Guess Who Just Discovered How To Make Fake Tweets 😁

Fractal | Shouto & Touya Todoroki | poetry/prose | 580 words

Shouto’s world changed when he woke up in the hospital. 

Touya’s world changed when he woke up in the hospital.

His face had been burned, the doctor told him. 

He had burned his body, a stranger told him.

Shouto remembered the shouting. 

Touya remembered the desperation.

The kind of argument that felt like it shook the walls around him. 

The disappointment in his father’s eyes, twisting up his insides as Endeavor shouted and raged and forced Touya to stop. 

(He was being burnt up)

(He was being replaced)

Long after the echoes of his father’s voice had faded, Shouto remembered walking into the kitchen. 

He remembered watching his mother’s unmoving form while she refused to say anything- anything- and then Touya blazed out the door without looking back to see if her expression had crumpled with regret.

He remembered watching his mother’s face flit from terror to anguish in the span of a breath as he entered, looking like she had been shattered by his soft-footed, pattering approach. 

By then, Touya knew better than to search for regret in his father’s eyes. 

And then the woman before him became unrecognizable.

Endeavor didn’t think Touya was strong enough but he was. He could be. 

Shouto burned with the memory of a pain more intense than any he’d ever felt before. 

Touya remembered the screaming in his veins, remembered the burn- harsher than anything he’d ever felt before. Remembered a startling break in the anguish and thinking, with his last shred of clarity, that this had to be good enough for his father. 

It left Shouto numb and shivering beneath the thin, white hospital sheets. 

It had to be. 

“Mom..?” Shouto croaked and the doctor shook his head no.  

It had to be. 

Shouto didn’t cry when he saw the scar marring his face, but something inside of him felt sick.

Touya didn’t cry when he saw his mottled, purple reflection held together by crude stitches. Or when they told him he had died. 

Shouto let the shock pool over him like ice and held the freezing shards close to his chest, hoping that they might be enough to douse the monstrous pain in his chest. 

The disappointment was his own when he realized that he hadn’t been enough, after all. That he never was and never would be. 

Shouto thought of the heat that always seemed to lick at his father’s eyes and fists when he shouted- warm enough to be felt even when Shouto couldn’t see the flames through his closed eyes or hear the words through his ragged, warbling breaths. 

The bitterness was his own, too, but the expression in the mirror was startlingly familiar. 

Heat thrummed uneasily beneath Shouto’s veins and the second he realized that the fire within himself was nothing more than his father’s furious legacy, pawned off onto Shouto like a lead shackle, was the second that Shouto Todoroki decided to freeze. 

The second that Touya realized he was wearing the face his father had always greeted him with was the second time Touya Todoroki died and left a rotten shell of himself to walk the earth. 

Shouto cast his eyes downward and didn’t respond to the doctor. 

He didn’t notice that his father couldn’t look him in the eye. 

Shouto grew older and decided that he and his mother were both victims of Endeavor. 

Touya grew smarter and decided that the world would soon know who had driven him to an early death.

And in the end 💚🧡

The other day I made some progress on my WIP Cat-suki (quirk accident where Bakugou turns into a cat when stressed/anxious) and this is how it started:

“Stop poking me,” Bakugou told Recovery Girl.

“Stop getting hurt,” Recovery Girl shot back, tapping Bakugou’s knee with a small hammer to test his reflexes.

Bakugou used the opportunity to try and kick Recovery Girl’s shin.

And this is where it went:

“Why the fuck are you doing this?” Bakugou asked, the bluster in his voice not enough to distract from the quickened pace of his breathing.

“Because you are in my care.” Aizawa answered, rising from his chair.

Bakugou’s head shot up from where he’d been stubbornly focused on his knees.

“Because you are safe,” Aizawa continued, taking a measured seat at the farthest end of Bakugou’s cot.

Beyond the window they both faced, the sun was beginning to settle over Heights Alliance. Midoriya’s flustered voice carried over from the dorms.

Aizawa let loose a slow sigh and he let Bakugou hear the weariness in his tone.

“Because we all struggle with something.”

Your mystery question is here! :)

Moon: Does your character have a dark side? What makes their dark side come out?

Ooh, interesting. I'll answer this one for my character, Sylas, and the answer is...yes.

Sylas is young and desperate and hurting, and that sense of desperation leads him to justify certain actions which I think can count as him having a dark side.

