Denki Kaminari Is Proud Of His Christmas Gift For His Classmates. Despite Katsuki's Relentless Teasing

Yeah... it's now April, and I'm a big fat liar. Another project has taken over my time, but I swear I haven't abandoned The Cooridors 😭

Heeyyy are you ever going to finish or publish THE CORRIDORS because that my favorite fic😭😭. I was wondering since it’s not in aO3 anymore

Yes!! I had to pull it off Ao3 for a quick revision and rewrite now that I have a new Beta :// It should be back up mid-February <33

#INeedMedicine #BeautifulArt

Here with you

+ bonus danganronpa blood version

Izuku takes shooting lesson with Lady Nagant seriously beside his teaching career and helping some missions before he even receive the suit 😗

(Just wanna draw izuku being a cool sniper, sue me)

(Bakugo thinks Izuku is cool too but he is too shy to admit fufu)

By the way Izuku only use tranquilizer bullets for the villains 🙏🏼 some more destructive bullets will be used for other type of thing :D

I made it back to Thailand today! More fics to *finally* come now that I'm free of family duties ((:

Here's a short snippet from another WIP (post-war, canonical):

Katsuki is wrapping his bruised knuckles when his cell phone chimes. He yanks on the cloth bandage with his teeth, tying the knot on his left hand, while he uses his elbow to tap the screen lying face-up on his glass coffee table. The phone blinks. Ochako’s voice cuts across his living room quietly.

“Bakugou?”

“Here,” he says, mouth full of cotton. “Make it quick. I have patrol in ten minutes.”

He finishes tying the bandage and moves on to his right hand.

“Yeah, sorry. I know you’re busy—I didn’t know who else to call. There’s an issue at one of my schools regarding a gang in your precinct.”

Katsuki lifts an eyebrow, though she can’t see it. His mouth is clear of any cloth when he answers, “You gotta be more specific. What’s going on?”

Katsuki is impressed—proud, even—of Ochako’s work in quirk counseling. He knows there must be some deeper meaning behind each of her overnight shifts, the reason she invests so much into each child born with an unpredictable quirk, but he is not close enough to ask her outright. But he is not stupid. He hears the whispers. He sees the crestfallen frown on Izuku’s face after every one of his conversations with Ochako, slumping as if he is holding up yet another stress on his back, a fissure of tension pulsing across his tender shoulder blades.

There is a ghost that haunts Ochako, a regret that Katsuki is not privy to.

Of all the people in the world, for reasons no one can quite articulate, Izuku is yet again the confidant of his ex-classmates—and Ochako slowly wraps herself around him, creeping and consuming, like a vine choking its host. It is not her fault; Katsuki knows that when Izuku’s persistence is strong enough, anyone would spill their deepest secrets, trusting until there is nothing left of them to share. Until there is nothing left of Izuku to offer. Even so, Katsuki, while proud of her work, does not speak to Ochako with the same friendly intonation like he used to. She must realize how much she is wearing out the hero-turned-teacher, but whether she is blind or unwilling to find fault for bearing all her issues on one man, Izuku's chin has only dipped lower and lower into his chest.

Nowadays, Katsuki and Ochako are professional acquaintances, but nothing more.

“I’ve caught a glimpse of a young man frequenting the middle school in Musutafu, chatting with the kids as they leave classes,” continues Ochako through the phone line. “He doesn’t look a day over twenty, but no matter how much I try to catch up to him, he disappears before we can talk. He has one of those hourglass emblems on his jacket sleeve—the same one from that small gang popping up in your area.”

Katsuki sighs. So far, there hasn’t been more than petty thefts and hackling from the newly represented "Burning Sand" gang, and Katsuki has left most of their offenses to the police. A bunch of runaway misfits, too consumed in their own prejudices to listen to authority—Dynamight is the epitome of what they stand against: self-righteous, pedestal heroes. He is the last person they’d want to talk to.

“What do you want me to do about it?” Katsuki asks, trying to reel in his annoyance. “Unless there’s a broken law, I can’t arrest him. He’s just talking to some kids.”

He hears the exasperation in Ochako’s voice before she begins to speak. “I’m not asking you to arrest him. I just want you to keep an eye out. Some of the students said he was trying to recruit them, and the last thing I want is a notification that someone from my school was an accomplice in an armed robbery.”

