot. “Uh, Bakugou? Your highness?”

A second passed. Followed by another. And then the door swung quickly open. “Shitty Hair, wha–” he stopped short when he saw the array of platters in Kirishima’s hands. “What are you doing?”

Face red and heart racing, Kirishima blurted out, “Want some tea?” 

He thrust his offering forwards. 

Bakugou stared at him with eyebrows half cocked. His expression was a riddle of both confusion and amusement, as if he couldn’t decide whether or not to be pleased. “You’re not allowed to talk to me.” he said flatly. “I heard Ma telling everyone to leave me alone.”

“Yeah, well,” Kirishima grinned sheepishly. “I’m not everyone, right?”

The blonde pursed his lips, looking him over thoughtfully. Kirishima was right – The Queen’s rules don’t apply to him. So, first checking that no one was watching them, he stepped aside and let the other boy slip in. 

“Over there.” he nodded to the kotatsu in the center of the room. 

Kirishima immediately complied, dropping to the ground with a boyish fervor. “I brought the tea leaves from home,” he explained, eagerly picking up the pot and recklessly filling two cups to the near brim. “They’re specially grown in my grandmother’s garden. We pick them in the summer, then we roast it over the fire – that’s what gives it the caramelized quality, see? – and then we brew it as tea for desert. Normally, we’d eat something sweet with it, but I figured since you haven’t had dinner yet – and I remember you said you hated sweet things anyways – I made some onigiri in the kitchen. It’s not super fancy or anything, but…”

As Kirishima rattled on, Bakugou lowered himself to the opposite end of the table, listening with bemused interest. The chains his mother had fastened were still wound tight around his hands, and his arms hung limply in front of him. Sitting down, he folded them awkwardly on his lap. The set before them was way more impressive than Bakugou thought the other boy was capable of, and with his lips parched and dry, the amber liquid was looking irresistibly tempting. 

“Kirishima.” he interrupted. The other boy shut up. “Can I have some of that tea?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah!” Kirishima pushed it forwards on the table. “That’s why I brought it!” He beamed expectantly, waiting for Bakugou to take it up. 

Instead, the blonde shot him a glower. “Kirishima.”

“Yeah? What’s wrong?”

He sighed. Reluctantly, he raised his hands for Kirishima to see, gesturing towards the metal that bound him at the wrists. “I can’t pick anything up, dipshit.”

Kirishima felt the blood drain from his face. “Oh, right. So, you want me to, uh…”

“Just, help me drink.” Bakugou grumbled, and his face was glowing red. “Like, bring the cup up and stuff.”

“Oh!” Kirishima squeaked. “Yeah, right. Of course. That makes sense.”

He leaned over to reach the cup, and prayed to God that Bakugou didn’t notice the tremble in his hands. Gently, he lifted the tea upwards to Bakugou’s mouth, holding it against the other boy’s lips. He could feel the warmth of Bakugou’s body on his nose, and his heart began to race. This entire scene felt all too close, too intimate. He wondered if Bakugou could feel it too. 

The cup tremored as Bakugou gulped down its contents, and once he was sure it’d been emptied, Kirishima pulled it away in relief. 

Bakugou let out a satisfied sigh. Licking the last drops from his upper lip, he smiled. “Thank you.”

Kirishima suppressed the shiver running down his spine. “Uh, sure. No problem.”

He looked at the rest of the food and drink on the table. There was no way he could get through this meal without making a fool of himself. “Hey, Bakugou,” he said instead, “Why don’t I just get the chains off your arms.”

Almost immediately, it was like a switch in the prince’s head was turned on. The blonde jerked his whole body backwards as if he’d been electrocuted, twisting his arms out of reach. His eyes blew wide. “What the fuck, Hair for Brains?” he snarled. “Are you stupid?”

Kirishima flinched in surprise. “Well, I just thought it’d be easier,” he stammered. “For you to, you know, move and stuff?” 

“These chains are the only thing keeping my magic suppressed!” Bakugou cried. “You take them off, and I might blow your whole head off with it!”

“Okay, but… you won’t? Why would you do that?”

