#I HAVE THOSE POLLS AND EVERYTHING BRO i should catch up on those

[sea-jello]

every day i live knowing i will never get australian boyf riends content

[lionheartkrbkzine]

Lionheart’s Interactive KiriBaku Twitter Thread

Pro Heroes, Bed-Sharing, Fake Dating, Quirk Accident

Rating: T (for swearing & canon-typical violence)

At the end of each Twitter update was an overnight poll where our followers got to decide the direction of the plot or details about story elements!

Feel free to reply with your thoughts, predictions, or desires, and Head Mod ET and Social Media Mod Belle will do our best to incorporate your ideas! This is a thank you and a way for us all to collaborate together until application responses are sent out on April 5th.

🧡❤️💥⚙️💥❤️🧡

Three buildings were on fire, and it wasn’t Bakugou’s fault.

Blackened smokestacks billowed above the Tokyo cityscape as he and Kirishima raced toward the scene. Bakugou took to the skies while his partner swerved between sedans and work trucks parked bumper-to-bumper on the roadway. Bakugou’s boots skid on the rough gravel of rooftops as he blasted from one to the next, his scorching propellant warping the air behind him, leaving trails of Schlieren lines in his wake.

He crouched on the edge of a four-story building above the battle, glimpses of a hero battle raging beneath the haze of ash and concrete dust. Heroes with water-based quirks tried and failed to mitigate the damage of six gangly beams of red-hot light.

“Riot, you got eyes?” he asked into his earpiece.

“Not directly on the prize, but I’m getting intel now! Are you seeing how the beams flicker in and out?”

“Yeah. Probably low level of quirk control or erratic mentality. Or both.”

“The team leader on the ground says the villain’s in a donut hole of concrete. Rubble’s piled up on all sides, so no one can get to him.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes. “Amateurs.” The villain probably got himself cornered in a pit of fallen debris and figured he could wait it out or cause enough damage to try to make a run for it. “Shock Diamond, then.”

“Now?! Finally?! Hell yeah, let's go!"

Bakugou felt the heat of the lasers as one shaved the side of his building. He sneered at the heroes doing a piss-poor job of containment and checked behind him for the extent of the damage. A singed line gouged into the wall of a parking garage, but it stopped with a blunted tip before it speared the next building. The lasers didn’t seem to work like Aoyama’s — they could only extend so far.

Not made out of light, then. Kiri will be fine.

Not that he was worried about his partner. Kirishima could handle himself.

Even if Bakugou did pack the idiot a lunch every day and nudge him to go to bed when he fell asleep on the couch. And bought him cold medicine when he stayed out late walking Mirko’s seventy-eight-year-old receptionist home on dark, rainy nights. And bleached and dyed his roots when they started growing out.

But he wasn’t worried. The fact that the beams must be a form of slow-moving energy just gave them a tactical advantage. It had nothing to do with the fact that Kirishima’s hardening was more sensitive to concentrated light attacks yet the hero would bulldoze his way in front of them anyway.

The idiot’s voice rang through Bakugou’s earpiece. “Greenlight, Dynamight!”

“No matter how many times you say it, the rhyme doesn’t get any catchier.” Like a swimmer, he gripped the edge of the roof, rose halfway from his crouch, and dove into the pool of ash and smoke head-first. 

Catching the current mid-air, he soared closer to where Kirishima was probably charging into the fray. Bakugou used the familiar shock of red hair as his signal and dropped feet-first, sending down a counterblast to stick the landing. 

As Dynamight set himself up directly behind Red Riot, they charged the villain in a single-file line. 

Without missing a beat, Kirishima extended his arms behind him at the same time Bakugou pushed his chest into the other man’s back. Kirishima’s arms locked onto Bakugou’s sides.

Bakugou tucked his chin, extended his hands behind him, and sent out a blinding explosion.

They rocketed forward — an unbreakable wall and a ballistic force. The perfect offense and defense. Explosion and Hardening. 

Dynamight and Red Riot: Shock Diamond.

As they smashed through the rubble, the devastating strength of Red Riot’s quirk wracked through Bakugou’s body, but Kirishima held him tightly against his back. The shock waves cleared from Bakugou’s spine, and he jumped into the rapidly-clearing fog of smoke and dust.

