#kiwi writes

[pinetreevillain]

Cain Makes A Confession

Written by @cookiwii

[kirivee]

been thinking real hard abt the term “wrestling soulmates” lately. what a beautiful and romantic term to come out of something as seemingly primitive as professional wrestling. the idea of two people meeting while doing what they love, and suddenly they’re intertwined in a way that not everyone gets to feel. like their very molecules have been attuned to each other all along, they just needed to find each other to feel it. and then they spend their years fighting and forgiving each other, over and over, because everyone watching can see how much they shine together no matter their current relationship. it’s chemistry and history, blending together to make something unreplaceable. it must be such a beautiful feeling. i’m almost sorry i’ll never get to experience it.

[comradekiwi]

mini bkdk fic inspired by this art! pls go show the artist some love!!

also on ao3 here :)

Katsuki finds him after patrol in his old spot. His very old spot, from decades ago.

Izuku is curled up in a plastic tunnel, hand on his chin and muttering to himself as he scribbles, completely tuned out to the happy sounds of children running around their old playground.

It’s a painfully familiar sight, and Katsuki closes his eyes briefly at the pang in his chest as he sees, for one vivid moment, a four year old Deku sitting in the same red circle, with so much more space for his limbs, yet still equally curled into himself and his notebook. Izuku had always been like that, before OFA, most comfortable in a space much smaller than what he actually occupied, and forever curling into it. It was cute, then concerning, then a thing of the past as Izuku settled into his own skin. Now a nostalgic comfort, evidently.

(He’d been chubbier, freckled limbs in shorts and baby cotton, a mess of curls because Izuku loved to stick his hand in his hair while he thought. And he thought a lot, child of wonder, precious to the stars, the son of fate. Future hero of their time.)

Katsuki set one hand above the opening and leaned in.

“Whatcha doin’, nerd?”

Izuku, to his credit, only startled a little. He flashed wide eyes up at Katsuki, and Katsuki got the pleasure of watching his face light up shamelessly.

“Hi, Kacchan,” Izuku said cheerfully, and maybe this was how it should’ve gone back then, too, when four-year-old Katsuki stomped up to this same alcove and asked what Izuku was doing, maybe it did despite little Katsuki’s biting tone, because Izuku was always, had always been happy to see him,n maybe the scene had only been ruined by the taunts that came after. Katsuki didn’t quite remember, but it didn’t matter anymore. All the Katsuki of Now cared about was the poorly hidden affection in the glint of this Izuku’s eyes, adoration made solid and safe and secure.

The playset is a familiar feeling under Katsuki’s now rough palms, soft and intermittently scratched in thin lines. Izuku shuffles over in the tunnel and Katsuki folds his body to fit in next to him, and— the smell rocks him back in time, too, rubber and the tang of dirt so unusually close to his head, dyed plastic and oft-rubbed metal. Izuku’s shoulder pressing against his is a rare sensation, but it feels just as nostalgic, especially in here, backs and limbs curved along the inner surface of the tunnel. Katsuki kicks his legs up and almost knees himself in the face. Izuku giggles, and Katsuki shoulder-shoves him, delighting in how Izuku half heartedly shoves back. Izuku’s legs stay down, protectively, like he’s still that little kid so at home in his own tiny cocoon. Katsuki stares at his boots along the tunnel wall, giant in here, especially with their reach.

He shuffles his shoulders down to match Izuku’s, and leans into his space further to peer at his notebook. Izuku lets him, pointing at the page.

“I’m just lesson planning,” he says, tapping his pen at random notes Katsuki can only barely decipher, “They’ll have a pop quiz a month from now, I thought I’d let them do something fun afterwards as a treat.”

“You’re too soft on them,” Katsuki informs him for the umpteenth time. Izuku laughs at him as always.

“Sure, Kacchan,” he says, and Katsuki will never, ever get over how his name sounds from Izuku’s mouth, melodious like Izuku cradles it on the way out, like he’s singing it. He’s so— enchanting, his boy. Katsuki tries to throw an arm around him but ends up smacking his knuckles on hard plastic, and it stings like a bitch. He does not make a noise, but Izuku coos at him anyway, taking his hand and rubbing it, and Katsuki’s perfectly fine with that. He’s still tracing his notes with his eyes, thinking, always thinking, even as he absentmindedly brushes his mouth over Katsuki’s knuckles in some of Auntie Inko’s Healing Kisses. Izuku rubs his soft lips back and forth over his fingers, fully distracted now, enjoying the sensory stimulation. Katsuki lets him, chest stupidly warm, for a full minute before dragging his knuckles up over Izuku’s cheek, up and down, the skin endearingly freckled and babysoft even in his twenties. Izuku leans into his hand, and finally closes his eyes.

