Batfam X 1-A Class🫠🫠

Meow

Original:

me, to characters im intentionally making suffer for the Plot:

in related news, i was working on a seroroki time traveler x immortal fic today (that im super excited abt) and i started it in Greece in the year 400 smth BC but then i realized i need to make some huuge time jumps to make the plot work right

and as i typed out the +212yrs all i could think about was immortal todoroki having to live through all that time not knowing if sero was ever coming back :( or if he'd been abandoned :( :(

as if i didnt contrive this whole thing, lol

I'd love to hear more about your novel, with Asahi walking through hell (and "all they need is someone to remind them they are not alone.")

omg okay where to start lol Sorrow's Despair picks up right after the events of Sorrow's Fall. (you can get the ebook here)

Royal Guard Asahi Kaneko has been tasked with helping the head of the Psionic Regulatory Commission rehabilitate an exceptionally dangerous telepathic assassin. The assassin in question was shot and killed, but brought back in the hopes that he could answer questions about his race.

The only problem is that he is in a coma and the medical doctors have been unable to wake him. Asahi's mission is to enter his mind and find out what psychological barriers there are that might be preventing him from waking.

He finds much more than he bargains for, as the assassin has created his own hell and is certain he is dead. So, Asahi must find a way to gain his trust and then guide him out of the hellscape of memories while hopefully helping him find a reason to live.

and yes, it's very queer

:P

working on a dabihawks companion piece to the one above ^ (official version of probably not on ao3 but i only changed like two lines)

im thinking touya would be like 17 here instead of the 13(?) he was when he disappeared and was presumed dead in canon

here's what ive gotten down so far:

*cw for homophobia!

The first time Touya became Dabi, he was angry. The echo of his father’s parting words had been ringing sharply in his head- over and over striking the church tower bell in his mind with an unceasing hammer.    

Disgrace, he’d said. Unfit to be my heir. 

Touya’s face had felt on fire beneath his father’s stony gaze. His mother’s timid silence had crawled like ice across the back of his neck. 

The lingering ghost of soft lips pressed sweetly against his own- tall, handsome ones; a new hire in his father’s precinct- had all but disappeared under the way Touya’s teeth had bit into his skin, desperately holding his tears at bay. 

Choose that lifestyle, and you’re dead to me, his father had spat.   

It was purely by accident that someone had failed to lock away that day’s evidence into its proper place, a few cans of spray paint left abandoned on a precinct desk next to a bloody flyer and a broken phone. 

Touya had swiped the purple as he stormed away from his father’s stupid promotion party, scrubbing uselessly at his face. Half-hoping that his mother would have skittered after him once his father’s back was turned to wipe them away herself. 

Half-hoping that his father would have finally hired Touya to work alongside him, proud to announce it in between important handshakes and celebratory drinks. 

Half-blind with rage, Touya had spilled out of the back door like a drunkard, laughing softly to himself at first- grief grating the tender sides of his throat and then spilling harshly out into the open air like a hyena among the broken bottles and forgotten alley trash. 

Alone, behind the building that was his father’s one and only pride and joy, the can in his grip had felt heavy with promise and Touya didn’t pause to think before his trigger finger was pressing down on the release. 

Probably dead by now, he'd scrawled, the angry words biting into pristine red brick. Spite drawing a humorless huff from Touya’s unsmiling mouth. 

“All for a fucking kiss,” he’d whispered. 

But Touya knew- in the same, wordless way he knew his mother had never loved Touya more than she’d feared him- that Enji Todoroki was never going to hire Touya in the first place. No matter how good his marks, how fast he ran the mile, how much he volunteered with the other interns. The ones who always whispered behind his back that Touya’s last name made him golden. 

“Fuck him,” Touya had hissed furiously, slamming the can of spray paint onto the ground where it clanged satisfyingly against dark-cut asphalt, drowning out the sound of his disownment. Then he’d kicked it, for good measure, blinking wetly as he’d watched as it rolled into the shadow of a broken street lamp. 

The cars whizzing by had been none the wiser. 

Slowly, Touya had walked forward- boots thumping step by step by step until he was encased entirely in the single halo of darkness left on a bright, lamp-lit street. 

There had been a cracked-open window. A pop of champagne. A muted cheer.  

Without a second thought, Touya had crouched down to retrieve the can, slipping it into the pocket of his suit jacket before stomping away, an alias on the tip of his tongue and the life of a cracked-open son left behind. The ghost of a kiss left abandoned like a cigarette stub on the sidewalk.

@probabydeadbynow i saw your user (though im now realizing i misread it, lol) and it sparked this short fic idea so i wanted to share it with you before i post to ao3 (bnha, no quirk AU)

There was a piece of graffiti Izuku always saw around town. Sometimes it’d be done in white, other times blue, but most of the time it was purple- each letter looped and sprawling and bleeding into the next. 

Probably dead by now, it always said. 

Izuku didn’t know why he liked it so much. It felt odd to smile at those words when he saw them spray painted underneath the Musutafu bridge but, then again, he remembered seeing those same exact words when he was being driven home from the hospital after breaking his arm for the first time, a lollipop between his lips and a new All Might plush under his arm. And then again the morning his Dad came home for Christmas, surprising Izuku at the door. And then again the day of Kacchan’s 10th birthday party. The one with the All Might impersonator that had carried them both around on his shoulders for a while, their sweaty hands linked behind his head for no other reason except that they were happy. 