“Don’t you ever pay attention, asshole.” the blonde growled. “You heard my Ma. You saw what happened downstairs! I can’t control these powers.” he glanced away, hiding his face from the other boy. His ears burning at the tips. “What if I blasted you by accident? Or scorched you, or hurt you, or worse?”

“You won’t!” the words were falling out of Kirishima’s mouth, on reflex, before Bakugou could finish. Even Kirishima was surprised at the surety in his own voice. “I’ve only known you for a month, but I trust you. You’ve never lashed out before.”

“But, downstairs–” Bakugou protested, “you saw what happened.”

“What I saw was you being treated horribly.”  Kirishima spat, speaking with a sudden malice in his tone. “That woman was awful to you – she kept screaming at you, and calling you such nasty things – I would’ve gotten angry too! It’s not your fault she’s the worst.”

Bakugou puffed out a breath of sardonic laughter. He shook his head. “But I should be able to control it. Just because she’s a bitch to me doesn’t give me the excuse to…”

“Okay, but how’re you going to learn to control it when you’re constantly walking on eggshells here? Admit it, Katsuki, you’re always on the defensive, and it’s not fair. Of course your instincts are gonna be a little unstable.” Kirishima moved around the table, until they were barely inches apart. He placed a brave hand on Bakugou’s shoulder, not daring to breathe. He’d used Bakugou’s first name – was he allowed to do that? – but Bakugou wasn’t shaking him off. So he continued. “Let me help. I can… I mean, maybe I can’t. But at least let me try. You deserve to live better than this.”

Up close, Kirishima could see how tightly the chains had been woven, and it made his heart ache. They dug angrily into Bakugou’s skin, carving out red welts against his flesh. The boy in question had gone silent. 

“...Bakugou?”

When the blonde turned back around, his cheeks were wet with tears. “Eijirou,” he said, and his voice was barely a whisper. “You can’t do this. You can’t trust me. I’m a total fuck-up, even my own mother knows it. I’ll end up hurting you.”

“I hate seeing you like this–”

“I deserve it!” Bakugou was outright sobbing now, shamelessly letting himself to fall apart. Fat tears rolled down his cheeks, forming thin rivers down to his chin and dripping into his lap. “I deserve to live like this, after everything I’ve done. You don’t– you don’t know half of it, Ei, so don’t even try–”

Instinctively, Kirishima grabbed him by both shoulders, squeezed and didn’t let go. “Katsuki! Katsuki, stop, listen to me,” and he held Bakugou still, grasping him until all the tremors died beneath his hands. “I don’t know what you did, but I do know you. I know you better than most people. And I know you can’t live your whole life punishing yourself.”

Bakugou lifted his gaze to meet Kirishima’s, and the redhead’s breath caught in his throat. His eyes were dark crimson, like the sky after a storm, and they burned with an intensity that made Kirishima’s skin turn cold. Without speaking – without thinking, really – Bakugou lunged forwards, crushing his lips against Kirishima’s. He kissed with the same fierceness he fought, and Kirishima could feel his insides turning to mush. 

Then, as quickly as he’d initiated it, Bakugou pulled backwards. His eyes were shut, and he breathed raggedly, every huff of his lungs ghosting across Kirishima’s face. “I’m going to regret this.” he grumbled. 

Kirishima could barely remember how to breathe himself. He exhaled softly, focusing on the soft features of Bakugou’s face. “Regret what?”

The blonde smiled weakly. His eyes shot open. “Okay. I trust you.”

He held out his arms to Kirishima. “Get these chains off. And then,” he gestured towards the patio. His eyes were blazing with the same confidence Kirishima had fallen in love with ages ago – the same confidence he’d possessed so much of before his mother stripped it away. “And then,” he grinned wildly. “We’re running away.”

Send me a prompt!

