The Problem Of Being An Ao3 Writer And Not Telling Anyone In Real Life Is That When You Have An Eureka

My fic is finally complete!

My first child is finally over y'all will miss it but know I will have to work on my other two

Say it louder for those who haven't heard in the back!!!!!

even if izuku and ochako kissed nothing would be more romantic than saving money for 8 years just to realize your rivals dream, katsuki i know what u are

Guess who is back

hi dearsssssss guess who is back and just posted a new chapter ?

with love,

ya girl

hope y'all enjoy it !

Why didnt I download this app before? kkkkk this is so true

I be like "I'm not that obsessed with them" and then you look at my A03 history and oh boy.... What have i gotten myself into???

ALL THE TUMBLR BAKUDEKU ARTISTS ARE PHENOMENAL AND YOU CANT PROVE ME WRONG since Ive been in this website there hasn't been a SINGLE artist who can't like draw them so beautifully done that it should be in a FUCKING museum congrats y'all I wish I could leave a thousand kudos in every one of your posts with amazing artwork

I think I miss my wife...

(bkdk)

It's fire on fire (You are perfection, my only direction)

By atthelowest

Summary:

In a world fractured by fear and prejudice, where the X-gene marks individuals as both extraordinary and cursed, Katsuki Bakugou stands at the heart of a tragic romance. Born with the explosive ability to wield fire, Katsuki is a mutant in a society that views his powers as a harbinger of destruction—a monster to be feared and reviled. But for one person, he is much more: he is everything.

Izuku Midoriya, quirkless and yearning for a world where mutants can be heroes, has loved Katsuki since childhood. Yet, with every spark that ignites from Katsuki's hands, the world pushes him further into darkness, branding him as a villain before he even has the chance to fight for his place.

As the government tightens its grip on mutants, hunting them like prey, Katsuki finds himself torn between the desire to protect Izuku and the pressure to embrace the rage that threatens to consume him. Their relationship becomes a delicate dance of love and pain, a secret kept in the shadows where fear and hope intertwine. Katsuki’s struggle intensifies as he distances himself from Izuku, convinced that his powers will only bring chaos to the one person he wants to keep safe.

Also known as I had a crazy dream. Again.

Obs: If you know nothing about the x man that's okay, Im not doing my job right if you can't understand it without having read it.

Epilogue: Requiem for the Fallen

They never talked about what they did in the shadows. Not really. The stories only came out in fragments, and even then, no one wanted to hear them.

No one wanted to know. Not at first.

The war ended, but not everything stopped when the fighting did. The smoke cleared, the rubble was swept away, and the flags of victory were raised, but beneath the surface, the scars were still raw. In the quiet corners of power, behind polished doors and forgotten walls, the real wounds festered—wounds they had carved into the very fabric of humanity.

The secrets didn’t vanish with the falling empires. They lingered, hidden beneath layers of polite history, locked away in places no one dared to look. But the past has a way of crawling back, doesn’t it? The experiments, the trials, the nightmares—they kept them alive. They didn’t die with the dictators. The men who played God weren’t done with their work.

The world remembers the war for what it saw: soldiers and tanks, bombs and battles. But there was a different war, one no one could see, fought in cold, sterile rooms where the stench of chemicals mixed with the iron tang of blood. This was the war fought in the name of progress, where human bodies were just raw material. They were told it was for the future, for a stronger tomorrow. They were promised that out of this darkness, something better would emerge. A better species. A stronger breed. They called it evolution. But evolution is a cruel teacher.

And in those rooms, evolution wasn’t natural. It was forced.

It started with whispers, rumors of something more than soldiers marching on the battlefield. Rumors that spread in the camps and across borders, but were always too far from the surface for anyone to act. Whispers of what happened in the laboratories. Of needles piercing skin, of bodies strapped down, and the kinds of screams no one could admit to hearing. They called it science. They called it progress.