In the very beginning of the story, Sylas finds his estranged brother's address after years of fruitless searching only to have his phone stolen by his childhood bully/frenemy and in a heat-of-the-moment type decision where he can either save her from danger or his phone (with the address pulled up) he chooses his phone and it takes him a while to even admit to the other characters that he left her behind and she needs to be rescued

MHA tweets pt.12 ✨

More surfer Izuku and lifeguard Katsuki

The expectations vs realities of the meet-cute

The reality is not based around my own surfing experiences whaaaaat

working on a dabihawks companion piece to the one above ^ (official version of probably not on ao3 but i only changed like two lines)

im thinking touya would be like 17 here instead of the 13(?) he was when he disappeared and was presumed dead in canon

here's what ive gotten down so far:

*cw for homophobia!

The first time Touya became Dabi, he was angry. The echo of his father’s parting words had been ringing sharply in his head- over and over striking the church tower bell in his mind with an unceasing hammer.    

Disgrace, he’d said. Unfit to be my heir. 

Touya’s face had felt on fire beneath his father’s stony gaze. His mother’s timid silence had crawled like ice across the back of his neck. 

The lingering ghost of soft lips pressed sweetly against his own- tall, handsome ones; a new hire in his father’s precinct- had all but disappeared under the way Touya’s teeth had bit into his skin, desperately holding his tears at bay. 

Choose that lifestyle, and you’re dead to me, his father had spat.   

It was purely by accident that someone had failed to lock away that day’s evidence into its proper place, a few cans of spray paint left abandoned on a precinct desk next to a bloody flyer and a broken phone. 

Touya had swiped the purple as he stormed away from his father’s stupid promotion party, scrubbing uselessly at his face. Half-hoping that his mother would have skittered after him once his father’s back was turned to wipe them away herself. 

Half-hoping that his father would have finally hired Touya to work alongside him, proud to announce it in between important handshakes and celebratory drinks. 

Half-blind with rage, Touya had spilled out of the back door like a drunkard, laughing softly to himself at first- grief grating the tender sides of his throat and then spilling harshly out into the open air like a hyena among the broken bottles and forgotten alley trash. 

Alone, behind the building that was his father’s one and only pride and joy, the can in his grip had felt heavy with promise and Touya didn’t pause to think before his trigger finger was pressing down on the release. 

Probably dead by now, he'd scrawled, the angry words biting into pristine red brick. Spite drawing a humorless huff from Touya’s unsmiling mouth. 

“All for a fucking kiss,” he’d whispered. 

But Touya knew- in the same, wordless way he knew his mother had never loved Touya more than she’d feared him- that Enji Todoroki was never going to hire Touya in the first place. No matter how good his marks, how fast he ran the mile, how much he volunteered with the other interns. The ones who always whispered behind his back that Touya’s last name made him golden. 

“Fuck him,” Touya had hissed furiously, slamming the can of spray paint onto the ground where it clanged satisfyingly against dark-cut asphalt, drowning out the sound of his disownment. Then he’d kicked it, for good measure, blinking wetly as he’d watched as it rolled into the shadow of a broken street lamp. 

The cars whizzing by had been none the wiser. 

Slowly, Touya had walked forward- boots thumping step by step by step until he was encased entirely in the single halo of darkness left on a bright, lamp-lit street. 

There had been a cracked-open window. A pop of champagne. A muted cheer.  

Without a second thought, Touya had crouched down to retrieve the can, slipping it into the pocket of his suit jacket before stomping away, an alias on the tip of his tongue and the life of a cracked-open son left behind. The ghost of a kiss left abandoned like a cigarette stub on the sidewalk.

@probabydeadbynow i saw your user (though im now realizing i misread it, lol) and it sparked this short fic idea so i wanted to share it with you before i post to ao3 (bnha, no quirk AU)

There was a piece of graffiti Izuku always saw around town. Sometimes it’d be done in white, other times blue, but most of the time it was purple- each letter looped and sprawling and bleeding into the next. 

Probably dead by now, it always said. 

