Work Header

don't you just want to go apeshit?

Work Text:

“And that’s when I told him, you can shove your grapes and your opinion in the blender,” Uraraka chortles, jabbing her chopsticks in her lunchbox triumphantly. She does not notice the chopsticks falling; Iida does, and catches them before they can flip and send rice flying everywhere. “I’ve never seen someone look so horrified in my life!”

“He should have been horrified, kero,” Tsuyu says, wrinkling her nose. “If he can’t respect your things, then he shouldn’t be surprised when you protect your own stuff.”

“While I understand the need to establish and respect boundaries, I don’t think you should be using such harsh words with our peers,” Iida chides, handing the chopsticks back to Uraraka. “Maybe you can be a bit on the sterner side, but it really isn’t necessary to threaten one of our classmates with—with a blender, of all things!”

“No, let her speak.” Midoriya sets down his bento, eyebrow raised as he points at her, wielding a piece of katsu in his chopsticks. “Aren’t you tired of being nice?” he quotes jokingly. “Don’t you just want to go apeshit?”

Everyone’s too focused on Iida telling him off for swearing to notice Shouto in his corner of their lunch table, mulling over the words and a bite of cold soba. While he’s certain Mineta had it coming for him in this anecdote of Uraraka’s, he’s also not sure what he would have done in the same position. Todoroki Shouto, son of the great Endeavour, being anything less than cold and stoic? Unthinkable. Todoroki Shouto is supposed to be the ideal upper-class son—obedient and loyal to his father, suitably restrained and polite in his mannerisms, and about as interesting as a bowl of white rice.

Except… he’s not with his father, he realizes. He’s in the dorms, among friends.

Theoretically, he could eat what he wants, wear what he likes, act as stupid as he pleases, and his father wouldn’t even have to know about it, unless he does something stupid enough to warrant a call home. His father’s even been attempting to redeem himself lately. At this point, Shouto seriously doubts actual consequences will fall on him anymore.

If he wants, he doesn’t have to stay on a regimented diet. He doesn’t have to wear polo shirts and slacks on the Casual Friday nights Ashido and Hagakure started. He can stay up late binging Netflix, eat cup noodles, and show up to movie night in sweatpants. To be honest, now that he thinks about it…

He is tired of being nice. He does want to go apeshit.

Shouto has never really lived under a rock. Despite the jokes that Kaminari makes about him being a “meme plebeian—mlebeian”, Shouto does know what memes are and why they’re used. He was never banned from the internet, per se—being digitally illiterate would hinder hero work, and Endeavour’s masterpiece should understand how to use digital interfaces as natively as the past few generations. So yes, technically, he knows things.

It’s just that for most of his life, he was literally too exhausted at the end of training to do much more than lick his wounds, eat some rice, and sleep. Not getting enough sleep meant sloppy performance the next day, which would result in beatdowns that made him even more exhausted, which meant more sloppy performance. He just couldn’t afford a late-night internet binge, especially when his wake-up time was at five in the goddamn morning for—you guessed it—more training.

On days when his father was out, though, he fondly remembers playing Flash games and watching Youtube videos for hours on end, crunching on the shrimp crackers he pilfered from Natsuo’s not-so-secret stash. Really, it was only a secret from their father, because he never bothered to check in on Natsuo’s room. (Or Natsuo in general.)

So Shouto knows what a meme is. He knows, roughly, the differences between Reddit, Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, and Tumblr. He’s familiar with a meme here, some slang there, and just enough pop culture to not look like a complete idiot when he’s out with friends. But he’s aware that he’s missed out on a lot.

Now, though? The UA dorms have a frankly impressive 5G Wi-Fi speed. Iida attempted to instate a curfew time at the beginning, but he’s been whittled down to a meek request for quiet hours (which they all obey anyways). Shouto is free to browse the Internet as much as he wants.

He looks at his hands. Looks at his laptop. It’s three in the afternoon on a Friday, he has the whole weekend ahead of him, and he’s got lightning-fast internet in the privacy of his room. He has all the power in the world to, as Midoriya put it, “go apeshit.”

What the hell, why not. He boots up his laptop and opens a new tab.

“Dude, holy shit, did you get any sleep last night?” asks Kaminari on Monday morning in homeroom.

“Moon’s haunted,” Shouto says on reflex.


“Moon’s haunted,” he repeats, eyebags (Gucci, his brain whispers) sagging and dark. He slumps into his seat like ooze, or like someone who had spent their entire weekend doing a sleepless deep dive into the world of internet culture. His laptop whines faintly in protest. He may or may not have roughly one hundred tabs open over five windows. He may or may not be running on three hours of sleep. The day has never looked longer.

And that’s how it all starts.

See, the thing about being a stone-cold bitch for the first half of your first year of high school is that it sets expectations about who you are and what you’re capable of. To be perfectly honest, Shouto doesn’t know the answer to either of those questions, but much of his classmates are under the illusion that they at least somewhat know. To most of them, Todoroki Shouto is stoic, quiet, and relatively studious. He seems like the kind of person who would describe doing taxes as “necessary, and intellectually stimulating.” His resting poker face betrays no awkwardness, confusion, or levity in class.

This means that every time he memes, it’s like a bomb going off.

On Tuesday evening, he walks back in the common room from a walk around the grounds to find Mineta wrapped in Sero’s tape like the world’s ugliest little maggot, squirming against the couch. Shouto steps back, briefly repulsed by the wriggling abomination, before continuing on his way to the elevators. Sero’s usually smiling face is turned down in a frown. Ashido stands in front of the couch, fuming. She’s wielding a golf club, which is weird, because nobody in his class plays golf. Yaoyorozu is whistling in the corner, reading a textbook upside down. Definitely no relation here.

Ashido taps the club against the ground, threateningly. “You little rat piss baby,” she growls through clenched teeth. “This is the last damn time.” She hefts the club. Mineta makes an aborted squealing noise.

“Stay. Out. Of. My. Room!”

“No, wait—” snivels Mineta.



In the ensuing silence, with only Ashido’s heavy breathing as ambience, Shouto has a horrible idea.

He leans forward and says, very quietly, “They did surgery on a grape.”

There is a beat of silence. Yaoyorozu stares. Sero stares. Ashido stares.

Yaoyorozu leans forward and buries her face in the textbook, shoulders shaking with laughter. Sero and Ashido start screaming, alternating between pointing at Shouto and holding their heads as they lose their minds. Shouto ascends up the elevator without so much of a crack in his deadpan expression.

Once he’s safely ensconced in his dorm room, he smiles.

Shouto startles awake, a phantom burning across his neck. He’s late for training, get up, get up—

He registers the difference in the shape of his room. The dawn light coming in the wrong way. The ice across his pillow from his nightmare. The All Might alarm clock that Midoriya let him borrow. The unfamiliar softness of the Pusheen plushie he bought at the convenience store underneath his sweaty cheek. The digits on the screen held between the All Might clock’s sculpted plastic arms reads an unforgiving 5:00 AM.

“Shit,” he says. “Fuck.” He kind of wants to roll over and sleep some more, but by the time he’s steamed the ice out of his pillow, he’s already too wired to do anything but get up and maybe get some exercise done. Old habits die hard, he supposes. He changes into exercise clothes, exits his room, and takes the elevator down to the ground floor.

As he quietly exits into the common area, Shouto spots Kaminari on the couch, completely engrossed in his game of Animal Crossing on his Switch. He’d bet good money that Kaminari stayed up all night playing. The other boy’s face is slack with the kind of concentration that only a true gamer is capable of.

He hasn’t noticed Shouto. He’s completely vulnerable.

Shouto checks over his shoulder furtively. The hallways are otherwise deserted and dim. Perfect.

He assumes a T-pose and carefully blows a cold jet of air towards Kaminari’s face. His victim’s nose wrinkles as tiny bits of snow brush against him. Kaminari looks up, fucking screeches at the sight of Shouto staring at him in the dark like the world’s most terrifying Bethesda glitch, and falls off the couch.

By the time Kaminari is back up again, Shouto has disappeared outside. He can faintly hear Bakugou setting off explosions and yelling at Kaminari for waking him up, and then the rest of the dorm lights up as everyone else yells at Bakugou for being louder than Kaminari. Chaos reigns.

Shouto runs just out of earshot and then fucking loses it laughing on the quad. It’s quite a beautiful morning. He sets out on an even-paced jog around the grounds as the sun slowly rises.

“Tsu’s late,” Uraraka says, squeezing her way past Shouji in the doorframe and wading through the classroom to unceremoniously dump all her textbooks on her desk. “She’s usually here before me. What happened?”

“Maybe she slept in,” Shouto suggests from the other side of the room. “Or she could be stuck. Hall traffic sucks right now.”

Uraraka’s eyes go wide, and she deflates like a balloon over the nearest platform. “Oh, my poor Tsu, crushed in traffic,” she wails, hand pressed to her forehead like a damsel in distress. “The horror, the horror! How will I ever live without her?”

“First, you could remove yourself from my desk. You have a chair, Uraraka, please make use of it.”

“Whoops, sorry Iida.”

“I could go look for her,” Shouto offers. “Two heads are better than one.”

Uraraka looks at him slyly. “Oh, please, like you’d ever move from where you are right now given the choice.”

From one desk over, Bakugou scowls and turns. “Don’t fucking encourage him,” he yells. His words are met with a raspberry from Uraraka. “Get him back to his own desk where I don’t have to see him mooning over shitty Deku.”

“It’s not my fault that he stole my jacket and fell asleep on it.”

“That has nothing to do with you running your hands through his hair, Half-and-Half! Just take your fucking jacket back and go!”

Shouto shrugs.

Uraraka blows a raspberry at him, too. He very courageously does not blow one back at her. “I’ll go find Tsuyu,” he says, “and if I don’t find her I’ll grab a drink and come back.” And prove you both wrong, he thinks, and very courageously does not say.