“Fine, I’ll keep an eye out.” He finishes the bandage on his other hand, unintentionally knotting it to a point of pinching. “In the meantime, talk to your kids about stranger danger. Surely they’re smart enough to understand that gangs are a one-way-ticket to a life behind bars.”

“They’re fourteen, Bakugou. Fourteen year olds do plenty of stupid, rebellious things, no matter how much they’re taught,” Ochako digs. “Surely you remember the stupid things you did as a pubescent teen.”

Katsuki does not know if the insult is intentional, so he pretends not to have heard it.

“Whatever, Cheeks. If I see anything worth mentioning, I’ll let you know.”

He hangs up.

When he stands from the sofa, flexing his freshly wrapped fingers, his phone chimes one last time.

From Uravity:

His name is Lory, according to the students.

Katsuki does not bother with a response and pockets the phone in his uniform.

Morning patrol is uneventful. He helps replace a blown tire; directs traffic when a commuting businessman accidentally hops a median; guides a blind college student across the road. The closest he gets to catching a whiff of Burning Sand is when he rips down a few flyers from a street pole, all depicting their black and white, tipping hourglass symbol with an impressively difficult to read subtitle—TIME IS BURNING. STOP THE FIRE. He has no idea what the motto is meant to imply, but he is quick to incinerate the papers in a clenched fist.

An hour before lunch, he moves precincts.

Technically, Red Riot and Pinky have claim to this neighborhood—a small, but busy suburb on the hills of Shizuoka—but the hero duo have been out of town for “personal business.” Katsuki knows better; whatever Eijirou and Mina are up to is no business transaction. Not that he blames them for finally cashing in their vacation days. Of any hero duo from his class, he is glad that they were the first two to make an official partnership, romantic or otherwise.

Suffering one more day as a middleman between their filthy, pining text messages would have cost Katsuki his last brain cell.

He lands lazily on the edge of a convenient store rooftop, overlooking the new precinct like a half-mindful parent watching their toddler. Over the course of recent years, Katsuki has learned not to stress over unlikely what-ifs: what if the man in a trenchcoat across the street is a flasher? What if the bundle of blankets in a baby stroller is a bomb? What if the group of high schoolers on the basketball courts are members of an underground mafia? These types of judgements once ruled Katsuki’s decisions as an early pro-hero. He’d stay awake deep into the night, sometimes on working hours, sometimes not, worrying about the possibilities.

What if Shigaraki came back? What if All for One was not defeated?

What if Izuku-

He shakes his head.

Beneath him, civilians scatter like insects, darting in and out of two-story office buildings, careful not to bump into one another as they begin their lunch breaks. A few look upward, wave at Katsuki as they pass, before heading into the convenient store. He catalogues the groups he sees: businessmen and women, families, friends, students. A tall male in a sweatshirt stands out, slinking behind a quick moving group of girls. Katsuki watches him carefully until the man turns a corner and disappears down another side street.

“Hey, Dynamight!”

A voice calls, and Katsuki peers down. A young teenager grins up at the hero, teeth sharp and freckles dark across his forehead. Katsuki thinks about Ochako’s warning about Burning Sand recruiting middle-schoolers, and he leaps from the parapet.

Landing on the sidewalk in front of his obvious fan, Katsuki takes a moment to study the kid. A sharp horn extends from the back of his head, angling toward the sky. He is wearing a Dynamight official shirt, a bold orange ‘X’ over black, and his brown hair is styled to mimic Katsuki’s with a substantial amount of gel. The kid rocks back on his heels, dark eyes shining brightly as he twiddles his thumbs in front of him.

“What do you need?” Katsuki asks, remembering to control his volume like Izuku had suggested after the last disappointing rankings.

The kid’s shoulders rise to his ears. “Um. Could you sign my shirt?”

Katsuki typically would not indulge the public with such pointless intricacies, but there is something about the familiar smile—embarrassed, but not enough to sway away from asking for an autograph—that has Katsuki reluctantly holding out an open palm. The kid fumbles for his backpack, unzipping a front pocket, before dropping a silver marker into Katsuki’s waiting hand.

As Katsuki signs his name on the sleeve of the shirt, he snorts. “Shouldn’t you be in school? You’re not ditching, are ya?"

The kid blushes and recaps the marker after Katsuki hands it back. “It was only half-day today. All of the teachers have meetings—they do it once every couple of months. I’m on my way home!”

