sidewalkgloom

[sidewalkgloom]

angry crier (this is notttt serious, he is crying about sth deeply unserious and petty i love that for him)

#me fr

[sidewalkgloom]

Sorry for the wait but the sign-up form for 2024 Phic Phight is now open! You have until March 27th to sign up!

What is Phic Phight?

Phic Phight is a Danny Phantom fan-fiction writing competition, were writers are asked to provide prompts. Then they are split into two teams; team ghost and team human. The teams are given prompts from the opposite team and gain points for creating fics based on the prompts. The winner gains bragging rights for the year. This was created as a friendly competition to inspire new ideas and stories for the phandom.

Phic Phight begins April 1st and ends April 30th.

You will be required to join the new Phic Phight discord server to participate.

A full list of rules can be found HERE

No OC prompts are allowed. And no crossover prompts are allowed.

Please tag works as #phicphight24

[sidewalkgloom]

till the day we laugh again……✴️

[sidewalkgloom]

I’ll probably make a long post breaking it down soon because I put an unhealthy amount of thought into this lol

[sidewalkgloom]

le manège [you’re my favorite never-ending start]

Hitoshi’s teeth ache.

The rest of him, too, but mostly it’s his teeth—steady pulse that crawls past his temples and burrows into his scalp. He coughs, then chokes. Turns over onto his stomach, or tries to, and pulls what feels like all of the muscles in his neck.

“Shit—” his throat burns, his lungs, his knees, ankles; they cramp with a familiar heat. The floor scraping up against his cheek is a dull gray, the air a stale and humid slog in the back of his mouth. Mold, probably.

It takes a few measured breaths and another coughing fit to pick apart the distinctive tightness crushing his bare hands and feet together. For a moment, it’s nothing but Hitoshi and the panic. He yanks, hisses, ignites the fire in his joints, just about cracks his skull against the concrete and twists round and round in the dark. At some point, this had to happen. Top hero school in the country, in a class that would be hunted for sport if left out in the open for about fifteen minutes. It’s not like he didn’t know what he was getting into—but this? Across the room—or wherever the fuck he is—something breathes.

Hitoshi wakes up in a locked room. This was bound to happen.

the rest on AO3.

#bnha #bnha fic #shouto todoroki #shinsou hitoshi #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #todoshindeku #shintodo #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha #sidewalkgloom #gloom writes

[sidewalkgloom]

[sidewalkgloom]

hi I just want you to know I think your writing is so so good if you decided to describe paint drying I would read it you just describe stuff so well djskdh anyway have a nice day!!

T—T thank you sm ❤️❤️💞

[sidewalkgloom]

♡ ´･ᴗ･ `♡

#bnha #midoriya izuku

[sidewalkgloom]

and when the fog rises

somebody sighs who is not in disguise anymore.

The dust ebbs at Kamino, and Toshinori doesn’t look up. The ache is bone-deep and familiar. It’s wires that criss-cross through his muscles and knot at the joints, contort in the cave under his ribs. He keeps his eyes on the floor—hopes his hand can do the talking, just like it always does.

Toshinori’s cleared skyscrapers with his jumps, but he thinks this one he can’t land.

The silence scatters in the atmosphere. Cheers and howls gather above, crowding the sky and the air and Toshinori can barely breathe, barely see. It weighs down atop him like the heavens reached down and laid over him their own hand.

He takes solace in the safety of his students.

Izuku and Toshinori sit in the sand and lean on each other, arm against bandaged arm, shoes tossed aside and water between their toes. They pretend the salt in Toshinori’s shirt is seawater. They giggle over little stories, about old classmates and chance encounters and silly blunders, and everything is as it was.

Toshinori wakes up and doesn’t want to open his eyes. He counts to five, then seven, then nine. Opens his eyes. If he takes a deep breath now he’ll never get up from his bed, so he sighs and wrangles his limbs into sitting.

The floor is chilly against his bare feet. He’s forgotten his slippers by the front door again.

Grumbling, Toshinori stumbles to the bathroom and flicks the lights on, then off. Too damn bright, they always were; reflecting off the blinding tiles and porcelain. No one deserves a headache in the morning. He thinks again about remodeling the bathroom to some muted color. Brushes his teeth. Green, maybe. Lathers soap on his face. Or beige. Gets some in his eye, cusses. Knows he won’t do it.

