multimuse ◆ penned by salem ◆ 18+
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AnasAbdin
sheepfilms

roma★
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One Nice Bug Per Day
todays bird

#extradirty
Claire Keane

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Kiana Khansmith
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trying on a metaphor

izzy's playlists!
Three Goblin Art

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Misplaced Lens Cap
Game of Thrones Daily
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@theartofmadeline
Monterey Bay Aquarium
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@eijiishima
multimuse ◆ penned by salem ◆ 18+
➼ about the mun ➼ rules ➼ muse list ➼ about the muses
I’ll hold you when things go wrong
I’ll be with you from dusk till dawn
bnhaboys:
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these new poll outfits… kinda epic 😳
knightinsourarmor:
He hadn’t been wrong to worry when he heard the other voice such thoughts. The way he acted gave away that those weren’t just empty words. This was how he viewed himself. As someone weak. As someone which wasn’t strong enough. Such a false image Kirishima had of his own self. He wondered how much would they push themselves to be pleased with the progress they had made? When would they finally feel good with what they had achieved ?
“It’s not about being right or wrong,” he said, ignoring his first question at the time. He wasn’t trying to make a point. Even if his voice lacked emotion like usually, it was a crappy attempt to comfort the one in front of him. “And there is no reason to apologize.” Why would he be embarrassed for the way he was feeling? Even being weak, was required sometimes so they’d get back up stronger and having learnt from their weaknesses.
He hated when people would meddle with something which wasn’t about them. But if he thought about it, just because someone had done this for him, he was able to see what he had been doing to himself all those years. He wasn’t like Midoriya. He hadn’t that much power. He couldn’t find the right words to use or act in a way to move someone’s heart and mind. But there was something he could do. What he always did when he was given the required space. Talk some sense to him.
“We cannot be objective when it comes to ourselves.” he noted. He knew that, firsthand. “Weakness is a part of life. Being a hero doesn’t change the fact we are human. Being strong means not to give up, no matter the difficulties. I may not be aware of what made you feel that way, but you are still here.” They were still there. Two aspiring heroes, dedicating their lives for the shake of others. “For me, that means you are STRONG.”
The atmosphere may had been heavy and he knew he was risking his relationship with Kirishima the moment he opened his mouth. But just because he was familiar with what he was feeling, all he wanted was to help. And that was the meaning of being a hero, wasn’t it? “I didn’t think I’d find you here. We can train together if you want to.” he then said. The offer was one he didn’t usually make but if his words hadn’t done anything, he could hope his presence would ease his worries for a little while.
@eijiishima
If you were to ask Eijirou which of his classmates would be at the top of the ranks post-graduation, he would have a tough time picking them out, only because a majority of them were already heroic in their own right. That said, there were three people in particular that stuck out easily.
Besides Izuku & Katsuki, Eijirou could easily see Shoto at the top, right alongside of them. He was everything a hero should be, and this only further proved the red-heads thinking.
Something in his chest aches with his friends words, long-buried feelings of insecurity & insignificance that come bubbling back up. Shoto is right, Eijirou knows that he is; he has always been his own worst enemy, seeing flaws & cracks in his own façade, where his friends only saw the heart underneath. His faults, judges most harshly by himself, all the red-head could focus on in moments of weakness.
“I broke,” Eijirou says, before he can stop himself, that thick tar in his chest expanding past where he can keep it swallowed down, “I can’t- people could have gotten hurt because I wasn’t strong enough,” he had kept the details of his internship a secret, his own failures buried deep, deep down, where he hoped they would stay. But, now, here he is, spilling them to a boy that Eijirou cannot help but look up to for his strength in all things, but especially when it came to the use of his quirk.
A shuddering breath escapes him, it pairs with the slumping of his shoulders, he feels not unlike a deflated balloon, the fight & fear that had kept him awake leaving him in one fell swoop.
“I’d like that,” he gives a nod, a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but it doesn’t feel quite as suffocating, now that he’s not alone. Shoto has always been someone he admired, it feels easier to breathe to have him here, as cracked open & raw his own vulnerability has left him.
spotify wrapped has arrived. send me a number from 1-100 for a starter based on that song, or a lyric from it, or send a 🎁 for me to shuffle.
bnhaboys:
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knightinsourarmor:
CLOSED WITH: @eijiishima
A few days had passed since that fight was over. Many people had died on the battlefield and society was still shook up from the video Dabi had broadcasted all over the country, revealing who he was, the crimes he had committed, and his explanation for those. That video which his mother had to see as if she hadn’t suffered enough already.