The hero darts his eyes around the crowded sidewalk and street, past a group who are standing nearby taking pictures. “Keep your focus on your surroundings, kid. And don’t talk to any strangers.”

Katsuki does not think the kid is paying attention, not with the way his eyes keep slinking from the large gauntlets over Katsuki’s forearms to his waistband where two more grenades dangle, admiration glowing from every crevice of his face. Smirking, Katsuki rubs his knuckles over the boy’s hair before stepping back. “Remember to stay away from strangers,” he says once more before launching into the sky.

As it turns out, Burning Sand may have a few members in Eijirou’s precinct, too. Katsuki flies from rooftop to rooftop, stopping whenever he catches another hastily taped hourglass hanging off a telephone pole, a fence post, a street light. The flyers are spaced out in no particular direction. Eventually, Katsuki makes an entire loop around the neighborhood, wiping off bits of ash from the sixteenth poster between his palms—when he hears a crash.

He’s back in front of the park, the same convenient store where he'd talked to the boy. The streets are emptying now, people returning to work, families lounging in the park instead of in stores, and the metallic crash is almost inaudible over the laughter and shouts of the playground. Katsuki twists his head and turns the corner of a side street.

A pile of trash bins are knocked over in an alleyway between stores, blocking Katsuki’s view with mounds of rotting garbage. He scrunches his nose and steps into the shadows. There are other sounds—grunting of some sort, scraping, and then a shrill yelp. When his eyes at last adjust to the dark end of the alley, he freezes.

A tall, young man windmills his arms, brandishing his fists as if he is entering a ring. And across from him—a familiar suit worth eight-years of sidekick salary hunches over placatingly, holding a bruising jaw.

Katsuki almost laughs. Instead he smirks, quiet enough that the men still do not realize his presence, and leans a shoulder against the brick wall to watch.

“Come, now.” The gentle voice is one Katsuki often hears in his dreams, his nightmares, always accompanied by flashes of green. “We don’t have to fight. Let’s just talk about this—”

“No!” The tall, lean stranger shuffles forward. Katsuki recognizes him from patrol, the same dark sweatshirt following behind a group of girls before the fan-kid had interrupted. “You’re just like the rest of them! Fuck off with your unwanted promises!” When he swings, the hunk of armor ducks, glowing in the dark.

Izuku makes short work of the other man, leaving him on the ground, blinking absently up toward the gutters and clotheslines overhead.

At last, Katsuki applauds.

Green eyes dart to the opening of the alleyway, shock rippling across features. “K–Kacchan?”

Katsuki pushes off the wall and continues clapping his gloved hands. “Bravo,” he says sarcastically, stepping over the mound of tipped trash. “You only took one hit to the face, this time.”

TBC on Ao3 eventually.

Made this short animation for class based on that one comic where bakugo almost killed deku tho but this time he missed and hit todoroki instead

Rlly rough and bad in some spots but i tried :')

I will always stan best girl. I love her with all my heart 💛

can I still be a hero?

Smoke. It carves the air, swirling through the sparks of floating embers. Katsuki Bakugou watches from his back, blinking slowly. Beautiful, he would typically think of the stars. He is disappointed—the stars are not out. Smoke has covered the entire sky.

His body trembles. Fingertips dig into the wet earth beneath him, sticky with mud and red. A fire crackles nearby, its heat licking his torn uniform, his exposed skin. His chest shudders violently, air slipping in shallow, painful gasps. Each inhale needles his lungs, drags fresh flames through his ribcage. He bites down on a cry as his nails scrape against the ground. His abdomen pulses sharply. Warmth pools beneath him.

Move. Some instinct screams at him. Stand up.

Katsuki’s teeth clench, grinding against the primal urge to stay down. He forces himself to his elbows. A low groan escapes his throat as he rises to his knees, his hand clamping over the gaping wound in his waist. Something inside shifts—grinds—but he doesn’t stop. The pain folds in on itself as he stands, staggering. His vision tunnels. The world tilts.

Above the smoke, a flash of green.

Izuku Midoriya—idiot, masochistic Deku—flies through the carnage, through the invisible stars and inferno, his body barely holding together. Katsuki can’t tear his eyes away. He is not stupid. He does not need to ask Izuku to know that these are the last few embers of One for All. He has witnessed it draining from him during lessons, in the longer breaks between sparring, the way Izuku’s body trembles as if holding much more than Katsuki’s weight on the training mat.