Ignoring the fact that Midoriya is blatantly awake and is struggling to muffle his laughter into Shouto’s jacket, Shouto peels himself off the wall and has to practically rip his hand from Midoriya’s nest of (soft, warm, precious) curls. Even if he doesn’t find Tsuyu in the rush-hour hallway, he definitely needs a drink. His mouth has gone dry for many reasons that he cannot specify.

He throws open the door, and oh hey, there’s Tsuyu, one hand raised already to push it open. “Tsuyu,” he says cordially, greeting her open palm with a high five. She looks stricken at the action. “Oh shit, waddup.”

If Kaminari and co. fall out of their seats in various degrees of hysterics in the wake of his exit, he pretends to give no notice.

Shouto walks into the kitchen for a glass of water at a bleary-eyed three in the morning, and is confronted with an eldritch horror.

It’s too fucking early for this, he thinks.

Sero and Ashido, with eyebags to rival Shouto’s own, are sculpting… something… out of a frankly horrifying greyish-clear sludge on the table, giggling deliriously. They haven’t noticed him enter. Shouto watches in mute horror as Sero shoots tape and Ashido melts it with her acid to make more of what he now recognizes as tape sludge. Ashido puts a finger into the largest blob on the table. Two pokes and a swipe form a happy face, which immediately sags into a ghoulish scream of terror.

Without conscious input, Shouto says, “Do you think God stays in Heaven because he, too, lives in fear of what he has created?" Sero and Ashido both startle and stare at him.

Shouto walks back out in response, water forgotten entirely, as Sero and Ashido gibber at his retreating back.

dumpster fire piece of shit sperm donor

— Friday, July 6, 2XXX —

(6:00 PM) Shouto, I have received an invitation as a guest of honour to this year’s Valour Gala.

(6:00 PM) You will be attending with me.

(6:01 PM) Wear something suitable for the occasion.

(9:39 PM) Stop leaving me on read.
Read at 10:59 PM ✓

— Saturday, July 7, 2XXX —

(8:07 AM) Missed call from dumpster fire piece of shit sperm donor!

(8:16 AM) Missed call from dumpster fire piece of shit sperm donor!

(8:31 AM) Missed call from dumpster fire piece of shit sperm donor!

Shouto pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs deeply. It’s not that he hates galas—they’re boring, but ultimately they’ve always ended up as reprieves from training, particularly if Endeavour had much to drink. Then he gets two days off. It’s slightly more annoying since he’s living in the dorms, but it’s not that big of a deal. Mostly, it’s just his own spite rearing up again. Todoroki Shouto is self-aware enough to recognize that he’s a petty bitch.

The only real consequence of the gala is that Shouto has to find something appropriate to wear. The last gala he went to was a few years ago, because the one thing Endeavour hates more than All Might is public appearances. None of Shouto’s old formal clothes would fit. He opens his closet and whoa, he didn’t even know he owned that many tracksuits. All his casual clothes are folded neatly into one drawer, consisting of mostly polo shirts in muted, respectable colours and proper black slacks that were picked out by a stylist. A single rumpled blazer lies in a heap at the bottom of the closet, missing a hanger and looking rather sad. One of the buttons is loose. The pocket seams haven’t even been unpicked.

“Yes, I can iron the creases out of your blazer,” Aoyama huffs when Shouto finally swallows his pride and asks for help. “But you are not going to be wearing this monstrosity to a hero gala!”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Mon dieu, this is a travesty against God, man and animal alike.” Aoyama shakes out the fabric; it does not look any more like a blazer. “This is a mockery of haute couture, designed to pacify the elite and no one else! Look at it! The shoulders are coming apart at the seams, the fabric is almost certainly polyester, and the whole piece is just—utterly, irreconcilably drab!”

He drops the blazer to clutch desperately at Shouto’s collar. “Promise me this, mon ami: whatever you intended to wear this to, do not. You have tout le monde at your disposal. Choose something that compliments, or at least highlights, that pretty head of yours. Even a garbage bag would suit you better than this failure of a blazer.”

“Thank you,” Shouto manages. “Please let go of me.”

Unfortunately, this means that the entirety of his closet has been deemed inappropriate for the gala. He conveys this to Kaminari over breakfast, including Aoyama’s commentary. “And then he threw the whole thing out and went back to his own room,” he recalls. “I think he was crying.”

Kaminari, on the other hand, looks like he’s chewing on both his toast and Shouto’s story all at once, and washing it down with a glass of milk and chaos. “What would happen if you actually wore a garbage bag to the gala?”

Shouto thinks about it. “My father would be upset,” he says, and reconsiders. “I would not be.”

“Okay, so here’s what I’m thinking,” Kaminari says, leaning across the table. “I think you should wear something that you enjoy and that will also piss your dad off. Two birds, one stone!”

“I don’t really have anything like that, unless you think unending polo shirts are actually my style."

"Wait, they're not?"

"No, my father hired a stylist to pick them out, but I'm not going to waste them by throwing them in the trash. They're decent shirts."

Kaminari makes a face. "Yeah, but you own like, maybe five polo t-shirts and I think some turtlenecks. I think the only thing you have a lot of are tracksuits for training."

"So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that what you really need is a shopping trip.” He brightens up. “Yeah! I can bring Mina, because Mina has good taste in fashion, and you can bring Midoriya and you can hold hands and walk around the mall and—hey, I’m just saying!”

“Please stop saying things. We're not dating.”

Kaminari has already whipped out his phone. Shouto spots “mina!!!” followed by several sparkling emojis at the top. Kaminari’s texting speed is not one known to mere mortals. His gamer thumbs are too powerful for Shouto to fathom.

“Okay, it’s done! Mina’s coming with us on the…” Kaminari gestures at Shouto.

“The fourteenth.”

“Right, the fourteenth! Mina will text you with the details later, she says she’s picking out a thrift store right now. Oh, and Kirishima’s coming too. I already texted your boo, he’s absolutely down for it and he needs a new shirt anyway since his last one ripped in training.”

Shouto remembers that. He remembers that very vividly.

Anyways. “My boo?”

“Like, Midoriya. Your sweetie pie. Your stud muffin—”

“Please stop saying things. I already know what boo means, I was judging your word choice.”

Kaminari squints up at him. Then his face slowly blooms with outraged recognition. “So I wasn’t hallucinating you T-posing at me?”

Shouto remains impassive. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do!”

“No, I don’t.” Shouto gets up to do his dishes.

Kaminari abandons his toast to continue to bother him. “It makes sense now! ‘Moon’s haunted’—I thought it was just a coincidence from you being sleep deprived, y’know, but this? ‘Oh shit waddup,’ the T-posing, boo, it all makes sense now! Mina wasn’t kidding. You’re a man of culture.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Don’t you pull that shit with me—I’ve connected the two dots!”

“You didn’t connect shit,” Shouto replies automatically, and then curses.

“I’ve connected them!” Kaminari screeches triumphantly, pointing a damning finger at him.

And this is how Todoroki Shouto becomes friends with Kaminari Denki.

TNT is not a personality trait

— Monday, July 9, 2XXX —

Bakugou (8:56 PM) (8:57 PM)

(8:59 PM) The fuck is this icyhot



Okay boomer (9:04 PM)
Read at 9:04 PM ✓

He can hear the faint sound of someone screaming very loudly from upstairs, and the faint sound of someone running very quickly down the stairs. Both sounds are getting louder. Shouto flips upright from his seat with practiced grace and sprints out the front door just before Bakugou blazes into the room and Howitzer Impacts the couch.

“Todorokiiiiiiii! Over here!”

He spots Ashido’s pink arms waving frantically from the entrance to the thrift store. He crosses the parking lot to join her and their friends. On the sidewalk, Kaminari is fiddling on his phone, charger in his mouth. Kirishima is talking to Midoriya, who looks up and gives him a sunny smile and a wave to match. Oh no, he’s wearing a tank top. Those godlike biceps are on full display. He can even see the outline of his pecs stretching the All Might screen print.

He tears his eyes away and pulls his poker face back into place, studiously ignoring Ashido's knowing expression. “Hello, everyone,” he manages. “Shall we go inside?”

Ashido nods brightly. “Alright, boys, let’s get down to business!”

As they leaf through the men’s section, Todoroki asks, “Are you sure that a thrift store is a good place to get clothes for a hero gala?” He picks up a dress shirt in a muted olive green and starts checking the tags.

“Well, for one, it’s cheap! There are also lots of hidden gems among all of these.” Ashido gestures to the racks and racks of clothing. “Just because it’s a thrift store doesn’t mean you can’t find quality clothes. It’s about knowing how to look.” She taps the side of her head.

Kaminari chimes in. “Plus, it would piss off your father even more if he knew you weren’t wearing some Gucci bullshit on the red carpet while looking sick as hell.”

Kirishima shrugs. “I’m just here to look for a tank top, but more power to you, bro.”

“Me too! Well, I’m looking for another shirt, not a tank top, but you get my point,” Midoriya rambles. God, his dimples are so cute. “Either way!” Midoriya smiles widely up at him. “I also wanted to come and hang out with you! We haven’t had much of a chance to hang out outside of the dorms, so this sounded really nice.”

Todoroki feels very strange, like someone fills his chest cavity with fluttering light. “It is, with you here,” he says, and then wants to slap himself. It’s true, but he shouldn’t have said it. Why did he say it.

Midoriya’s eyes widen. “O-oh! I-i-i-it’s the same! For me! With you here, I mean! It’s nice!” Some of the nerves seem to leave his friend, and Midoriya smiles warmly at Shouto. “I like spending time with you.”

Shouto does his best to smile back just as warmly. He knows he must look dumb as hell but he gives it his best shot.

“Oi, Todoroki, that shirt’s falling off the hanger!” Kaminari says.

He breaks eye contact with Midoriya and looks down at the shirt that was now on the floor. The hanger is empty in his nerveless grip. “Oh.”

"Are you okay, Todoroki?" Midoriya asks, genuinely concerned.

“Yes.” He blinks down at the shirt, and then dusts it off to sling back on the hanger. Moving on from what he is well aware was a disastrously gay moment, he smiles once more at Midoriya, and moves onward to other racks once he sees the worry disappear from Midoriya’s face.