His eyes widened. He whipped his head from side to side. He stopped, listened.

The pit was empty.

Meeting his partner’s eyes, Bakugou could only think of one thing to say. “What the fuck?!”

But Red Riot was similarly dumbfounded, his brows furrowed and jaw hanging slack, glancing around the center of the crater.

Bakugou kicked at a fallen pebble, its mere presence offensive in the heat of his frustration. 

“Dynamight! Red Riot!” An aged hero with a sky blue costume ran toward them, waving his arms in ridiculous circles and spraying arcs of water through the air. “Good work out there!”

“We didn’t do shit! We just busted through a wall!”

"What Bakugou means to say is 'thank you', sir!”

“Well, the guy’s a problem for tomorrow’s heroes now. I’ve sent a team to scout the perimeter, and the police have his mugshot and quirk info. Another group is putting out the last of the fires. We’re lucky it’s a weekend — no one in those office buildings meant no casualties.” The older hero jiggled and sloshed as he rested his hands on his service belt, the edges of his existence just barely see-through as his costume molded to his mutation quirk. “For now, we need you two to handle some of the media coverage while we start to get a section of road opened back up.”

“No problem! Leave it to us!”

Flubber strode off, his boots leaving wet footprints on the asphalt.

Bakugou turned to his partner. “No.”

"Hey— where are you going?! You can't just leave the press to me all the time!"

Huffing, Bakugou slipped through an unblocked alleyway, brushing concrete crumbs off his shoulders as he took deep breaths. Normally he would feel some semblance of guilt about leaving a crime scene or abandoning Kirishima to fend off the harpies on his own, but the villain did escape. Bakugou might as well join the search of the perimeter.

A sharp scream had his feet slapping the pavement before his brain caught up.

Rounding the corner of an office park, the street opened up to allow for a municipal park one block long and one wide. Amidst swing sets and jungle gyms stood a proud maple tree. In one of its branches clung a girl no more than six years old.

Below her, a group of parents huddled in a crescent moon around the trunk, some gawking, some enjoying the entertainment, and others consoling one woman in the center of it all. Bakugou made a beeline for her.

She jumped at the hulking form of a grenade-adorned hero. He never tried very hard to work on his public image.

“Oh, Dynamight.” The whites of the woman’s eyes gaped in surprise, and she looked back and forth between the imposing hero and the girl high up in the tree. “She just— She feels more secure when she’s up high, and she got scared by all the noise and the lights, so she climbed into the tree, but now she can’t get back down and she’s too high for me to reach her, and I can’t climb up—”

“Stop.” The woman snapped her teeth closed with a click. “I’ll get her down.”

She didn’t look especially reassured. Shit. What would Kirishima do? Probably flash a smile and bang his fists together or some other cute-ass Kirishima-ism. Bakugou gave her a closed-mouth smile and a stiff pat on the shoulder instead. That’ll do.

Grasping a branch with one hand and placing the flat of his boot on the trunk, he hoisted himself into the tree. He climbed higher and higher, wary of the thinning branches. When he couldn’t fit on the remaining limbs, he lifted his arms out for the girl.

“C’mon, I’ll take you back to your mom.” His voice was soft, low, and practiced. The girl eyed him warily, but after catching a glimpse of her mom below, shuffled into Bakugou’s hold. “Good job. Just hold on to me like you did to the branch, okay?”

She nodded against his shoulder, and he began his climb back down.

“What’s your name?”

“Matatabi,” she mumbled.

“What were you doin’ that high up?”

“Wanted to catch it.”

He frowned, wondering what it was, but they had reached the bottom and he had reached his patience quota for the day. Especially when the girl threw a fit in his arms, hissing and wiggling, and pushing and scratching at him. “Oi!” He dropped her, and she scurried to her mom, leaving him with whiplash and three welts on his bicep.

“Oh. Oh, dear.” The mother looked like she was about to confess to murder. Great. “Did she scratch you?”

No shit. “Yes, but it’s completely understandable.”