[efemerald]

Visual Parallels and Thematic Subversions in BNHA

Most discussion concerning Shigaraki’s recent arc tends to focus heavily on the parallels between his and Midoriya’s stories as predecessors (for good reason too). However, the most recent chapter of BNHA has forced readers to recognize a much more obscure and rarely mentioned character comparison:

(I know there are more fitting panels of Bakugou that better resemble the top panel, if anyone knows what chapter I can find them pls let me know)

The visual parallels between these two – Bakugou’s usually savage movements, the emphatic lining of their speech bubbles, and the violent lines used to convey both their quirks – reveal and emphasize the similarities between the two characters, and helps to justify why Shigaraki thought of Bakugou as villain material in the first place. In short, these stylistic similarities reveal deeper, characteristic similarities as well.

What’s interesting about this last chapter, however, is by portraying the haunting scene of Shigaraki’s murdering his own father, Horikoshi takes what was originally comedic relief – Bakugou’s excessive and inappropriate competitiveness – and turns it into something dark. The speech bubbles screaming “Die!”, which were originally rendered comic and lighthearted by their context (and whose severity was hence completely undermined), are now shown for what they really are: worrisome, resentful, and hate-filled. In other words, not funny.  

By conveying this dialogue in such a different light, Horikoshi not only portrays Bakugou’s anger problems as a serious issue, but implicitly criminalizes his readers for originally laughing it off. He successfully illustrates how often society fails to recognize genuine behavioral problems – writing people (especially young people) off as too angry, attention-seeking, even comedic, to the point of vilifying them, without attempting to find the root of the problem – by forcing his unaware audience to take the part of the judgmental society. They laugh at “Die!”, are then forced to understand its severity through a much harsher depiction in Shigaraki, and then feel uncomfortable at their own previous reactions.

This has further implications in our understanding of the two characters’ upbringings:

Again, we are introduced to Bakugou’s toxic household as a forms of comedic relief, and are then shown it in a completely different light through the backstory of Shigaraki. Horikoshi’s thematic subversion doesn’t just end with “Die!” and anger problems, but with our perception of the roots to these problems too. Bakugou’s backstory is not funny, but troublesome, and it takes seeing another character – one with a much darker, more tragic ending – to recognize that.

By having his readers laugh at something dark, then explicitly telling them they were wrong for doing so, Horikoshi implicates us as the silent and complacent masses who, like Shigaraki’s family, refuse to intervene when seeing a child threatened by abuse.

[efemerald]

C50?

C50 “How drunk was I?”

Katsuki woke up in a pool of his own filth. He cracked open his eyes, was struck by the blinding light pouring through his curtains, and instantly regretted it. His head was throbbing; his lips felt parched and dry; his throat was stinging. He wanted, more than anything, to fall back asleep.

To his irritation, he was prevented from doing so by a knock on his bedroom door.

“Eijirou?” he rasped.

“Nope,” came the reply, followed by the creak of the door and light footsteps on the ground. Definitely not Eijirou, then.

Swathed in bleary confusion, he raised his head to identify the guest – and was immediately pierced with what felt like a sword running through his brain. Groaning, he fell back into the pillow.

As he stared helplessly at the ceiling, Jirou’s profile came into view. “It’s me, shithead.”

“Ugh.”

She rolled her eyes. Leaning forwards, she pressed a cool glass into Bakugou’s hand, which he begrudgingly accepted. “It’s a seltzer. Hurry up and drink it.” Then, with a hint of sadism in her smile, she added, “You need to eat something too. Breakfast is in the kitchen.”

He fixed her with a glare. “Bring it here, shorty.”

“Nope!” she sounded way too happy as she walked away. “You gotta get up first! Maybe change clothes, or something. You stink.”

Katsuki looked downwards at himself. He was still wearing the same button down and jeans from last night, only they were stiff with dried vomit. He winced. Maybe she had a point.

Downing as much of the seltzer as he could manage, Katsuki thrust the cup onto his nightstand and rolled out of bed. Immediately, his stomach seized into convulsions, and he grabbed the bin nearest to him. He felt like he was going to die.

Hanging his head above the rim, he tried to vomit – once, twice – but was met only with dry heaves. Fine. Breakfast first then.

With wobbly legs and a spinning head, he pushed himself off the floor, trying to swallow the rising bile. Then, silently cursing Jirou for punishing him like this, he staggered forwards and out the door, almost collapsing at the kitchen island.