He toes out towards the closet, trying to touch the ground as little as possible. Grabs hold of the knob and yanks. Runs his fingers over all his shirts and pants. All too big, so they don't rip apart at the seams. He tries to remember the feel of clothes that fit and stretch. Pulls a white shirt off the hanger. Thinks about the cold floor beneath his feet. Pulls a jacket off, too.

He’s barely stepped over the doormat when a harsh breeze sweeps up his shirt. Gritting his teeth, Toshinori slams the door and locks it.

He makes it to the metro station before he’s recognized. Then the first person yells.

“All Might!”

“Where—”

“That’s All Might!”

“Oh my God, All Might, is it true th—”

“Sign my face—!”

“—fan, All Might!”

“What are you doing about—”

“Thank you for—”

“—and do you still—”

“Have you—?”

“All—”

“—Might.”

Nothing is sure, Toshinori knows, except that the bubble will pop and it’ll all come down. No thing can be held up forever; Toshinori is living proof. He breathes and eats it. He’s known it since Nana sat him down on a rooftop’s ledge and spun a tale of two brothers, a line of dead heroes, and an orphaned kid.

Still, some nonsensical part of him thought that if he stepped carefully enough, made all the right choices, he could make this last forever.

Peace is funny that way. Pump your image high enough, spread your face far enough, and people start to feel you everywhere. The illusion is enough, as long as it stands still enough. Sensation, power, confidence; it’s only really peace when it’s endless. Who wants to live on a time limit? And yet. And yet.

Toshinori isn’t ignorant, but knowing the diagnosis doesn’t cure the disease. He’s not past tossing and turning over total societal collapse just yet. He knows, he does. No building has ever stood on a single pillar, but Toshinori was young and bright-eyed and hopeful still, and when you can save a person with nothing more than a flick of the wrist, it stops being a choice.

It carries on until Izuku spears a foot straight through the debris aiming to make Toshinori a victim. The pride outweighs the shame, for a time, so he shoves it into the backseat and slams the door. His boy has come such a long way.

Later, when he’s alone between two doors and his shitty, blinding fucking bathroom, it claws its way to the wheel and drives them straight into a ditch. Toshinori grips the sink, his knuckles a matching porcelain white, and prays.

It never gets easier, is the thing. A thousand times Toshinori wished to lie right there and never show hair nor grin again, but knew the rot would seep into the streets before long.

Toshinori doesn’t have that, now. He can lay here forever, and nothing will ever go wrong without him, because everything already has.

#yagi toshinori #toshinori yagi #all might #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #mha #bnha fanfiction #bnha fic #character study #snippets #sidewalkgloom #gloom writes #July Break Bingo #July Break Bingo 2023 #Fandom: Boku No Hero Academia

[sidewalkgloom]

oh, dream maker

6.1k | bakugō & midoriya | angst | codependency

The walls are a familiar white. He squeezes down on the phantom of hand in his. Then the fear takes hold. Fire along his veins, stuttering drum in his ears, the tightening of a wire. This is familiar, too. He sits up, a name on his exhale and limbs scrabbling over white, white sheets, searching for that other hand, that other voice, and Kacchan’s ruby red eyes snap open and zero in on Izuku. “Ah, you’re okay.” Kacchan stays still long enough for Izuku to think that maybe he isn’t, and the embers begin to spark, and then Kacchan shoves an elbow underneath him and sits up. The grunt that pushes past his lips isn’t pained—but full up with the same kind of stuffiness stirring in Izuku’s chest. A bird chirps outside. Izuku slides backwards on the bed until his back is to Kacchan, and watches the clouds sail. The air is clear, and the edges don’t deepen, or blacken, or close in. Something hopeful and brittle climbs Izuku’s face. He turns. Sheets rustle. “Do you think…?” “Maybe, nerd.” “It’s so bright.” Kacchan nods once, stiff. Izuku’s fingers twitch. Reaching across the gap between their beds, Kacchan clasps Izuku’s wrist, thumb pressing in. Izuku tugs back until he can fit his hand into Kacchan’s. The quiet is long and the stillness soft. Recovery Girl’s office is neat as ever. They’re ready when the door handle twists, feet planted and every muscle rippling with tension. The door swings open and it’s not something shapeless that fills the doorway, but the form of Aizawa-sensei. They edge closer together, back towards the window with the singing birds. “Good, you’re up,” it says with Aizawa-sensei’s mouth, in Aizawa-sensei’s cadence. “The villain has been apprehended. Recovery Girl already cleared you, you can join your classmates tomorrow.” Aizawa-sensei’s eyes regard them with a sharpness wholly distinct from the worn-out cloak he wears. “What’s wrong?” it says. Kacchan doesn’t lose his temper, like Izuku wants to. “Bakugō. Midoriya.” Aizawa’s form sighs. His nose is red and chafing. When he slips his right hand from the pocket of his pants, a crumpled tissue sits tucked in his palm. Kacchan twists his hand out from under Izuku’s, and the force of it pulls Izuku out of orbit. “You’re out. It’s over,” Aizawa-sensei says.