His fingers twitch, desperate for the explosions that would carry him up, push the other aside, and fight where he belongs at the front of danger. Save your quirk Deku, he’d spit. I got this. But his palms only spark faintly, skin cold, clammy. Useless.

The enemy lunges—massive, grotesque, a twisted nightmare of claws and sinew. Instead of targeting Izuku, its massive eyes land on Katsuki below.

Angry.

“You should be dead, boy,” the Nomu—the last one hidden after All for One’s downfall—shrieks from the air. Its wings pin against its body as it shoots through the smoke.

It is too fast, Katsuki too slow.

Another green flash, this time directly in front of Katsuki.

He tries to yell a warning, but his voice breaks, ragged and weak.

Izuku doesn’t dodge.

The Nomu’s claws tear straight into Izuku’s chest. There is a sickening snap as the talons break through bone and muscle, flesh and fabric. Numb, Katsuki watches from behind. The monster roars, flaps its wings, and brings Izuku skyward. Five feet, ten, twenty. Rain begins to fall, red and thick, over Katsuki. He blinks up, and the rain splatters over his cheeks.

Not water. Not rain, his brain provides unhelpfully.

The claws release.

Izuku falls. The impact of his landing reverberates through the ground, shivers up Katsuki’s battered legs.

The Nomu howls laughter.

Katsuki stumbles forward.

“Stand up, idiot!”

His boots catch in the mud, his legs screaming. He watches the quiet, bleeding body on the battlefield, waits for green eyes to open with some stupid smirk beneath freckles leading the way to his next attack. It is such a common phenomenon, one that is so expected that Katsuki does not hesitate turning his back, eyes following the creature as it continues to laugh and circle from above. He waits for Izuku to grab his shoulder. He waits for whispering, a plan mumbled directly into his ear.

“It’s coming back,” he warns, posing as he would back-to-back with his partner.

It does not quite register that Izuku isn’t moving.

The rumbling, inhumane laughter stops briefly. Yellow eyes catch Katsuki again. “My my, I would have thought you’d at least mourn the death of a partner. You’re not much different from an emotionless Nomu, are you?”

Katsuki’s eyebrow twitches. “The fuck are you saying? No one is dead except you!”

The Nomu’s beak gapes, seemingly to smile with its sharp teeth. “Denial, I see. Trust me boy, your friend is not getting up.”

Katsuki’s brain cannot fathom what the monster is saying, so he does not try to. “Watch my back, Deku! I’m going in!”

The first explosion is weaker than he’d like, but it brings him high enough to collide with All for One’s last creation. He releases another blow directly at its face, yelling. The monster spews a surprised yawp and falls back. Katsuki waits for the follow-up attack, green lightning striking for a quick finish. But…it never comes.

Katsuki falls through the air, confused.

Where is Izuku?

When he lands on his feet, his ankles give out. He curses from the ground, glaring at the sky. Waiting. Where is the lightning? Where is their victory?

He makes the mistake of looking down.

Izuku’s body remains motionless several feet away, covered in dirt.

“Deku,” he calls out. “Do you copy?”

There is no response. He must have fallen asleep, the bastard.

Something irks inside Katsuki—an anger that is reserved for Izuku and his ass-making decisions. How could he fall unconscious in the middle of battle?

“Deku, get up you idiot.”

Still, quiet.

Creeping apprehension cuts deep through Katsuki’s brain.

“Oi, what are you doing? The villain is coming back!”

Denial denial denial.

He tries to stand, but collapses pathetically to his knees. He begins to crawl.

An obstacle, an impossibility that he cannot compute within his mind, seems to block his rational thoughts. He draws closer, closer to the sleeping boy.

But Izuku’s eyes are open.

Strange.

Izuku isn’t supposed to look like this.

Read the rest on Ao3, "The Last" (I'm too lazy to reformat all of it on Tumblr)

Holy bloody shit. After two months, the story outline is officially done. (100 pages of pure, torturing notes)

Please tell me I'm not the only one who needs this many details before writing?

The Last

Ever since he was a child, Katsuki has taken everything from Izuku.

It is only natural that he should steal this, too.

(Or- How the last of Izuku's OFA embers are spent.)

This was by request from a follower: "Katsuki goes insane watching an unconscious Izuku fight with Blackwhip controlling his body."