518062

[518062]

katsuki had a simple plan for izuku’s birthday; cake and ice cream. but the world was not on his side today, and he knew it as soon as he woke up.

he was little on izuku’s birthday. and that was exactly what katsuki didn’t want to happen.

katsuki knew izuku wouldn’t be mad, but he didn’t want to burden him on his special day. because no matter what, little kacchan was a burden, and he didn’t have the emotional capacity to be there for izuku during such a sincere moment.

it was during these situations that katsuki wished he could just… switch off his age regression. that would be great. alas, he called in sick and slept in, hoping he could wake up big again.

at three pm, he woke up to a warm body hugging his.

he tried to move his arms until he realised it was izuku’s curls tickling his neck. he freed himself despite izuku’s tight grip and sat up, confused and wondering why daddy was not at work.

“good morning,” izuku mumbled, and that confused kacchan even more.

“huh? is it morning?” he asked, rubbing his eyes. izuku didn’t seem so sleepy—in fact, he was wide awake and staring at kacchan with that warm expression which made kacchan fuzzy.

“no, but does it matter?”

“but you should be at work.”

“you don’t need to worry about that,” izuku said, tugging on kacchan’s arm and inviting him back to the warmth of his embrace. katsuki was neither big or small, but transitioning between two mental states, trying to control himself.

“kacchan,” izuku said in that sing-song voice, pulling him back, “let’s cuddle, okay? it’s my birthday, y’know.”

that drew kacchan in. he let his head hit the pillow as izuku adjusted the blanket.

“it’s your birthday?”

“yeah. so what should we do?”

kacchan thought about it really hard. if it was his birthday, what would he want ? he’d want the best all might merch, of course, and a huge kiss from daddy.

but daddy was a grown up. what did grown ups do?

“i dunno.”

“well i wanna do whatever /you/ wanna do, so just pick something, like cartoons, hm?” daddy said, poking kacchan’s cheek. kacchan didn’t know if he wanted more cuddles or something else. daddy usually picked.

“on my birthday, you got me cake.”

“i did.”

“so let’s eat cake,” kacchan said, gauging daddy’s reaction. izuku’s smile grew so wide it made kacchan want to smile too.

“that’s a good idea, baby,” izuku said, playing with kacchan’s bed hair. “but you haven’t eaten anything today.”

“who cares? its izuku’s birthday, so we should just eat cake.” kacchan said, kicking the cover away and getting out of bed. he instinctively reached for his hero deku plushie and hugged it.

daddy made the same face he did when he didn’t believe kacchan’s lies.

“..okay. but only because it’s my birthday, alright?”

“i thought youd say that,” kacchan said, but it came out like a mumble.

“hm?”

“nothing.”

after the boring routine of brushing teeth and showering, daddy said they already had cake at home.

“but why did you buy your cake for your birthday? that sucks.” kacchan felt bad. izuku deserved a huge birthday party, not to buy himself cake and be alone with kacchan.

“kacchan bought me the cake, though…” izuku showed him the icing. kacchan let go of his plushie to look. it had all might on it. “kacchan’s so smart.”

once that registered, katsuki grinned.

“of course i bought it! i know izuku best,” he said, very proud.

“you do. thank you.” izuku pressed a kiss on his cheek and went to the kitchen drawers to get forks and a knife.

katsuki watched him cut the cake. at some point, he realised he was more conscious than usual, and that izuku thought he was very little.

he acted the same way because izuku seemed so delighted to spend his birthday with his little that it made katsuki want to vomit from how kind his caregiver was.

“and it’s vanilla. your favourite,” izuku gave him a smile and pushed the plate over. katsuki thanked his past self.

because, knowing izuku’s dumb ass, he wouldve picked chocolate, and like hell would katsuki eat that shit.

“thanks,” kacchan said, taking the first bite of all might’s eye. it tasted fantastic.

[518062]

dom/sub dkbk teaser anyone?

It was a chilling night when Izuku clocked in, and yet the amount of bodies did not warm up the club; nor him. The music blasted in his ears, sending his head a pulsating headache, and his hand sizzled from when shattered glass had cut it the night prior.

He watched people file in and out of VIP; bodies grinding against one another, the DJ’s cocky grin, lazy hands touching partners’ waist, obnoxious stories about doms and disobedient subs adding to his migraine. The bar was bustling a mere ten minutes ago, but now it was empty; Izuku took his chance to sit down and play with his phone. Doing anything to pass the time, since he had hours until closing.

Sometimes, the doms’ conversations were genuinely interesting––they discussed their latest scenes, how they reacted, or how their sub took to it. They got very descriptive, expanding on the recollection with exaggerated lines and mimicking their sub’s moans, which always got a laugh out of everyone. If Izuku was having a particularly bad day, he would approach people and strike conversation––or he just wanted them to change topic.

They always chuckled, deep voices bouncing off of the dark walls, LED lights occasionally hitting their faces, as they would call Izuku a good boy and send him away for seven gin and tonics. Izuku never retaliated; he just gave them his customer service smile and got to work. At least the men ceased their degrading talk.

They were doing it again, Izuku noticed, as a crowd of fresh faces approached him. He took a deep breath, shoved his phone in his pocket, and waited for them, standing. But only one man came over. Izuku assumed he was getting drinks for everyone. He definitely looked rich, with a perfectly tailored suit and big wrist watch with a leather band.

“Can I join you?” He asked, and Izuku leaned in to hear, body consuming the vibrations of the glasses in front of him as the music changed. The bass was loud. This signalled for a shift in the club’s scene, as most normal people concluded midnight was enough; they were working people, after all. But the club’s primary audience didn’t even work. Not in the conventional way.