“Ah, awe, thank you—” at least he got a smile out of that one “—but, um, there may be a bit of an issue?” Of course there is. “She seems to activate her quirk when she scratches or bites.” She grimaced, floundering for her next words.

He took a deep breath. It wasn’t the kid’s fault. “It’s fine. What should I expect with the effects?”

“Um. Cat?”

He blinked. “Cat?”

She nodded. “Cat.”

“Dynamight!”

They both looked up then to Red Riot’s jogging figure, dust and cement billowing behind his ass cape. 

“Everything alri-oh.” Kirishima was staring somewhere above Bakugou’s forehead, his mouth formed in the perfect ‘O’ shape.

“What are you looking at?!”

“Ears.”

Bakugou’s stomach fell into his butt. “What?”

“Bro… ears. You have… ears.”

“No.”

“Dude they look so soft.” Slow hands lifted higher and higher, above Bakugou’s face up to the top of his head. “Can I just—”

Bakugou slapped his hands away. “Don’t you dare,” he hissed.

Kirishima chortled— chortled! — and turned to the mother of the tree climbing, cat nabbing daughter.

Bakugou watched the exchange with clenched fists.

“I’m so sorry!” She bowed low, almost tipping her kid onto the ground. “Is she in trouble?”

“No, no!” Kirishima smiled at them. They seeped into it like a warm blanket on a cold day. “We’ll just get your contact information in case we have any further questions about the quirk—”

A sharp pain stung both of Bakugou’s palms. He hissed and checked his hands, tuning out the rest of Kirishima’s mediation.

Claws. He had ears and claws.

Well, at least he had another weapon now — that was pretty cool, actually. As soon as the thought passed through his head, the claws retracted into his nail beds, leaving behind his normal, blunt nails.

He felt his ears droop to the side of his head.

“So… do you want to head back to the agency?”

He looked up at his partner, giving him his best baleful glare with the ears and all. Kirishima just snorted. “There’s no way in Hell I’m going back there like this.”

“Awe, but you could be our new office mascot.” He reached forward to pet Bakugou’s ear again. He was unsuccessful. “Alright, alright,” he laughed, pulling out his phone, “let’s call Mirko and get our next orders, then.” The ringer blasted loud and clear, Kirishima holding his phone in selfie-mode.

“You little shit! She doesn’t need to see!”

They played a game of impromptu tag until their boss picked up. She, of course, immediately burst into guffaws of laughter. 

Bakugou was so ready for today to be over.

“Hey, boss! What, uh— What do you suggest we do here with uh, Cat...kugou?”

“I’ll kill you,” he whispered.

“Hell if I know, I’ve never needed flea prevention.” Bakugou balked. “Take him to the vet, I guess!”

“Yessir!” Kirishima hung up before Bakugou could even process the words that just came out of his boss’s mouth.

“I am not—” he huffed “—going—” huff “—to the fucking VET!”

🧡❤️💥⚙️💥❤️🧡

If All Might himself had told Bakugou that hero life would involve sitting on a metal exam table in a veterinarian’s office, he wouldn’t believe a word of it. Not because it was impossible. Just because Bakugou would never get himself into that kind of situation.

He craned his neck back, glaring at his reflection in the operating mirror hanging from the ceiling. Two ash blond ears twitched back at him.

He sighed, crossing his arms and adjusting his seat on the hard metal. If I grow a tail, I’m gonna scream.

After what felt like hours of waiting, twitching, and reading pamphlets about “What to do if you have a fat cat,” the vet finally strode through the door, Kirishima hot on her heels.

She turned, frowning. “Oh, I’m so sorry — I know you’re hero partners, but technically the exam room is family only."

Bakugou’s eyes flicked to Kirishima. His partner met his desperate glare head-on.

[llantano]

Turning Leaves, 7. What We Need To Cling To

Dorian listened to the quiet house after David left. David had gone to find out what Viki was doing that gave her such an advantage in the polls. Dorian wasn't sure where the rest of her family was.

She tried to entertain herself with keeping busy for a while but there was nothing distracting enough to keep her attention. She was standing alone in the middle of the sitting room with a cup of warm coffee between her palms when she realized she had an opportunity to visit Shaun.