The smell of fried meats on the grill nauseated him, but fuck it, it was better than nothing.

“Morning, Blasty!”

The words were basically screamed towards him, and it cut sharply into his brain. He glowered upwards.

“What the hell is Drooly doing in my kitchen?”

“Well, Saturdays are supposed to be date days,” Jirou said pointedly. Next to him, she was eyeing Bakugou amusedly, mug of coffee tilted in her hand. “But then Kirishima asked me to take care of you, and, I mean, it seemed selfish to not share this opportunity with my boyfriend. When do we ever get to see Bakugou Katsuki waddling around like a child?”

“Fuck you.” his face screwed up as he processed what she said. “But also thanks. I guess.”

“Whatever.”

Speaking of Kirishima, where the fuck was his shitty roommate? Normally, the redhead would be more than ready to help him through a hangover.

As if reading his mind, Kaminari called from the kitchen, “Ei’s out for a run. Said he needs to work things out, or something.”

“Work things out? What things?” All this thinking was making his head ache even more.

Jirou took a long slurp of her coffee. Kaminari choked.

“Dude.” he turned to look at his friend. “Do you remember anything from last night?” He gestured wildly at the living room behind him.

Bakugou shot him a scowl, but twisted around nonetheless. The scene before him was… unexpected. He felt the blood rush to his face.

“What the hell?”

His apartment was ruined – the drapes were torn down, couches overturned, pillow stuffing strewn everywhere. Kirishima’s plants were all knocked over, and the soil from their pots was seeping into the wood. His All Might figurine stash was missing from the shelf. Most worryingly, everything was freckled – if not absolutely covered – in black scorch marks. Scorch marks that he would recognize anywhere. He looked down at his own hands.

Questioningly, he shot an eyebrow at Jirou, as if she was somehow to blame for his home being destroyed. “How drunk was I?”

Sighing, she set down the mug. “You really can’t remember anything?”

He shrugged.

“Fine. You did eight shots of soju, followed by nine shots of tequila–” he winced. “Declared to everyone that you weren’t drunk–”

“I’m not a fucking lightweight!” Kaminari parodied in his best Bakugou impression.

“Then proceeded to tell Kirishima that you loved him, in front of the whole party.”

Katsuki’s heart plummeted to his stomach. If death by humiliation was possible, this was it.

Jirou didn’t seem to notice, or just didn’t care. “When Kirishima said that you were drunk, and needed to lay off the alcohol, you took it as rejection, and…”

She clicked her tongue, gesturing to the wreckage of furniture.

His face was completely red now. There was a new urge to vomit, and this time, it wasn’t from the hangover. “Uh…”

“But don’t worry!” Kaminari chirped. “Kirishima hid your All Might collection so you wouldn’t ruin it.”

“Fuck.” he shoved his head into his hands. “I’m dead.”

Jirou gave him an awkward, but sympathetic, pat on the back. “At least you didn’t vomit on him this time.”

“This time?”

––––––––––––––––––––––––––

It was nearing noon by the time Kirishima returned, and both Jirou and Kaminari had already left the house.

Katsuki had made some attempt at cleaning up his mess, with the hopes of making it somewhat livable, but had given up as soon as the couch was upright. Now, he lay flat out on the said couch, nursing his headache and taking periodic sips of water.

He looked up when he heard the doorknob click.

Kirishima walked in, drenched from head to toe in sweat. His hair was matted at odd angles, and the earphones dangling around his neck were literally dripping. Katsuki wondered how long he’d been running for.

As soon as he caught sight of the blonde, Kirishima stopped short. Instead of moving further in, he opted to stand awkwardly in the doorway, shifting uncomfortably. Katsuki stared back at him. Both boys were too anxious to speak.

Eventually, it was Katsuki who broke the silence. “Listen, Ei, we don’t have to talk about if you don’t want to.” After all, this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened – both boys were guilty of it – and in the end, neither ever mentioned it the next day when sober.

For a moment, Kirishima looked like he was considering this, lips twisted in a pensive frown, before sighing. “No,” he admitted. “I don’t want to. But I think we have to.