Kirishima waves him over. “Hey, I think you might find something worthwhile in the patterned shirts section. Super manly pickings over here!”

Shouto considers the options laid out in front of him. “Hmm. There are lots of colours to choose from. I don’t know what would look best.”

“I dunno, man, you’d look good in most colours,” Kirishima says, holding up a plain checkered shirt, “but if you’re not sure there’s always the fitting rooms in the back. I think they’ve got a limit on the number of items you can bring in, though.”

“Good to know.”

This is when Shouto, rifling through the size mediums, spots The Shirt.

In this one moment, Shouto becomes impermeable to every change in the world. Time grinds to a screeching halt as he takes hanger and fabric in his battle-worn hands. The pain of the past falls behind him like the shed skin of a snake as the wings of freedom unfurl on his back. Every click of the buttons sends another planet into retrograde, cascading across the cosmos and out to heaven. The stars descend upon him in a high council of elders, each asking the same question: what will you do? The power is his.

The Shirt, as it rests between his hands, is absolutely garish. Shouto briefly remembers that one time he went bowling with the rest of 1-A; The Shirt is alarmingly reminiscent of the carpet of the bowling alley, all shitty neon planets on a navy blue ripple of sky. The planets look like clip art. The squiggles look like they were scribbled on in highlighter, in the way small children do when they try to draw unicorns.

In Aoyama’s words, it is a travesty against God, man and animal alike.

Shouto loves it.

“I think I’m going to try this on,” he says out loud, knowing that Kirishima is too deeply engrossed in his own search to see just how fucking awful The Shirt is. He gets an enthusiastic mumble in reply, and has to practically restrain himself from making an immediate beeline for the fitting rooms.

The staff member on duty at the fitting rooms has worse eyebags than Aizawa-sensei, but gives him a weary smile nonetheless. “Just the one?”

“Yes, please.”

Sheltered inside the tiny fitting room, Shouto feels like he’s struck gold. The Shirt is a perfect fit. When he turns around to face himself in the mirror, half the buttons still undone, he has to muffle his laughter into his hand. Wonder of wonders, The Shirt somehow looks even more like bowling alley carpet print when it’s hanging limp and half-unbuttoned off his shoulders.

It’s absolutely fucking awful.

“Hey Todoroki, show us what you’re trying on!” Kaminari hoots from outside. The sound of Midoriya frantically telling him no, don’t pressure him, what if he doesn’t like what he’s wearing tells Shouto that this whole shopping trip was brutally planned against him from the beginning. Still, they need to see The Shirt, which means it’s over, and Shouto has the higher ground.

He opens the door. Strikes a pose worthy of The Shirt.

Kaminari falls over laughing. Kirishima’s eyes glow with admiration as he whispers “so manly” at the print. Ashido looks like she’s about to screech with glee. Midoriya has his hands over his mouth; his eyes are misty.

The staff attendant, to their credit, does not call security or management on them.

“Okay, okay, is it just me, or does Todoroki have an unfair advantage?” Kaminari finally manages. “Like, bro. You can’t look bad in anything. Not even this hell shirt.”

“This is The Shirt and you will treat it with respect,” Shouto tells his friends, capitals and all.

“It is awful, and I salute you for having the sheer fucking guts to wear it.” Kaminari wipes away a tear. “All hail The Shirt, may its days be immensely numbered so you never have to wear it anywhere, much less a hero gala.”

And oh no, Midoriya’s doing that thing where he squishes his lips together that makes Shouto’s heart hammer in his chest, the thing he does when he’s mildly offended but is far too good-natured to really say anything about it. “You could absolutely wear that to a hero gala,” he argues, and Shouto is absolutely gone for this boy. “You look great in it, Todoroki. I think you’d outshine everyone on the red carpet in it.”

“I think he'd think you'd look great in any outfit," Kaminari mutters under his breath. Shouto glares at him.

“The print is so godawfully perfect!” Ashido shrieks. Kirishima nods vigorously in agreement. Shouto is reminded that although Kaminari claimed that Ashido has good fashion sense, she goes feral for prints and neons.

“You’re going to need better pants than those, though,” Midoriya says. “Dark pants with a dark shirt is boring. You need lighter pants. Something that… matches one of the accent colours!” Shouto is surrounded by enablers and he is living for it.

Kaminari finally picks himself up off the ground. “Okay, okay, I see we’re embracing the chaotic energy fully. Are you ready to out yourself as a memelord on the red carpet, Todoroki? Are you?” Somehow, he executes a flawless Gendo pose despite there being no desk in sight.

“Kaminari.” Shouto stares him dead in the eye and raises a single eyebrow. “You know me. I’m a man of culture.”

Kaminari’s face splits into a wide, manic grin.

They find themselves being dragged around the store by Kaminari as he takes the helm. Ashido is snatching piles upon piles of neon and patterned clothes to add to the consideration pile. Shouto debates the merits of leopard print versus zebra print with a completely earnest, fashion-blind Midoriya and an equally earnest, fashion-blind Kirishima. They settle on a pair of hideous orange bell-bottom jeans that match the neon orange planets on The Shirt, a jean jacket that has “COOLEST HOT STUFF EVAH” embroidered on the back, and clearance bin clout goggles.

“Jean jacket might clash with the fit.” Ashido’s eyebrows furrow as she taps her pursed lips in consideration. “At least color-coordinate it.”

“No, I’m still getting it,” Shouto decides. “It’s on Endeavour’s credit card and I can wear it at another time.”

“Yeah! You’ll look great in it!” Midoriya says, because he is the physical embodiment of all good things on earth, despite having a fashion sense in the negatives. “I think the print really makes it pop.”

Todoroki looks to Kaminari. “We have to go shopping together again sometime.”

Kaminari nods seriously. “Comrade.”


They bump fists. Kirishima is briefly brought to tears at the manly expression of friendship.

(Privately, Shouto is intensely grateful that Kaminari and the others have taken his vendetta against his father in stride, without prying. Most of the class understands he’s not on great terms with his father, and he treasures their quiet discretion.)

“Oh! But one more thing.” Kaminari rubs his hands together with glee. They find themselves whisked away once more, this time to the shoes section.

“Shoes?” asks Ashido. “He already has sneakers.”

“Not just any shoes.” Kaminari rummages through the clearance bin. “Crocs.”

“Why do I need crocs, specifically?”

“What do you mean? They’re the manliest shoe!”

“Kirishima is right. Modern problems need modern solutions, and your ballgown is yet to be complete,” Kaminari preaches. “I'll make a Cinderella out of you, my good dude.”

Shouto raises an eyebrow. “With crocs.”

“Not just any crocs!” Finally finding what he was looking for, Kaminari triumphantly hoists his spoils from the clearance bin. “Consider me your fairy godmother,” he declares, dangling the terrible, horrible, Lightning Mcqueen crocs from two fingers, “because I just found your glass slippers.”

“Isn’t that Prince Charming’s job?”

Kaminari mutters to him, “Eh, I’m not fighting Midoriya for that title.” He ducks from Shouto’s half-hearted punch and grins. “Besides, these bad boys are going to get you places on the red carpet, and I’m not talking about walking.”

He flips the crocs around, and Shouto’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “Kachow,” he whispers appreciatively.

The limousine arrives at precisely six in the evening. Shouto climbs into the back before the chauffeur can open the door for him. The chauffeur is definitely not paid to make comments about Shouto’s glorious outfit, and only says a quiet, “Have a wonderful evening, young master,” as he opens the door at their final destination. The cameras flash at the lineup of limousines as impeccably dressed heroes exit onto the red carpet. Shouto cracks his knuckles and smiles a fraction of an inch. Showtime.

“Good evening, Aoyama,” says Momo, passing through the living room. Her classmate is staring at the TV with deadly resolve—something he only ever does over his fashion magazines, usually. Ah, but tonight’s the Valour Gala, and Momo’s been to enough galas herself to know that the red carpet is the main event of the night. “Are you watching tonight’s red carpet broadcast?”

“But of course, ma cherie, it is an inspiration to myself and to aspiring designers everywhere!” He gestures wildly with pen and paper; Momo is amused but not surprised to see his sketchbook already filled with penciled croquis and scribbled notes. “And to think our own classmate is going to make an appearance!”

“Oh yes, Todoroki is going to be there, isn’t he?” Momo offers a smile, though she has a sneaking suspicion that it will not last. “I’ll join you in a second.”

There’s still plenty of both milk and cream in the fridge, though after a split-second decision Momo takes the milk. Someone made a kettle of hot water and forgot about it, but with a press of a button the kettle’s rumbling to life again. Momo pulls honey from the pantry and a spoon from the drawer and her mug from the communal rack, doubles back for a pinch of cinnamon, and waits for the water to boil.

Someone descends the stairs with a rhythmic lack of grace, and then Kyouka’s pulling her mug from the rack and leaning up to press a kiss to Momo’s cheek. “Make me one too, Mo?”

Momo just laughs and tips the honey bottle into her mug. “I’m going to be watching the Valour Gala with Aoyama later.” Kyouka makes a cute little confused sound. “For the red carpet. Todoroki is… going to be there.”

“Oh.” Kyouka lights up instantly. A little too much, even. “Oh. Oho. Y’know, I think I might just join you for this.”

This is a deeply troubling statement to Momo, who was enlisted by Todoroki just two days ago to make some “hideous neon planet buttons”, in his own words. This is also deeply troubling because it implies that her girlfriend (girlfriend!) knows more about whatever’s about to be aired on national television than she does. Momo loves Kyouka, she really does, but Kyouka can be a gleeful shitstarter and Momo knows that.

The kettle whistles. Momo fills both their mugs up halfway, and tops the rest off with milk. Kyouka takes a sip and pronounces it the perfect temperature, which fills Momo with more pride than it probably should. They move back to the common room, where Kyouka exchanges minimal pleasantries with Aoyama (still engrossed in the gala) before immediately entangling herself into Momo’s lap.