But what came out of those labs wasn’t victory. It was something they couldn’t control. They had played too long with life and death, and what they created wasn’t a miracle—it was a mutation. A mistake, they said, though they knew it wasn’t that. It was the birth of something different. Something dangerous. A spark that flickered in the veins of the broken and forgotten. It spread, slow at first, like a shadow growing longer as the sun sets. Silent. Invisible.

And by the time the world noticed, it was too late.

They named it later—the X-gene. A tidy name for something so unclean. They gave it a letter, as though reducing it to a single character could strip it of the horror it carried. But that letter was heavy. It passed through generations, hidden in bloodlines, sleeping in the dark places of families and nations, waiting. At first, it was just a murmur in the genetic code, a ripple beneath the surface of humanity. It didn’t touch everyone—only a few, here and there. But when it did, the world felt it.

The war ended, but not everything died with it. Some things lingered, ghosts of atrocities that could not be buried. As the world rebuilt itself, the X-gene slipped into the bloodstream of history, invisible, yet very much alive. Passed down from parent to child, across decades and borders, it seeped into the fabric of humanity itself, unseen and unknown. For a time.

After the war, the scientists responsible for these horrors scattered like ash on the wind. Some were dragged into the light, made to answer for their crimes at the Nuremberg Trials. But others? They slipped through the cracks, disappearing into the shadows they knew so well.

The war was over, but the hunger for power was not.

The governments of the world wanted what the Nazis had uncovered—something beyond mere soldiers and machines. They wanted the mutants, the quirked, those marked by the strange, twisted remnants of the X-gene. No one knows for what purpose. No one ever dared ask. Perhaps they saw them as weapons. Perhaps they believed they could harness what was never meant to be tamed.

But no one could replicate it. No matter how many experiments they ran, how many subjects they sacrificed, no one could reproduce the quirks in those who didn’t already have them. It was beyond them, slipping through their fingers like sand.

So instead, they turned on the mutants. They hunted them, vilified them, reduced them to less than human. The world feared them for what they represented—not just the danger of their powers, but the reminder of what humanity had done in its darkest hours. Mutants were not born of nature's will. They were the echoes of human arrogance, of men who played God and broke the rules of life itself.

Except for All Might.

He was the exception. A mutant, yes, but an American mutant who had fought in the Second World War, standing tall as the world burned around him. He had become a symbol, an emblem of hope in those dark days. The only mutant the world had ever called a hero. The only one they respected. They needed someone like him—a quirked soldier, blessed with strength that could turn the tide of battle. But more than that, they needed a symbol that made them feel like they were still in control. All Might gave them that. He gave them the illusion that, perhaps, the mutations weren’t so bad. That maybe there was a way to harness the chaos.

But that respect never spread to the others.

The rest of the mutants were treated like aberrations, mistakes that should never have been. They were hunted, cataloged, and discriminated against. Governments passed laws, registries were created. Some countries went so far as to strip mutants of their rights, caging them in camps or hidden facilities where they could be studied, dissected, treated as objects of fear rather than people. They were disgusting, the world said. They weren’t like All Might—they were reminders of a history no one wanted to confront. The quirked were living proof that the world’s darkest chapters hadn’t been sealed, that the horrors of the past had woven themselves into the very blood of humanity.

And the worst part? It didn’t stop.

The old experiments continued in secret. Quietly, under the veil of "progress," the governments and scientists kept trying to unlock the secrets of the X-gene, trying to find a way to control it, to wield it. But they never could. No matter how much they tortured the truth, it refused to give them the power they sought.

Many found new masters, new flags to serve under. The world was divided, and as it split into East and West, so too did the remnants of those twisted experiments. The Soviet Union, desperate for any advantage in the coming Cold War, welcomed these men with open arms, their sins washed away in the name of progress. They continued their work in secret, perfecting the genetic manipulation they had begun under Nazi rule. Others fled to far-flung corners of the globe, hiding in plain sight, embedding themselves within hidden, unethical programs that operated far from the eyes of the public.