“I’ve been thinking about things, Kats.”

And Katsuki’s heart rate quickened. He recognized that voice – it was the voice Kirishima always used when he was about to break bad news.

“I like you too. A lot. I might even, you know, love you. In that way.”

Awkward and clumsy, Kirishima’s words took their time landing on Katsuki’s ears. When they did, he almost flinched in surprise. They were a long way off from what he expected.

“But,” Kirishima continued, “I don’t want to date you.”

In the span of two seconds, Katsuki went from feeling happier than he ever had before, to being absolutely crushed. “What?” he barked. “Why not?”

“Because!” Kirishima squeaked. There was nervousness and fear written all over his face, as if he knew he might be making a terrible mistake, and it was obvious to Katsuki that it was taking a lot for the redhead to get this out. “Because I have no idea if you actually like me back or not. If you care about me in the same way I care about you, or you’re just lonely and bored. And if it turns out to be the second one, I don’t know if I can heal from that, Katsuki!”

“Fucking– what do you mean you don’t know if it’s real, Ei? I literally blew up our whole house because you rejected me!”

Kirishima made an exasperated noise, waving his hand in frustration. “Yeah, but you were drunk! You’re always drunk when you confess.” he turned his eyes towards the wall, avoiding Katsuki’s gaze. “I just… I need you to say it sober, too. And not just once. I know it’s petty, and it’s insecure, but I need it to be spelled out for me. Okay?”

His speech came to a close, and a long stretch of silence followed.

Katsuki frowned. He knew what Kirishima meant, and fuck it if it wasn’t what Kirishima deserved, but he also didn’t know if he was capable of it. Of that daily sort of affection.

But then, what was the alternative? Losing Kirishima?

Another headpang. He groaned and rubbed his temple. No, that wasn’t an option. If Kirishima wanted him to be more open, then fuck it, he was going to be more open.

Kirishima sighed, and he began to make his way towards the shower.

Katsuki’s breath hitched; he could feel his chance slipping away.

“I’ll do it.” he blurted out.

Kirishima twisted around in surprise. “What?”

“Fucking hell, Eijirou. I said I’ll do it.” he could feel his ears burning, but there was no stopping now, so he kept going, “I love you. I love you so fucking much, I always have. I’ll scream it from the rooftops if you want it. And I’ll fucking prove it to you too.”

Finally, he raised his gaze to meet Kirishima’s. The other boy’s mouth had dropped open, and he was staring at Katsuki in childish wonder.

“I’ll cook for you everyday. I’ll take you on dates so good, no one else’s will compare. Not even fucking Sparky’s.”

Kirishima let out a soft huff of laughter.

“I’ll – I’ll clean up my act, so that it won’t hurt your rankings when we go public together. Because we are going public together. And, I’ll help take care of your stupid plants – I’ll buy you new ones, I’ll buy you so many plants our house looks like a fucking jungle. I’ll spend all my money on you, Ei, I’ll buy you presents on all the right holidays – anniversaries included, I won’t forget like some half-ass twit–”

“Katsuki!” Kirishima cut him off.

His eyes had begun to pool with tears. Katsuki went stiff; fuck, he’d fucked it up again.

But, then, Kirishima wouldn’t be smiling. And he was definitely smiling.

“Okay.” he sniffled. “Okay. I believe you.”

“Yeah?”

Kirishima’s smile broke into a grin, huge and blinding. “Yes, Katsuki. Fuck, I–” he swiped the tears from his face. “Okay, fuck, I’m going to go shower – and I’m going to stop crying, because that’s so unmanly – but I’m going to go shower, and then we can, uh, figure this out. But we are. We’re going to figure it out.”

The joy in his voice was impossible to ignore. It fell from his lips like water, and it made Katsuki’s insides feel lighter than air. Without realizing it, his own mouth had cracked into an equally wide grin.

With one last look of disbelief, Kirishima finally turned back around and pulled himself away. He disappeared into the bathroom. Okay, shower first. Then… then they would finally fulfill the hopes Katsuki had been fostering since high school. For the first time ever, they’d be crossing that unsaid line Katsuki believed only existed in his dreams.