“And here we have Mirko, the Rabbit Hero, decked out in what appears to be a huge lab coat. Oh my—Mirko-san, a moment of your time?” On-screen, Mirko turns with a painted smirk, shucking off the coat to a waiting assistant. “Ladies and gentlemen, friends at home, are you seeing this?”

Her dress is positively stunning: it’s made of glowing cubes lined in microchips, and seems to shift mechanically with every move. The camera zooms in to show the sliding pieces affixed to the underskirt, cleverly placed like puzzle pieces so minimal fabric shows through. She blows a kiss into the crowd of reporters; the camera flashes go wild. Aoyama goes ham on his sketchbook.

“It’s great to be here,” Mirko says. “The energy’s great, the food’s great, and I get to see all my friends and coworkers dressed in ridiculous things.”

“Well, you’re certainly not dressed in anything ridiculous,” the reporter chortles, “except maybe ridiculously beautiful. Please tell us, Mirko-san, who are you wearing tonight?”

“Iris van Herpen, of course, I absolutely loved last year’s collection and I knew I had to—”

Unexpectedly, a blur moves in front of the camera. One of the crew’s shaggy microphones appears briefly in the shot as the cameraman tracks the unexpected movement. Mirko and the reporter are both staring, one in glee and the other in confusion, as the mysterious blur slows and resolves itself.

First: red and white hair, split on each side. A devastatingly handsome face. Height and wiry hero-in-training musculature. And on this nearly model-like form, the world’s most eye-searing outfit: a hideous shirt that looks like it was lifted straight from a bowling alley’s carpet, neon orange bell-bottom jeans, clout goggles, and what appears to be Lightning McQueen crocs. Crocs, which are almost undoubtedly doing double duty as Heelys.

Aoyama’s pencil clatters to the ground. “Mon dieu,” he whimpers. “It’s worse than I could have ever imagined.”

Kyouka is not nearly so reserved. Momo has to set both their mugs aside before they spill over from laughter, and briefly wonders why she agreed to watch this inevitable trainwreck.

The chaotic lordling slows to a stop in the middle of the carpet, appears to disengage the wheels, and breaks down into a flawless Fortnite default dance. At the end of it, with his arms crossed triumphantly—

“Speed,” he says. “I am speed.”

“Todoroki Shouto,” Mirko says, in the exact same tone that Kyouka had used earlier, “it’s great to see you here tonight. You look fantastic, might I say.” She’s grinning with manic glee.

“Oh, uh, yes,” the reporter says, pained. “Todoroki-san, I’m sure that as the son of the current number one, you must have… connections to the world of high fashion.”

“In the eternal words of Yves Saint Laurent, fashion comes and goes,” Todoroki says, hand on hip. “Style is eternal.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” At this point the reporter sounds close to exploding. “And might I ask who you’re wearing tonight?”

With one delicate, poised hand (his nails are painted in varying shades of dollar store polish) he tilts the clout goggles down to peer directly into the camera like he’s on The Office. “Value Village,” he says, punctuating his sentence with a dab before Heelying out of frame.


Momo tears her eyes away from the screen to watch Aoyama crumple to the floor in a dead faint.

For hours after the gala, Todoroki Enji lies in bed awake, unable to differentiate where Shouto's godawful outfit ended and where the wine-induced hallucinations began.

No, he reasons, the fucking outfit was real. That was the reason he drank so much wine to begin with. Briefly, he considers calling Rei and begging forgiveness.

Japan trends

1 ⋅ Trending
Todoroki Shouto
Trending with: #ValourGala

2 ⋅ Heroes ⋅ Trending
92.5K Tweets

3 ⋅ Trending
Value Village
102K Tweets

terminal stupid disease

worm off the string | ua heroics | he/him

Japan | Joined July 2XXX

528 Following 7.2K Followers

Followed by danki, bone hurting quirk, and 17 others you follow


Pinned Tweet

terminal stupid disease @freezerburn ⋅ Aug 12

[A video of Todoroki Shouto, camera on the ground. He’s sitting down with his bare left leg out, doing a peace sign while staring at the camera. An egg is slowly but surely frying on his calf. He is wearing neon yellow shutter shades, salmon shorts, a turquoise sportswear tank top, a denim jacket, and a navy baseball cap that says BITCH on it in sparkling hot pink glitter. Faintly, Kaminari Denki’s voice says, “Hey, wait, isn’t your leg hair going to be inside the egg?” Todoroki makes a wheezing noise as the phone camera falls to the ground and the video cuts out.]


terminal stupid disease @freezerburn ⋅ 1h

locals be hatin but i only have eyes for edgeshot's edgeCAKE [starry-eye emoji]

[A fancam of Edgeshot defeating a villain.]


terminal stupid disease @freezerburn ⋅ 39m

the joke is that he has no cake. his ass is always flat bc of his quirk. flat stanley


terminal stupid disease @freezerburn ⋅ 12m

do you guys think flat stanley has a flat dick


terminal stupid disease @freezerburn ⋅ 11m

holy shit. STANley. it’s been there the whole time. that’s why hero stan twitter loves edgeshot so much

[A meme photo from Buzzfeed Unsolved.

SHANE: i’ve connected the two dots

RYAN: you didn’t connect shit

SHANE: i’ve connected them]

“What did you think of today’s lesson?”

Shouto chews his boba pensively. “It was different,” he says. “I thought there would be more hands-on components to testing the limits of our quirks.”

Midoriya cracks a small smile around his straw. “You have to theorize before you do any practical testing,” he insists earnestly. “Otherwise you might just hurt yourself in the process.”

They’re sequestered away into the corner table at Midoriya’s favourite bubble tea shop, hidden to all but the succulents that line the table and each other. They’d invited Iida, Uraraka and Tsuyu with them, but all three had bowed out in rapid succession. Shouto had been too busy thinking about the way Midoriya’s freckles crinkle when he laughs to realize that they’d, effectively, set the two of them up on a Totally Platonic Date. He’d expected Uraraka and Tsuyu, but Iida too? Man, he really must be a disaster if even Iida is getting in on the scheming.

“It’s the theorizing that’s really giving me trouble.” Shouto sucks another tapioca pearl through the straw before continuing. “I’m not nearly as creative as you when it comes to the application of quirks. I just know how to hit good, pretty much.” Which was all his father ever really cared about: brute force, brute speed.

“You really have to stop underestimating yourself.” Midoriya reaches over and bops Shouto on the nose experimentally, and when his hand withdraws he’s almost as red as Shouto feels. “I’m sure you’re plenty creative. You just have to have confidence, and faith in yourself. I mean, remember when you trended on Twitter for three days? That was because of your creativity.”

“That was because of The Shirt.”

“It was because you were creative enough to wear The Shirt to a gala,” Midoriya amends. “I mean, I’ve got tons of notes if you want to look into alternative combat applications, but really, with something as versatile as your quirk, it shouldn’t be hard to come up with some practical uses.”

Shouto leans forward on the table and props his chin up on one hand. The last person he saw do this was Yaoyorozu, who was then promptly kissed by Jirou while the rest of them had to avert their eyes at light speed. “Surprise me.”

To his credit, Midoriya does. He grabs Shouto’s free hand, turns it palm-up and taps his fingers twice; Shouto obediently activates his quirk, forming frost across his palm and down onto the table. “There’s one,” Midoriya says, triumphantly placing his bubble tea cup in Shouto’s hand. “Efficient heating or cooling of foods, since you can change the distribution of your quirk to target certain parts of a container.”

“All you had to do is ask if you wanted me to freeze your slushie again.”

“Of course, that’s all dependent on the physical state of whatever you’re working with,” Midoriya chatters, ignoring Shouto entirely now that he’s down his personal rabbit hole. “Obviously it’s going to be easier to cool things down than to heat them up, since most containers are at some risk of burning or melting. Glass tends to have a pretty high melting point, but even then modern borosilicate glass can really only withstand up to five hundred degrees—Celsius, not Fahrenheit. Maybe a custom-made crucible would be better for that? Are crucibles even foodsafe?”

“Mmhmm,” says Shouto, who is totally not smiling like a goof.

“And that’s just heating.” Midoriya waves an errant hand. “Cooling shouldn’t be nearly as hard, unless you’re working with a liquid in an easily-cracked container.” His eyes light up. “And depending on the temperature of whatever you’re cooling, it could get really efficient. You could boil something in one hand, and then freeze it immediately with the other because of the Mpemba effect. Oh, and that trick with the really cold water, and you pour it on a bit of ice and it freezes on the spot? I mean, if you cooled something down to that level, and then turned on your quirk and stuck your finger inside, you’d probably end up with an ice cube frozen around your finger.”

He freezes, and in the moment when he meets Shouto’s eyes clearly the exact same thought goes through both their sleep-deprived brains. Why the hell are they still sitting here when there’s Science to be done?

The moment ends.

A slam echoes through the shop, and then the staff and patrons are left speechless as two teenage boys, armed with half-finished drinks and gaping backpacks, rush out the door and into the bright afternoon, not to be seen again without ice cubes frozen around their fingers.

They're watching their teachers do physical demonstrations of several hand-to-hand maneuvers in their practical period. Aizawa-sensei pulls off a particularly powerful roundhouse kick. "Oh, we stan," says Shouto, just a little bit too loudly. His teacher pauses in the middle of the kick sequence to stare at him balefully while the class erupts into chaos.

The dorm is running out of fresh veggies; the vegetable drawer in the communal fridge is home to three shrivelled scallions and very little else. Katsuki unapologetically swipes the last of the romaine lettuce and bell peppers, and grabs the olive oil from the counter while he’s at it.

He turns around, and standing there is fucking Half-and-Half, like some silent monolith that decided to take its ugly roots in the kitchen. “The hell you want,” he says. “Aren’t you and shitty Deku supposed to be fucking around with your quirk?”

“We’re taking a break.” Todoroki slips past him, opens the fridge and takes one egg out of the carton. “He’s plugging the numbers into the computer so we can graph the data.”

As he speaks, he washes his left hand, avoiding Katsuki’s nudge to get the decent knife from the knife block. “I’m just grabbing a snack,” he says, shrugging. “Pass the oil?”