The sun was beginning to tease at setting, and Katsuki watches Izuku turn his head to look out the far end of the tunnel. Sunlight kissed the tops of his cheeks, dragged down his eyelashes. Katsuki couldn’t see much besides the back of Izuku’s head, but even this was precious to him for some godforsaken reason, from his crown to the nape of his neck where green curled enticingly against bare skin.

He leans forward to press his cheek against Izuku’s and look out, too. Some tots stumble over each other in excited giggles, pick themselves up from rubber mulch like they’d already forgotten the fall.

Katsuki feels Izuku’s cheek pull with a smile against his own, and the feeling is so — Katsuki doesn’t have words for it, but he just has to kiss him, so he does, right there in the kiddie tunnel of their neighborhood playground. He kisses his sweet, soft cheek, and then his temple, close-mouthed and drawn-out. He loves him so much. Maybe they’d have their own kids to watch from here some day. Or to seat beside them, an addition to their spot.

Katsuki sat back against the tunnel wall and Izuku ducked his face into his neck, the skin suspiciously warm. The nerd was probably blushing, as if they didn’t kiss, often much more salaciously, all the time. Katsuki rubbed his head with his chin, lasting about ten seconds before digging it into Izuku’s scalp with his jaw a little just to be a dick. Izuku shook him off and pouted even as he leaned into Katsuki’s mouth with the ease of a soul-bound lover, even though they weren’t even engaged yet. Soon, though. Katsuki was just waiting for the right time to really knock his socks off. It was the least he could do, after everything Izuku offered him.

(Love and safety and forgiveness. Somewhere to keep his heart safe, outside of his own body. Atonement and adoration and victory and a home.)

They didn’t kiss for long, they were in public after all, and even if no one could really see much over Katsuki’s shoulders or with the angle from the other end of the tunnel, they were still on a kids playground, and Katsuki was a pro with a reputation to uphold. He was honestly fairly certain a sneaky photo of him gently kissing his lover in an old playset would do wonders for his ranking, but he was selfish anyway, and wanted to keep these moments with Izuku for himself. Wanted to keep this side of himself for Izuku.

“C’mon. I’ll make curry tonight,” Katsuki mumbled against Izuku’s lips, hoping that would be enough for Izuku to pull away, because gods know in this one situation Katsuki is never strong enough to do it himself. As predicted, Izuku slips away with a soft noise that digs into Katsuki’s soul, and starts mumbling about groceries they’ll need to get on the way home, then.

Katsuki knows all that already, that’s why he came here to get him after all, so they could go together, so he takes to watching the dusk sink into the green of Izuku’s eyes, paint a glow into his face and his lips. He shuffles out obediently when Izuku starts pushing him, drags him out with one hand just to see him blush and stutter. Katsuki brushes a hand over the box in his pocket and thinks, maybe here, maybe this time of day, maybe soon. Izuku takes his hand easily and they start the short walk to the grocery store.

Soon, soon. Katsuki can’t wait.

[kiwitaskmaster]

hey heyy

fell off for a bit because i had important final exams (boooo)

Was thinking about starting writing fanfic for TM so if anyone has anything they want me to write please throw it in my ask box!

I’ll write pretty much anything, my only boundary is that i will not write smut but other than that: go crazy, any series, i do not mind <3

And i will continue my little reaction series i promise, i’ve just been so insanely busy

[melancholykiwi]

Happy New Year! Here’s some Regency Huskerdust

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61911304

[pale-fairytales]

Chapters: 7/? Fandom: Transformers - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Jazz/Prowl (Transformers) Characters: Jazz (Transformers), Prowl (Transformers), Sparklings (Transformers), Hot Rod (Transformers), Drift | Deadlock, Barricade (Transformers), Ratchet (Transformers), Bumblebee (Transformers), Optimus Prime Additional Tags: Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Mutual Pining, Transformer Sparklings, Prowl is a mom friend, Light Angst, Jazz is good with kids, Jazz didn't have a great childhood, Not Beta Read, Feral Behavior, Idiots in Love, Friends to Lovers, Prowl and Jazz both have maternal instincts, sorta slow burn, Domestic, No Cybertronian Civil War Summary:

Jazz and Prowl have been close for a long time, enough that Jazz regularly crashes on the couch. When a lost sparkling comes into the mix, it only intensifies unspoken feelings.

inspired by a headcanon I liked that someone had in a disc server

[sombrerokiwi]

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia (Anime & Manga) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Banjou Daigorou | Lariat & Sixth One For All User, Shinomori Hikage & Sixth One For All User, Sixth One For All User & Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Sixth One For All User & Shinsou Hitoshi, Sixth One For All User & Yagi Toshinori | All Might, Minor or Background Relationship(s) Characters: Sixth One for All User (My Hero Academia), Banjou Daigorou | Lariat, Shinomori Hikage, Shinsou Hitoshi, Uraraka Ochako, Ojiro Mashirao, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Class 1-A (My Hero Academia), Yagi Toshinori | All Might, Midoriya Izuku, Todoroki Shouto, Bakugou Katsuki, Shigaraki Tomura | Shimura Tenko, Sensei | All For One, (If more characters become prominent I'll add them.) Additional Tags: Role Reversal, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dead Midoriya Izuku, Dead Todoroki Shouto, Dead Bakugou Katsuki, But mostly because those guys were past One For All Users, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Class 1-A as Family (My Hero Academia), Middle May, Slow To Update, Author greatly underestimated how long this would be Summary:

En is a first year at UA, trying to keep up with his classmates as they all go through the hero course and aiming for the goal of becoming an Underground Hero.

Shinomori and Banjou are two Third year hero students who befriended him after the latter did a “Sick Flip” and landed on top of him.

Deku, Dynamight, and Shouto were all holders of One For All and left behind a legacy that affected more people than they thought.

All of this changed nothing and everything.

#

Second chapter of Role Reversal fic is up. Boy oh boy I thought I’ll be able to write shorter chapters after the first one but boy was I wrong.

[thebnha-auhoard]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia (Anime & Manga) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Yagi Toshinori | All Might, Torino Sorahiko | Gran Torino, Sensei | All For One, Midoriya Izuku, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead Additional Tags: Crack, Feral Yagi Toshinori | All Might, Tired Torino Sorahiko | Gran Torino, All For One is like that meme with the Geologist and Obsidian Knife, Humor Summary:

“Do you think All For One would be able to see a metal pipe?”

Sorahiko looks up at Yagi. “What?”

“Do you think All For One would be able to see a metal pipe?” repeats Yagi, as if he didn’t hear him the first time.

~

All For One can only see Quirks and Quirk-related objects. Yagi Toshinori takes advantage of this

[ghostlyquill]

[kiwinatorwaffles]

people can do whatever they want with fictional characters forever but one thing that always pisses me off is how aro/ace characters are treated in shipping.

while it is a naive mentality to tell people never to ship aspec characters, saying “aces CAN have sex” and “aros CAN be in a romantic relationship” to defend erasing their aspec identity just to ship them as if they were like an allo person means you don’t respect their identity, nor ours. yes aces can have sex. yes aros can be in a romantic relationship. but they will still be aromantic and asexual while in that relationship. and don’t even get me started on using demi identities as an “easy explanation” for why it’s okay to allowash them. other identities are treated with such absolution, so why should we continuously get the short end of the stick?

so i guess the thesis of this post is that people are absolutely allowed to ship aspec characters but if you mfs don’t care enough to understand the nuances of our identities i’m taking your aspec blorbos and putting them on a high shelf

[kirivee]

it’s soooooo fascinating to me how roman’s definition of love has changed from genuine camaraderie to ownership and manipulation. roman WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU

[comradekiwi]

bkdk regency era au confession request for @bakutogabaku :)

The castle halls were bustling with movement, maids and cooks and butlers shuffling to and fro as they prepared for the ball. It was easy to get caught underfoot, if you didn’t know your way around.