“I can’t exactly say no,” Izuku shrugged, and the blonde man mirrored the action, taking a seat and observing the sign above. Izuku, suddenly unsure of what to do, grabbed a class and started polishing it. The man bit the corner of his lip, muscles flexing with the mere action of crossing his arms on the bar top, jewellery glistening under the extreme red hues. Izuku’s eyes were drawn to his hands and the lack of a band. Well, marriage wasn’t exactly a familiar concept to doms, he mused.

“Do you have Negroni?” He asked after a few minutes, tapping the counter rhythmically.

Finally, a different drink, Izuku thought to himself. He hated studying every item at the bar at the beginning of working, but soon grew an interest in spirits.

“1960s?” Izuku said, and the man nodded. He internally squealed in excitement––they never got to open them––and made a trip to the cellar, returning with the bottle, its packaging faded. The man watched him pour ice into the clean glass, set it aside, and remove the antique bottle’s cap with such gentleness it took him forever. Then he poured some into the glass and finished with an orange slice.

“Thank you,” the man nodded, eyes stuck on Izuku as he brought the glass to his lips. Izuku watched him with an odd feeling, watching the man’s group in his peripheral vision. Or had they not come in together? The man placed the half empty glass down as Izuku turned around, fiddling with the Negroni, planning on taking it back, but unsure whether the stranger would request another. “Do you get bored?”

“Pardon?” Izuku faced him again, readjusting his leather gloves, so they stayed up.

“You looked very bored. I figured I’d come over.” The man explained, and Izuku fought the urge to roll his eyes. There was always one man ready to ruin his night with stupid pick up lines, but what did he expect? It was a Thursday––people finished most of the week’s work and wanted to have fun.

“It’s the nature of the job,” Izuku said, shrugging again, not sure what to say. The conversation usually died after this point, and his headache was god-awful, along with his dry eyes from wearing contacts. His feet were sore, mouth dry, hair swept away from his face, revealing his sweaty forehead.

“What do you do outside of work?” The man prodded, and Izuku mentally cursed. Was the memo not working? But he forced his smile, conscious of his manager.

“Not much.”

“You’re not very interested, huh,” the man laughed, and Izuku’s eyes narrowed. “Let’s discuss something else. What are you? Izuku.”

Izuku looked down at his name tag. Back at the man; his slight smile, chiselled cheekbones, upturned eyes, the colour undecipherable in the club’s haze.

“It’s not professional––“ he kept the act, but the man raised a hand, stopping him with a bored look.

“Cut that out. What are you? Sub?”

Oh. That’s what he was asking. Well, that wasn’t unprofessional at all––at least Izuku assumed so. He glanced at the dance floor, at the man scolding his partner’s begging for a release. Then he grinned until he remembered what he had been asked.

“Verse.” He responded curtly, and the blondie tilted his head, hand to his chin, examining Izuku.

“I don’t think so. It’s one or the other, but I can’t decide.” He took a sip of his beverage, tilting his head back, slowly licking his lips when he downed it all. Izuku watched, wondering how the man got to such a conclusion. Wondering why the way he licked his lips made Izuku’s body tingle.

“Nope. I can switch,” he said, albeit later, after he had successfully swallowed a certain feeling. Blondie grabbed the orange slice from the glass’ rim and sucked on it, juice sticking to his lips. Silence accompanied them, but not really––the DJ was just getting started, and blondie’s group were being very obnoxious; if blondie noticed, it did not concern him.

“I’m a sub, if that makes you more comfortable.” He said. Izuku gave him a good look––which wasn’t helpful when the colours made everything confusing. Blondie looked young, but not young enough to be in his twenties. His eyes had lines around them, as did his forehead, which his hair partially covered. Izuku would never judge, though.

And blondie wasn’t necessarily hitting on him. Maybe he just wanted someone to talk to. Although, he would have done so with his group if that was the case. Still, Izuku’s brain registered this man as normal, so casual conversation was alright.

“Dom.”

“Just as I thought,” blondie smirked, tapping the glass, signalling for a refill. Izuku got to work, taking the opportunity to contemplate those words. Such men didn’t look for experienced university students––he was certain. But his coworkers were examples which went against his assumption. They were girls, though, he debated with himself.

“It’s on the tab.” Izuku wanted to act cool, but the heat was getting to him now, at the worst time. Curiosity killed him. “Why’d you ask if I was a sub if you knew?”

“Wanted to hear you say it,” the man took the drink, moving much slower this time around. Izuku watched him with much more intensity this time, for he had his eyes closed, and the man was filling his mind with several thoughts. Not thoughts one needed during a late shift.

“But why?”

“‘Cause I know a dom when I see one, and I want you to dom me.”

Izuku's eyes widened, and Blondie’s burned into his. They stared at each other, Izuku’s suspicions answered; for once, he did not feel disgusted by the idea. Besides, he was on the clock, and there was nobody to cover him, not unless he wanted to get fired. So his fantasy died.

“I can’t,” he said a little awkwardly, and Blondie feigned sadness.

“Just quit.”

Oh, dear, Izuku thought. Oh dear.

“No. I need this job. I’m––just a uni student––“

“I’ll deal with your manager.” He looked at his watch, then back at his group. “Fuck, I’m gonna have so much fun with you.” He said as he turned around.

Izuku felt challenged by that. He wasn’t inexperienced at twenty-two. That was just insulting. So he unwrapped his apron to take it off, but Blondie stared at him with such ferocity, he halted.

“Keep that shit on.”

