Katsuki And Izuku Character Analysis

stan is processing his sexual orientation.

stan looks like kind of a guy who adores all damon albarn does he is probably huge fan of blur and gorillaz ofc.

and 1999 damon is stan’s dream boy sorry.

how shifters look when they have multiple drs:

updated autistic happy place

what do we think about the autism shelf

Justice for Barty and Lily for always being made out to be shitty exes, getting cheated on or used just so jegulus can get together

lies about doing 3 week old missing homework so i write more yaoi

The entry I did for a Style fanzine last year. It's based on the wrestling "W.T.F." episode (one of my all time favorites!!)

RM ravenstan not finishing because something about him is very off and his face gives me the heebie jeebies

posting anyways tho 💔 it could’ve been good

@boxwinebaddie ☹️

Y’all are NOT gonna believe what I wrote…

updated gay people shelf

what do we think about the autism shelf

silly little sheet i made for my amputation au cell recalibration!

first draft btw

also not posted to ao3 yet

Katsuki grit his teeth, bearing down on the towel provided. Still, he couldn’t stop the screams that involuntarily ripped through him when the bone saw met what was left of his arm.

It was a gruesome sight, black and blue, literally squashed like a pancake, or a sliced open omelet. His forearm had one long, jagged cut running the length of it, muscle and whateverthefuck else lived in arms spilling out lazily on the dirt. All the bones in his arm had been turned to mush.

It kind of looked like the protein shakes Kirishima would down every morning.

He watched his arm curiously in a daze, blood spilled in steady squirts to the beat of his bruised heart, creating a sort of fountain effect. It was a mesmerizing sight. Red, like his eyes. Distantly, he knew this was bad. Really fucking bad. All his major veins and arteries had been slashed open, he couldn’t feel a thing in any of his fingers… not that you could even call them that. Three were missing, remaining bone and flesh jutting out oddly. This was cause for panic, the type of panic where you run around screaming and smash your head into tables because it’s the only thing you can do.

Katsuki knew he probably should be doing something, but he couldn’t move. His mind was hazy from bloodloss or otherwise. It didn’t seem real, it almost wasn't real if not for the screaming pain his remaining nerves were shooting up his arm. Screaming at him to act. Katsuki should be trying to bandage it back together, pull the split skin closed to try and keep whatever was left of his arm from falling out, staunch the bleeding, literally anything.

Instead, Katsuki sat and watched himself bleed to death. A single thought crossed his mind,

I wonder if Recovery Girl can fix this.

“Katsuki, it has to go.” Best Jeanist gripped him, pale, clammy, drenched in blood. He’d just seen Katsuki die, come back to life, and now he was about to watch his mentee have his arm sawed off. Just peachy.

War was so lovely.

“What.” Katsuki groaned, pulled from his arm. It wasn’t a sight he would soon forget. He was delirious, high on adrenaline and ozone and Izuku. Where was he? Katsuki needed to find him. He just saw him, and he looked bad. His arms… well, they were certainly in worse shape than his. At least Katsuki had an arm, or its remains to be more clear. Izuku was completely armless. Also a sight he wouldn’t be forgetting anytime soon.

“Your arm.” Jeanist urged.

Izuku’s arms? It was hard to hear, and even harder to process words. Literally what the fuck was Best Jeanist saying. His voice was muffled and shrill at the same time, Katsuki’s ears rang.

“What about it?” Katsuki tried to close his eyes, Best Jeanist shook him awake. He was really, really sleepy.

“We have to cut it off.”

His brain halted.

“What.” Adrenaline spiked. Katsuki was awake, alert, ready to box All For One in his ugly mug again. Katsuki looked at Best Jeanist like he was crazy, because he was. His arm? His arm was fine. So what if he couldn’t feel it? So what if it was now a disturbing bright red and quite literally squished beyond recognition? Recovery Girl could fix it. She’s fixed Izuku’s arms hundreds of times.

“Hah, no. Fucking hell no, you can’t do that.” He huffed, pulling his arm closer to his body. Chunks of flesh fell out at the movement, and Katsuki tried not to cringe. Fucking ew.

Best Jeanist didn’t understand. His quirk was operable without his hands, he wasn’t the one about to lose a limb here. A very vital, useful limb at that. Katsuki literally needed his hands. It would be near impossible to become number one without his mangled mess of an arm, and Katsuki be damned if he was coming out of this war a sad cripple. He was going to keep his motherfucking arm.

He tried to shoot warning sparks from his good hand, but no such luck. Katsuki was too exhausted to even begin producing explosions.

“Jeanist?” Katsuki’s voice cracked pitifully. He really didn’t want to lose his arm.