Fortunately, Izuku knew his way around quite well, and narrowly avoided crashing into a tray of cakes by ducking under it and into the hidden alcove behind the winter tapestry, the giant one of the Bakugou’s ancestral home. Izuku heaved a great sigh of relief, untensing. The crowds got a bit much for him, sometimes. He was only here to see Kacchan, anyway.

A hot hand gripped the back of his head. “Deku?”

Izuku startled, whipping around swiftly to the beloved sight of his childhood friend, if vague and blurry in the dark. Good thing Izuku would know those shoulders anywhere.

“Kacchan? I thought you’d have snuck out to the roof by now.” That was where he had been going, before the busy movement had overwhelmed him.

“Got sidetracked, same as you, it seems,” Kacchan said, sliding to sit on the floor. Izuku sat across from him, eyes adjusting to the dim light. Katsuki drew a candle up out of nowhere and lit it, setting it next to them against the wall of the small space just big enough for them to sit without touching.

Kacchan did not love crowds either, skilled as he was in commanding them. But he’d never admit to hiding from them, no, it was always “regrouping” or “getting sidetracked,” to Izuku’s endless endearment.

“Pity. The wind is lovely today. Good I found you, though, or I’d be sharing our picnic with my own self,” Izuku laughed, digging through his satchel for the lunch parcels his mother had packed for him and Katsuki.

Kacchan straightened up, the sight making Izuku’s heart clench, Kacchan in his regal adornments sitting up earnestly at the mention of his peasant mother’s homemade food. “Auntie made it?”

“Mm.”

“Fuck yeah,” Katsuki grinned wildly, teeth white in the dimness. Izuku decidedly did not swoon at the gleeful stretch of his large mouth, instead focusing on finding the fruit he knew he’d thrown into his bag.

“Wait–” Kacchan interrupted, staying his hand. He reached over to put everything Izuku had taken out back into his satchel. “Give me your coat.”

Izuku looked at the coat rolled up and clasped to his bag, then at Katsuki, deadpan.

“Kacchan, it’ll never fit.” Much to Izuku chagrin and secret delight, and Katsuki’s amusement and much more vocal delight, they were no longer around the same height like they’d been as children, Katsuki instead towering over him by at least a foot. And he was still growing. Curse his dragonsblood genes.

“It’s not for the chill, dumbass,” Kacchan rolled his eyes, “Just give it here.”

Izuku handed it over obediently, watching as Kacchan fashioned it into some sort of blasphemization of a shawl.

“Brilliant. I’ll let your mother know you’re all set for the ball, then,” Izuku giggled.

“Shut the fuck up,” Katsuki grouched, pushing Izuku with a hand to the face, “and let’s go.”

A picnic elsewhere, then. Izuku loved those.

Izuku peeked out the tapestry; the crowd had not lessened in the slightest, which meant too many people around for anyone to notice the prince, but also more people who could potentially notice the prince. Izuku glanced back at Kacchan, who had removed his own fancy coat, doing his best to look inconspicuous. Izuku glanced down at the coat in his hands, the rich material and embroidery twinkling in the candlelight.

“What are you going to do with–” Izuku was cut off as Katsuki shoved the outerwear at him abruptly, mumbling something while looking away. “Huh?”

“Put it on,” Katsuki repeated, a bit louder, staring Izuku down. “They’ve seen you in my things enough times to not pay you any mind. And it will distract them from me.”

Izuku blushed furiously at all the implications of that statement that Katsuki obviously did not mean and probably had not even considered, false as they were. Izuku in Katsuki’s clothes was simply a natural byproduct of the two of them growing up together, impromptu sleepovers in the castle, and Izuku’s slightly smaller stature when they were children that allowed for uninhibited clothes-sharing. Or, rather, clothes-giving, given Katsuki’s birthright of plenty and Izuku’s modest upbringing. Queen Mitsuki always thought he looked simply adorable in Katsuki’s clothes anyway, and the young prince Katsuki had never shared the sentiment but had always pushed his clothes onto Izuku anyway, often brusquely, often with pink cheeks. Izuku thought he was so sweet, to care about Izuku like that, even if he did not want to be vocal about it.

(Izuku was not poor, either, not by any means, but everyone was some degree of worse-off compared to the royal Bakugous.)