Izuku didn’t know why he liked it so much. It felt odd to smile at those words when he saw them spray painted underneath the Musutafu bridge but, then again, he remembered seeing those same exact words when he was being driven home from the hospital after breaking his arm for the first time, a lollipop between his lips and a new All Might plush under his arm. And then again the morning his Dad came home for Christmas, surprising Izuku at the door. And then again the day of Kacchan’s 10th birthday party. The one with the All Might impersonator that had carried them both around on his shoulders for a while, their sweaty hands linked behind his head for no other reason except that they were happy. 

White then blue then white again. Purple today. 

Probably dead by now, it always said. 

Probably not, Izuku thought back, peering out of the passenger window with a growing smile. 

Izuku had never seen the artist. Never even caught a glimpse, but their handwriting was paint-splattered over so many of Izuku’s brightest memories. 

“What’s got you so smiley, huh?” Kacchan asked. 

Izuku turned away from the window, watching the way Kacchan’s sweaty hands gripped the steering wheel like his life depended on it. He’d only had his license for a few weeks now. 

“I think something good’s going to happen today,” Izuku replied.

Privately, he was pretty sure it already had. 

Kacchan hadn’t invited Izuku anywhere since that 10th birthday party at the arcade and now they were on their way to tour a newly built school together. 

Kacchan scoffed lightly. “What’s so good about college?” he shot back. 

“I don’t know,” Izuku replied honestly, idly flicking through the UA pamphlet resting on his lap. “Maybe…” Izuku glanced towards Kacchan. Quieter, he said, “Maybe we’ll end up going there together. You know, like old times?” 

Really old times, anyway. When Izuku would trade his apple slices for Kacchan’s potato chips at lunchtime and they’d walk home together in their baby blue smocks, hands clasped firmly together.

Not like the way they’d make passing eye contact in the halls of their high school, always in opposite motion even if Izuku’s eyes would sometimes trail after Kacchan's back. 

Even if sometimes he caught Kacchan looking, too. 

Kacchan was quiet for a few moments, the careful tick of the turn signal a feeble echo of Izuku’s hammering pulse.  

Izuku was pretty sure he remembered seeing that same graffiti- purple, and nearly washed out by a recent rainstorm- the day Kacchan threw Izuku’s notebook from a third story window in junior high. 

“Just don’t expect me to fucking hold your hand,” Kacchan eventually bit out, eyes averted- his focus too intense on the empty road for it mean anything other than embarrassment. 

His tone too light for it to even feel like a denial. 

Izuku quickly turned his gaze to his knees, smothering a smile. The UA pamphlet creased beneath his fingers. 

Probably dead by now.  

Purple. Scribbled across the window of an empty storefront. 

Kacchan had grabbed Izuku’s hand two blocks later and shoved that same pamphlet at him, holding on for a beat too long. 

“You dropped that,” he’d lied. 

His hand had been warm. 

“My dad and I were gonna tour it this weekend but he’s got a work thing.”

Izuku’s eyes had been wide and curious. He’d held his breath while Kacchan scratched the back of his neck and scuffed the toe of his shoe on the ground, casting around for the right words to say. 

“I guess you could take his spot or whatever,” he’d continued with a shrug. “If you pay for gas. ‘Cause I’m going whether you catch a ride or not.”

Izuku had thought that Kacchan would probably leave him in the dust by the time it came to go to college. Or not go, he supposed, but…

Izuku lifted his head again, listening to the way Kacchan hummed softly along with the radio. His sunglasses were All Might themed- a custom release with a subtle design that Izuku hadn’t been able to afford. 

There was a second pair, just like it, shoved towards Izuku’s chest when he first climbed into Kacchan’s car, along with a muttered comment about how Kacchan didn’t want to hear any crybaby complaints about the sun. 

They rested comfortably on Izuku’s head now. 

Probably dead by now, it always said.  

Izuku pulled them down until everything in his field of vision was tinged a soft yellow. 

Life was funny that way, he thought.

Are you caught up on MHA? If so, could you write something with Katsuki and Izuku talking some more after the war (follow up to their conversation in CH424)?

Yes, I'm all caught up! Sorry this one took so long, but I hope you enjoy it!

Author's note: it starts a little mushy but this could be read as platonic bakugou & izuku or pre-slash bkdk, whatever you fancy. there's nothing explicitly romantic but they are very important to each other and i find that so charming! lol anyways, 1,866 words, mha manga spoilers ahead. happy reading!

Izuku could recognize Kacchan in the dark. He knew the shape of his voice, the scent of his sweat, the spark-crackle-pop of his quirk. Izuku knew the feel of Kacchan’s hands on his shoulder. In his hair. On his back. 