Izuku swallowed his saliva and retied the apron, slightly shocked at his own obedience, at the gall to quit his job on such a busy night and follow some random man to god knew where. A man whose name he didn’t even know.

Blondie seemed elated as Izuku left the bar and stood on the other side, right next to him.

“Good boy, Izuku,” he praised, but it didn’t sound like how the other doms said it. They were patronising, but the blond man’s voice was very stern, as if this was routine. “Let’s go.”

“Wait.” Izuku tugged at his arm. “What’s your name?”

“I’ll tell you after you make me cum four times. Deal?”

Something akin to desire slithered down Izuku’s thighs as they got lost in the crowd, moans and cheers echoing in his ears, foreshadowing whatever the fuck he was about to do.

[518062]

i saw this image and somehow wrote 4k🤣

dkbk during exam season knows no bounds. read it, if you want x

[518062]

there’s moments where katsuki yearns for warmth, despite his quirk. more often in the winter months—never the summer. in his greatest dreams, he basks in the sunlight, surrounded by nature’s arms as the magpies perch on tree branches and ants tread in a line.

in his dreams, he is laying on a mattress, blanket tucked into his chin, breath steady and moonlight kissing his pale cheeks.

in other dreams, he is leaning against a wall, eyes barely open as the sky greets him with pink hues.

sometimes, katsuki has breathtaking nightmares. often, he wonders if he is dying, but strength comes to him like a second nature. as if the earth itself is protecting him from the horrors of his own creations.

katsuki is leaning against his boyfriend’s shoulder. on his lap, his favourite pillow—on the tv, his favourite evening show. white snow assaults the window as the blizzard worsens, but katsuki is not afraid anymore.

izuku scrolls on his phone without hesitation. he stays still; waking katsuki up would induce another guilty episode. he knows katsuki has worked too hard this week with all the earthquake concerns and cold weather.

then, katsuki sighs, mindlessly grabbing izuku’s hand and intertwining their fingers. izuku reacts with haste, lets his phone plop to his side as he protects katsuki from whatever awful feeling he may be fighting.

katsuki pulls a certain face when he’s content. izuku gazes at his pouting lips and knows they will remain like this for a while. he won’t complain.

“don’t move, shitnerd,” katsuki mumbles, and izuku blinks, moving his lips away from katsuki’s face. instincts are hard to fight when kacchan is so adorable.

“sorry, kacchan. i didn’t know you were awake.”

“mm.” katsuki nuzzles his head against izuku’s shoulder, burying himself into the firmness even further, and that warmth spreads in his chest like a blooming peony.

[518062]

little kacchan can’t hack the summer. sure, he can control his quirk, but not in the way big kacchan can. he can’t stop his hands from sweating all the time, can’t regulate his body temperature or stop the heat from amplifying his anger.

in fact, big kacchan is sure he’s regressing to a younger age because of it. usually, he acts like a whiny seven year old, at most, but right now, he can barely compute his surroundings; everything leads to sensory overload. usually, he prefers to sit in izuku’s lap to calm down, but izuku is just as sweaty, and his curls make him ticklish.

he’s unsure of a lot of things—mainly his age—and that, combined with june’s intense heatwaves, are making regressing a chore.

izuku tries the best he can. he carries kacchan’s things, speaks for him when he can’t, tries to find new calming techniques, gives him snacks which will cool his body and, most of all, gives kacchan space when he needs it.

despite it all, kacchan is a nervous wreck. he hates the absence of izuku’s voice and skin, but he hates the sun more. he wants izuku to shield him from the world’s horrors, but he knows izuku is a busy man. he is too when he’s not sobbing over trivial bullshit.

it reminds him of his childhood. it takes him back to days where the hag would leave a note on the fridge and come home after he was asleep. it reminds him of the late afternoon; noon has just passed, and he is crouched on the melting pavement, watching the birds flock together. or the evenings where he hoped izuku would be allowed to play because he liked all might so much and none of his other friends got it.

what can he do about it? at the core, he is helpless. all of this pondering just makes everything worse.

“kacchan?”

katsuki blinks.

“are you still little?” izuku calls from the kitchen. then he makes himself visible; his hair is tied up, but there is barely any hair to tie. he’s wearing that ridiculous all might apron again, and sweat glistens on his forehead.

katsuki sits up and looks for his phone which has fallen into the gaps in the couch. he checks the time; it is evening, and the sun has moved down. izuku comes closer and rests his hand against katsuki’s forehead.

“you’re burning up again.” izuku mutters, running a hand through katsuki’s hair. katsuki only notices it when his boyfriend says it—his cheeks feel like they’re on fire, and he feels lightheaded. he must have slept a long time. “do you want your medication? no, actually. i’m making cold soba noodles, so you can take them when you eat. maybe you should take a cold shower, but you don’t really like those. i did the laundry, although you don’t like how i do it, but those shorts you like are washed—i know they help you cool down.” izuku fusses around the room, around katsuki, petting him and analysing him like a doctor.

katsuki is nervous. he doesn’t know why—he’s just woken up from a long ass nap, clearly—yet he feels like the world will end soon. perhaps it is true; only his world is ending, no one else’s, but izuku is here, and he’s always being so considerate.

he shuts izuku up with a light slap on his cheek. then he pulls him in by the waist and hugs him like a bear. the apron smells like vegetables, but that’s okay.

“so you are little. honestly, i can’t tell. i definitely said too much, then…”

“be quiet for one second,” katsuki demands, and izuku agrees. his hands are large and hesitant on katsuki’s back. it is an awkward position, but katsuki likes it. it lets him touch izuku without worrying about the heat.

“so you’re not?”

“izuku.”

“okay.”

they still until katsuki has remembered the scent of home.