(The maids did not even talk, accustomed to the little green-haired boy adorned in their prince’s things as they chased each other around the castle with wooden swords and tiny battle cries. New servants learned quickly to expect a freckled face in random corners, reading or writing or sketching, leaning on their prince’s shoulder or chattering at him while he trained. It was the way of the world, to see a golden head held high followed by the curly one trailing after it, or next to it.)

Their current mission was a success, Izuku slipping out of the alcove swamped in Katsuki’s expensive coat and through the crowd like a minnow, stopped only once by one of the kindest butlers, who gave him a once over and a knowing smile before slipping two tarts into his hands and nudging him off. All the while, Kacchan must have ducked his way through the halls too, because Izuku found him leaning on the wall just inside the doorway of the stairwell leading up to their favourite tower.

Kacchan swept his gaze over his figure (as if checking for injuries – Kacchan was so silly sometimes), nodded to himself, and swept away up the stairs, dramatic as if waving his formal cape behind him. He did not look back, knowing Izuku would follow, which he did, rolling his eyes at his back.

They settled down by a huge open window overlooking the grounds, half next-to and half in-front of each other, so they could enjoy both the company and the view at once. Izuku unpacked their food again, handing Kacchan a parcel and avoiding staring at his strong fingers deftly untying the string so tiny under his hands.

Izuku turned his face to the sun, enjoying the air. Every part of the kingdom had its charm, but Izuku had a bit of bias for the castle grounds, perhaps because he spent half his childhood here running around. Something about the sectioned off luxury set him at peace, like nothing could harm him here on the Bakugou’s property.

“Izuku,” Kacchan said suddenly. Izuku looked up, moderately alarmed at his serious tone. Katsuki had his face turned away from him, eyes stubbornly fixed on something in the distance.

“Yes, Kacchan?”

Izuku squinted. Was… was Katsuki blushing?

The prince cleared his throat, fumbling for words uncharacteristically. Izuku was definitely alarmed. “Is something wrong?”

Kacchan finally looked at him, looked into his eyes for a second before the pinkness on his cheeks deepened and he looked away again, picking at his food.

“Izuku.” He said again. Izuku leaned forward, watching him plaintively.

Katsuki glanced at him and away quickly, squeezing his eyes shut as the pink spread. “Fucking – stop that.”

“Stop what?” Izuku wasn’t doing anything.

“Your stupid– nevermind,” he huffed, shaking his head and seeming to steel himself.

What in the world? Katsuki never had any issue telling him anything. Impatient, Izuku pushed, “Kacchan, what’s going o–”

“How would you court someone?”

All the blood in Izuku’s body curdled into ice.

What?

“How would I..” Izuku swallowed. “Oh, have you… have you finally found someone?”

Every year, around the time of the Sun Cycle festivities, Auntie Mitsuki would always ruffle Katsuki’s hair and jokingly ask when he’d get around to finding a future royal consort. Kacchan would always smack her hands away and glare, almost too sharply for the question at hand, and the queen would laugh and laugh and swing an arm around Izuku, who was usually present, and try to goad him into joining her in teasing his best friend. Izuku would laugh too, though increasingly weakly as the years passed and he grew more and more hopelessly, irrevocably, tortuously in love with Bakugou Katsuki. He had a feeling the queen knew about that, too, given how she always eyed him a touch too long whenever she brought up the subject of Kacchan’s future partner, features calculating. Izuku had grown alongside Kacchan enough to have picked up on skill of inscrutability necessary in the Court, but little got past Auntie Mitsuki, especially when it concerned her sons.

All this to say Izuku had considered the possibility of the queen actually pushing Kacchan to find a consort and found it lacking, so he had put the fear out of his mind, convincing himself the action was out of rationality rather than desperate self-preservation.

It seems he had been horribly, horribly mistaken.

Katsuki was clearly blushing now, face red and eyes slightly too-wide, even as he mustered up a face of impassiveness from some depths of practice from years in court. His clenched jaw and red face were the only things giving him away.

Izuku waited in the pause with bated breath, world at a standstill.

“...Yes.” Katsuki said, finally.

Ah.

Izuku’s heart cracked right down the middle, the pieces falling weightlessly out of his chest and over the tower ledge with nothing to catch them. Ah. Of course. How foolish of Izuku to think this day would not come, when Kacchan could so easily find someone as glorious as he, someone worthy of his affection and his future, in this wide and vast world.