It all began in China, in a place few had ever heard of—Qingqing City. At first, it seemed like nothing more than a curious piece of local news. A baby had been born there, a child who glowed with a soft, radiant light. The doctors were baffled, the parents terrified. And the world… the world watched in disbelief.

After the news from Qingqing City—the baby that glowed with its own light—the world’s illusion of control crumbled. It wasn’t just an anomaly or a strange case; it was the beginning. The first visible sign that the X-gene had woken. But this time, it wasn’t in some hidden laboratory, locked behind the doors of secrecy. It was out in the world, in the open, and it couldn’t be stopped.

What started as a single glowing child became a flood.

It began with strange stories, strange people. Children with impossible gifts. A woman who could light a fire with a touch. A boy who could walk through walls. Powers that defied explanation, that broke the boundaries of what it meant to be human. Abilities that seemed like miracles in a world still healing from its wounds. But miracles can quickly turn to nightmares when the world is unprepared for them.

People began to whisper again. Stories spread of individuals who could do things no one else could. At first, they were dismissed as myths or exaggerations. But as more and more appeared—strange powers that couldn’t be explained away—the world began to take notice. And with notice came fear. Some of them were small, subtle things—barely noticeable quirks. Others were wild, uncontrollable, terrifying.

And the world hated them for it.

They hated them not for the destruction they caused, but for what they represented. They hated them for existing. For being different. But more than that, they hated them because the X-gene reminded everyone of a truth they had buried deep: that humanity could be twisted. That the worst parts of the war—the atrocities, the cold cruelty, the disregard for life—hadn’t died with the flags or the battles. The mutants were labeled, not as heroes, but as aberrations, twisted by the sins of a forgotten past. They were feared, hated, and, perhaps worst of all, misunderstood.

Governments, once terrified of repeating the past, now scrambled to contain what they saw as a threat. Quirkless people, the majority, turned against the quirked, their fear festering into anger. Laws were passed, registries created. Mutants were forced to hide, forced to choose between living in secret or being hunted like animals.

It lived on, quietly, in the genes of those who carried the mutation. It lived on in them. In us.

But the X-gene couldn’t be erased. It was woven too deeply into the bloodlines now, spreading slowly but surely, like ink bleeding through paper. For every generation that passed, more mutants were born, and with them, the tension between the quirked and quirkless grew. Some mutants tried to use their powers for good, acting as heroes, striving to prove that they weren’t the monsters they were made out to be. But it was never enough.

The world tried to forget, but mutants were living proof that some things can’t be erased. Every time someone with a quirk appeared, it was a reminder that the horrors of the past had not been buried—they had been reborn. The X-gene wasn’t a gift, not to them. It was a curse. And those who carried it were cursed as well, whether they wanted it or not.

The fear spread faster than the mutation ever could. They called it unnatural. An aberration. The children of monsters. And monsters, as we know, aren’t meant to walk free. They are meant to be hunted, feared, or destroyed.

For decades, the world pretended it had moved on from the war, but the war never ended. It only changed its shape. The soldiers were different now. The weapons, more insidious. And the battleground? It was within the very blood of the people who carried this gene. People who were marked by history’s greatest sins.

And so, it continued. The hatred. The fear. The persecution. For the world could never forgive the fact that it had been complicit in the creation of something beyond its control. It could never forget that, in trying to make themselves gods, they had unleashed something they could not understand.

And so, the mutants were hunted. Not for what they had done, but for what they were.

They called it evolution. But this? This was the evolution of fear. The evolution of a world that couldn’t look in the mirror without seeing the ghosts of its own creation.

This was the truth Izuku Midoriya had learned, burned into him like a scar, at the age of four. It wasn’t whispered in kind words or taught with soft lessons. It came as a crushing weight, a brutal reality that fell over him like an iron curtain. The world wasn’t fair, and it didn’t care about dreams or promises. The moment society marked you as different—whether by the X-gene, a quirk, or a mutation—you were no longer like them. You were something else, something to be feared, to be controlled.