“i’m gonna take a shower.”

“do you want me to prepare it?”

“no.”

“fine. i’ll get back to cooking, then.” izuku says, and they part. katsuki doesn’t know how to say it, but izuku is the love of his life. izuku can’t always understand katsuki’s problems, but he tries. that’s enough for katsuki; he’s sure izuku didn’t expect to take care of a child on the side, too.

“thanks.” he says. he smiles—an unnaturally wide smile which shows all teeth. izuku’s eyes scrunch up as he smiles, too.

“don’t say that! it makes me nervous…” he scratches the nape of his neck and twists on his heel before katsuki can laugh at him for blushing.

the afternoon has gently passed katsuki by, and the evening spreads it sail across the sky. katsuki waits for a tomorrow—just another day—and hopes he can bid his stupid mental breakdowns goodbye. the summer cannot ruin his jubilance. he simply won’t let it—izuku certainly won’t let it.

[518062]

kacchan is literally so timid and none of u get it him yelling is just a projection of who he thinks he needs to be when hes actually deeply hurt and doesnt know how to regulate his emotions thats why izuku is the only person who gets it and izuku will always be his first hero

[518062]

do you like maid izuku? i have a fic for you! 😊

summary:

“What are you doing? Get naked!”

“You can’t expect me to strip in front of you, even if I’m “not working” now!” Izuku said, making quotation marks with his fingers, but Kacchan shook his head and crossed his arms against his chest.

or; izuku is katsuki's maid, but that doesn't stop at housework :)

tags: smut, top izuku, bottom katsuki, izuku in a maid dress, canon divergence

it was very fun to write! i hope you like it x

[518062]

official art of mephisto and rin!

[518062]

If there is no moral to the story, is it worth telling?

Abstract: Izuku Midoriya is a microcosm of Horikoshi's inconsistent writing in My Hero Academia. The absence of a narrative voice in later arcs proves a lack of cohesion and care when considering all plot points before and after. The manga contains heaps of evidence to support this theory. One must consider not just Midoriya, but other plot points such as incarceration and the handling of antagonists as well, although this discourse pertains only to Midoriya for the sake of conciseness. Much like public opinion, the discourse seen below posits Horikoshi's literary ability as My Hero Academia's greatest detriment––especially when it comes to Midoriya.

An Introduction

A gripe many have with Horikoshi’s writing is the lack of cohesion and completion. This issue leads to characteristic inconsistencies and poor gratification for audiences. 

Per Blumler and Katz (1973), active audiences search for escapism in what they consume. Readers/viewers do not want to follow a story and get to the end without significant development, especially if they have been following it for an extensive time in which they have grown accustomed to the story’s protagonists and reality.

Stories need morals, which is why we always ask why the chicken crossed the road––we already assume or know the how, especially in manga. The why is imperative because it is the core of a story. What motives do these characters possess? How do these motives affect their decisions? Why do they possess these motives? What message is the producer sending through such motives and decisions? The why and how appear interchangeably, but the why is the core of the story because it helps audiences connect with the story.

Who is Midoriya? What defines him?

Midoriya admires All Might for his kindness, resilience, and heroism. Therefore, Midoriya aspires to be just like All Might. Izuku has his why, but his how is the obstacle; his arc, since he has no Quirk and, at that moment in time, one needed a Quirk to even consider heroism as a career. As readers, this is good––we understand Izuku’s motives and want to root for him. We then understand why he works so hard, pushing his body to the limit, gaining multiple scars and having multiple notebooks in which he analyses every Quirk around him.

The how then solves itself rather easily. All Might transfers One For All (OFA) to Midoriya and now he can work towards heroism. Then a new how emerges, or a new goal––taking down All For One (AFO). From this point, Midoriya’s ideology is unwavering. But during the Paranormal Liberation War Arc, Midoriya faces a pragmatism his idealistic self had not yet considered. 

Lady Nagant says it best; “History will just repeat itself.” Midoriya responds to her with what could be considered his first judicious thought: “It’s not all black and white. Most things in this world are in shades of grey. A blend of fear and anger.”

Despite his acknowledgement of society’s flaws, he keeps his motives intact. He wants to “extend a helping hand,” to which Lady Nagant responds; “That phony education’s done wonders for you.” Again, he convinces her to fight the ‘good fight.’ He still possesses hope during such tumultuous conditions.

Midoriya’s resilience mirrors that of All Might and even surpasses him. As our young, fiery, hard-working MC, Midoriya inspires other characters and readers as well.

Then it falls apart. The why and how cease to reflect one another as time passes. The idea of a tainted society is explored throughout Midoriya’s Dark Hero arc and is pushed aside for the inevitable climax––the Final War. When Aoyama confesses the truth, Midoriya bursts into tears. He cannot possibly fathom that someone would support such evil. But with his new nuanced brain, he comprehends the difficulties Aoyama faced––the poor boy had no choice. With this newfound consciousness and pre-existing empathy, Midoriya grows into a character who understands the grey area he mentioned to Nagant. 

This is where many notice the significant decrease in Midoriya’s narration. His inner voice, which has led audiences for approx. 330 chapters, is lost. As the Final War begins, the relationship between character/consumer is broken. 

We do not know who Midoriya is. He cannot be defined.

Consider: when Midoriya saw a dead Bakugou, he could not control his heart (literally). Mirio acts as the narrator here––reminding Midoriya of his task––and he charges forward. For a character who is so deep in thought––so incredibly verbose––Midoriya has no thoughts. Not a single word tells the readers his explicit feelings. One could argue this example is useless, since the lack of speech is the message that Midoriya is feeling a “blend of fear and anger,” but the idea persists. Besides this moment, Midoriya’s actions, his motives and emotions, are no longer described or conveyed in an explicit fashion.