Read the rest here.

#bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #katsuki bakugou #izuku midoriya #kirishima eijirou #kaminari denki #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #mha #bnha fanfiction #bnha fic #platonic bkdk #romantic if you want 👁 #bakugō katsuki #sidewalkgloom #gloom writes

[sidewalkgloom]

and if i run fast enough (could i break apart?)

3.2k | ch 1/2 | angst | post-kamino ward arc

In his dreams, Katsuki is never fast enough. Sometimes something chases him; sometimes he needs to get to something, or someone. His legs don’t work as they should. His arms are heavy in a way they’ve never been before—or in a way they have, as many times as he dreams this dream. The air turns thick as honey. He wants nothing but to sink to the floor. His eyelids pull together like magnets. He can’t power through this. He doesn’t see what happens, after. But he knows. Something catches him; someone dies.

Read the rest here.

#bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #kirishima eijirou #bakusquad #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #mha #bnha fanfiction #bnha fic #bakugō katsuki #sidewalkgloom #gloom writes

[sidewalkgloom]

Girls Against God

3.1k | angst | misogyny

The store is crowded and hung with banners and ruffles and Back To School cheer. Basket full of glittery pens and flower-shaped erasers, Kyōka wanders over to the rows of school bags. It has to be the best—she’s going to look amazing for the first day of the first grade (her first first!), but she’s torn between two bags: a sparkly purple and a metallic blue. Her father says blue is a boy’s color, and at six years old Jirō Kyōka’s favorite color becomes a resistance.

Read the rest here.

#jirou kyouka #momo yaoyorozu #momojirou #aizawa shouta #eraserhead #kayama nemuri #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #mha #bnha fanfiction #bnha fic #jirō kyōka #sidewalkgloom #gloom writes

[sidewalkgloom]

Objects [in the mirror are closer than they appear]

2.3k | tenya & tensei iida | character study

Tensei’s hair has grown since they shaved it for the surgery. That’s the first thing Tenya discerns, maybe because he’s afraid to look lower. Tiny spikes of blue stick out in every direction. Tenya kind of wants to touch it, so he does. A little noise pokes at Tenya’s ears. He looks down. Tensei’s hand clasps his, no longer big enough to swallow it up, just the right size to fit his fingers in the spaces between Tenya’s. “Hey, little brother,” whispers Tensei. His eyes sparkle. “Hey, Tensei,” Tenya answers. Tensei reaches out and runs fingers over the buzzed hair along Tenya’s nape. He pulls until they meet over the hospital bed, forehead to forehead. Tenya breaks the surface and breathes.

or

Iida Tenya runs until his blood is in the mouth of the man who stilled his brother’s legs

Then, he stands.

Read the rest here.

#iida tenya #iida tensei #tenya iida #tensei iida #ingenium #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #mha #bnha fanfiction #bnha fic #sidewalkgloom #gloom writes

[sidewalkgloom]

an ending begins

2.6k | bakugō & kirishima | fluff & angst | coda

It’s dead quiet. The moonlight is less silver and more steel. Bakugō is still holding onto that mug like it’ll fall apart without him.

Eijiro wishes he could pry the words from his brain and rearrange them into a shape that makes sense. He wishes the rescue was enough. That all their problems were as far away as they looked from the swell of that leap.

or

The night after the move-in, Bakugō knocks on Kirishima’s door.

Read here.

#bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou #katsuki bakugou #eijirou kirishima #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #mha #bnha fanfiction #bnha fic #bakugō katsuki #kirishima eijirō #sidewalkgloom #gloom writes

[sidewalkgloom]

burn up with the water

2.5k | bakugō & midoriya | angst | pre-canon

Izuku taps a knuckle against the door labeled 345. “It’s me,” he says, then remembers retrograde amnesia and goes to add his name, but hesitates and considers whether Kacchan will recognize ‘Deku’ better. Kacchan beats him to it and says— “Izuku.” Izuku holds his breath. The handle is cool against his sweaty palm. He slowly pokes his head into the room, and the first thing he catches is that Kacchan lacks his perpetual scowl. Then Kacchan smiles at him, and Izuku turns back around and shuts the door.

or

In which Bakugō Katsuki gets a head injury and Midoriya Izuku is bad at feelings.

Read the rest here.

#midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #izuku midoriya #katsuki bakugou #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #mha #bnha fanfiction #bnha fic #platonic bkdk #romantic if you want 👁 #sidewalkgloom #gloom writes

[sidewalkgloom]

The Trials and Tribulations of Having Tea With Your Teacher

2.6 k | ch 2/5 | shinsō & aizawa | 5 times

At the pleasant ding, they step off the metro into a bustling station, and Hitoshi rides another wave of guilt. “Sorry,” he says to Aizawa, again, because when Aizawa threw him during their after-school training session, Hitoshi went and forgot everything he’d been taught about how to fall. He earned a sling, a wrist brace, and an escort. Aizawa doesn’t carve a path through the crowds so much as he slinks between them effortlessly. Hitoshi scrambles after him across the mottled grey tiles in matching shabby trainers. “Stop apologizing,” Aizawa says when they’re out of the hubbub and standing under corpse-grey skies and a dreary stretch of run-down buildings. “So—… Okay.” Aizawa nods sagely.

Read chapter 1 here.

“Normally, this would go to your homeroom teacher, but he is,” Aizawa shuts his eyes for a long moment, “otherwise occupied.” Hitoshi takes this to mean ‘Power Loader did not want to deal with your shit anymore so he dumped it on me.’ Hitoshi is fine with this; he finds Power Loader’s relentless optimism to be vomit-inducing. And he’s already reached his throwing-up quota for today. Exceeded it, in fact. Kawamura has a hell of a right hook. Aizawa gives a long-suffering sigh.

Read chapter 2 here.

#shinsou hitoshi #aizawa shouta #hitoshi shinsou #shouta aizawa #eraserhead #dadzawa #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #mha #bnha fanfiction #bnha fic #shinsō hitoshi #aizawa shōta #sidewalkgloom #gloom writes

[sidewalkgloom]

Atlas

1.7k | angst | character study

Most days, he can ignore it. Most days, he fidgets in Ms. Suzie's class and watches the clock in anticipation. When the bell cuts through the halls, he's the first out the door. Most days, he greets Alfred with an easy smile and slides into Wayne Manor's main hall just before 1600. In his room, he fidgets some more and goes over the case files he snuck upstairs the night before. He tries to pass the time with schoolwork, then goes over the case files twice more. When the clock strikes 2100, he's bolting out the door again. Most days, the grandfather clock slides too slowly along the wall, and he can't seem to get enough air. As Batman returns a greeting with his gravelly own, Robin slides on his suit and breathes easily for the first time all day. Most days, he freely soars the somber skies of Gotham City, weaving through the concrete jungle with practiced ease. There isn't anywhere else he'd rather be—there isn't anyone else he'd rather be. But every so often comes a day where Batman's grappling hook would stick—along with Robin's breath—and in the split second of free fall Robin is nine years old again, the resolute snap of trapeze wires first and five bodies second echoing endlessly in his ears. He is Dick, before his world imploded between one breath and the next and he was thrust into a life of cheer-less duty, where multi-colored flashing lights meant run and hide and costumes were for protection rather than show. Then the cogs would turn again, and Robin's breath would unstick, and the Dynamic Duo would take the city by storm, but the Kevlar would be heavy on Robin's chest all night.

Read the rest here.

#dick grayson #robin #nightwing #young justice #dc #dc fanfic #sidewalkgloom #gloom writes