Right when Shoto had started to hope and believe for a better future, he was proven once again that life was cruel. That there wasn’t any MERCY. Right when his emotions about his family and those that surrounded him had started to settle, when how he viewed himself had changed, when he was certain of the path he wanted to follow and he’d try to move on from his past, his dead brother would stare back at him with those empty, sickening eyes which only wanted his death, to prove to him that everything had been nothing but a delusion.
He didn’t deserve happiness. Not when his existence had been the reason his family fell apart. He had nothing. He had lost everything he had tried to build. In one moment, he was left ALONE once again and this time, his family was broken beyond repair. Everything because of him.
The news would play over and over again Dabi’s broadcast. Everyone knew for his father’s plan to make him his successor and for the abuse he’d have to endure as a kid. Everyone knew how fucked up his family had been and everyone seemed to have gotten the right to comment on their lives. Shoto wouldn’t care if Fuyumi and Natsuo weren’t involved in this messed up situation. He wouldn’t care if his mother hadn’t seen the broadcast. If he was still allowed to visit her.
It was one of the few times he’d leave his room. He didn’t want to talk or see anyone. It seemed as if anyone he stared at, would look back at him with pity. As if his past being made public changed who he was. All he wanted at the moment was to get something to eat. He didn’t recall if it was one or two days that he didn’t put anything to his mouth. Moving was still hard for him with the burns covering his body - a constant reminder of him - but he could take such a small walk.
He got into the kitchen, not seeing anyone except Kirishima. Not saying anything or even glance in his direction, he moved to the fridge, opening it and taking a yogurt cup. That should be enough to keep him for the day. “If Iida asks, tell him I took it,” he said, making his way to leave once again.
In the days that follow what could loosely be called a war, Eijirou mostly feels like he is existing. It’s a struggle to get up each morning, when so much has been lost. Friends, heroes, villains with names he would never know. His mothers call him, he talks to them as much as he can manage, it’s hard, these days, to find the energy to carry a conversation.
Not a single one of them had escaped without tragedy, without scars. Some physical, some deeper than that, embedded in the soul where they would stay, for the rest of their days.
Leaned against the kitchen counter, Eijirou is hardly focused on anything around him, red-gaze heavy and unblinking where he stares, lost in thought, at a mug settled on the countertop. He thinks of Katsuki, skewered through his middle in an attempt to save a boy he’d always claimed to despise (though, Eijirou has always known better,) and he thinks of said boy, pushing past every limit he had.
When Eijirou dreams, he can feel the place on his ribcage that a part of him was forcibly chipped off, hardened skin shattered away. Bandaged, now, it would leave behind a permanent divot in his flesh, a weak spot where he could no longer push his Quirk to its strongest.
He thinks, too, of Shoto.
The news plays his pain every day, a physical manifestation of parental failures and heartache like some sort of dark concert. Eijirou doesn’t watch the news much, these days.
When footsteps tear him from his thoughts, his head comes up, though the movement is sluggish, he’s as tired as any of them. Constantly on edge, the way they all had been the first time tragedy struck their school. Who he sees is the last person he expects to, hardly anyone had seen hide nor tail of Shoto in days, and yet, here he is.
Not doing anything drastic, he’s only reaching in to the fridge to grab a cup of yogurt, but somehow, that’s enough to make something give in Eijirou’s chest. Before the boy can get far, he straightens up a little, gives himself a shake to brush the shadows clinging around his throat, there were better things to be doing that standing around, lamenting over what had already been.
“Sho,” Eijirou calls his name before the boy can leave, before he can step a foot out of the kitchen, and suddenly doesn’t know what else to say, “Could we- I was just about to make lunch. Why don’t you join me for a bit? I could use the company.”
knightinsourarmor:
Todoroki may be new when it came to trying and understand those around him, but after the many experiences he had shared with his classmates - and friends - he was able to tell when they’d act differently. Those that had started their internships seemed to have changed in a way. He assumed experience in battle had its effects on their minds. But some of them seemed to have been affected badly. Midoriya was the one he noticed first which seemed to get lost in thought more than he usually did. And then, there was Kirishima. For Kirishima, it was hard to notice, but something felt off about him. Something he couldn’t pinpoint.
All before that night. Another night which Shoto couldn’t sleep, his nightmares waking him up early. Nightmares which weren’t related to his family like usual, but focused on his latest steps towards being a hero. Those last months in U.A. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to sleep any time soon, Shoto thought that training would be the best thing to do. And hopefully, when he was done, he’d be exhausted enough to pass out to sleep.
He headed to the gym and when he walked in, he noticed he wasn’t the only one which thought of the same thing. His red-haired classmate was there too and as it seemed, he hadn’t seen him yet. He didn’t say anything at first, not wanting to interrupt him and probably scare him. And then, he heard him talk, which made Shoto’s eyes open wide.
