10-24-2018, 07:00 AM
He didn’t like change. Sometimes he just wants everything to stop, to stay still and let him enjoy the moments as they were. That way he could finally halt and take a break, breathe in the crispness of the atmosphere, offer his mind a moment of peace. He used to think he would always be on top. He had opponents to surpass, goals to train up to. Like his ambition, he will overcome just about anything. The sensation of falling behind, becoming yet a remnant of the past, was an embarrassment to him. It frustrated him to feel weak because he knew it wasn’t him. It was a version of him that he couldn’t bear to look at for too long. To succumb to a poor reality, belittled and insignificant, made him feel as if the entire universe was crushing him with forces unknown. It feels as if he is suffocating. The feeling of success and achievement was addicting. To be considered a force to be reckoned with, only to lose it to the likes of a nobody, hurt all too much. It was like being an angel. Holy, perfect, but kicked out of heaven. Falling, fallen, crushed.
His future seemed so rich and yet changes happened. They tore him away from the destiny he should have received. He had wanted it more than anyone. He never wanted to be an equal. He wanted to be more, he wanted to sit atop a throne feeling comfortable with his power. Then he would finally be able to rest. He’d feel happier with his self-image. He’d feel envied and praised. Perhaps it was because he knew he would never be entitled to anything else. All the good things in life. Appreciation and love. Even his mother hated his talent. He couldn’t help his personality because his life had been so centred around the fire inside of him. It had to burn through something, so it burned through his emotions, leaving behind the smoke of anger, ashes of embitterment. Bakugou doesn’t realise that everything was right in front of him. He was selfish – preoccupied with his injustices that he never stopped to realise they weren’t even there. He just felt an intense amount of jealousy for the ones around him, knowing that they would be saved when the apocalypse came and that he would be left behind to fade.
Bakugou’s eyes waft towards the Dealer, floating towards her tired form the same way the smell of his food was reaching her. He doesn’t so much as say hello, afraid of what she might say that only a quiver of his ears can be seen. Anticipation shifts within his internal mechanisations. He realises he’s holding his breath, finally able to breathe again when she says it seems familiar. The Reaver has never thought of himself to shy away from talking, turning his gaze down and back to his food. Familiar. It was good that she found it familiar but even then, he felt unhappy with it, trying to figure out what he was missing. Maybe he added too many onions, maybe he was forgetting an ingredient entirely. Aside from the low flame and the bubbling within the pot, he begins to hear shifts and flicks of pages. His whiskers twitch curiously, unable to resist the urge to look at what she was looking at through her door that was wide open. He blinks at her words before slowly, but surely, letting his eyes drift down towards the card.
Katsukare. Yes, that was the one. It was the food he had suggested because truthfully, it reminded him of home. He liked the spice, deciding to add more chilli flakes before stopping. He shudders a sigh. ”I don’t know how much you remember but you taught me how to make it. I didn’t like your cupcakes or your cookies because it was during a time I didn’t know how to control my fire,” he says with a huff, black smoke dissipating from his lips in demonstration. He used to get so upset that he would literally be spitting embers because his entire body would light up in flames. It made him too tired, always exhausted because of the energy he always subconsciously used up. His emotions have always tied in with his feelings. He was so bad at controlling how angry he felt. ”So you asked me what I wanted and I said I liked anything spicy, like katsukare.” It was really just a summary of how things went down. His memory was bad, but the important details were there, brimming more than ever.
He was so…rude. He’d never really told her thank you, never really let her know just how grateful he felt for her. Bakugou wanted to say it now but knowing that her memories were fuzzy, he felt it was too late or too shallow for him. The truth of it all, however, he was just too cowardly to do it. Instead, he chuckles slightly before speaking again: ”To be honest, I didn’t think you’d actually come by my house and invite me to cook with you. I thought you’d forget about it.” His own heart hurt just talking about it. "As soppy as this is, I've still fucked up something in this recipe and I don't know what."
His future seemed so rich and yet changes happened. They tore him away from the destiny he should have received. He had wanted it more than anyone. He never wanted to be an equal. He wanted to be more, he wanted to sit atop a throne feeling comfortable with his power. Then he would finally be able to rest. He’d feel happier with his self-image. He’d feel envied and praised. Perhaps it was because he knew he would never be entitled to anything else. All the good things in life. Appreciation and love. Even his mother hated his talent. He couldn’t help his personality because his life had been so centred around the fire inside of him. It had to burn through something, so it burned through his emotions, leaving behind the smoke of anger, ashes of embitterment. Bakugou doesn’t realise that everything was right in front of him. He was selfish – preoccupied with his injustices that he never stopped to realise they weren’t even there. He just felt an intense amount of jealousy for the ones around him, knowing that they would be saved when the apocalypse came and that he would be left behind to fade.
Bakugou’s eyes waft towards the Dealer, floating towards her tired form the same way the smell of his food was reaching her. He doesn’t so much as say hello, afraid of what she might say that only a quiver of his ears can be seen. Anticipation shifts within his internal mechanisations. He realises he’s holding his breath, finally able to breathe again when she says it seems familiar. The Reaver has never thought of himself to shy away from talking, turning his gaze down and back to his food. Familiar. It was good that she found it familiar but even then, he felt unhappy with it, trying to figure out what he was missing. Maybe he added too many onions, maybe he was forgetting an ingredient entirely. Aside from the low flame and the bubbling within the pot, he begins to hear shifts and flicks of pages. His whiskers twitch curiously, unable to resist the urge to look at what she was looking at through her door that was wide open. He blinks at her words before slowly, but surely, letting his eyes drift down towards the card.
Katsukare. Yes, that was the one. It was the food he had suggested because truthfully, it reminded him of home. He liked the spice, deciding to add more chilli flakes before stopping. He shudders a sigh. ”I don’t know how much you remember but you taught me how to make it. I didn’t like your cupcakes or your cookies because it was during a time I didn’t know how to control my fire,” he says with a huff, black smoke dissipating from his lips in demonstration. He used to get so upset that he would literally be spitting embers because his entire body would light up in flames. It made him too tired, always exhausted because of the energy he always subconsciously used up. His emotions have always tied in with his feelings. He was so bad at controlling how angry he felt. ”So you asked me what I wanted and I said I liked anything spicy, like katsukare.” It was really just a summary of how things went down. His memory was bad, but the important details were there, brimming more than ever.
He was so…rude. He’d never really told her thank you, never really let her know just how grateful he felt for her. Bakugou wanted to say it now but knowing that her memories were fuzzy, he felt it was too late or too shallow for him. The truth of it all, however, he was just too cowardly to do it. Instead, he chuckles slightly before speaking again: ”To be honest, I didn’t think you’d actually come by my house and invite me to cook with you. I thought you’d forget about it.” His own heart hurt just talking about it. "As soppy as this is, I've still fucked up something in this recipe and I don't know what."