Izuku knew him bloodied and unmoving on the ground.

It’s a relief, Izuku thinks, to know him now by the sound of a rolling IV stand. 

“The nurse told you not to walk around so much, Kacchan.”

The rolling in the hallway slams to a sudden halt and Izuku imagines that Kacchan is annoyed at being caught. Then it starts up again at a slightly faster pace and Izuku hardly has the time to smile before Kacchan’s scowling figure passes through the doorway to Izuku’s hospital room. 

“You put a fucking tracking chip on me or something?” he complains. 

“Kacchan,” Izuku protests- weakly, he’ll admit- joy and relief jumping to take control of his brain at the sight of Kacchan, alive- but it’s the attempt that counts. 

“‘S not even that fuckin far,” Kacchan replies, the tinny chik-chik-chik of squeaky wheels on tile following him across the floor before he settles himself in the visitor’s chair beside Izuku’s cot. “The view’s better in here, anyway.”

Izuku hums, turning his gaze beyond Kacchan’s swaying IV bag to All Might’s empty cot. The retired hero goes to physical therapy on Thursday afternoons, now, and every time the doctors take off one of his casts or bandages, Izuku feels like he can breathe a little easier. 

“That’s true.”

Izuku doesn’t think the sight of All Might will ever not be comforting to him. 

Kacchan clicks his tongue in annoyance and presses one finger against Izuku’s unbandaged cheek, turning his head. 

“I’m talking about the fucking window, fanboy.”

Izuku startles, a small laugh falling from his lips as he obligingly turns towards the window instead. A few tree branches gently brush against the glass and in the distance he can make out the big silver fountain that rests in the middle of the hospital’s courtyard.  

“Oh, yeah that’s nice, too,” Izuku agrees absentmindedly. He’s not sure what Kacchan can see from his own hospital room but he’s pretty sure it’s not much different from this one. 

Kacchan shifts like he wants to cross his arms, then scowls and starts tapping his nails against the armrest instead with a huff.

Izuku watches the steady rise and fall of Kacchan’s chest, unsure if he should say anything. Unsure why Kacchan keeps coming to his room in the first place. 

Two days ago, Kacchan had muttered something about how being in Izuku’s room made it harder for his mom to track him down and nag him and the week before it was because he had beef with the nurse on duty and wanted to make her life difficult.

But even after a lifetime of analyzing Kacchan, all Izuku can really discern now is that there’s something more pulling Kacchan to the plastic chair by Izuku’s bedside. 

Izuku hates the not-knowing. He thinks he’d hate it more, though, if Kacchan got what he needed and stopped sneaking out to visit him, so he stays quiet. 

Childishly, he wants to poke Kacchan back but both of his arms are still mummified and unusable so he contents himself with imagining it. 

“The fuck are you smiling about?”

“Nothing,” Izuku lies, gazing happily at Kacchan’s familiar scowl. “You’ll get wrinkles, Kacchan.”

Kacchan narrows his eyes. 

“You’ll get a fist in your face.”

“You’ll get knuckle pain.”

Kacchan scoffs. “Think your face is made of steel or something? When did you start acting like hot shit, huh?”

“Probably since they started pumping me full of pain meds,” Izuku admits, grinning. “Makes me feel steel-y.”

Kacchan rolls his eyes. “Unbelievable.”

“It’s not as strong as the stuff they had to put All Might on, though,” Izuku continues seriously. “After his surgery, he told me the same story about fighting an American villain with David Shield seven times in a row.”

Kacchan smirks. “And I bet you ate that shit up.”

Izuku flushes and turns his gaze towards the ceiling. “Sometimes the details would change,” he defends. 

When Kacchan doesn’t respond, Izuku shifts his gaze back and watches on as Kacchan wrestles with his inability to cross his arms again. Izuku really doesn’t want Kacchan to leave, but…

“Kacchan, if you’re in pain maybe you should-”

“Shitty Hair said we should talk,” Kacchan interrupts. 

Izuku fights to sit up straighter in his cot, confused. “Kirishima did?”

He’s grateful when Kacchan doesn’t rush to help him. Doesn’t help him at all, actually, which soothes the constant drone of quirkless-helpless-quirkless that Izuku’s been trying to drown in his subconscious lately. 