Best Jeanist just stared at him strangely, something in his eyes dying as he pinned Katsuki down with his quirk. He gestured to the field medic, a young girl with pink hair, way younger than she should be. She looked twelve at the most, too young to fight in a war, much less amputate an arm. Katsuki’s heart picked up speed.

“Stop, you can’t do this. Please don’t fucking do this that's my arm I need my arm.” He blubbered, pleading to someone, literally fucking anyone to save his limb. Best Jeanist turned away, and the pink haired medic stared upon him with dead eyes. She’d seen too much for her age. Katsuki wouldn’t be surprised if it was regular for her to have to remove limbs from pleading heroes, or worse.

Probably worse.

A new type of panic settled over Katsuki as they continued to strap him to the ground, the field medic bringing out a kit of sharp, serrated blades, each sharp, shiny, and clean awaiting use. On him. Holy fucking shit. This was happening. This was happening. To his arm. His arm.

“Best Jeanist please. You’ll save me right? You’ll fix it? You wont let them do this to me, right?” Katsuki shook like a leaf in a tornado, his own voice warped and foreign in his distorted ears. His poor, delicate arm. Who knew flesh could be so fragile.

Katsuki, for years, foolishly believed himself invincible. He had the power, the prowess, the looks, the brain, the strategy, everything everyone at shitty Aldera wanted, Katsuki was on top of the fucking world. He believed himself a God among mortals. Until Izuku beat him into the ground time and time again during sparring matches. Until All for One ravaged his school, his heart, his dreams, hus home, his body.

His arm.

“No, no. Do not come near me.” Katsuki snarled at the medic, “If you move another inch towards me with that fucking saw I will fucking kill you.”

She seemed unphased by his threats. Katsuki was just another unwilling patient. The girl was just doing her job.

Voices blended together, thoughts, memories, everything became mush as he pleaded for his limb. Surely there was another way, there had to be. Katsuki needed his arm. The thought of living as an amputee terrified him, almost as much as All for One.

His quirk relied on his arms, he used those arms to cook and play the drums and brush pinkies with Izuku when they thought no one was looking. It seemed impossible to live without, fucking hell, it was impossible to live without.

Katsuki was a man of flesh and blood and bone, not machine. He didn't want to be half metal, half weapon like Mirko. He wanted his arm. He wanted hot blood beating through it, fingerprints and touch and texture. Feeling.

Katsuki felt mortal. More alive than he ever had been before, just on the brink of death.

He was snapped from his thoughts by the cold, clean press of a saw to his arm. It’s ridges dug into the remaining skin. Katsuki’s brain went into panic mode. Not his arm, anything but his arm. His arm. He needed his arm. He needs his arm. He wants his arm. His arm. His arm. His arm. His arm-

“No, nonononoNO!” Katsuki’s own voice shredded through his remaining hearing.

Adrenaline kept him from passing out, still too high off the battle and whatever residual terror from the sight of that blade to silently pass out from the pain of having his fucking arm sawed through. Katsuki’s arm was basically muscle, soot, blood, and bone slushy. He knew it had to go, but that didn’t make him any less terrified. Jeanist told him not to look, to close his eyes, grit his teeth, and hope to all hell he won’t bite off his tongue in the process but holy motherfucker. It hurt.

Katsuki didn’t have any other word for the feeling. Literally indescribable.

His vocal cords turned themselves inside out from screaming, his arm was on fucking fire. Katsuki knew what it was like to be hot, his whole thing was flame and explosions. This was totally different. Katsuki clenched his remaining fist so hard his nails dug through the fabric of his glove.

He didn’t know how Mr. Aizawa or Mirko did it, the pain was inconceivable. Having his nerves and arteries sawed through, muscles shredded and sliced, powdery, mushy bone scrapped from his skin to prevent infection. Katsuki couldn’t look away, there was so much fucking blood. That was his arm. His. Arm.

That was him. He was losing a part of him.

He couldn’t stop the bile from spilling out his mouth. It was hot, disgusting, and overall humiliating, but he couldn’t stop the involuntary reaction. It spilled all over his face and the remains of his tattered hero costume, and it was disgusting. Someone outside his field of vision kindly wiped his mouth. Katsuki continued to scream bloody fucking murder.

No anesthetics, just a quick serrated handheld saw and the bloody battlefield. Katsuki would’ve died in a matter of minutes without it, it had to be done, but holy motherfucking Mary did that shit hurt.

The actual sawing only took a minute or so. Despite her age, the girl was quick and precise. At least she was compassionate in that area.

Katsuki watched in painful horror as his remaining arm muscles involuntarily twitch despite being completely severed from him. Like it was calling to him, crawling back, begging for his control again. He was left delirious, woozy, and broken-spirited. The most he could do was lie there in all his fucking emotions, waiting pitifully for a helicopter to come pick up the shards of his body.

tomdarsh on ao3!