Objectively, producers should consider the implicit just as much as the explicit. Audiences feel rewarded when they identify key plot points through foreshadowing. Readers like to dissect meanings through script and art. But there must always be a balance, and once the explicit is lost, the implicit becomes redundant. This is because the explicit sets the foundation for the implicit.

To summarise, Midoriya’s lack of a potent voice (and the lack of transparency) leads to inconsistencies and confusion. Most of all, it leads to alienation. This must be prefaced: Horikoshi does not need to spell out every single thing he wishes to convey. Yet Midoriya had been doing this for 300 chapters, and suddenly it dissipated. Slowly, albeit, but the evidence presents itself. Readers, especially those who have tuned in every week to see where the war is going for this extremely troubled but powerful teenager, the only one who can defeat the antagonist, want to see how this teenager is feeling. Is he angry? Afraid? The loss of internal voice has catalysed a series of disappointments. Now we cannot determine how the MC feels. As a result, we no longer understand him or his motives. 

Consider: when Midoriya loses his arms, one can infer the inevitable shock, yet this shock is not expressed at all. Aizawa emerges from wherever he came and simply asks Midoriya how long it’s been since he lost his limbs. Midoriya answers him (“dunno”), still. Midoriya does not need to voice his thoughts anymore––especially since Eri swoops in to save his arms and continue the fight (which, without a five-year-old, means the entire story would be over. That is for another time.) Consequently, Midoriya stands up and keeps fighting. There is not one small text box dedicated to his contemplation. Rather, he fixates on how his plan to reach Tenko’s core failed, but his gory arms? Not a problem, it seems, since Eri exists.

The question arises––what would be of Midoriya and this world without Eri? Would Midoriya lie there, rigid, or would he merely fight with his legs? One can only guess. Yet this (and again, the lack of introspection) implores readers to grow agitated.

Of course, Midoriya does his best and kills AFO/Tenko. Before this, he calls AFO a “lonely man”. The inconsistencies are frustrating––how does Midoriya sympathise but refuse to elaborate on this after AFO is permanently gone? Does Midoriya (or Horikoshi) think it’s plausible to move on because it’s done and dusted? The most traumatic day of his life? Because Midoriya soars, sends the gust of wind, fist in air, and then it’s over.

The arc is over.

We jump straight ahead to rescue efforts; the teenagers recovering in hospital, Midoriya’s loss of OFA, imploring readers to ask whether there exists a moral at all. Can one become a hero without a Quirk? Of course not. That’s why Horikoshi needed to introduce the suit. Otherwise, all 400 chapters of this manga are pointless. 

The audience never gets a glimpse into the years where Midoriya lives Quirkless again. Even when he loses the embers, we do not receive explicit or implicit messaging. The why is still gone. Did Midoriya cry? Did he keep going? The understanding is Midoriya kept fighting, kept staying positive, but who says? The manga doesn’t. 

Then the why comes back into the picture with a new how––a new equilibrium––but readers are left unsatisfied. The producer fails to provide the escapism people have been seeking for ten years. Because yes, Midoriya can be a hero––he has his suit after all—and his motives are intact. He still adores Yagi. He’s still verbose and awkward and resilient. 

It is funny; approx. 100 chapters prior, Lady Nagant said; “History will just repeat itself.” And she is correct. We do not get to see why Midoriya continues as a hero, even though he knows the crime rate has lowered and the system needs a huge transformation (which, if it were not for the lazy time skip, we perhaps would have seen besides an inept Quirk counsel.)

Midoriya is a shallow protagonist. Above all, he is an empty shell and not worth believing in. His motives are all over the place or completely invisible. His flaws are erased once he can become a hero again––his critical thinking skills are dropped. He ends the manga the same way he began (cognitively, so anyone reading this, it is advised you consider the narration and not the legitimate ending), which is fighting for the moral good and kindness and whatnot. 

As readers, the issue at hand is perilous and comical. This story, throughout all its highs and lows––complex societal commentary to stupid analogies––is far from reality. Neither is it tangible in its own reality. It is not satisfying, educational, exciting, or beneficial for anyone. With this conclusion, nobody wins but those who yell huzzah for novice writing. One could posit that MHA could be erased from existence and no one would move an inch.

The most frustrating aspect? Horikoshi executed fantastic arcs for other characters. Todoroki had a tangibly terrific arc and his motives––again, his why––have changed because he has been challenged. This is an improvement. Even Bakugou, whose arc is often controversial, displays immense growth and maturity. From these characters audiences learn lessons and, if the message does not resonate, at least it could entertain––the gratification and escapism is achieved. Bakugou is hugely popular for this reason (beyond others; consider context again please.)

The conclusion?

History repeats itself, anyway. Good for you, Midoriya and co. 

[518062]

[518062]

More than just time on their hands~

[518062]

it’s been a hot minute since i paired songs to a character and i’m itching to make a post for izuku.

i love izuku so much. he’s literally my son. often i feel like i understand him so well and way better than katsuki for an unknown reason. maybe i see myself in him; i think he is a rather interesting mc in the vast over saturated market that is shounen.

such is why i find it difficult to be idle when people misunderstand him in front of my very eyes. in this fashion one could say i am a manga purist; to an extent i am ashamed of that term but it’s all semantics so. enough tangents.

the tracklist i’ve compiled for izuku goes as follows:

1. twist in my sobriety by tanita tikaram

what’s some analysis without religious imagery? this song explores religion and its inconsistencies, of course, and the chorus, although pertaining to a romantic relationship, could also apply to one’s relationship with god. izuku is not religious—not that we are aware—yet his struggle with heroism can be mirrored here. izuku sees heroes in the same light with which one would see god. he is devoted and often irrational until he comes to terms with reality. this could symbolise, via the song, one’s general loss of innocence, or a daunting epiphany. therefore this song is peak izuku.

