TodoMomo Scenes

TodoMomo scenes

Yaoyorozu, in her dorm at 3 am: *depressed*

Todoroki, in his bed: *opens his eyes*

Todoroki: *gets up and walked to Yaoyorozu's room*

Todoroki: *slams open the door and gives her a hug*

Bakugo is cute

Deku: You're cute.

Ochaco: no you're cute.

Deku: No you are cute.

Ochaco: Oh, stop it, you are cute.

Deku: No, you are-

Bakugo: SHUT UP. I'M CUTE.

A Nighttime Snack

As the grandfather horologe on Julia’s dormitory wall tinkled 2 am, she rose from the reasonable comfort of her cot, her beddings lounging messily all over. 

Rubbing her eyes groggily, she hastily untangled her legs the mayhem of her sheets. As she planted her feet on the icy floor, the cold titillated her toes, generating a shiver to encompass throughout her body. 

The cold winter breeze drifting from her extensive window didn’t seem to help matters, either. Seizing a considerably soft sheet, she enveloped herself within and made to seal the lattice. 

Tiptoeing past her snoring roommate, she concluded that she despised winters; they often got her cold, which in turn dressed her ill. 

Did I mention that she gets unwell easily? I thought not. 

Her eyes eventually adjusted to the heavy darkness as she blandly barred the door behind her as not to awaken the students in the dormitory. She descended down the right side of the staircase, as the left often tended to grate under her weight, as light as she was. 

She crossed the teachers’ antechamber where her calculus professor’s snores were overheard even to her, the crisp, vacated staffroom where her test papers sat, ungraded, the boy’s dormitory, and eventually reached the kitchen.

Ah, the kitchen. 

Julia was eternally quite appended to the kitchen, where she spent diverse nights grinding gratifying croissants, with the chocolate sauce trickling down her chin, opera cakes, their strawberry-tops never failing to make her mouth water, mille-feuilles, their pastry-fillings coating her cheeks, and not once getting caught. 

Tonight, however, she shuffled towards the fridge, the glorious food crate which had never disappointed to fill her stomach. She pulled it open and immediately locked her eyes on a packet of chocolate milk. Mouth watering, she held out her hands and seized her midnight snack for today, eyeing it like predator ogling prey. 

She crumpled down at the corner of her kitchen, settling herself in the track between the deferred portion of the lofty roof and the ledge, overlooking the display of the quiet, eerie city inferior to her outdoors of the kitchen’s leading glass panes. 

Sipping into her glass of chocolate milk, she sat wedged between the ledge in peace, yet another night passing with her out of trouble’s way.

Note: Pictures or GIFs not mine.

KamiJirou

Kaminari: Hey, can I tell you a joke about my dick?

Jirou: Hm?

Kaminari: Nevermind, it's too long.

Jirou: Can I tell you a pun about my virginity?

Kaminari:

Jirou:

Kaminari:

Jirou: Nevermind, you will never get it.

Kaminari: Alright, first of all-

Deku's fights be like...

Toga: A beautiful day begins with a beautiful mindset.

Deku: Ah, that explains why all my days are so messed up.

Toga: But-

Deku: I will talk to you after I find out what this 'beautiful midset' you talk about is.

Toga: Deku-

Deku, holding up middle fingers: See you never, bitch.

Deceased Diaries

Stephanie was a young teenager who never left me alone.

She was small, with unruly auburn hair which she pulled up into a ponytail by the tip of her head. She had the most sensitive of dimples which shone out every time she smiled. Her stringy bangs framed her heart-shaped face every time I lay my eyes on her.

The most prominent feature of her? Her eyes.

They glowed a rich shade of red, dotted with small flecks of orange and yellow. They saw everything. Bubblegum under the table? They spotted them. Stale food under the bed? In the bin.

Her personality is quite hard to describe. She was extremely annoying and whiny at times, but she helped me with homework, so we were cool. Alongside her friendliness, she is extremely shy. Every time someone passes by, she would throw herself behind me, clutching my shoulders tightly. Of course, the passerby would take no notice and walk straight past. 

I absolutely loved her.

I met her when I was 5, at the beach. I found her crying by the shore, away from the screaming kids and Instagram-ing couples. When I asked her why she was upset, she told me that her father went to sleep much too early. I found it quite a strange reason to bawl over, but I shook it off and, being the good-natured person I was, befriended her. I thought about introducing her to my parents and despite her quarrelling, I did. They happily welcomed her, making her a part of the  MacQuoid household, even though I spotted the pair exchange a tired look. Stephanie never left my sight since, and I never did hers.

We grew together—she went to school with me, celebrated events together, and even attended extra classes mutually. Strangely, my parents didn't have to pay for her. She just...tagged along. For school, she would never get her supplies—heck, she never had any. But I didn't mind. At least, I had company.

As time passed, my parents stopped addressing her. It angered me to the point of leaving the house, but since Stephanie insisted, I never left, however tempting the offer may be. 

My dog, Oscar, ultimately began whining when in Stephanie's presence. He never did that before, when she was merely a young girl. Now that she entered her maturing stage, he would bare his teeth, barking at the spot she stood. This would upset her to the extent where she would disappear for an hour or so at night, before arriving with bloody eyes and a shining smile, teeth glinting freshly as if they've just been cleansed. One time, she didn't return for a whole day. I skipped school that day, wandering around the town, looking for her. I eventually found her playing with a fork and knife with ketchup splattered over her clothes by the shore, perched down in the same spot I had first found her.

I never saw Oscar since.

At age 17, she stopped coming to school with me. I found it hard, adjusting without her for a year. But I made a couple of friends, one of which included a pretty girl going by the name Penelope, Penny for short. I thought it would be a great idea, introducing her to Stephanie. 

And I did.

Penny was confused. "Where is this Stephanie?" She asked me as Stephanie glared at her from within the shadows of the room. Eventually, she left the house, declining Stephanie's existence. I assured Stephanie that I would make up her mind to meet her at least once.

She didn't seem too excited.

A few months passed. Penny and I began dating. I convinced her to visit my place again, with the sole purpose of another introduction with Stephanie. This time, I was confident that they would get along.

Oh, how wrong I was.

That night, Stephanie and I had our first quarrel. She shared with me her opinion on Penny—according to her, she sensed a disturbing aura around her. She advised me to stay away from her. I told her that I was much closer to Penny than anyone else, which shut off the argument immediately. In a flash, she rushed out of the window and into the wild. I was much too angry to run after her, so I let her be.

The next day, Penny appeared on the news. A body had been found a few blocks from the beach, who had been caught in an accident. That was the last I had seen of Penny.

I was absolutely heartbroken, which opposed Stephanie's mood greatly. It infuriated me that someone could be so happy in a tragic time like this. Furious, I sent Stephanie out of my room, shutting the door on her face. Shortly, I began missing her, but I never showed it. 

I didn't see her for years to come. 

Then, at age 21, I finally cracked. I had lasted so long without her, my childhood friend. She couldn't just disappear from my life! I began running around the town, knocking on doors, asking around for her, stabbing individuals when they wouldn't answer.

Now, sitting in my cell, I ran through every picture I had taken with her, just for a chance to recall her face. But I never did, as every image included me, only me. The first picture we had taken on the beach, where I had my hand around her shoulders? She didn't appear. It merely consisted of a hand hovering over the crusty sand. The picture we had taken on the first day of school? It was just me, with my tongue lolling out, holding out my index and middle finger.

I asked my mother, when she visited my cell, about Stephanie, if she remembered her. Blinking concernedly, she shook her head.

"Honey, what are you talking about? There was never a Stephanie I know about."