Katsuki does not bother to move. Todoroki sighs, leans over, and grabs it himself. “Thanks anyways,” he says, tips the bottle into his left hand, greasing it like it’s a pan and he’s about to tip in a bowl’s worth of cake batter.

And then, without any pretense or ceremony, he cracks the egg directly into his open palm, where it begins to sizzle.

Katsuki stares at the egg. Stares at Half-and-Half.

“What the fuck.”

Todoroki stares him straight in the eye and has the audacity to say, “It’s efficient.” With his right hand, he takes a pinch of salt and pepper from the spice cabinet and sprinkles it on top. The chaotic lordling brings the cooked egg straight to his mouth, and with a horrifying slurp, downs it in one go. He licks his lips clean of yolk, washes his hand in the kitchen sink, and leaves.



As if Todoroki didn’t violate the Geneva Conventions in front of Katsuki, his salad, and God himself.

Katsuki stares at the empty doorway, and then back at the knife and vegetables in front of him on the counter. His jaw is still hanging.

Quietly, he puts the knife and vegetables back where they belong, and goes to the common room, where he lies down on the couch with his hands folded over his chest and regrets coming to UA.

“Ah, Endeavour-san,” Edgeshot says in the quiet of the conference room. They’re waiting for a briefing to start.

“What,” says Endeavour.

“Did you know that your son has a Twitter account?”

Endeavour stares. Edgeshot coughs and says, “It’s quite… interesting.”

Endeavour blinks. “Excuse me. Restroom,” he says, and leaves. Edgeshot watches him go, and about thirty seconds later, hears a muffled scream coming from the direction of the men’s room.

“So,” Uraraka starts amid their notebooks. It’s a lazy Sunday afternoon, the heat lulling everyone in her dorm room study session into sleepy procrastination and chatting. “Deku wanted to figure out how you could use your quirk to cook food? Sounds pretty simple. Just slap it on your left side and you’re good, right?”

“See, there’s a problem with that,” Shouto starts. “If I try and cook things on my left side—” he briefly imagines what Endeavour’s face would look like if he heard this conversation, and snorts—“if I try to cook things directly on my skin, my body hair is going to get in the way, if not get cooked into the food.”


“I tried it with Kaminari. Didn’t work.” He is not going to talk about the new bald patch on his left leg.

“Why not try it on the parts of your body without body hair?” Yaoyorozu says innocently.

Izuku claps his hands together and spins around in Uraraka’s desk chair. “Well, the human body has very limited hairless real estate! Many parts of your body actually have very fine hairs, even if you can’t see it. Really, the only truly viable surfaces are the palms of his hands, and the bottom of his…”

All four of their gazes drop down to Shouto’s croc-clad feet.

Izuku starts wheezing with laughter.

“Absolutely not,” says Shouto.

“No, but, you’d have to, you’d have to grease your foot too—”

Uraraka makes a honking sound at that. Shouto gives in and he absolutely loses it laughing. “Foot,” he wheezes.

Yaoyorozu falls victim to Terminal Stupid Disease in short order. For the next five minutes, just as they think they’re calming down, someone will say, “Greasy foot,” or, "a whole ass steak on his foot," and then they’re back to square one. Shouto’s stomach hurts from laughing so hard.

“Okay, okay,” Izuku eventually gasps as they all collect themselves, “this still doesn’t rule out the possibility of using your fire more remotely. Restricting yourself to only your palm—only your palm, Uraraka please stop—you won’t have enough surface area to cook anything bigger than an egg.”

“Wouldn’t a grill-like apparatus solve all the problems we’ve encountered so far?” offers Yaoyorozu. "Just put a metal rack over his left side and have him lie down."

“Wait.” Uraraka’s eyes gleam with a sudden feral light. “Are you saying we could have a real barbecue in the dorms together?”

Oh no, Shouto thinks faintly. She’s smelled meat. She’s tired of being nice. She’s about to go apeshit.

The fact that smoke is rising from behind the 1-A dorm building is, surprisingly, not concerning. Shouta has seen those kids do far worse, and frankly as long as they don’t set off the fire alarm it’s all the same to him. The same cannot be said for class 1-F, who struggle to get anything palatable cooked at all; not for the first time, Shouta is glad that his class is at least competent in the kitchen and can keep themselves fed. If they burned something by accident, chances are it’ll turn out fine in the end.

The concerning part is that the smoke rising from behind the 1-A dorm building smells like barbecue. As Shouta approaches the building, it sounds like a barbecue too, the sizzling of a grill punctuated with the clatter of plates and the chatter of students. Kaminari is laughing far too loudly for comfort. Even more concerning is the fact that non-electric grills, due to fire safety regulations, are banned in the dorms without teacher supervision.

Shouta steps up to the door. It is unlocked. He briefly considers praying, decides that no god could protect him from his students anyways, and steps in.

Immediately, there’s screaming. Students startle. Someone dives under the table with a plate of food. Ashido is single-handedly destroying a whole fucking rack of ribs with gusto. Tokoyami is nursing a two-litre bottle of cream soda. Shinsou is sitting on the kitchen counter, cheeks packed like a chipmunk. “Hey sir,” he says, or presumably tries, and waves his fork in greeting.

Now, you see, this level of chaos would normally not be of note, especially if the kids decided to throw a potluck or communal party. No, Shouta is asking this because of what he sees in the middle of the kitchen.

With the windows flung open, he can see it: motherfucking Todoroki Shouto, in nothing but fireproof boxers, lying on his right side on the floor, fire quirk activated, under a sizzling metal rack of meat. Midoriya is in the middle of tenderly feeding Todoroki pieces of beef from his plate like a sultan being fed fucking grapes when Shouta clears his throat. His bone-breaking problem child startles and stares up at Shouta like an exceptionally gay deer in headlights. Todoroki leans over and bites the meat off of the chopsticks, completely uncaring.

Shouta is not paid enough for this.

“What,” says Shouta, “is happening.”

"Barbecue," the hell children chorus.

Kaminari has the audacity to chime in, "To be fair, sensei, grills might be banned at the dorms for fire safety—” he turns to Midoriya— “but not smoking hot bods!" He elbows Shouta’s red-faced student.

Ashido wields her chopsticks like a conductor’s baton. “You can ban a whole grill, but not a whole Todoroki!” she justifies.

“Expulsion. The term for banning a student is expulsion.”

“Details, details!”

Shouta closes his eyes and asks God why he must be tormented so.


“Yes, sensei!”

He cracks open his eyes in his most terrifying glare. “Explain.”

“Sensei, it is technically not against the rules, all parties involved have done an admirable job in keeping the operation contained and safe, and also… I really wanted some yakiniku,” Iida finishes with an uncharacteristic mumble. Shouta sighs. Clearly even the mightiest of teen wills shall fall to the siren call of food.

He takes in more details. Satou and Asui appear to be seasoning meat while Shouji mans the grill. Aoyama flutters about, offering cheese to all who pass by. Ojiro is mixing a dipping sauce. Bakugou is tearing into a steak the size of his own face, much like Shouta imagines a sabertooth tiger would. The teacher squints at the grill pattern. “Is that a handprint on that steak?”

“Well, I had to sear all the meat first, or else meat juice would be constantly coming down on me,” Todoroki defends. “Don’t worry, I washed my hands thoroughly.”

“Meat juice,” Shouta repeats tonelessly.

“Also, today’s technically Yakiniku Day,” Kaminari says. “It’s great class bonding!”

"So you all decided to use Todoroki's body to—to grill—you know what?”

Shouta’s expression suddenly clears up. His face is that of a man given divine revelation. His smile is soft and gentle. This is extremely disturbing for 1-A to witness. “I give up,” he says serenely. He turns around and leaves the way he came with perfect equanimity.

They all hear the door close. Present Mic gets out from under the table.

"I don't think he saw me. Do you guys think he saw me?"

“Nah,” Uraraka says, mouth already bulging with meat again. “You’re goo’.”

life-threatening memes for hero student teens


easy bake oven Today at 5:55 PM
i’m just saying
bath water is technically a broth if the water’s hot enough

i can’t believe it’s not aliens Today at 5:56 PM

staples brand spiderman Today at 5:56 PM
[it's true but he shouldn’t say it.png]

costco brand pikachu Today at 5:56 PM
okay but if bathwater is a broth then that means that bath bombs are like those stock cube thingies
you know like the ones with the weird french name

˜”*°• 𝓈𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓀𝓁𝑒 •°*”˜ Today at 5:57 PM
C’est un bouillon mon ami

costco brand pikachu Today at 5:57 PM
yeah what he said

stan loona Today at 5:57 PM
i hate this fucking family

spicy hot icy thot Today at 5:58 PM
so you’re the meat in the bath soup right

stan loona Today at 5:58 PM
I Hate This Fucking Family

spicy hot icy thot Today at 5:58 PM
[why are you booing me i'm right.png]

costco brand pikachu Today at 5:59 PM
jirou’s such a hater
jirou stop being a hater

stan loona Today at 5:59 PM
kami i’m about two seconds away from committing war crimes

spicy hot icy thot Today at 6:00 PM
anyways so we’ve concluded
bathwater is a broth
human stock with a bath bomb bouillon if you will

staples brand spiderman Today at 6:01 PM
todoroki i’m begging you please stop saying things

easy bake oven Today at 6:01 PM
no let him speak

spicy hot icy thot Today at 6:01 PM
so i have a question for the gamers

staples brand spiderman Today at 6:02 PM
oh no

spicy hot icy thot Today at 6:02 PM
does gamer girl bathwater qualify as like
premium human broth
like kobe beef but for bathwater

i can’t believe it’s not aliens Today at 6:02 PM

Several people are typing…



costco brand pikachu Today at 8:31 PM
hey gamers do you think shigaraki plays league
ultimate toxic game

floaty mcfloatface Today at 8:31 PM
he’s salty enough to
i bet he mains yasuo

costco brand pikachu Today at 8:32 PM

i can’t believe i’m not visible Today at 8:35 PM
wait someone explain this to a non-league pleb i don’t know why this is funny

floaty mcfloatface Today at 8:36 PM
everyone hates yasuo
he’s overpowered if he’s on the other team but every time he’s on your team he fails