2. itirazım var by müslüm gürses

arabesque thrives as a melancholic genre. all the songs and subject matter are undeniably sad. and i think izuku is a person who represses so much sadness and grief with toxic positivity. this particular song, translated closely as, “objection” or “i object,” reflects on one’s perpetual sadness. the speaker objects the “blows of life”. izuku is a teacher who has lost his life’s purpose and, although he has seemingly moved on, grapples with his immense nostalgia and yearning for glory. izuku has an ego—his intense sadness reminds him he is human, he must let go—thus, he objects such negativity and keeps moving forward despite warnings of others. perhaps he hurts others in the process.

3. feel by kendrick lamar

i wouldn’t end this on a depressive note. izuku is an amalgamation of emotions, most of them pushed within his being, but his anger is the one which leaks the most. izuku cries a lot until he stops. the anger replaces the tears, and his anger is demanding, petulant, whiny, juvenile, yet so sad at the same time. why? izuku has a supportive mother and was free to express himself. but izuku has held himself prisoner—much like katsuki, emotions are weaknesses—except anger. this song encapsulates that to me—a heavy anger for nothing and no one in particular, a mess of emotions; to “feel” is to live, but what does it mean to live? izuku doesn’t know, so he’d rather die a saviour.

i wrote this on a whim. let me know what you think and what songs you associate with izuku. i’d love to see it. and if you listen to the songs i think you’ll find i’m onto something.

[518062]

okay 60+ votes in like an hour is good enough for me! have 1.6k of vampire smut. no plot. don't go looking, it's not there. GP pov!

pairings: GP/max

relevant heads up: they're vampires. blood kink, blood play, daddy kink, max shaming, power dynamic if you squint.

Gianpiero blinks awake as his covers move, a cold body wiggling right up next to him. He groans, hand flopping around until he can get his palm clasped across the back of Max's neck— not that it does any good.

He can feel tiny pinpricks in his skin as Max nibbles at his collarbone, pressing closer to him.

"Max. You're supposed to be in Monaco."

Max whines, unlatching from his neck.

"GP, I'm hungry, I didn't want to go upstairs and feed off of Daniel again. It makes me feel bad."

Gianpiero pulls him away from his skin by the back of his neck, gripping the skin in a firm scruff.

"Because he's happy, Max. Obviously he's not going to taste good. That doesn't explain why you felt the need to fly all the way over here,"

He shakes Max roughly, watching his head flop around even as his eyes stay locked with Gianpiero's, wide and wanting.

"Break into my house,"

Another harsh shake.

"And latch onto me like it's your first day dead."

Max frowns.

"You used to let me do that all the time."

"Yes, when you were a baby. It's been sixty years, you need to learn some patience."

Max blinks up at him from under his lashes, blue eyes wide as he swings a leg to straddle Gianpiero's thigh.

"But daddy—"

Gianpiero groans, head falling back as he catches the edge of Max's wicked grin.

"Don't 'daddy' me, you know better. I thought letting you use the sim for virtual tournaments was giving you enough?"

Max grinds down onto his leg, cold fingers skating up his side under his shirt.

"It was, and now it's not, and I'm hungry."

Gianpiero sighs, gripping Max's hips to hold him in place, glaring. Normally he'd have a cute little flush in his cheeks, but he's run through his blood supply faster than he was supposed to, again.

Gianpiero had been assigned Max because they were similar, in the sense that they both got additional nourishment from broken dreams. Gianpiero has easily sated that urge by working in a Formula 1 team, because someone is always losing. It's delicious.

Max is younger, irresponsible and still full of life, despite his status as undead. He'd been excited to be a racer instead, claiming that the broken dreams tasted sweeter when he was responsible for them.

It works well during the season, but...

It's times like now, in the middle of the offseason, that Gianpiero is reminded why Max still needs supervision.

"Christ, you're high maintenance."

He shoves Max back into the bed, determined to ignore the way he blinks up at him, lips parted as he arches his back.

"Come on, just a little, please, I'll be so good, I'll even let Checo get some points this year."

Gianpiero gathers his wrists above his head, forcing his eyes away from his splayed thighs, pale skin on display.

"Like you let Alex? Right, I'll believe it when I see it."

Max pouts up at him, pointed fangs peeking out over the curve of his bottom lip.

"That wasn't my fault, it was his fault, you can't get mad about it."

Gianpiero rolls his eyes, free hand skimming across Max's chest, tweaking at a nipple under his shirt, listening to his small gasp as he squirms.

"Because nothing is ever your fault, is it? Perfect little golden boy who does no wrong?"

There's a sharp gleam in Max's eyes when he grins up at him, predatory and hungry.

"I'm so good, daddy. I'm destroying them every time, I'm feeding us both, I do such a good job, tell me I'm good daddy, please—"

Gianpiero cuts him off, pinching one of his fangs between his index finger and thumb, watching Max's tongue dart out at lick at his fingers.

"You're gluttonous is what you are. You can't ration, you gorge during the season, and then you get all thirsty and desperate over break. Why should I help you, hmm? Don't you think I've done enough for you?"

Max licks at the pad of his thumb, hips canting up underneath him. He can't respond, not with Gianpiero's fingers in his mouth, but he pushes his hips up into Gianpiero, squirming where he's pinned at his wrists.