Izuku hesitates before he bites the bullet. 

“...talk about what?”

Izuku’s not sure if it’s a good sign or a bad one that Kacchan seems equally, if not more, uncomfortable. 

“...our conversation,” Kacchan finally spits out. “The one we had here.”

These past few weeks, they’ve had a lot of conversations in Izuku and All Might’s shared little hospital room. Most of them pointless. Some of them sweet. 

It doesn’t take a genius to know what Kacchan’s referring to, though, and it’s exactly the thing that Izuku would rather leave buried and brushed past so he focuses on Kacchan’s forehead instead of his bullshit-piercing eyes and says, 

“Yeah, it was really nice to be recognized by All Might, right? Like, next level awesome. I don’t think I’ll ever emotionally recover from that, actually. I think I was smiling in my sleep that whole-”

“Izuku,” Kacchan says, and it cuts through him like a knife. 

“Hm?”

“Cut the crap,” Kacchan says, his glare fading into something softer and more uncertain. “We have shit we have to talk about.”

Izuku gnaws on his bottom lip, uncertain enough to harden his resolve and force out a nervous laugh. The nerves are genuine, anyway.

“I don’t know what you’re-”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Kacchan demands, quietly dangerous. Then he rises from his chair with a scoff. “This is fucking stupid! Why won’t you-?” Kacchan starts to shout, before letting his anger fall from him with one, deep exhale, leaving behind only weariness and a shadow of what looks like resignation.

It looks wrong on Kacchan’s face. 

“Fine,” Kacchan sighs. “Whatever. If that’s how you’re gonna be then I’m fucking outta here.”

“I-” Izuku catches one glimpse of Kacchan’s back and his hardened resolve collapses like a child's toy tower. “Wait, wait no! Kacchan, I’m sorry! I’m- I’m sorry. We can talk about…it. About what you want, just please don’t...”

“Wasn’t gonna leave forever,” Kacchan mutters, not quite facing Izuku but not walking towards the door, either. 

Izuku tastes salt on his lips before he even realizes he’s crying. “Promise?”

Kacchan’s head whips around so quickly Izuku can’t help but imagine that he’d pulled on some invisible string. 

“I’m not fucking leaving you,” Kacchan says, voice angry and honest in a way that soothes the awful pang in Izuku’s chest that the doctors have assured him isn’t physical. “This is why we need to talk, you stupid nerd.”

Izuku hiccups and nods, releasing slow streams of breath from his mouth until he feels he has his voice under control.

Kacchan moves back into the chair, alternating between watching him and the monitors still hooked up to Izuku’s vitals.

“I’m…I’m okay,” Izuku finally says. 

“I’m not,” Kacchan replies bluntly. “Lie to me again and I’ll break your stupid skull.”

Izuku freezes, then lets himself sink morosely into the pillow behind him. “Sorry,” he whispers. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Kacchan scolds. “Be honest.”

Izuku darts a considering glance towards Kacchan, but he seems sincere, so Izuku murmurs, “You sound kind of like a preschool teacher right now.”

Kacchan jolts under the observation, clearly not expecting it. Then he regains his bearings and jabs a finger in front of Izuku’s nose. “Then stop acting like a guilty little snot-nosed runt!”   

“...Okay.”

“Okay.”

“What…now?” Izuku asks.

Kacchan sighs deeply through his nose, slumping back in his chair as he thinks it over. 

“Now…I apologize,” he finally says. 

Izuku frowns. “But you already-”

“I know,” Kacchan interrupts stiffly, belatedly scratching at his nose, brow furrowing uncomfortably while he peers past Izuku and towards the silver fountain in the distance. “But I…” Kacchan starts, before his eyes suddenly jump back to Izuku. “And I’m only gonna say it once, understand?”

Izuku nods. “I have my listening ears on, Kacchan.”

“Your-” he starts to repeat, incredulous, before scoffing and turning back towards the window. The hint of a smile Izuku had managed to coax out turns down again, drawing out the unhappy wrinkles in Kacchan’s forehead.  

“When the doc said I might not be able to use my arm again and that half of my quirk, I…fuck. I thought about how you never had one to start with and how it never slowed you down so like hell was I gonna chop the damn limb off and not do rehab. I’d kick rehab’s ass. Of course I could, full quirk or no, because you could.”