Izuku knew this all too well. He had seen it. He had felt it.

But there was something else Izuku had always known, long before the harsh truths of the world sank in. It was a truth even more intimate, more raw, tangled deep in the core of who he was. He was in love with Katsuki Bakugou. From the beginning of everything, before the world made them choose sides, before their paths diverged. He had always known.

And how could he not be? Katsuki was everything Izuku wasn’t—strong, fearless, fiery. Even as a child, Katsuki shone like the sun, burning with confidence, with an unshakable will that made everyone around him look small in comparison. He was brilliant, dazzling in his strength, and Izuku had looked up to him with the kind of admiration that bordered on worship. Kacchan was awesome. Kacchan was sugoi. Izuku had loved Katsuki for as long as he could remember. Kacchan was everything.

But it was more than just awe. It was love. A fierce, consuming love that rooted itself in Izuku’s chest, growing like a flame, untouchable and impossible to extinguish.

Then the sparks came.

The day Katsuki’s quirk manifested, everything changed. Izuku remembered it clearly—how the sparks danced from Kacchan’s hands, crackling in the air, beautiful in their wildness. But what Izuku saw as something extraordinary, something breathtaking, Katsuki saw as a curse.

From that moment on, Kacchan didn’t look at himself as a hero in the making, or even as someone extraordinary. He saw himself as a monster.

Izuku couldn’t understand it then, the way Katsuki’s eyes dimmed, the way his laughter turned sharp and bitter. How he withdrew, slowly, methodically, until the space between them became an unbridgeable chasm. Katsuki began hiding, shutting himself off from the world—and from Izuku most of all. He distanced himself in ways that weren’t just physical, but emotional, leaving behind only the cold walls of silence. Katsuki's pain had twisted him, turned his own power into something to be feared.

Izuku didn’t mind that Kacchan was a mutant. He didn’t care that his quirk made him different. He loved him anyway. He would always love him.

But Katsuki couldn’t see that. He was convinced that his power, his mutation, made him dangerous. That he was something that shouldn’t exist. So, to protect Izuku—his love, his fragile, precious Izuku—he did the only thing he could think of.

He pushed him away.

The first time it happened, it hurt. It felt like Katsuki had reached inside him and tore something vital away, leaving behind an emptiness that Izuku couldn’t fill. But even then, Izuku clung to the belief that it was just a phase, that Kacchan would come back to him. That the boy he loved, the boy he needed, would return.

But Katsuki didn’t come back. Not like before. Instead, he vanished deeper into his pain, hiding behind a wall of aggression and distance. The sparks that once made Izuku’s heart race now felt like a barrier between them—a reminder that Katsuki would never let himself be loved, not truly. Not as long as he saw himself as something wrong.

Izuku saw Katsuki’s eyes sometimes—haunted, shadowed by fear, the fear of himself, of what he could become. Katsuki had locked himself in a cage, a cage built by his own hands, and no matter how much Izuku longed to reach in, to pull him out, it was as if Katsuki was determined to stay trapped. Trapped, and alone.

And Izuku was left there, watching, helpless. In love with a boy who believed he was too dangerous to be loved.

But Izuku wouldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. The love he felt for Katsuki wasn’t something that could be snuffed out by distance or rejection. It wasn’t something that would fade over time. It was a part of him, as intrinsic as the blood in his veins. Every spark that flew from Katsuki’s hands, every explosion that shook the air, only reminded him of the fire he carried inside—one that matched Kacchan’s in intensity, if not in form.

Even if Katsuki saw himself as a monster, Izuku never would.

To him, Katsuki Bakugou was beautiful. Beautiful in his strength, in his fury, in the fire that burned inside him even when the world tried to extinguish it. He was reckless and dangerous, yes, but he was also brilliant, a storm wrapped in a human form.

And Izuku would love him through it all.

Even if it hurt.

Even if Katsuki pushed him away forever, if the sparks built walls between them, if the world itself stood between them, Izuku would love him. Because Kacchan was worth it.

