what is project jovian about? is it a fanfic or an original work?? (if you feel like rambling about it!)
it's an original work!!! or rather, it started out as a fanfic idea that never came to pass and I've reworked it so much that it's completely separated itself from its origin askfjhs
but I'm hoping to actually start writing it this year once I get over the anxiety of actually putting words on paper lol !! it's a gothic tragedy set in space about godhood, generational trauma, haunting, and the cycle of violence! <3
11. Both of you wore the same ugly Christmas sweater to a party
“I absolutely love it!” Ashido squeals in delight.
“I fucking hate it.” Bakugou growls, jaw clenched.
While Sero and Kaminari are hollering and wheezing on the floor, Kirishima gives a soft, supportive smile. “Look at you.” He says easily, “Now, you’re an actual star, Bakugou”
When he said he’s the fucking the star of their group, Bakugou did not mean it literally.
With arms spread awkwardly, Bakugou stood in the living room in the most gaudy green, Christmas sweater, fuzzy all over. There were faux garlands going across around his torso and arms, with red and yellow bells jingling from them. The muscles in his chest and arms that he once was so proud of, terribly helped to widen the entire tree look.
And, right on top of his head, Bakugou has his wildly blonde hair, tousled, spiked, and gelled by Ashido’s hands. It created to give an illusion that his own damn head, was the fucking star.
“I’m not going.” Bakugou relents firmly.
“No, no!” Ashido whines, hugging him around his back. “Please! You will totally win the ugly sweater contest at the party. And, you know we need that prize money!”
“You mean, you need that prize money, to help pay rent.” Kirishima deadpans.
Ashido pouts in his direction. “Me. We. Same thing.”
Sero heaves a tired laugh, wiping tears off his cheeks. “God, the way he’s just T-posing, without realizing.”
Bakugou raises a brow. “The hell does that mean?”
Kaminari cackles, still rolling on the carpet. “Nevermind that!” He barely voices between laughs, “His hair! His fucking hair!”
“Don’t mind those two.” Kirishima reassures Bakugou. He places a comforting hand onto his tense shoulders. “We’re all looking ridiculous.”
Which, true. Bakugou scans over his group of extras, finally taking in their dumbass outfits.
Kirishima was a red brick chimney, with Santa’s ass sticking out in front. Ashido had an oversized sweater, stating in bold letters, “FEEL THE JOY”, and silhouettes of hands on each boob. Sero wore Santa with obviously red eyes, hitting a blunt, and the words “GET LIT” in this nice cursive. And, Kaminari had red solo cups stuck to his sweater, a walking beer pong table, for fuck’s sake.
“We’re the absolute worst.” Bakugou snorts.
“I swear, if no one goes all out like us, I will feel personally attacked.” Ashido sighs, letting go of Bakugou. Instead, she looks over her phone. “I texted Jirou to remind her and her girlfriend to go big, or go home.”
Sero sputters in another fit of laughs. “M-Momo in an ugly Christmas sweater! N-No way!”
Kaminari snickers right alongside him. “Momo doesn’t even wear anything ugly to begin with!”
“Well, there’s a first for everything, tonight!” Kirishima laughs, shaking his head. “If Bakugou’s going out as a damn stumpy Christmas tree, so can she.”
“I’m fucking stumpy?” Bakugou asks. That’s not-
“Okay, chop, chop!” Ashido claps to the group in the apartment, speed walking in her knee high boots to the door. “To the party, we go, everyone!”
On the cramped car ride, Bakugou tunes out the atrocious caroling of his friends, blasting Kaminari’s Christmas classics playlist. There’s a long night awaiting him, and he’s borderline doubting he can survive.
He usually doesn’t go to these late night, drunken parties. That’s more of, well, everyone else’s thing.
Bakugou would prefer to spend Christmas Eve by his quiet self, avoiding anything Christmas related, in fact. Just a day off work, cooking a nice, warm meal and watching his favorite horror movies under a heated kotatsu.
Alas, his friends begged him to attend this ridiculous Christmas party, instead, hosted by the damn, annoying Aoyama, of all people. Though, he is surprised the guy had the gall to extend an invite his way.