White then blue then white again. Purple today. 

Probably dead by now, it always said. 

Probably not, Izuku thought back, peering out of the passenger window with a growing smile. 

Izuku had never seen the artist. Never even caught a glimpse, but their handwriting was paint-splattered over so many of Izuku’s brightest memories. 

“What’s got you so smiley, huh?” Kacchan asked. 

Izuku turned away from the window, watching the way Kacchan’s sweaty hands gripped the steering wheel like his life depended on it. He’d only had his license for a few weeks now. 

“I think something good’s going to happen today,” Izuku replied.

Privately, he was pretty sure it already had. 

Kacchan hadn’t invited Izuku anywhere since that 10th birthday party at the arcade and now they were on their way to tour a newly built school together. 

Kacchan scoffed lightly. “What’s so good about college?” he shot back. 

“I don’t know,” Izuku replied honestly, idly flicking through the UA pamphlet resting on his lap. “Maybe…” Izuku glanced towards Kacchan. Quieter, he said, “Maybe we’ll end up going there together. You know, like old times?” 

Really old times, anyway. When Izuku would trade his apple slices for Kacchan’s potato chips at lunchtime and they’d walk home together in their baby blue smocks, hands clasped firmly together.

Not like the way they’d make passing eye contact in the halls of their high school, always in opposite motion even if Izuku’s eyes would sometimes trail after Kacchan's back. 

Even if sometimes he caught Kacchan looking, too. 

Kacchan was quiet for a few moments, the careful tick of the turn signal a feeble echo of Izuku’s hammering pulse.  

Izuku was pretty sure he remembered seeing that same graffiti- purple, and nearly washed out by a recent rainstorm- the day Kacchan threw Izuku’s notebook from a third story window in junior high. 

“Just don’t expect me to fucking hold your hand,” Kacchan eventually bit out, eyes averted- his focus too intense on the empty road for it mean anything other than embarrassment. 

His tone too light for it to even feel like a denial. 

Izuku quickly turned his gaze to his knees, smothering a smile. The UA pamphlet creased beneath his fingers. 

Probably dead by now.  

Purple. Scribbled across the window of an empty storefront. 

Kacchan had grabbed Izuku’s hand two blocks later and shoved that same pamphlet at him, holding on for a beat too long. 

“You dropped that,” he’d lied. 

His hand had been warm. 

“My dad and I were gonna tour it this weekend but he’s got a work thing.”

Izuku’s eyes had been wide and curious. He’d held his breath while Kacchan scratched the back of his neck and scuffed the toe of his shoe on the ground, casting around for the right words to say. 

“I guess you could take his spot or whatever,” he’d continued with a shrug. “If you pay for gas. ‘Cause I’m going whether you catch a ride or not.”

Izuku had thought that Kacchan would probably leave him in the dust by the time it came to go to college. Or not go, he supposed, but…

Izuku lifted his head again, listening to the way Kacchan hummed softly along with the radio. His sunglasses were All Might themed- a custom release with a subtle design that Izuku hadn’t been able to afford. 

There was a second pair, just like it, shoved towards Izuku’s chest when he first climbed into Kacchan’s car, along with a muttered comment about how Kacchan didn’t want to hear any crybaby complaints about the sun. 

They rested comfortably on Izuku’s head now. 

Probably dead by now, it always said.  

Izuku pulled them down until everything in his field of vision was tinged a soft yellow. 

Life was funny that way, he thought.

MHA tweets pt.25

dynamight and izuku

I like Bokuto who can comfortably rely on Akaashi

Happy valentines day! <333

do you ever feel like an awful writer who shouldn’t pursue the craft and then you take a breath and walk away, drink some water, take a shower, sing your heart out, and come back thinking ‘yeah this is scary but it’s mine’ ?

New WIP!!!

The Ghostly Aria

In a forgotten corner of a bustling city lies an ancient opera house, its walls steeped in stories of both grandeur and tragedy. Liang Wenqing, a young and gifted Chinese opera singer, arrives at the opera house with a voice so hauntingly beautiful that it seems to echo through time itself. Yet, as his fame rises, so does the shadow of something otherworldly—an eerie presence that lingers in the forgotten corners of the theater.

When Liang discovers an old, forbidden manuscript of a long-lost opera, he is drawn to its sorrowful melody, a piece rumored to summon the spirits of the past. As he prepares to perform it, he unwittingly awakens the ghost of Yin Zhenhua, a legendary opera singer who disappeared under mysterious circumstances centuries ago after her final, fateful performance.

Bound by an inexplicable connection to Yin, Liang must unravel the secrets of her disappearance before he becomes the next victim of the opera house's dark history. As the spirit's whispers grow louder, Liang finds himself torn between the allure of completing the forbidden aria, which promises to give his voice unimaginable power, and the danger it poses—not only to his future but to his very soul.

The tale weaves together haunting melodies, the weight of tradition, and a mystery as old as the opera house itself. A story of beauty, mystery, and the price of fame, The Ghostly Aria invites readers into a world where every note sung echoes with the voices of those who came before.

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