When Kirishima re-emerged from that door, it wouldn’t just be as a friend anymore.

And oddly enough, the thought didn’t make his head throb. In fact, he was feeling better than he ever had.

Send me a prompt!

[vairiin]

Here’s my beloved kiri!（≧∇≦）i love him so much💕

[efemerald]

A46

A46: “Stop calling me”

The line rang once. Twice. Three times. Kirishima sighed; this was pointless. He was about to hang up, for what felt like the umpteenth time, when suddenly the receiver clicked and the small timer on his screen started counting. Someone had picked up. 

His heart lurched in its chest – this was the first time he’d be speaking to Bakugou in two weeks. He’d been calling, incessantly, every hour of every day, to no avail. 

He opened his mouth to begin talking, but before he could, Bakugou’s gruff voice cut him off. 

“Stop calling me.” And the line went dead.

The brief elation at hearing his boyfriend’s voice – a childish, indescribable sense of relief – quickly fell way to despair. 

It’d been two weeks already. Fourteen whole days of zero contact. 

Even worse, Kirishima had no idea why. The day before Bakugou’s silence began, they’d been fine – at least, Kirishima thought they were – they’d met up at the usual place for lunch, Bakugou had even brought him flowers, and they’d talked like they always did for the hour before work began again. 

Kirishima’s replayed that hour over and over again, picking it apart in vain attempts to figure out what he did wrong, and still he hasn’t come up with anything. It’d been so normal. 

But later, after Bakugou ran into a villain on patrol – after he’d ended up at the hospital for three days straight – he hadn’t called Kirishima. He was supposed to call Kirishima, right away, if anything ever happened – that was the rule! Neither of them had ever broken the rule before, not in five whole years of dating. In fact, Kirishima didn’t find out what happened to his boyfriend (could he still call him that? The thought made his stomach hurt) until a whole week later. And it’d been Kaminari to tell him. 

Bakugou had called Kaminari instead of Kirishima. The betrayal cut him like a knife to the chest. 

Now, he’d tried to apologize, to talk, to find out what went wrong, but none of this was possible when every single one of his calls was declined. 

For a while, he just stared in disbelief at the black screen of his phone. “Stop calling.” Those had been Bakugou’s exact words. In all their time together, Bakugou had never pushed him away like this; not since high school. 

Kirishima chewed nervously at his lip. Maybe Bakugou just needed space – maybe he’d been too overbearing. 

Or maybe it was something worse. 

Maybe Bakugou was sick of him, and the blonde, still emotionally stunted as he was, had no idea how to break up with him. So he’d decided to just ghost. The thought was more than Kirishima could handle – it choked him up with rage and sadness and confusion all at once. 

If he had any dignity, he’d let this play out the way it was supposed to, and move on. But, being Kirishima, he was incapable of just sitting still. And against all reasons saying not to, he grabbed his car keys from the shelf. 

He was at Bakugou’s apartment in less than twenty minutes. 

Bam! Bam! He pounded at the door. “Katsuki!”

The television was on inside. He could hear it blaring through the walls. This in itself made Kirishima flinch – Bakugou hated watching TV, he only ever used his on date nights, when Kirishima would choose some cheesy romcom to make out to. Was there someone else inside now? Could he have been replaced so quickly?

No, he scolded himself, don’t be stupid. It’s just the TV. Stop overthinking. 

“Katsuki!” he tried again, yanking helplessly at the knob. “Open up!”

No response. 

“Bakugou Katsuki, if you don’t open up this door right now, I’m going to break it down!”

This was no empty bluff; he could break down a door this size without even sweating, and they both knew it. 

There was a brief silence, and Kirishima hardened his arm in preparation, when an irritated voice shouted back: “Do it, and I’ll call the cops!”

“No, you won’t.” Kirishima was tired. He knew his boyfriend (ex boyfriend) better than that, he knew Bakugou would rather die than rely on the police for help. 

Another long silence, as if Bakugou was considering his options. Then, finally, there was the shuffle of feet as he drew up to the door. “Eijirou.” and his voice wasn’t so much angry anymore as it was exhausted. He sounded weak, nothing like the Bakugou everyone knew. “Please, just leave.”