Izuku swallowed tightly and promised himself not to cry in front of Kacchan.

“That’s. Nice.” He mumbled, then winced. Very subtle, Izuku. “Um! I would get them flowers probably, maybe, and …”

Katsuki was listening attentively, watching Izuku’s face and nodding along with more focus than he usually ever gave publicly to his stories.

(Not that he didn’t listen. He always did, just was almost shy about it, always doing something else as he lended an ear, sometimes working in pretense, sometimes actually. He seemed to get a lot of work done when simultaneously listening to Izuku, which was probably half of why Katsuki always dragged him along whenever he had duties to fulfill or training or homework.)

But seeing Katsuki devote such single-mindedness now, attentive in a way he rarely was, broke Izuku’s heart that much more, ground it into a fine dust. This must be very important to him, if Kacchan was taking it so seriously.

Izuku was torn between purposely sabotaging him, and helping him like a good best friend. Unfortunately, Kacchan’s happiness was the most important thing to him, and this was clearly something he cared about deeply, so despite the devil on his shoulder (that sounded suspiciously like Kacchan, actually), Izuku chose the latter with aching fingers.

“...and I think asking is good. You can ask them what they like and make it happen, they’d probably like that,” Izuku finished, letting out a quiet breath. Please no more.

Katsuki looked contemplative. “What about if it was you?”

Oh sweet mercy. “Huh?”

Katsuki cleared his throat, still horribly pink, and graciously did not laugh at Izuku’s squeak. “If someone asked you what you liked to be courted with. What would you say? Hypothetically.”

Oh, Kacchan, this was just cruel. Asking Izuku to fantasize about being courted by someone when the only person he’d want to be asked by was sitting cross-legged in front of him, asking for advice about courting someone else entirely.

Izuku stuffed his face with rice to stall and give himself an excuse in case he sounded choked up when he spoke. “Er, let’s see…” Oh, good, he sounded normal. “Well, one time Prince Todoroki tried courting me–”

Katsuki sat up straight immediately, face turning to stone. “He what.”

Izuku shivered at the deep rumble of his voice, and rolled his eyes. “See, this is why I didn’t tell you.”

Kacchan was notoriously possessive over his things, and Izuku liked to pretend to himself that his inclusion in that list could be in a romantic context, even if it was most certainly not. In truth, he’d kept notice of Shouto courting him away from Kacchan in a bid to keep up the secret fantasy of a jealous reaction in his head, to avoid Kacchan’s reaction in real life from squashing that hope. He would, Izuku knew, likely lash out in a possessive rage simply because he saw Todoroki as a threat for some reason, and not because it had anything to do with Izuku. And, if it did, it was simply because Kacchan had not really changed much from the four year old who had stomped up to Izuku under the willow in the town square and declared him his.

Izuku supposed he hadn’t changed much either from the four year old who had stood under the willow in town square and agreed.

In the present time, Kacchan leaned into Izuku’s space, seething. “You tell me everything.”

“You didn’t tell me you found someone,” Izuku shot back automatically, then winced at Kacchan’s taken aback expression. “Sorry.” He could feel dread curdling in his stomach, a creeping, sick fear that this heartbreak would turn into resentment, into the poisoning of his closeness with Kacchan, into a growing, necrotic distance between them until they were but estranged former–

“No, I’m… sorry.” Katsuki said lowly, and Izuku’s head whipped up, shocked. Kacchan rarely apologized out loud, preferring to show remorse through action.

He looked conflicted, rubbing a hand through spiky hair, rings glinting. “Is this– is your courtship with that bastard the same kind of thing, then?” Kacchan muttered, as if the words pained him.

Same– oh. Kacchan thought he’d kept Todoroki a secret for the same reason Katsuki had kept his own romantic interest a secret. For how precious and genuine it felt, probably.

“No, no, Kacchan,” Izuku hurried to amend, hating himself for it, for still pretending he meant anything to Kacchan worth apologizing for a courtship over. “It was nothing. He only tried to court me, I had little interest, and we parted as friends.”

Katsuki sat back reluctantly, grumbling something about “calling it” and “stupid fucking Todorokis.” He took a minute to calm himself, and Izuku waited patiently, well accustomed to Kacchan’s gradually developed ritual for dealing with his temper. After all, Izuku had helped him come up with it.