Gianpiero sighs, shaking Max's head with his tooth.

"You're pathetic, lad. Stay here."

Max nods, wide eyed as Gianpiero slides out of bed, padding into the kitchen. He has a blood bag in the fridge somewhere— and despite his attitude, he always keeps O+ stocked for Max.

He hears a quiet gasp from his room again, rolling his eyes as he makes his way back to the bedroom, blood bag in hand.

Max has two fingers pushed inside himself, arching off the bed as his lashes flutter shut. He's long limbed, body stuck in time forever, all pale skin and corded muscle, legs spread wide on the bed.

"Max."

Gianpiero hears the edge to his voice, setting the blood bag on the bedside table.

Max's eyes blink back open, pupils blown. He knows what he looks like, stretched out with his fingers inside of him. He knows what it does to Gianpiero.

There's a smug curl in his lips, because he's getting exactly what he wants. Gianpiero is giving in again.

"Get your fingers out, you little brat. It's supposed to be a punishment, since you can't remember to behave."

He pulls them out, blue eyes tracking the way Gianpiero shivers at the sound.

"Hands on the headboard."

Max is still smug as his fingers curl into the headboard, sharp nails fitting perfectly into the dents that he'd left behind years ago. Gianpiero sheds his boxers, one hand stroking himself to hardness as he grabs the blood bag with the other.

There's lube in the drawer, just enough for him to slick up his own cock, although he doesn't spare any time for Max— and Max knows the rules, so he won't feel bad either. His little brat was perfectly aware of what he was doing.

Max's eyes are trained on the blood bag as Gianpiero hitches one leg up, thumb tracing at his rim before he slides in.

He's tight, a sensation that Gianpiero knows he should be used to by now, but never gets any less addictive, and the broken moan that rips out of him at the first snap of his hips is music to his ears.

"Daddy—"

Gianpiero snags the blood bag, hooking one nail into the corner as he rolls his hips, pushing deeper into Max. His face is twisted in discomfort, but he bucks up to meet his thrusts, tiny gasps falling from his lips.

"You can beg prettier than that, I've heard it."

Max pouts again, squirming as Gianpiero fucks into him, tightening impossibly further around him.

"Please, I'll be so good, I'll ration it, I'll suck your cock, whatever you want— daddy please give it to me, need it so bad—"

Gianpiero rips at the corner, pressing it into Max's mouth, past his perfect gleaming fangs. Max likes to be messy with it, moaning loudly as it flows into his mouth, rivulets of crimson spilling over his lips. Gianpiero leans down, licking at the mess as he snaps his hips in again, Max's ankles hooked behind his back.

It's intoxicating, watching the life return back to him— the flush building in his face, spreading up to his ears and down his chest, the slow increase of body heat between them.

Max desperately sucks at the remains in the bag, blood smeared down his chin and dripping down his neck, twisting his hips to meet Gianpiero's thrusts. He's dutifully kept his hands curled around the headboard, nails digging into the wood.

Gianpiero runs his fingers across the mess on his face, wrapping them around his cock as he leans in and kisses him, slick with spit and the copper tang of blood.

Max whines into his mouth as Gianpiero jerks him off, frantically bucking into his hand. He's trembling, muscles locking up, and he knows he's close, just needs a little more.

Gianpiero licks across the roof of his mouth, muffling his moaning as he fucks in hard, pressing Max into the mattress, fingers around his cock in a slippery ring as he thumbs at the head of it.

Max wails into his mouth as he comes, and Gianpiero can hear the familiar sound of wood splintering. He doesn't stop, keeping his harsh pace even as Max starts to squirm again, licking across his smaller fangs before pressing his own against Max's throat.

Their fangs get longer with age— Max has young fangs still, cute when they poke over his lip. Gianpiero's are longer, leaving faint indents in Max's skin. Max shudders, mouth falling open as tears build at his lashes.

"Daddy please—"

His voice is high and whiny, and he's so tight even after his orgasm, blue eyes watery where he's watching Gianpiero, cheeks flushed with fresh blood,

Gianpiero sinks his teeth into his neck when he comes, hips pressed flushed to Max's ass as he wails, legs kicking out, head tossed back into the pillows.

He's thrashing, pinned by Gianpiero's weight and hands, by his own obedience keeping his fingers curled tight in the headboard, even as the tears start to fall.

Gianpiero drinks in a large mouthful, pushing a thumb against the pinpricks of blood when he detaches, curling over Max's body to press their lips together.

He lets the blood spill from his mouth to Max's, grinning at the way Max desperately kisses him, frantically trying to catch every drop.

He leans back, satisfied with his work. Max is debauched underneath him, lashes clumped with tears, cum splattered across his stomach, dripping from between his legs. His knuckles are white around the headboard, muscles in his arms straining.

Gianpiero shakes his head, tutting softly.

"You're a mess, Max. Not sure how I could ever clear you to be on your own yet, not when you can't even feed neatly."

Wide blue eyes blink up at him.

"But I'm good, daddy?"

Gianpiero leans down, thumb brushing over Max's pouting bottom lip, licking at a stray drop of blood.

"You're perfect, baby."

[518062]

Yknow...✨️feelings✨️

[518062]

Izuku had one rule for little Kacchan. One very simple rule: do not swear.

(a fic i thought you might all enjoy here too!)

This was extremely difficult, of course. Big or not, swearing was inherent to Katsuki—words which he used on a daily basis, often without meaning to insult anyone (but they came off offensive regardless). For him, they were merely paltry. But little Kacchan needn’t swear—Kacchan understood this. He knew it was bad, and he knew it didn’t sound pretty. Sometimes it was a shock, even to himself.