No matter what the world thought of mutants, no matter how many times Katsuki tried to hide, Izuku would always see him for what he truly was.

Not a monster.

But someone who deserved to be loved.

All men are not created equal.  But it wasn’t because he had a quirk. No—Izuku had no powers. Like the vast majority of the world, he was born quirkless.

But that wasn’t the part that hurt.

What tore at him, what consumed him from a young age, was the fact that he wasn’t like them. The mutants. The ones who were different, marked by the X-gene—the ones everyone feared, hated, and wanted to erase. The mutants were seen as monsters, abominations that came from the nightmares of wars past. They were treated as less than human, and every day, they faced the world's disgust head-on.

Katsuki Bakugou was one of them.

Yet Izuku never once saw Katsuki as anything less than extraordinary. He admired him, even if Katsuki couldn’t understand why. He admired all mutants.

Because unlike the world that rejected them, Izuku saw something different.

Where others saw fear, Izuku saw potential. Where others saw monsters, Izuku saw heroes.

From a young age, he had watched the mutants with wide-eyed wonder, longing to be like them. He didn’t see them as cursed or dangerous. He saw them as powerful, as capable. They were survivors. They had endured centuries of cruelty, persecution, and hatred, and still, they stood tall. They had abilities that could change the world—abilities that could be used for good, if only the world would let them.

The world was never kind to mutants.

From the moment they were discovered, from the moment the X-gene surfaced and the first quirked individual was born in a war-ravaged lab, the world rejected them. Mutants were branded as dangerous, unpredictable, inhuman. They were feared for what they could do, for the powers that manifested in their bodies without warning, without control. But more than anything, they were hated for what they represented—a break from the norm, an evolution that no one asked for, and a reminder of the horrors that came from human hands.

The hatred burned bright, fueled by fear. And when fear takes hold of the world, it does not let go easily.

Everywhere, the message was the same. Mutants were monsters. Disgusting, unnatural, and too dangerous to be allowed to exist. Laws were passed, restrictions were tightened, and slowly, the mutant population was backed into a corner. They were isolated, forced into the shadows, their very existence an affront to the idea of a "safe" and "normal" society.

For those mutants who tried to live quietly, who tried to blend in, the weight of that hatred was suffocating. They were watched, hunted, and controlled, as if every one of them was a ticking time bomb just waiting to go off. The lucky few who managed to hide their quirks were spared the worst of it, but for the rest, the world became a cage.

The constant fear. The judgment. The whispers behind their backs, the stares, the violence—it was relentless.

And no one fought for them.

Over time, the mutants who had once tried to find their place in the world grew bitter, hardened by the cruelty they faced every day. They had been pushed into the shadows, forced to live in the cracks of society, treated like dirt no matter how hard they tried to prove themselves.

It wasn’t long before many of them stopped trying.

Because no matter how much they wanted to be good, no matter how much they wanted to fit in, society had already made up its mind. They were already villains in the eyes of the world.

So they became what they were told they were.

Anger turned to violence. Bitterness turned to rebellion. It started with a few—a small group of mutants who had been cast out, abandoned by a society that treated them as less than human. They fought back, not out of a desire for power, but out of a desire to survive. To remind the world that they weren’t so easily broken.

But survival turned to something darker. The hatred that had been directed at them for so long had twisted something inside of them. And soon, more and more mutants found themselves walking down that same path.

Society had created its own monsters.

The mutants who rose to power didn’t do so because they were inherently evil. They did so because the world had given them no other choice. In a world that feared them, that hated them for what they were, the only way they could reclaim their power was through fear. If society wouldn’t let them live in peace, they would make the world pay attention—by force.

And the more society pushed, the more mutants turned to violence.

It became a vicious cycle. The more mutants lashed out, the more fear spread, and the more society tightened its grip. Governments created special task forces, military units trained to hunt down mutants, to suppress their growing power. Laws were passed to limit their freedom, to cage them.

And with each new law, each new attack, more and more mutants gave up on the idea of ever being accepted.