Okay Boomer Today at 8:36 PM
Only if you’re not good enough to pull him off

costco brand pikachu Today at 8:37 PM

Okay Boomer Today at 8:37 PM

costco brand pikachu Today at 8:39 PM
i won’t believe until i see you do it while you’re on my team

Okay Boomer Today at 8:43 PM
Fine. I’ll join your fucking team tonight

costco brand pikachu Today at 8:44 PM

Okay Boomer Today at 8:45 PM
Don’t fucking pog at me you little bitch

costco brand pikachu Today at 8:46 PM
*aoyama voice* les poggeurs

˜”*°• 𝓈𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓀𝓁𝑒 •°*”˜ Today at 8:54 PM
This is absolutely not funny
Delete this immediately or my lawyer will be in contact

costco brand pikachu Today at 9:02 PM
this is why gamers are the most oppressed people :pensive:
a man can’t even pog
what other games do you guys think shigaraki plays

small might Today at 9:03 PM
i remember at the USJ he kept on calling everyone NPCs and stuff
he’s definitely a hardcore gamer
i’m thinking bioshock

i can’t believe i’m not visible Today at 9:05 PM
highkey wondering how many controllers he’s accidentally destroyed

target brand crimson riot Today at 9:08 PM
i wonder if he plays fortnite
just imagine him fortnite dancing

i can’t believe i’m not visible Today at 9:09 PM

costco brand pikachu Today at 9:12 PM
hagakure i would die for you
that gif is perfect
speaking of sans
do you guys think he’s played undertale

small might Today at 9:15 PM
if he’s an indie game kind of guy

costco brand pikachu Today at 11:57 PM
i just realized
todoroki has one blue left eye just like sans

The one thing that they don’t tell you about being a villain is how much of your budget has to be allotted to buying Advil. Now, Dabi’s not sure if that’s an average villainous experience, but it sure fucking is when you’re part of the League of Villains.

Take now, for example.

“What do you mean, ‘it’s cringe’? Undertale is an indie masterpiece and deserves to be judged on its own merits!” Shigaraki screeches. “Toby Fox’s use of the fourth wall as a narrative device of morality was genius!”

Spinner scoffs. “And what kind of leader of the League of Villains only plays True Pacifist one hundred-percent completion, hmm? Are you a wimp, Shigaraki?”

“Oh, please,” Toga says slyly, “as if I didn’t spot you sobbing after you accidentally killed Toriel in your first run.”

“Hey, that was supposed to be between me and God!”

“What God,” Kurogiri mutters exhaustedly. He motions for Dabi’s bottle of Advil, who begrudgingly slides it over. God knows the man needs it, parenting this entire shitfuck catastrophe as his full-time job.

Besides, even Dabi knows that Genocide route has the best battles. Playing Megalovania in the base might be grounds for a free disintegration treatment, but the music still slaps.

(Elsewhere, Todoroki Shouto is considering a hypothetical cosplay that involves bleaching his red hair. He contacts a certain pro hero, who had DMed him on Twitter after politely Orange Justicing with him on national television at the Valour Gala. He asks if Hawks knows anyone who could help him bleach his hair. It does not occur to him that one floor below, Kirishima is soundly sleeping.)

The sounds of squabbling reach a fever pitch as Spinner takes out his swords and Shigaraki assumes a fighting stance. In the din of shouting, nobody notices Dabi sneeze.

A box of quirk-made hair bleach sits on the counter of the dorm bathrooms. Shouto is only wearing shorts and slippers, sitting on a stool. His left hair is sectioned into four tiny ponytails. The person behind him receives a comb and a stony stare.


His brother makes a pained face in the mirror. “Shouto, Shouto I said I’m sorry—”

“Bitch, I’ll believe it when you finally visit Mom. What’s it been, a decade?” Shouto turns his head to give Touya the most judgemental stare a gay can muster. His brother’s shitty scar piercings tug at his skin with how hard Touya is cringing.

“Fucking Hawks,” Touya mutters under his breath, and then louder, “Okay, I’ll visit her later, but for now I’m just going to do what I came here for and leave.” Shouto’s villainous accomplice opens the box of bleach and starts getting to work. Very bold of him to assume Shouto’s going to let him off the hook that easily.

“Moving on,” Shouto says, with zero intention of moving on from roasting his older brother. “How exactly did Hawks—”

“Don’t ask questions if you’re not prepared to hear the answer.”

“Like how you shouldn’t leave the house and cut ties with all of us if you’re not prepared to live as a functional fucking member of society?” he fires back without missing a beat.

“I said,” Touya whines, dragging the comb through the current section a little too harshly, “that I was sorry, like, fifteen times already, Shouto.”

Shouto has no mercy. “What was that? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of abandonment, Dabi. And Fuyumi. Did I mention she’s going to kill you, by the way?”

Touya does a full-body shudder. “Don’t remind me.”

“Also, your name is incredibly edgy. Like, Dabi? Cremation? Really?”

“It’s the name of my fucking quirk!”

“Natsuo told me you picked out your quirk’s name yourself. A fledgling edgelord. A fledgelord. Oh, I should use that one on Tokoyami.”

Touya pauses his combing to pinch the bridge of his nose. Under the dorm bathroom lights, he looks a lot less intimidating. “How do your classmates even put up with you? I don’t remember you being this impudent when you were a kid.”

“Oh, I decided to go apeshit a few months ago. I think this is just who I really was, under all the trauma and repression. Onions have layers. I have layers.”

“Did you just quote Shrek at me?”

“Yes, do you have a problem with it?”

Touya doesn’t bother pinching his nose this time; he just sighs, deeply. With surprising grace and familiarity, his brother twists a section of Shouto’s hair up and pins it over. Shouto watches the colour slowly leach out of his left hair with vague interest.

“So… I heard that this was so you could cosplay a character?”

“Why, yes. I’m going to cosplay Sans Undertale and terrorize my classmates.”

Understandably, Touya has to take a moment to process this.

“Okay, fair. You have one left blue eye. I’ll accept this. Sans is cool. His boss battle is good.”

Shouto blinks. He could, of course, appear to make the rational assumption that Touya has played Undertale. It’s not like the League doesn’t have money. But is that really the right way to go, when he could instead clown Touya like no tomorrow?

He makes his decision. “So you’re a skeleton fucker, Touya?”

“What—no, Shouto, I don’t fuck skeletons.”

Shouto nods sagely. “Yes, because you can’t fuck a skeleton. Alright then.” He can spot Touya rolling his eyes. Rude. “If that’s not the case, then how do you know about Undertale?”

Touya stops combing bleach through his hair. Shouto looks up.

“Toga,” Touya says vacantly, “runs a Flowey kin blog.”

Understandably, Shouto has to take a moment to process this.

“Okay. That tracks,” he replies.

“It does?”

“Yeah. Just think about it.”

“…Now that I’m thinking about it, I hate how much sense it makes.”

“Me too.”

Touya takes out another bottle from the plastic bag on the ground and starts applying it. The lifeless bleached side seems to take on a new sheen, achieving the vitality that his right side has.

“Shigaraki and Spinner wouldn’t stop arguing over whether or not Undertale is good. Kurogiri had to put them in time-out yesterday.”


Dabi sprays some quirk-made substance that dries his hair. “They’re pretty much toddlers in a grown-up body. He has to portal them into their separate rooms and give them video games to play until they calm down.”


“I know.”

“No, I mean wow. You did a good job.”

Shouto stares at himself in the mirror. Without taking his eyes off of the glass, he carefully pulls on a blue hoodie, completing his black basketball shorts and fuzzy slippers. His left eye seems to burn even brighter than Endeavour’s with the power glinting in his eye.

“It’s perfect,” Shouto breathes. “Thank you, nii-san.”

“Any time, otou—” Touya coughs very loudly, as if a hairball suddenly got caught in his throat. While his brother is distracted by his allergic reaction to feelings, Shouto smiles widely, just as a certain skeleton might.

terminal stupid disease Retweeted

danki @chargebolt


[A TikTok video crossposted onto Twitter from the account @earphonejack. Several clips are shown in quick succession. The first shows the camera shakily following Kaminari Denki from behind as he rounds a corner. Megalovania begins to play very loudly from the camera as Kaminari screams. Simultaneously, Todoroki Shouto comes into view. He is in full Sans cosplay and is clearly Fortnite dancing with alarming speed towards the camera.

It immediately transitions into the next clip, filmed from the peephole of a door. Kaminari enters the frame, and the cameraman snickers. From behind the camera, a muted voice still foggy with sleep says “Kyouka, what are you doing…?” and almost immediately fades into a quiet snore. This, of course, does not last long, as Todoroki seemingly appears out of nowhere, flossing aggressively in the middle of the hallway. The door bursts open in time for Megalovania to start playing in harmony with Kaminari’s screams.

The other clips follow much of the same vein. The next one appears to be filmed from the hall vents, when all that Jirou plays is the sound of Sans speaking. Kaminari jumps, screams, and runs pell-mell down the hall, where he crashes into a potted plant and starts swearing.

Another one, where Kaminari is lying face-down on the floor in the common room, screaming “WHY MUST YOU DO THIS TO ME,” as Todoroki, Midoriya Izuku, and Uraraka Ochako circle him. They are all T-posing. Midoriya and Uraraka wear sweaters, his done in purple and blue and hers in green and yellow. All three have plastic, dollar store kazoos in their mouths, and are playing (if it can be called that) Megalovania with impressive harmonies.