Kacchan finally breathed out slowly and reopened his eyes, looking into Izuku’s waiting ones. He cleared his throat. “Well?” he prompted. “What did the bastard do when he… then.”

Izuku stifled a giggle at his clearly still-grumpy pout, and at the jolly memory. He loved the prince of the neighboring kingdom dearly, if platonically, even more happily now that they’d discovered that was mutual. “There was a bouquet of roses, if I remember correctly. And an invite to accompany him in his fancy carriage to go into town. Oh, and Shouto–” here Katsuki’s eyebrows shot up at the familiar use of a given name– “Shouto bartered with his father to let him stay an extra week here in return for extra training, which was sweet. You know how he hates that.”

Once, when Kacchan and Izuku were quite small, they had pranked the Lady Ayako, sneaking a skunk-stink-soaked handkerchief into her purse in the middle of court. Among such respectable and high-class company she could not possibly make expressive faces in revulsion, out of propriety. Meaning Izuku and Kacchan got to giggle from the shadows, peeking from behind a massive curtain, as the Lady attempted to stifle her automatic twisted faces of disgust in the name of etiquette, resulting in the truly hilarious expression of what looked like, ultimately, constipation.

(The Lady Ayako had been a neutral figure in their lives, until she had one day turned up her nose at Izuku’s lovingly well-worn vest and made some snide remark about the quality of the young prince’s company. Coincidentally, Kacchan had devised the skunk prank the next day.)

(Perhaps even more curiously, when Uncle Masaru had swept back the curtain and unearthed the giggling children, he had merely frowned at them and sent them to bed with naught but a stern word about spying on people. The perpetrators of the smelly clutch were never found, and Lady Ayako was politely asked to leave early.)

Katsuki, at present, bore an expression remarkably similar to Lady Ayako’s that night.

“What a regular fuckin’ Romeo,” Izuku thought he heard him mutter under his breath.

“I could do way better than that,” Katsuki announced, loudly. Izuku smiled at him fondly.

“I’m sure you can, Kacchan,” he said, very bravely ignoring the broken pieces of his heart rattling around petulantly. “Whoever you ask will love whatever way you do it, because Kacchan’s amazing.”

I wouldn’t need anything, Izuku did not say. You could confess with a blade through my heart and I’d still collapse from happiness more than anything else. I would take anything, anything–

“When will you do it?” Izuku asked aloud, cutting off his internal spiraling.

“Hmm. Tomorrow,” Katsuki said decidedly. Izuku choked.

“To– that’s so soon! Needn’t you prepare?”

Katsuki shook his head, looking out over the grounds, eyes distant. “I have everything I need.”

…tbc :)

[kiwitaskmaster]

Writing a little something.. not sure when i’ll finish it but know it’s out there

[cookiwii]

YES I WROTE THIS I WROTE IT

Cain Makes A Confession

Written by @cookiwii

[pale-fairytales]

Rust Sticks Chapter 8 sneak peek

HIII as a break from the political stuff uh. have a sneak peek of the next chapter of rust sticks. I'm a full time college student sooo it's hard to update but I'm tryin'! If you wanna read the fic, here's the link.

Sneak peek below the cut!!

“Please be still, Hot Rod,” the low baritone rumbles through Optimus’ mask, and in response, the child blows a raspberry at him. 

A heavy sigh, and then the small smile to tug the corners of his lipplates underneath the mask. Bee in the crook of his right arm looks between the pair with bright blue optics, buzzing softly, the crackle of his vocalizer toiling through the half-semblances of words. Hot Rod mimics the soft babbling noises, and just like that, Optimus is a stranger to whatever conversation they have begun in half-formulated babbles and squeaks and clicks. He lets the chuckle bubbling at the edge of his vocalizer to come.

He walks slowly, each step and sway of his upper half intentional with each jerk and squirm that possesses Hot Rod’s tiny frame, scanning the streets and addresses for the correct apartment complex. He does not dare transform, strictly because he is certain that the split second his attention is on transformation, the little spitfire in his arms will wander off, as many sparklings do. But he hastens his pace, regardless, keeping to the sidewalk. As a prime, there isn’t so much time anymore to indulge in these things; but as a sire, as far as he is concerned, this ought to be included in his job.