And, yeah, maybe he hasn't gone out in awhile, and actually was willing to show up.
So, here he is. Bakugou Katsuki, readying himself in a small ass car to get egg-nogged-wasted for the Christmas cheer, or whatever they say.
Besides, Kirishima offered to give a ride back home, if two hours into the party he still wasn’t feeling it. That’s his best friend, for fucking sure.
After passing the gates, the car rolled through the private community and pulled up to Aoyama’s residency, shortly after. There wasn’t any parking in front of the house, heavily decorated with lights, inflatables, and a fucking snow machine.
“We need a group photo with that!” Kaminari exclaims in the backseat, face smushing the window. From the passenger seat, Ashido agrees excitedly.
So, Kirishima had to move up a few houses down, in order to find an available spot for his car. The walk was a bit bothersome, the nipping cold, winter air bites at everyone’s faces and noses. But then, Sero yells for a race down to the front doors, undoubtedly to help the group warm up.
Bakugou won’t lie, he totally ran out of breath to those damn doors.
They all waited patiently for Ashido, last and stumbling in her heels hurriedly. It takes Kirishima walking back, and ushering her with his arm, so she can rush over safely.
“Gross, they’re actually cute together.” Kaminari sticks his tongue. Sero and Bakugou roll their eyes.
When Aoyama greets them, he blasts the whole group with a confetti popper. “Merry Christmas! Happy Hannakuh! Happy Kwanzaa! Happy Holidays!” He sings aloud. He shakes his whole body, ringing the bunches of bells that are all over him.
Bakugou feels a headache forming.
“It’s Christmas Eve.” Sero corrects, right beside him.
“Ah, well, tonight, it’s all the holidays combined!” Aoyama laughs, “Now, get inside! The heater’s blasted on, of course.”
And, hell, at least the damn heater’s nice.
Bakugou eyes all over the entrance way, pictures of Aoyama and his family plastered over the walls, with large garlands hanging between them.
The loud commotion of the party echoes from the living room, to his left.
“Here, we brought some drinks!” Ashido gingerly proclaims, with both her and Kaminari handing over the bottles of whiskey to Aoyama. “The essentials, duh!”
“Please! You even got my favorite brand!” Aoyama gasps.
Kirishima coughs over Bakugou's ears. “Yeah, that shit was expensive.” He whispers.
“It ain’t even that good.” Bakugou hisses back.
They both smirk at each other, before letting out airy laughs.
Bakugou lets the rest of his group go in front of him, before stepping over to the living room. Seated and standing throughout, different, unfamiliar faces were gathered together. Groups had already formed; a dancing and twirling circle, a card game circle, a conversation only circle, a drinking circle, and even a circle surrounding the tall Christmas tree at the corner of the room.
It doesn’t take long for the group to split.
Aoyama pulls Ashido towards the rest of the girls, huddled around the fireplace, sipping on hot mugs of chocolate. Kaminari hurries to his tired eyed, purple friend, Sero jogs towards Sato and Tokoyami, and Kirishima is surprised (read: jumped) by Testutetsu and his friends.
Which left Bakugou still standing by the entrance.
He slowly trudges his way around the living room, eavesdropping on the different conversations, in order to see if that’s the circle he wants to join.
But, even after overhearing and eying at the last circle, Bakugou decides he doesn’t want to join any.
Kirishima better uphold his damn promise. Cause, this shit is boring as hell.
He doesn’t know what compels him to do it, but Bakugou decides to grab a drink off the long table of assorted drinks and finger food, and simply sit on one of the couches. Oddly enough, no one was seated over to where he was looking.
Taking a red solo cup of who knows what, Bakugou starts walking around the crowd, and hurries to the open couch.
And, just his luck, he bumps into someone right as he tries to sit down.
Luckily, neither his drink, nor the other person’s, spill. But, as Bakugou looks over to his right, ready to offer a curt apology, he halts.
Staring back at him, was a damn idiot, in the same ugly Christmas sweater as him. And, on top of his head, he wore a springy star, jumping in the air.