Izuku’s breath catches in his throat. 

“And that’s…that’s something you gave to me.”

Kacchan’s eyes slowly find Izuku’s, searing through him, blood and bone, with their intensity. 

“That’s something I took from you.”

“Kacchan-”

“I’m sorry, Izuku.”

Izuku rapidly shakes his head. “No, Kacchan you…you gave me a symbol of victory.”

Kacchan’s mouth twists. “You’ve said.”

“But you don’t get it. I…” Izuku squeezes his eyes shut tight, face already growing warm. “It’s…you have no idea how much of my heroism was just…yours. Yours that you gave me and that I relied on when I didn’t have time to think.” Izuku lets out a shaky laugh. “I always wanted to save people with a smile because of All Might, but…the smile I wore when it mattered was yours, Kacchan.” 

Izuku tentatively peeks one eye open, surprised to find Kacchan so stunned. Surprised that he didn’t already know, but…

Maybe they have a lot more to learn about each other, after all. 

“I became a hero because of you.”

Kacchan frowns. 

“And in spite of you,” Izuku concedes. “It’s all…mixed up. In my head. But I don’t…I wouldn’t have traded a second of it.”

Kacchan startles under the declaration, peering back at Izuku with wide, searching, crimson eyes that Izuku thinks he’s seeing more clearly than he ever has before. 

“You wouldn’t?” Kacchan asks. 

Izuku shakes his head earnestly. “No, of course not,” he murmurs. “Kacchan’s amazing.”

Kacchan blinks. Hard. Tears well up in his waterline. 

“Izuku’s amazing, too,” he says, scrubbing pointlessly at his face. “Even though he’s a fucking stupid sap who’s always saying embarrassing shit.”

Izuku laughs brightly, even though he’s crying too. 

“I’ll kick rehab’s ass before you’re even outta that damn cot!” Kacchan announces. 

“Nuh uh,” Izuku shoots back happily. “I’ll be so Plus Ultra once these casts are off, you won’t even believe it!”

Kacchan stops wiping his eyes and peers back at Izuku through his fingertips, a genuine smile playing at the corners of his mouth. 

“I’d believe it,” he says. 

And Izuku? He feels a little bit put-together, after that.

Week three:

15- fic- bkdk, post-Kamino, au where Izuku goes to Shiketsu and is in their support course

-this was meant to be a somewhat angsty reconnection fic but so far it’s turning out mostly humorous. heavily based on the idea that izuku stole an AM action figure from bkg when they were four and “intends” to give it back as a way to gain entry into the bakugou house to see if Kacchan’s doing okay (but he 100% still leaves with the figure)

16- no writing- ‘twas a very busy day for bi_focal and now it is bedtime. thinking about Grenade the dog, though

17- no writing x2- I really did not realize how busy I would be once I came home for the holidays but I’ll redouble my writing efforts for tomorrow!

18- fic & original- prompt response & short story

-wasn’t quite sure how to approach this one, but then I thought up the first line and the rest just flowed. im at 420 words rn so i have plenty of room to do touch up and make it nice :)

-also, i wrote the first few lines of a short story idea i want to have fully written one day

19- fic x3- pre-slash bkdk for writing practice, prompt response, & Short For Grenade

-just a silly little idea I had where everybody except Izuku knows that Izuku is in love with bakugou, so when bkg asks him out Izuku is like: but im not gay :( (and bkg is like ‘yeah okay we’ll see about that')

-finished my second prompt response! im realizing action description is a little tricky for me

-added some more to the Short For Grenade fic (it needs some serious editing but you cant edit without writing the cringey stuff first so im doing my best to work towards a complete rough draft)

20- original- single stanza poem tonight just to get some words on the page ‘cause I am so sleepy

21- fic- togachako frankestein meets adam and eve

-fiddled with this one a bit today, mostly editing and polishing, and opened it up for contributions! id be very excited to get some other writer's takes on the idea. pretty sure i had paris paloma on blast when i originally wrote it

I want to write at least a little bit every day in December so I’ve decided to keep a log and post it here to keep myself accountable! I’ll list whether it’s a fic or original, what it’s about, and a few of my thoughts about each project. posted weekly, I think :)

i keep coming back to this, i drew this on a whim/as a warm-up but it's so cute to me....... i like this a lot but it feels incomplete, so i'm working on a continuation :)