[sombrerokiwi]

What I wanted: Making fic for friend focus time

What I got: Me making funny concept yesterday into a short fic

Anyways, have a quick drabble where Hikari just decides to use lightning on Mugen.

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Hikari knew that this whole thing was done to humiliate him. He knew the fight was scripted to favor Mugen. After all, Mugen was always more skilled with combat, both due to natural talent and experience. Having Hikari fight him for a “quick spar” was just an excuse to have the soldiers witness how their strengths differ from each other.

Luckily though, Hikari has several advantages. The first advantage being that Hikari knows more than just the sword and has been dabbling into magical arts, practicing every day and making sure his skills were as good as they were with the sword. He isn’t as good as Osvald yet but he is good enough that several traveling Scholars praised him for his progress and asked who his teacher was.

The second advantage is that Mugen still thinks Hikari views him with admiration and awe, meaning he would think Hikari is viewing this as a friendly spar and not something meant to humiliate him. A year ago, he would have believed that this was a friendly spar but now…

“You don’t owe people your love and care when they don’t return it. Don’t waste your energy on those who will just take advantage of you, Hikari. You deserve better. You deserve so much better.”

He knows better now. Mugen isn’t going to see him as his equal, or at the very least, his sibling. He’s going to view him as an ant that needs to be crushed. Hikari shouldn’t go and hold on to the belief that his family here will care for him. At the very least though, he has his mother, and every few weeks he can visit his real family at Conning Creek.

Now though, he has to, as the soldiers would sometimes say, “one-up” his brother.

“Raise your weapon brother,” said Hikari.

“Let us see who comes out on top then,” said Mugen.

Immediately the battle began with Mugen bringing his sword down to where Hikari was standing. Quickly, he dodges it and takes a deep breath.

“Remember, analyze your opponents before you strike. That’s a basic in battling and in scholarly pursuits. We scholars may have the gift of commanding the elements but that’s useless if we always assume that our opponents will be susceptible to the ones we command.”

Spears and lightning. Those were the two things Hikari noticed Mugen consistently having trouble against. And luckily for him he has skill with both of those things.

Though…considering how much stronger Mugen is, his spearwork probably won’t do much against his brother.

Lightning magic however, that can work. That can work but how much power exactly? He doubts that a simple strike would do. No, if he wants to win then he has to put all his effort into it.

He hasn’t quite practiced the more advanced spells with Osvald but he has been reading ahead, and he has been practicing with the soldiers that spar with him. The real challenge is just making sure he doesn’t expend his energy in the process of casting it. If he lets that happen then he leaves himself open and in the process, would give Mugen an easy victory.

Another strike against Hikari and again, Hikari dodges. The strikes are getting faster now and though Hikari is nimble and much smaller than Mugen, he can’t dodge forever, and his brother knew that.

Now then, he has to do this fast.

He takes a step back. “I summon, Alephan, the Scholarking!” Immediately, he feels the elements course through him, making him aware of all that there is and all that he can summon.

He takes a deep breath and pours all his energy into the spell “The Sky Royals!”

And as commanded, the sky opens up and brings down a myriad of lightning and sparks onto his brother.

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“So,” says Osvald. “I heard that you called for Alephan’s knowledge and brought down lightning on your brother.”

Sheepishly, Hikari nods. He’s here much earlier than he should be but his father insisted on going early to have Osvald teach him proper control and restraint over the elements. A fair request, considering that his “light show”, as some of the soldiers called it, went and caused several small fires within the training grounds.

Osvald nods. “Good. It means you’re reading ahead.”

Hikari blinks. “Aren’t you mad?” he asks.

“Why would I be mad? You wanted to learn more so you read ahead of time, and you were excited to put your skills into practice so you started using them in places where practice is acceptable.”

Again, Hikari blinks. “Oh.”

“That doesn’t mean that what you did was smart though. You should first do that type of magic in a controlled environment before placing it into practice. At the very least though, we now know what you have trouble on.” 

He picks up a leaf. “Now then, the new lesson today is basic control. You managed to impressively use a high-level lightning skill but that’s useless if you can’t control where it’s supposed to strike.” In the same hand, he summons a small flame, slowly burning the leaf away. “We’re going to start with this. Okay?”

Hikari nods.

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Tag:

@beantothemax did the vague Scholar Hikari au writing prompt.