They turned their anger against the world that had rejected them. Villains—that’s what they became, in the eyes of the masses. And once you’ve been labeled a villain, it becomes far too easy to act like one.

But not all mutants were like this. There were still those who tried to rise above the hate, who still believed in the possibility of being more than what the world thought of them. Heroes, in their own right. Mutants who used their powers to protect, to defend, to prove that not all of them were monsters. But they were few and far between.

Most mutants had learned the hard way that the world was not interested in their good deeds. They didn’t care how many lives they saved, how many times they tried to help. They were still mutants. Still monsters. And in the eyes of society, no act of heroism could change that.

But Izuku had always believed that it didn’t have to be this way. He had always believed that mutants could be heroes, even if no one else did. Even if the world had already decided that mutants were dangerous, Izuku couldn’t help but see them as people with the potential for greatness. People like Katsuki, who had the strength and power to change things if only the world would let him.

And Izuku wanted to be one of them.

It was a secret he kept close, buried deep within him, where no one else could find it. Most people pitied the mutants at best, despised them at worst. They were seen as reminders of the horrors of the past—the result of twisted experiments and a history the world wanted to forget. But to Izuku, they represented something far more.

They represented hope.

Mutants had the power to be heroes. They had the strength to fight back against a world that hated them, to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. In a world where quirkless people like Izuku were considered ordinary and powerless, mutants stood apart as a symbol of something more.

And Izuku wanted that more than anything. Not just because of the power, but because he wanted to help. He wanted to protect. He wanted to stand on the side of those the world cast aside, to be the kind of hero who didn’t turn away from those in need.

He wanted to be like Kacchan.

But he was quirkless.

The reality of it hurt, deep down in a place Izuku tried not to acknowledge. He knew that no mutation would ever manifest in his body. He knew that no matter how much he admired the mutants, no matter how much he wanted to be one, he was destined to remain ordinary in the eyes of society.

Still, that didn’t stop the dreams. It didn’t stop the longing.

Izuku had always believed that if the world gave mutants a chance, they could be the heroes he always dreamed of. Not monsters, not villains. But heroes. He believed that the powers they were cursed for, the quirks that made them outcasts, could be the very things that saved lives. That saved everyone.

Katsuki didn’t believe that. Not anymore. Somewhere along the way, the world had broken something inside him. The fear, the hatred, the disgust that followed him everywhere had eaten away at his confidence, his pride. Katsuki distanced himself from Izuku, from everyone, believing that his power was too dangerous to be anything but a weapon.

But Izuku refused to believe that.

He refused to believe that the boy he loved, the boy he knew, was anything other than a force for good. He didn’t care if Katsuki was a mutant. He didn’t care what the world thought of him. He loved him anyway. And he would continue to love him, even if Katsuki kept trying to push him away.

Because Izuku saw in Katsuki what no one else could—a hero.

And maybe, just maybe, one day the world would see it too.

After all, this was no longer about what had been done in the war. It wasn’t about what had been created by the hands of the scientists who had vanished into history’s shadows. This was about what was coming. The world had changed, and whether it liked it or not, the future belonged to the mutants.

The question wasn’t if the world would accept them.

The question was whether it could survive without them.

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look at this beautiful thing this amazing artist did

Ace Lives Au part 5.

1 2 3 4

Disclaimer: I am not a writer, so everyone is gonna sound ooc. Sorry! Ace is so emotional because for him they just escaped the fire and Sabo just died. So he's a sad lil fella.

Finally something I stand for!!!

i don't think there will ever be another ship like bkdk like who's gonna be the next them? no one. not in this lifetime

New chapter updated!

I really like really really should be working on my uni assignment but since im already ahead from everyone decided to leave y'all a gift from the bottom of my heart a new chapter of pure fluff!

Wait hold up, you havent read my fic yet? No stress, here's the link:

As always thanks for all the support kudos and comments I love y'all can't wait to see y'all reaction to this one.

Much love,

ya girl, Alice