Those words were all Kirishima needed to hear. They plowed into him like a sledgehammer. Bakugou was breaking up with him.

Tears began pooling in his eyes, as every one of his nightmares threatened to be true. It was like this, verging on tears and broken stutter in his voice, he replied, “No. I’m not leaving, Kats. You don’t tell me about the villain attack, you ignore all my calls, you don’t even send me a text saying you’re okay? I deserve an explanation.”

Again, there was only silence. 

Kirishima felt his heart clench a little bit. When he spoke next, his words were loud and taut with anger. “If you’re breaking up with me – if I’m not enough for you anymore,” he felt his voice waver, “you have to at least tell me!”

“That’s not it!” his words cracked against the wall. “Eijirou, I–”

“Then what? What did I do wrong?” Kirishima crumpled. His head dropped his head against the wooden door. “Let me in, Katsuki.”

The lock clicked, and the door creaked open. Kirishima peered inside, and at the sight before him, his breath caught in surprise. “Katsuki…”

“Ei, you don’t have to–”

“What happened?”

“Please, Eijirou, you don’t need to be here. I just… I already asked Recovery Girl, and she said she can’t do anything about scar tissue. I’m stuck like this. Permanently.” his gaze dropped to his feet as he said this. Anything to avoid Kirishima’s pitiful look. 

Quietly, Kirishima pushed the door open. He raised his hands, tentatively, reaching out to cup the other’s face. Bakugou let him. And with aching fingers, he traced the pale ridges that webbed across Katsuki’s skin. Imperceptibly, Bakugou leaned into his touch. 

“Katsuki…” he breathed out. 

“Eijirou,” he sobbed, and the tears began freely flowing down his face. “You don’t have to. It’s fine, I…”

Kirishima didn’t let him finish. Taking both cheeks in his hands, he pulled his boyfriend upwards, catching him in a soft kiss. Bakugou’s lips, chapped and dry, were familiar and different all at once. The scars lining his mouth tickled Kirishima’s skin. 

Bakugou gave a short gasp. 

Slowly, Kirishima moved to press gentle kisses across the length of his skin, over every inch of scarred flesh. He kept going until the tears were dry, and Bakugou’s shaking had reduced to quiet trembles. 

“You’re so beautiful, Katsuki.”

“Eijirou, I–”

“I don’t care. I don’t care what you think, or what you’ve convinced yourself, I think you’re beautiful. I’ll always think you’re beautiful. I love you.”

Again, Katsuki made no response – but this time, it wasn’t from shame or fear or trepidation. The pure onslaught of emotions, now flooding through him all at once, left him speechless and unable to use his voice at all.

Instead, he simply buried his face into Kirishima’s chest, and allowed himself to be enveloped in two familiar arms. Finally, after two weeks of anxiety and despair, he could relax.

(Send me a prompt!)

[efemerald]

B30? if u can :)

B30. “I’ll always be here for you”

“Katsuki, I’m scared.”

The confession tumbled out of Kirishima’s lips before he could stop it. He winced; the room, previously silent, was now consumed entirely by the sound of his quiet voice. His own mouth had betrayed him – had revealed every raw and pathetic thought brewing at his core – and he was mortified. 

For a moment, there was no response. The words died away; the room relapsed into silence. Inwardly, Kirishima hoped and prayed that Katsuki had fallen asleep – that he was saved from his own humiliation, after all. 

But then there was the groggy shift of the covers, and Katsuki, heavy with drowsiness, turned over. He nuzzled closer, until their legs were brushing, and when he spoke, his breath fanned across Kirishima’s face. “Mm… of what?”

Kirishima froze up. Every muscle in his body went taut, and his limbs grew tense. He felt exposed. This was not a conversation he wanted to have, especially at 1 in the morning, when he struggled to filter his words and the honest truth was bound to come out. Here, he felt preemptively embarrassed, and he raced to try and find a way out of the question. 