He swore anyway. At first, Izuku had gently explained the meaning and why he wanted Kacchan to cease it. Then Izuku set a strict boundary, and it was done. Kacchan had to be very careful around daddy.

However, it came to a point where the little enjoyed provoking Izuku. Izuku would tsk, pat his head, and explain the rule over and over again. Sometimes, he took cartoon privileges, and sure, it made Kacchan sad, but he had his toys and colouring books.

Big Kacchan found it just as amusing, and Izuku scolded him, too (with less effort). But for little Kacchan, it was a hilarious game of push and pull with daddy to see how angry he would get. It was intriguing because Izuku never got mad. Little Kacchan wanted to know what he’d be like—how he’d change—his real mother was aggressive, and he wanted to compare.

Kacchan should have known that Izuku was way more evil than Mitsuki. He realised too late.

“Please don’t ignore me. You know daddy has one rule, and you break it, anyway.” Izuku said, standing over Kacchan with his hands on his hips. Kacchan was fiddling with the doll, sat cross legged on the carpet. “I’m just disappointed.”

This wasn’t what usually happened. And little Kacchan didn’t quite remember what disappointed meant, but Izuku sounded sad. Kacchan wanted him to be annoyed, not sad. This was meant to be a fun game.

Izuku sighed and sat down in front of his little, watching him with a pensive frown. Kacchan was afraid to look up.

“I’m not going to say it again, Kacchan. I hope you understand why I don’t like it.”

“I do,” Kacchan blurted, surprising himself. He wasn’t meant to say that.

“Oh, I know you do,” Izuku laughed and became serious again. “I think, by now, you are well aware. So I have to give you a punishment, and I’m sorry.”

Kacchan looked up. He was curious. Izuku’s punishment ranged from no cartoons to earlier bedtime. Izuku seemed to be conflicted, and Kacchan stopped playing with the car.

“I’ve decided. There will be no more cuddles or kisses, okay?”

Katsuki’s heart sank.

No cuddles? What? Why? Izuku always gave him cuddles, even if he was naughty. No kisses???? Pardon his language, but what the fuck???

Izuku still looked sad, but his lips were in a firm line. The deed had been done, and Kacchan felt like he had been sentenced to fifty years in prison. Life.

So he resorted to damage control—crying. He lowered his head and pouted, putting on a good show with his quivering lips. It was hard, but he managed to suck a few tears out of his eyes, and peeked at Izuku between his hair. But Izuku didn’t move—his hands were stationary, and his face was still. Suddenly, Kacchan understood what an angry Izuku looked like. His anger was quiet, menacing, and inherently cruel.

“I am sorry, Kacchan. Sometimes, we deal with things we don’t like. I don’t like punishing you, and you don’t like the punishment,” Izuku said as he stood up. Kacchan genuinely couldn’t control the waterfall which ensued—it wasn’t rehearsed. “Now come. I made cookies.”

Katsuki followed. He ate the cookies and prepared for his bath. He waited for Izuku’s kisses when washing his face, but they never came. He expected Izuku to squish his cheeks and drown him in even more kisses before bedtime; he didn’t. Instead, Izuku wished him goodnight and left the room, remembering to turn on the nightlight.

What had been his crime? Swearing was cool. Adults swore. Big Kacchan swore! Izuku never said anything to him! He thought about the stupid ordeal and tossed and turned, becoming so agitated he kicked his bedsheets off.

Eventually, he calmed down, but became cold. Winter was merciless, and Kacchan had kicked the duvet away, onto the floor. He wanted to get it, but was afraid of falling. So he curled into a ball and used his quirk to heat up, but he couldn’t use the explosions like Big Kacchan did. Sleep never arrived, and so Kacchan cried, playing the entire moment again and again, aching for Izuku’s warm embrace.

He didn’t know what time, but Izuku always checked on him at night, since he was an insomniac and never came to bed. Of course, when Izuku looked, gently opening the door, he felt an immense guilt.

“Oh,” Izuku sighed, cursing himself internally. His baby looked so cold, curled into himself. He knew the punishment had been too harsh, but he also needed Kacchan to understand he couldn’t do everything he wanted. When Kacchan reacted, Izuku had to hold himself back from kissing the boy to death. Now he knew how wrong he was, to take Kacchan’s lifeline away. What kind of caregiver was he? The insecurity consumed him, but he tried to stay calm.

Gently, he pulled the duvet over Kacchan and tucked him in before rubbing his cheek with a soft smile. Izuku couldn’t believe he’d been so inhumane.

“Daddy,” Kacchan muttered, grabbing Izuku’s hand. The warmth gave him revival. “Don’t go.”

Izuku thought of his workload and said fuck it. His little needed him.

“I’m here, baby.” He repeated, getting into bed from his side, immediately pulling Kacchan in and spooning him. “That punishment wasn’t nice, huh?”

“No.” Kacchan said. “It was mean. You can’t ever do that again.”

“Understood,” Izuku responded, playful. He knew it would take a while for Kacchan to speak again, and instead of lamenting, he simply kissed him and hoped Kacchan knew just how much he loved him. He loved Kacchan so much. He had been so wrong today.

They fell asleep in minutes. Izuku was an excellent pillow; very warm and sturdy. When Kacchan woke up big, he whacked Izuku’s arm, and Izuku apologised a thousand times. Of course, Katsuki forgave him.

[518062]

speedpaint

i love him sooo X3 demon pheles >:3

[518062]

gotta bail Vector for shoplifting a case of chaos cola

never a moment of peace in Seaside City bruh