The final clip in the video is filmed from a doorway. Kaminari is bolting down the hallway, screaming like a loose siren. It takes only a few seconds for a T-posing Todoroki to enter the frame, and less for him to leave it. Midoriya and Uraraka, both also T-posing, are hot on his heels, with Uraraka running upside-down across the ceiling.]


stan loona @earphonejack

geeettttttt dunked on

@karaagehero ✓

2:01 AM

it’s 2 AM
2:03 AM ✓

Yeah but do you want to come perform at a charity concert
It’s on the 29th
It’s to raise money against heteromorphic quirk discrimination
You sing or do some fancy stuff w/your quirk or dance or whatever
You in?
2:06 AM

why me
2:03 AM ✓

You were the centerpiece of the Valour Gala
If you came to this one you’d be showing your support of heteromorphs and simultaneously
leveraging your power to bring more attendees to this gala
It’s the Even Playing Field Concert
So it open to the public w/tickets
Which is why attendees are important
More money
2:15 AM

i’m down
2:19 AM ✓

Oh good
Mirko said she was going to dip me in batter and fry me at 165 degrees if you weren’t
2:21 AM

i respect her deeply
2:21 AM ✓

Are you simping for Mirko
2:22 AM

no i’m gay
but if i was into women i’d definitely simp
actually no “simp” implies that she isn’t worthy of worship
she’s badass as hell
legitimately a queen
2:25 AM ✓

You know what
You are valid
I just told her what you said and she DMed me a photo of her crying
Tears of joy I think
2:28 AM

on some level i know that i should be flipping out that i’m having these conversations
with the current number two hero + number five hero
but on the other hand
men who orange justice together stay together
also it’s past 2 AM we should sleep
2:31 AM ✓

Okay far
2:35 AM

2:43 AM

Now the question is, what does Shouto do at the concert?

His first outfit was, sadly, only so effective because it was his public debut as a memelord. He could, theoretically, wear the same thing, but what’s the fun in that? Plus Ultra—Go Beyond is the school motto, after all. Not only that, he has to put on some kind of performance now. He mulls over how exactly to upstage himself at the concert over studying and training.

A few days later, there's a knock on his door. “Shouto-kun?”

Recognizing the voice, he opens the door, already smiling softly. “Hello, Izuku.”

Izuku’s answering smile warms Shouto to the bone. “We’re having a Disney movie marathon downstairs in about an hour. I know you said that you didn’t get the chance to watch them, so I was wondering if you’d like to join us?”

Shouto blinks. “I finished all my work early this week, so yes, I’d like to join.”

“Great! Do you want any snacks? I'm going out on a snack run before we start.”

“Uhh, those dipping cracker snacks. Strawberry flavoured.”

“The Yan Yans?”

“Yeah, those.”

“Cool!” Izuku's eyes crinkle fondly. "I'll see you downstairs, then." He waves and takes his leave.

This is one of many things that Shouto loves dearly about Izuku: he’s always trying to make Shouto comfortable, sometimes at the expense of his own comfort. Shouto almost feels guilty knowing that Izuku is willing to go to the ends of the earth for him, and tries to repay him at every turn possible. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to match Izuku’s unconditional kindness in a million lifetimes, but the beautiful smile he gets when he gets Izuku a new merch item or a snack from the konbini makes him think he’ll come close, someday.

It’s the little things, he supposes.

The last time the class did a movie marathon, Shouto stepped out of his room to grab some water after three hours wrangling an English reading and was promptly swept into the common room and forcibly sat down by no less than three people. By the time it was over, several of his classmates were crying, and Izuku was curled up against his side, humming Merry-go-round of Life and drawing swirls of magic into Shouto’s palm. He’d dreamed of catbuses and floating castles and airplanes for a week straight afterwards.

If this is anything like that, Shouto can't wait.

Half an hour later, he wanders down to the first floor in hot pink sweatpants and a pastel yellow sweater with cats lovingly sewn onto it. The first time he had worn this outfit downstairs, Aizawa had fixed him with the longest stare he had ever experienced in his life. Now his teacher only sighs a little when he passes by him in the kitchen. He starts the silent electric kettle and peels the lid of a cup noodle back. The glorious package of MSG-rich, sodium-laden powder goes straight in and dissolves in hot water with a fsshhhh. He breathes in the smell of junk food as he carries his dinner to the common room table.

Kaminari is already curled up in one of the chairs, charger cord between his teeth as he powers through a level of Plants vs. Zombies on his phone. Shouto tugs out the chair across from him and sits down to eat. “What flavour,” Kaminari says, not looking up from his game.

“Uh.” Shouto lifts the cup to read the label. “...Soba.”

“They make cup soba?”

“It was a gift.” He very deliberately does not mention who gifted it to him. “It’s not bad.”

“Are you eating it cold or warm?”

Shouto presses his palm to the underside of the cup and activates his quirk. Kaminari looks up at the tinkling sound. Ice starts to form between the noodles; Shouto extracts it as one large frozen block, sticky from sauce with a light layer of frozen grease on top, and takes a bite. “Well, it’s cold now,” he says after processing a mouthful of slushy ice shards and crackling soba.

“Jesus Christ,” Kaminari says with feeling, “I shouldn’t have come to this school.”

Kirishima comes out of the kitchen, happily unaware of Kaminari’s distress, and hands Shouto his own steaming cup noodle. “Hey bro, you know what to do.”

Shouto nods, freezes the noodles inside, and tosses them up in the air. Kaminari makes a dying noise as Kirishima jumps up and sinks his sharklike teeth directly into the frozen block of grease, noodles, and MSG like a dog catching a frisbee.

“Dinner is served,” Shouto says with a slight smile, and savours his own Flavour Block. What Kaminari doesn’t know is that Shouto can melt it back into palatable and cool instant zaru soba in his mouth, but Kaminari doesn’t need to know that. Shouto slurps down his noodles in what should be an impossibly fast time for a block of ice, ignores Kaminari’s awed and terrified stare, and washes his hands.

Shinsou rises from the dead over on the couch, stares at Shouto’s smug expression for 0.2 seconds before dumping himself into the chair next to Kaminari and diving into his lap. “Hitoshi,” Kaminari whines, “you just missed a war crime being committed in front of me.”

“Mmhmm. The zombies just ate your brains, by the way,” Shinsou supplies helpfully.

“Hitoshi,” Kaminari says with the cadence of a preschool tattletale, “he froze his cup noodles into a block of ice. And ate it like that.”

“He’s already been doing that for Kirishima on a regular basis.”

“God, I thought I was having a fever dream when I saw that.”

“He just jumped up, right?”

Kaminari gesticulates. “Like a dog,” he says, and then buries his hand in Shinsou’s hair, who closes his tired eyes.

Shouto smiles at their banter and moves to the sofa area, tossing out the empty cup on his way out.

Sprawled out over the sofas are his classmates—friends, really—relaxing in a mishmash of pajamas and sweatpants on the Friday evening before another weekend grind. Baskets of snacks dot the small coffee tables next to the sofas, beanbags, and the futons dragged from people’s own closets. There isn’t a single spot of hard floor that Shouto can see among the pillows and blankets. Sero’s laptop is hooked up to the huge TV with a cable, showing his Netflix home screen. Ashido is snoring loudly, one hand over her eyes, as Hagakure doodles a very tiny penis on each of her fingernails in blue Sharpie. Tsuyu is bundled up in the same fluffy pink blanket as Uraraka, sat together on the couch like a particularly large and cute piece of sakura mochi. Koda is letting his rabbit play nearby, where Ojiro is batting a ball back and forth with the rabbit using his tail.

“Oi, Todoroki!” Kirishima waves at him from where he’s attached to a very begrudging Bakugou like a koala, or a barnacle. “There’s a spot next to Midoriya, go sit!” He then winks very obviously as Bakugou growls something about shitty fucking Deku and shitty fucking Icyhot.

“Any suggestions for the first movie?” Jirou asks, nestled into and looking very content in Yaoyorozu’s lap. “I am taking votes for everything except Cars and anything in the Cars cinematic universe.” She throws a glare at Tokoyami. “That also means Planes and Fire and Rescue. Do not give me that bullshit again.”

Tokoyami puts his hand down.

Votes are thrown around, and all Shouto can do is watch helplessly as his friends—his friends!—bicker lovingly over whether the live action of Hercules could ever hold a candle to the original. Satou sings a line about you’re welcome, which gets a round of surprised applause from all around. Aoyama and Uraraka debate over whether The Great Fairy Rescue or Secret of the Wings was the better Tinker Bell movie, until Shouji instantly shuts them both up with “obviously The Lost Treasure was better, y’all just don’t appreciate Terrence enough.”

It’s cozy. Shouto hasn’t felt this comfortable in a long, long time. Most of his formative years were spent wondering when the fuck he’d get away from his father’s influence. After coming to UA and moving into the dorms, it was like he’d lost his roots altogether, a stranger no matter where he was. Up until very recently, he didn’t feel like he really had a home, one that he belonged to and one that belonged to him.

Now, with Izuku leaning on his shoulder and stealing Yan Yans when he thinks Shouto isn’t looking, Shouto thinks he’s found a home for himself right here, in this chaotic clusterfuck of fuzzy slippers and spilled chips and spilling laughter.

Jirou eventually calms the furious debate on what to watch and whittles it down to a still-hefty list of movies. Sero queues everything up on his laptop and hits play as everyone settles in.

A few hours later, Shouto is completely absorbed in last year’s remaster of Frozen.

“I’m never going back,” Elsa belts, “the past is in the past—”

It’s as though he’s discovering The Shirt all over again, this time complete with a Grammy-winning soundtrack. Frost crawls up his back, crossing the bridge of his shoulders onto the fire side of his body, spiralling in frozen fractals through his nerves. I am seen, it says, and I am heard and I exist and this is who I am. In that moment, armed with The Shirt and with God and anime Disney on his side, Shouto’s third eye opens, and he sees All. The cosmic universe frog croaks divine wisdom directly into his mortal ear once more, and he is replete with Knowledge. The moment passes, but Shouto’s inspiration remains.

Quietly, he looks around at the others. Everyone is perfectly enraptured in the movie. Nobody is watching.

He gently grasps Izuku’s wrist. Izuku startles slightly, and then looks at Shouto in fond confusion. His heart swells as he moves his hands to cradle Izuku’s face and sees him lean forward, wide-eyed with hope.