Holding them back. Worthless. Such harsh words used for himself. He couldn’t help the worried look on his face when listening to those words. Every single one of them wanted to be great heroes. Everyone pushed themselves to their breaking point, using all they had to reach their dream. Aizawa was someone who expected a lot from them, but in the end, they judged their performance the hardest way. What was that had driven Kirishima to feel like that? As if he hadn’t been strong enough? He had felt the same way many times in his life - mostly when he was younger and when his father didn’t acknowledge his hard work - but lately too, feeling as if his heart had failed him. His failure to get his provisional hero license as proof.
No one was worthless, no matter the reason that made them feel that way. And his classmate was one of the strongest people he had met. Not his Quirk alone, but his spirit. He couldn’t know what made him say those words, so all he did was to say what he really was thinking at the time. He shouldn’t talk like that about himself.
When he finally turned to look at him, he couldn’t help but feel as if he had heard something too personal for the other. As if he had no right to comment on his feelings. But then, what could he do to provide some comfort?
He walked closer to him. All he could do for now was to reply to his question and attempt to make him feel less uncomfortable. “I woke up and couldn’t sleep again,” he replied.
@eijiishima
Since the rescue plan made over Katsuki, Eijirou had felt somewhat of a kinship with Shoto, a bond over a shared, traumatic event. They were by no means best friends, but Todoroki was someone that Kirishima had always admired for his fighting spirit. His dry sense of humor, too, was something that the red-head found himself drawn to, and there had been many times that he wished he knew the other boy better.
This, however, hadn’t been what he meant by that.
It’s almost humiliating to be caught this way, especially when he couldn’t be sure just how much of his little speech had been heard, what of it his classmate had caught before deciding to speak up. Enough, he supposed, to be upset by the words spilling from Eijirou’s tongue.
He was supposed to be a hero, someone that people could look to, throwing a little pity party for himself wasn’t exactly very heroic, was it? Therein lied the problem, however.
“Ah,” Eijirou manages, unintelligent, the throbbing in his knuckles apparent now that his adrenaline levels weren’t so spiked, “Did you... want to use the gym? I can get out of your hair if you want me to, man.” His avoidance of the topic at hand is obvious, he knows that it is; Shoto has seen the cracks in his façade, now, and Eijirou feels exposed, vulnerable. It’s not unlike the way he felt that day, the first time he’d questioned his future as a hero. As badly as he wants to just run from this, he can’t, that wasn’t the person he wanted to be anymore.
“-... and, uh, yeah, you’re right,” the red-head lets out a slow breath as he says it, the anxiety almost a physical beast, sinking its claws into his chest, “sorry you heard all that.” A sheepish hand rubs at the back of his neck, eyes averted to instead pretend to study something interesting at his feet.
shotgun
continued from x for @tempered-in-flames <3
He’s not... sad, not necessarily, but the evening winding down means that he’ll be alone once Shoto leaves. Suddenly, that seems like an impossible task, and Eijirou can’t resist the temptation to ask his partner to stay, even if it’s just for a little longer.
“Just need you,” the red-head confirms, holding out his arms from where he’s settled on the edge of the bed, “Just.. stay and talk with me? For a bit?”
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“ don’t talk about yourself like that . ” (from Shoto to Kirishima)
The saying goes, that time heals all wounds.
To the naked eye, yes, Eijirou was healed. His skin no longer cracked apart like some sort of shattered vase, leaving behind only faint, pink scars like lightning strikes against tree bark. Recovery Girl had said those, too, would most fade as time went on, only the deepest of the injuries would remain.
You were lucky, she had said, voice soft & sad, don’t push yourself too hard.
Eijirou had nodded, given her a 100-watt smile, and told her he’d be careful next time. Said that he understood. But, what other choice was there?
So, yes, he was just fine to anyone looking, no limp to his step, laughing & smiling with his classmates as though nothing had ever happened, as though his skin wasn’t still tender each time he touched it, as though he didn’t dream every night of pieces shattering away from his body like broken glass. As though every time he activated his quirk, all he could think of was that he hadn’t been strong enough.
He had to do better.
The gym at 1AM should be empty, it usually was, though sometimes Katsuki would join him if the blonde had been unable to sleep. He’s been at it for over an hour now, red hair sticking to his forehead, muscles only becoming more and more exhausted with every thrown punch, every crack of his knuckles against the punching bad. He was sure the skin had split a bit ago, red & raw, but he had to be better. His classmates had already improved so much, why hadn't he?
“You’re holding them back,” a deep snarl, to no one but himself & the empty gym, his voice echoing, “You’ll be worthless if you can’t. be. stronger,” each word punctuated with a thrown fist, a bubbling of tar in his throat as insecurities he had tried to bury with red hair dye come rushing back.
Eijirou’s about to throw another punch, the bandages wrapped around his knuckles meant to keep them safe red and wet where the skin split, when a voice interrupts him. And not his own.
It startles him, he nearly jumps out of his skin, reeling around with flushed cheeks and a heaving chest. He’s exhausted, bags under his eyes from too many restless nights, too much exertion, and not enough energy to feed it. “Todoroki-!” Eijirou swipes an arm across his forehead, flashing a wobbly, half-hearted smile, “It’s- why are you up so late?” He’s deflecting on purpose; how much had been heard?
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