“O-Oh, sorry.” The freckled stranger voices, woobly smiling. “But, I think one of us has to change.”
“You need to change.” Bakugou states firmly, settling down close to the armrest of the couch.
The grinning guy seats himself next to him, thighs pressing together. “Well, I arrived here first. So,” He shrugs teasingly, “If anyone’s changing, it’s you.”
Bakugou huffs, taking a sip of the beverage in his hand and trying to avoid any further conversation.
And, instantly, he almost spits that shit out.
“What the hell?!” He blurts. The sweet, sugary flavor of the obvious vodka-mix coats all over his mouth.
“Yeah, I took a sip, and that drink is a little too sweet for me, too.” The stranger chuckles, shaking his head.
“Who fucking brought this?”
Bakugou hears the stranger hum. “If I had to guess, it was probably that Ashido I spoke with a while ago.”
“Hell nah.” Bakugou defends quickly. “We came together. I would know.”
“Really?” The stranger’s face lights up, in recognition. “Wait, are you perhaps her boyfriend?” He asks excitedly. “She did say he's the most attractive person in the room.”
Bakugou snorts. “Hell nah. I would never.” He throws a nonchalant toss of his head over Kirishima's direction, where he was talking to a group of other guys. “Her ‘attractive’ boyfriend would be Shitty Hair, over there.”
“Sorry, sorry!” Bakugou notices he fumbles with his own red solo cup, in between his scarred hands. “I— There’s just so many people here, I only know a few.”
“I don’t know anyone else, other than my close four.” Bakugou clicks his tongue, “Fuck, I guess close five. Jirou and I are cool.”
“Well, you definitely know more than me.” The guy chuckles, “I just know Aoyama and Ochako.”
“The hell? Then, why did you show up?”
“Designated driver.”
“..Fucking lame.”
The guy laughs out loud, and Bakugou enjoys the genuine mirth that slips through his lips. “I really was hoping my luck would help me meet people! But, uh, I guess it’s been a freaking lame night.”
Begrudgingly, not wanting to get up and grab a different drink, Bakugou willingly swallows down a gulp of Pepto Bismol. He lets out a quick cough. “Well, you met me.”
“..That is true.” He smiles back. “Pretty good luck I have, huh?”
“Bad luck.” Bakugou huffs, “It’s bad luck.”
“Oh really? Then,” The guy points at Bakugou. “Is your name Kyuu?”
Bakugou rolls his eyes, but is unable to hold back his laugh. “I’m not literal bad luck, dumbass.”
“Then you’re not so bad! I bet your name isn’t even that bad, either. Nothing is as bad as-”
“Bakugou.”
“Hm?”
Taking another sip, Bakugou looks back at those evergreen eyes. “My name.”
Those freckles scattered over his cheeks are covered by the red flush that slowly floods him. “Ah, m-my name’s Midoriya. Hi.”
“Hey.” Bakugou lifts his cup up. “Happy Holidays, or whatever.”
Midoriya smiles softly, before clinking his cup together with Bakugou’s. “Happy Holidays, or whatever. From one ugly Christmas tree to another.”
“Which, you seriously need to fucking change.” Bakugou reminds in fein resolve.
With a small push on his shoulders, Midoriya giggles, raising a quip brow. “Don’t start demanding, when your hair’s looking like that.”
"The fuck's wrong with my hair?"
"Everything."
Bakugou barks a laugh. "You got some fucking nerve. With your stupid dangly star."
"Perhaps, you could say our stars aligned, tonight." Midoriya shakes his head, blushing once more. He looks away. "Ah, sorry. That sounded way cooler in my head. Forget I said that."
Fuck. Fucking shit.
Bakugou blames it all on the Christmas energy, contagious and destroying him from the inside.
He blames the damn Mariah Carey that’s uplifting his own damn stubborn spirits.
He blames the smell of Gingerbread and Cinnamon, wafting in the air, and the toasty, cozy heat that wraps around him, snug.
Because, now his heart’s melting, over this damn idiot in the same ugly Christmas sweater as him.
