Bakugou dragged his eyes over the broad expanse of Kirishima's bare skin. There were so many scars, his body a canvas of his duty. Bakugou hated that he didn't know how each scar had been earned. He knew his own body likely looked the same to Kirishima; familiar, yet entirely new. The way Kirishima gently traced a raised line over Bakugou's side made him think he might have had the same thought. This is the extended version of my piece for the Poprocks Zine. The art accompaniment to my fic is by the incredibly talented Roz. Find their work on twitter @ Mphtaroz

Having a bad day? Need a good laugh? This book is just for you! (A compilation of jokes I have found online & offline. Credits goes to the many humorous authors.)