She abandoned the drink in the foyer as she changed into a buttoned jacket and grabbed her purse.

The hospital was cool and sterile and her shoes had soles that did not click against the hard floors. She did not want to draw attention to her visit. She smiled amicably to each nurse she passed in the hall as they nodded to her on their way to take care of whatever task was at hand.

She watched them to be sure they didn't look overwhelmed as she continued with hesitance to an open visitor area and read each room number on the sides of the doors. She had reached the door she was looking for when someone stepped out of it and turned to her.

"Dorian Lord?" the middle-aged African-American woman, who was wearing a homemade shawl, bit with a disapproving tone. Dorian could see the family resemblance she held with her children.

Dorian stepped toward her, swallowing as she offered an apologetic smile. "Mrs. Evans?"

Mrs. Evans sighed at her, frowning, with nothing to say. Dorian's jewelry seemed to catch her eye for a moment, but not in a good way.

Dorian extended her hand. "Shaun always told me such wonderful things. And we're so glad to have Dr. Evans on staff here in Llanview."

Mrs. Evans crossed her arms and kept her gaze fixed on the other woman, leaving Dorian standing in an awkward position with her hand outstretched.

In a brief instant, a taller man appeared out of the hospital room and reached forward from behind Mrs. Evans, grasping Dorian's hand. "Doctor Lord?" he asked in a pleasant voice.

"Mr. Evans?" she asked, nodding to him as she shook his hand, relieved to find someone pleasant and reasonable.

"Richard," he told her as he put each of his hands on his wife's shoulders. "I see you met my wife, Phylicia."

"Yes," Dorian confirmed to him, smiling and shifting her feet, uncomfortable. "I was just about to tell her what a wonderful family you have."

Mrs. Evans glared at her. "Did you come to offer your condolences, or to apologize?"

Dorian eyed her, confused by her attitude. She looked at Shaun's father and then back at his mother. "Actually," she answered in as sweet and humble a tone as she could muster, "I was hoping to speak to Shaun."

They all three turned and looked in the doorway at her comatose ex-employee.

"He's indisposed at the moment," Mrs. Evans bit.

Her husband started to speak – to offer some word to sway her – but Dorian interrupted.

"Mrs. Evans, I would really appreciate it if you would just let me have a minute with him. As a mother, I deeply identify with what you are going through right now, and I understand your feelings about all this," she insisted. "Shaun was always very good to me, and I was often unappreciative, but I am absolutely devastated that this happened to him – and that not only was he hurt in my home, but it was while he was trying to protect my family." She interlaced her fingers backwards, holding her palms to the middle of her chest as she gazed at Mrs. Evans, her eyes pleading for understanding.

"He was willing to risk his life for your family," Mrs. Evans informed her, "And you fired him from probably the best job he ever had." Her angry words revealed her pain. "He loved working with your family, and I always felt he was safe with you." She shook her head as she spoke, her words heated and emotional. "And even after you fired him, he was STILL willing to lay his life down for you all."

"I know," Dorian whispered to her in apology. "And I'd like to thank him for that," she said, her inflection sounding like a question, keeping check on her own emotions and measuring her breath.

Mr. Evans guided his wife toward the waiting area, nodding at Dorian.

Dorian watched them until they were seated and then turned back to Shaun, stepping into his room a little bit at a time, trying to wrap her mind around him as she crept to his bedside. She had seen hundreds of patients like this before – some she knew personally and some she didn't – but Shaun intruded on her emotional stamina. He looked so vulnerable and so quiet. His face, his body, and his features were clearly Shaun. His lack of strength and lack of passion were not.

She leaned over him to speak to him at a more intimate level. "Shaun?" she whispered. She offered him a quiet explanation. "Listen, I know I might be the last person you want to hear from right now, but I just wanted to tell you…."

She paused and looked around, locating a chair, which she pulled close to him and sat in, picking up his large hand and holding it in a soft embrace between both of hers as she spoke from her heart. "I just wanted to tell you how much … I appreciate you, and how much … I want you to wake up, Shaun." She turned and looked over her shoulder, toward his parents. "Wouldn't you like to see Starr and Hope again? I know they'd like to thank you."

