Hi!
Who am I?
Just a fellow human stumbling around this cyber vortex. Join me if you like!
I like to scribble and doodle. I may post some art and links to fanfic (you can find me on AO3 as IDKscrblr).
Mostly sharing my bkdk enthusiasm, but other interests might show up too.
it’s not weird to find fanfiction from 2021, or 2017, or 2014 that you’ve never read and actually taking your time to read it.
it’s not weird to love it and comment and leave kudos because the author will probably still see it someday and it will make them happy.
it’s not weird to like said author’s work so much that you want to go look for other fics from them.
it’s not weird to go through the authors profile and look for other fics from the ships you like (or maybe some that you’ll give a chance because you liked the author) and maybe bookmark them for later.
it’s not weird to read these other fics and like them too and comment on them because you actually like them and you want to let the author know.
it’s not weird to read fanfiction from 5, or 8, or 10 years ago and actually enjoy and engage with it because it’s perfectly normal to relate to something that’s less than a decade old!
let’s stop treating fanfiction like they’re instagram posts that stop being interesting in 24 hours! fanfiction is NOT social media, fanfiction is art!!! and art doesn’t get old in one day, one year, or even a decade!
read fanfiction! write fanfiction! comment on fanfiction! let’s not let fanculture die people!!!!!
Not only is it not weird, it is ACTIVELY ENCOURAGED. Authors LOVE IT when people do this!!! Its not "weird" and its not "neutral" -- its a fucking DELIGHT. Feel very absolutely free to read though an author's entire back catalogue, leaving kudos and/or comments along the way; we absolutely freaking love when someone does this. There is nothing more joyful than getting a comment notification for an old fic. It will make our day, I promise.
If there's no one there, then there's no one there
But at least the war is over”
—Stars, In Our Bedroom After the War
It is dark, but outside the murky cool light of approaching dawn creeps past the drawn blinds onto the wall in thin stripes. Katsuki has studied the dim room for hours. The crumpled folds of fabric that swaddle the rounded body at his side are a terrain in shadow. Izuku twitches.
After the war ended, sleep was a battle. But it wasn’t the images of blood-soaked rubble that kept Katsuki up at night, or the corrosive laugh that often appeared like a vacant specter out of nowhere. It wasn’t the hazy image of All Might that felt like a parting from one dimension into another, or the sinking weight of sacrifices he didn’t prevent. It was something quieter. Something unknowable. And even with his mind drawn blank, his body would lie restless in a sticky numbness that made the cloak of night something… dreadful.
But at least the war is over.
That is what they say. They say it with cheerful optimism plastered over hollow smiles. They say it and then grow silent.
It started by accident, Izuku falling asleep tucked under Katsuki’s covers on a mattress too narrow for both bodies to lie flat. Shortly after they moved back into the dorms, Katsuki jolted upright one sleepless morning to the sound of his door creaking open. His comforter still has the singed holes from the sparks that crackled in the wake of his surprise.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Izuku had whispered, hesitating beneath the doorframe, his green hair aglow by the fluorescent backdrop. He was wearing a baggy pair of sweat pants and a ridiculously oversized t-shirt with a faded image of All Might hurtling forward.
Katsuki didn’t curse or scold Izuku’s intrusion. Instead he silently waved him forward, and Izuku climbed next to him. They sat in the quiet dark with legs draped over the edge of the mattress. And then Izuku murmured, “I just needed to know you’re still here.”
Katsuki didn’t say anything in response. He didn’t need to. And when Izuku’s head dropped to his shoulder, he didn’t nudge him upright. Instead, he let his palm drift until his stiff fingers were at the base of Izuku’s neck, following the transition where his wild curls met the overgrown shaved side still cropped short. It was only minutes before Izuku was asleep, resting on Katsuki’s shoulder. Carefully Katsuki lowered his body, and Izuku followed in a half slumber until he was gently encouraged under the blanket. They both slept that night until the crows became unbearable, and the sun washed over their tired faces.
It was an unspoken beginning.
On particularly restless nights, Izuku began to show up. Katsuki was usually awake, and without question he lifted the blanket to welcome Izuku into the warm burrow of bedding. In the mornings, sometimes Katsuki awoke to a sleepy breath rhythmic at his neck. Sometimes he awoke to the ghost of warm skin and an empty mattress.
They shuffled through their day.
Classes
Homework
Dinner
Dishes
Katsuki began to regularly prepare meals, enough for two. The rest of the class let them be, as if they knew they both needed the quiet. Sometimes they bickered, or laughed at Izuku’s overcooked eggs. Sometimes they just existed; it was a space where smiling was optional. But often a sip of savory broth or the taste of warm breaded pork was enough to draw Izuku’s lips into something relaxed.
And then the night would come. Katsuki would lay in bed and wonder if Izuku could feel the thump of his wrecked heart through the door, down the hall and into his own chest. Wonder if darkness would be interrupted with light spilled from an overlit hallway, and Katsuki would finally say what remained painfully unspoken.
Yesterday’s darkness has faded into the soft glow of light that filters into the small bedroom. It is undeniably morning. Katsuki barely slept, not from the war. Not from the muffled ache that left him inert. Not from the impossible crows that consider the first crack of sun the hour for waking.
Izuku is curled onto his side, the rise and fall of his chest against Katsuki is a simple reminder that they are both living. A small trickle of drool seeps into his ribbed collar where Izuku’s lips rest above. Katsuki has grown to expect this.
“Love you,” Katsuki mouths silently on the ghost of a breath. He brushes the tips of Izuku’s untamed curls, and the scarred forearm at his waist wraps tighter. He’s still here, still resting on the edge of consciousness. Still Izuku.
Outside the song of a tree sparrow welcomes the day, and Izuku’s eyes blink open.
“Morning, Kacchan.”
Thanks for reading!
If you’re curious, here is a link to the song that inspired this little ficlet. In Our Bedroom After the War
I’ve got more words out there (mostly bkdkbk one-shots). If you want to check it out, I’m IDKscrblr on ao3 💚🧡
commission for a fic!! Please check out @insomniac-dreamsss ‘s fic called BETWEEN THE CUTS!! It’s so beautiful and they are so talented and amazing!! 🥹❤️ Here is the link!!