“Thank you,” Shouto whispers, “for inviting me here,” and then kisses him square on the lips.

life-threatening memes for hero student teens


stan loona Today at 6:53 PM
best jeanist just got on stage lmao
holy fuck he’s got a guitar im hyped
nevermind post cancelled he sucks

Poor Yorick Today at 6:56 PM
What a mad banquet of darkness
His voice seems to be refined though

stan loona Today at 6:56 PM
his wrist looks like it’s gonna snap in half he doesn’t deserve rights

i can’t believe it’s not aliens Today at 6:57 PM

stan loona Today at 6:58 PM
thank god he's leaving i was about to tape a stick to his wrist
he may be the number 3 hero but he's got the shittiest grip on that guitar i have ever seen

costco brand pikachu Today at 7:01 PM
wait where are you rn?

stan loona Today at 7:04 PM
even playing field concert
the thing where a ton of heroes and celebrities go on stage and perform shit/sing/play music for charity against heteromorphic discrimination
it’s a very sexy and awesome thing to do
the hero/celeb singers always get the biggest reactions bc they’re either hilariously bad or jaw-droppingly amazing there is no in between
you can pass on that and do flashy aesthetic stuff with your quirk only but the singing grabs so many tickets
so far the best singer was, weirdly, wash

costco brand pikachu Today at 7:09 PM

stan loona Today at 7:10 PM
here with me suffering is resident poe wannabe

Poor Yorick Today at 7:11 PM
Hawks insisted I attend, though I can't fathom why
I do appreciate it though

Takoyaki Today at 7:12 PM
Well you’re his intern
And you have a heteromorphic quirk
I couldn’t come this year but I try to at least watch it every year
It’s nice to know people care about us

Real Life Disney Princess Today at 7:15 PM
I’m glad too!\(^ω^\)
Especially since they feature lots of heteromorph musicians that don’t normally get the spotlight

kero Today at 7:16 PM
heteromorph squad :]

curious george Today at 7:17 PM
heteromorph squad
i swear to god if someone touches my tail without asking again i will lose it

walmart brand eraserhead Today at 7:19 PM
fuck i forgot to mtee before my nap
oh sick wait lemme join the broadcast
i forgot this was today

Ingenium Today at 7:21 PM
We’re playing it on the television in the common room, Shinsou-kun!
Please feel free to join us! :smile:

stan loona Today at 7:26 PM
idk how they rigged the cameras but there’s a bunch of them floating around
how are they not crashing into each other
also damn the skill of this octopus quirk guy on the piano
his phrasing is flawless

staples brand spiderman Today at 7:28 PM
{ dont(); }

floaty mcfloatface Today at 7:29 PM
i could probably get the cameras in the air but they’d all crash

small might Today at 7:30 PM
a quirk based on centripetal motion could probably do the job! pushing that, i’ve heard of people with puppeteer quirks? but it would take a lot of work to prevent wind-ups

Easy Make Oven Today at 7:31 PM
@stan loona
Kyouka, darling, I hope you’re ready for the next performance

stan loona Today at 7:31 PM
babe what

Easy Make Oven Today at 7:32 PM
As they say
Uno reverse card, my love <3

stan loona Today at 7:32 PM
wait what

Poor Yorick Today at 7:32 PM
what on earth

stan loona Today at 7:32 PM

Several people are typing…

The opening piano lines to Let It Go ring out through the stadium. A thunderous roar ripples through the audience as Todoroki walks on stage, clad in Elsa’s first teal-and-black gown. A beautiful purple cape ripples behind him, and a delicate rendition of her crown glitters on his head, made entirely of Todoroki’s own ice.

Yuuga sparkles with joy backstage at the glorious design. Many hours spent poring over his first real fashion commission, adding personal touches to the embroidery, painstakingly stitching on hundreds if not thousands of rhinestones; he deserves to be proud. He’d hijacked Sero’s Netflix subscription for a week straight, getting stills on Elsa’s gowns in the highest definition possible, and then did it again the next week to study-watch several documentaries on Dior’s ateliers and creative process. His final creation is his own adaptation of her gown, uniquely patterned for Todoroki-kun.

Beside him, Yaoyorozu stands with her arms crossed over her chest, looking smug and purposely ignoring the onslaught of messages rattling her phone. Her part in this chaos is equally important: she’d provided the rhinestones, helped swatch fabric colours, and replaced parts in Yuuga’s sewing machine when they broke down. It was really thanks to her vigilance that they got away with doing this in the dorms without being discovered in the first place.

And of course, Todoroki positively glimmers. He’d been watching the Broadway adaptation of Frozen at breakfast when he saw the glory of the dress transition. How’d they pull it off back then, before quirks? Research told him the dress was a tear-away, but after recruiting Yaoyorozu, they had access to a very particular fabric that would make the dramatics that much more effective. Out of sheer necessity, Yuuga made Todoroki learn how to sew two weeks before the concert. He hasn’t slept in nearly two days. His fingers are probably bleeding. He doesn’t care. He’s fabulous.

Yuuga watches Todoroki lift the microphone to his lips and begin to sing.

stan loona Today at 7:33 PM

Poor Yorick Today at 7:33 PM
I had no idea Todoroki was so gifted at singing

small might Today at 7:33 PM

floaty mcfloatface Today at 7:33 PM

i can’t believe it’s not aliens Today at 7:33 PM

costco brand pikachu Today at 7:33 PM

target brand crimson riot Today at 7:33 PM

costco brand pikachu Today at 7:33 PM
@small might @spicy hot icy thot

target brand crimson riot Today at 7:33 PM

easy bake oven Today at 7:33 PM

target brand crimson riot Today at 7:33 PM

easy bake oven Today at 7:33 PM
i leave for one second to check my batch of cookies and todoroki is singing let it go on stage and midoriya is apparently dating him

Ingenium Today at 7:34 PM
Do not message Midoriya at this time! He appears to be very emotional and will not be able to respond to your inquiries!
He likely revealed this information in the throes of his emotional outburst and I ask that you respect his privacy at this time!

small might Today at 7:34 PM

curious george Today at 7:34 PM
they’re dating? wait i thought they were just

small might Today at 7:34 PM

curious george Today at 7:34 PM
the densest pair of hopeless idiots
christ midoriya’s in hysterics

i can’t believe i’m not visible Today at 7:34 PM
what the fuck is going on in here

small might Today at 7:34 PM

Okay Boomer Today at 7:34 PM
Motherfucking Icyhot?
Rickrolling piece of shit Icyhot?

i can’t believe it’s not aliens Today at 7:34 PM
wait todoroki rickrolled you?

Okay Boomer Today at 7:34 PM
Jesus christ Deku

i can’t believe it’s not aliens Today at 7:34 PM

small might Today at 7:34 PM

floaty mcfloatface Today at 7:34 PM
wow todoroki’s getting really into the lyrics
who tf taught him how to sing
why does he sound so good

stan loona Today at 7:34 PM

All is quiet in the Todoroki household: Shouto’s in the dorms, no doubt inventing new methods of disrespecting his father’s authority; Fuyumi said she was going to be out with a few coworkers, but Enji saw the notifications in her phone that very clearly said pick up Natsuo and visit Mom.

The fridge is almost as empty as the house, but Enji grabs a beer from the back. It barely even fizzes when he cracks it open with a spoon, which goes to show just how long it’s been sitting there. He sinks into the worn cushion in front of the television, sighs, and takes a swig of his flat beer.

It’s too quiet in the house. Once, Enji would have hated the sound of little feet pattering across tatami and the squeals of too many children. Now he just wants to hear something other than the wind rattling Rei’s chimes at the door.

Enji picks up the remote. Not much he can do about that now. He turns on the television.

He stares at the broadcast of his son.

“Let it go,” Shouto sings, “let it go! Can’t hold it back anymore!” He can’t stop smiling. The entire crowd is singing with him. The glint of thousands of phone lights, swaying back and forth in time with the music, makes brightness swell in his chest.

“Let it go—” he summons a glimmering flare of snow to his right—“let it go!” A gout of sparks burst over the audience to his left. “Turn away and slam the door!

He stares straight into the camera. He addresses this one straight to his shitty old man, whether he’s watching or not. “I don't care what they're going to say! Let the storm rage on!”

He grins sharply, victoriously. “The cold never bothered me anyway.”

Shouto muses about how much his time at UA has changed him as he sings. The school that was supposed to be yet another shackle of his father’s vision instead afforded him freedom that he could’ve never dreamed of. Midoriya, all the new friends he made, all the support and laughter and cursed barbecue that they shared and memes and thrift store t-shirts—his experiences broke the fears that once controlled him, tested the limits and broke the internet, and made Shouto freer than he has ever been in his life.

The twin jets of his quirk flurry through the air and he declares with wild happiness:

“I'm never going back, the past is in the past!”

He slams his left foot on the ground, and flames burst under his heel. The heat-sensitive fabric of his dress flares to life, the black-and-teal turning to brilliant turquoise, rising like the break of dawn. At the peak of the song, he reaches skyward, unfurling his arms gracefully as Momo instructed him into the burst of fire that tosses his hair in every direction, leaving him backlit in the flames on the frozen stage.

Long gone is the perfect son of Endeavour. Shouto lets go.

“Here I stand,” he cries, “in the light of day! Let the storm rage ON!”

The music quiets, and he laughs a little into the mic. “The cold never bothered me anyway.”

The crowd explodes with noise. He thinks he can spot Jirou and Tokoyami somewhere a bit to the back and left. He gestures backstage. Momo and Aoyama stride forward, confident and proud with their work. “The designers!” he yells into the mic. “Give them a round of applause!” The crowd, incredibly, gets louder. Somewhere in the back, Hawks is weeping loudly with fried-chicken pride while Mirko leads an encore cheer among the crowd. Shouto has never felt more jubilant in his life.

He laughs openly and loudly, and the three of them bow to the crowd before striding offstage.

Enji turns the television off.

He gets up, goes upstairs, and lies on the bed with his hands folded over his chest and regrets every decision he has ever made, period.