She sighed and sat with him in thought for a moment before speaking again. "Listen, I know your brother blames himself for this situation you're in … and most people are blaming Mayor Lowell for everything that happened – and he should be blamed," Dorian nodded, frowning. "But I don't think any of this would ever have happened if I hadn't worked for that … " she sighed before snarling, "… low-down, wretched … S.O.B." She looked around again to assure herself that she was alone with Shaun.

She clutched Shaun's hand and looked at him with all her sympathy. "You see, he knew where to find Hope and Starr, and I'm the one who told him Cole was undercover. So no matter what anyone else comes in here and tells you…." She took a deep breath. "It's all on me." She placed his hand back on the bed and straightened and smoothed his covers.

"The part of the whole situation that is even more detestable is that you were working for …Todd… when you were shot," she told him as she worked. She stood in place and furrowed her brows as a pang pierced her chest. "I'm just so glad you were there, Shaun," she whispered to him, sitting back down and leaning on the edge of his bed as she touched his arm.

"You can not imagine how relieved I was when I heard you were going to be alright," she smiled through sadness, tearing up. "We were all so traumatized … I saw the blood in the foyer … you lost a lot of blood." She shook her head and sniffled, trying to get ahold of herself as she forced herself to keep smiling.

The tears in her eyes did not let up, though she continued to succeed in holding them back. "And then when I found out you were in a coma, oh, god, my heart just felt like lead. You of all people … you don't deserve this. Your family doesn't deserve this. … And frankly, Shaun," she smiled through the tears she was managing to keep in her eyes, "I miss you like crazy." Her smile was genuine. "It's true. La Boulaie isn't the same without you there."

Again, she sat in silence with him, thinking. She took a deep, refreshing breath, clearing the sadness in her eyes.

"On the day I fired you, you were the only person who stopped to notice how I was feeling. I mean, other people knew I was angry – but you knew I was hurting, and you dealt with me … delicately. As much as I would let you. I was terribly ungrateful that day. And the next morning, when I realized what had happened – what I'd done – I didn't feel like there was anything I could do to fix it." She rubbed her hair back from her left temple in thought. "And then when you ripped up the invitation to dinner, I knew I was in big trouble."

She patted his hand. "You're like me, bro. You've got a big heart, but if someone wrongs you, they better watch out, hm?"

She sighed. "Langston said something to me that day – I don't remember it very well but it was … she said you were our friend, I know." She smiled at his closed eyes. "Shaun, you were practically a part of our family. I guess what I'm saying is … I know I would take a bullet for those girls, but it is hard to imagine someone else doing it, even if that is their job." She pursed her lips before speaking again. "I got my wake-up call here, okay? So – lesson learned – you can wake up now."

She sighed at him, exasperated. "Okay, honestly," she admitted to him, looking around to make sure no one was listening. "I could really use that friend I fired that day. I don't want to ramble on about the details of my very complicated life right now but … I need you, bro. We all need you. Your job isn't finished, right?"

She looked over at one of his monitors, studying it for a moment, appreciating the irony that medical technology could seemingly measure the strength of a person's life force. "Listen to me. I've been where you are, and I know you can hear what is going on around you." She leaned forward in her assertion. "It might not be very clear or make a lot of sense in that place, but you have to cling to it – listen to it, and believe in it. You'll find what you need. Just keep fighting – you have to defend yourself this time. Got it?"

She stood and laid her hand on his cheek. "Do me a favor. When you come out of this – yes, when – consider coming back to La Boulaie. I promise you that I don't say that because of a guilty conscience. We all want you back." She moved her hand to his shoulder, taking a deep breath before she turned to go.

His mother was standing at the window, watching. Dorian nodded to her and made a hasty exit.

She wasn't ready to go home, so she ducked into the hospital chapel and sat as if waiting for something to happen – some divine inspiration. She looked around in the solemnity of the place, with its prayer candles flickering against the gold cross at the front of the room. This was where she had met the mysterious female Mel. In her most private thoughts, she almost wished to see the woman again now.

No Mel came, nor did any inspiration to pray. After several minutes, Dorian decided to head home. She needed to know what David had found out during his visit to Llanfair.