Feeling his boyfriend stiffen, Katsuki nudged him with a foot. “Ei?” he began to raise himself off the bed, concern creeping into his voice. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” Kirishima rushed to console him. Hastily, he pulled him back into the bed, as if assuring him that all was okay. 

Katsuki relented, and buried himself into the other boy’s chest. Still, he grunted in annoyance, tugging at Kirishima’s shirt. “Then tell me what’s bothering you, Hair for Brains. You didn’t wake me up for nothing, did you?”

Kirishima sighed. He heard the fierceness in his boyfriend’s tone, and he knew Katsuki well enough by now to understand that there was no escaping this – not until Katsuki was satisfied. 

“It’s nothing, really.” he tried. 

Katsuki growled. 

“I’m just scared about…” his voice faltered and his face grew red with embarrassment. “About graduating.”

Katsuki paused in surprise, but grunted in encouragement all the same, pushing him to continue. 

“I’m scared that we’re going to enter the real world, and I’m not going to be good enough anymore. Like, it was easy enough in UA, sure… but now we’re going to be on the same field as thousands of Pros? And they all have decades more experience! I’m not gonna stand out at all, I’ll be so irrelevant–”

Kirishima felt the familiar anxiety start to bubble in his chest, and soon, he knew, it’d feel too tight to breathe. Katsuki seemed to feel it too, because he quieted Kirishima with a lazy kiss, before running a gentle hand across his jaw. 

“Eijirou,” he pulled back now, and Kirishima wondered if his face was just as red. “Obviously you’re not going to stand out, idiot.”

“Wow, thanks–”

“None of us will. Our entire class is going to be basically nothing. At least, for the first couple of years.” he smiled in the dark. “But that’s how all the pros start. Then, once we start getting big–”

“Not true.” Kirishima cut him off. “You, Midoriya, Todorki… you all have followings already. If you partner with me,” and this, really, was the crux of the issue. Kirishima had tried denying it for a long time now, because every time the thought reemerged he felt tears prick in his eyes, and this time, it seemed, was no different. “If you partner with me,” he repeated, “then I’m just gonna drag you down. I’ll just be some no name hero you’re chained with, and you won’t stand out as much, and then you’ll hate me, and then–”

BOOM!

A blast of fire erupted under the covers. If Kirishima’s reflexes weren’t as fast as they were, it would’ve sent a crater running through his palm. 

“Fucking hell, Eijirou, is that really what you think?” his voice was livid, and barely controlled. “That I’m going to start resenting you, over some stupid rankings?”

He stabbed one finger in Kirishima’s chest, while the other hand, paradoxically, began to wipe the tears from Kirishima’s face. “That’s the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard you say.

“First of all, hero duos always do better than heroes by themselves. We both know that. So fuck off with that shit. 

“Secondly, how can you think that–” Katsuki’s voice faltered. He paused for a moment, biting on his tongue and gathering himself, before he could keep going. “How could you think that I care more about the rankings than I care about you?” 

His voice cracked, and his words petered out into weary softness.

“Katsuki?” Kirishima was almost shaking with the sheer amount of pent up emotion in his chest. But then, so was his boyfriend. Katsuki trembled in his arms, clutching at Kirishima’s biceps with an iron grip. 

Kirishima couldn’t do anything but lay there, patiently, waiting for his Katsuki to keep talking. 

When he did, he sounded exhausted. 

“I know that I’m not always the best boyfriend, Eijirou. I know that. I get … fixated on things, like the stupid hero rankings, and sometimes I lose sight. But you know that I’ll always be here for you, right?”

Kirishima’s breath caught in his throat. 

“I’m not the same shitty person I was when I met you. You… changed me. And you’re way more important to me than whatever some shitty extras think.”

Now, silent tears began to stream down the redhead’s face, and his chest hiccupped with an overflow of feeling. Hearing it, Katsuki laughed quietly, moving slightly to scrub the tears off his own face. “I don’t care about the rankings, okay, Ei? It doesn’t matter to me, not if we don’t get there together.”

Kirishima opened his mouth to respond, but all that came were more choked sobs. 

Katsuki laughed openly at that, reaching up to kiss his boyfriend on chin. “You fucking sap.”

(Send me a prompt!)