MHA Tweets Pt.5

Sogo held his breath, eyes shut tight as the scissors approached his head.

There was a quiet snip. Then another. Gentle fingers. Falling hair.

Not a single ounce of pain

-from cut away the rot (on ao3)

i7 tweets #2

for my sprint i did 25 minutes total and wrote 1,019 new words for my mha fic Short For Grenade (link to the post explaining this fic concept is here <-). honestly i was typing like a madman for this one

i added a scene set at dagoba beach (which is not covered in trash for the sake of the grenade the dog AU) and finally started writing about grenade's talent for tracking! i had intended to have kota, eri, and the kids from the island show up as characters to bicker with katsuki but ended up just including eri for now

im excited to finally start showing izuku's progress with feeling more at ease around dogs (and having his relationship with katsuki become more friendly as well!)

happy writing everyone!! im so happy to see people participating in this!

Writing sprint tag game!

(Even if you haven’t been tagged, you are happily invited to participate!)

Here’s how the game works:

1) set aside some time to complete a 10-20min writing sprint, breaking up your writing time and break time however you see fit (I’ll prob do 10 min writing, a 5 min break, and then another 5 or 10 min of writing)

*if you want to do a shorter or a longer writing sprint, that’s totally fine too! 10-20min is just a low-pressure guideline

2) complete the sprint!

even if you cringe at the words you put down, the point is simply to get more words on the page than what you started with, so write that awkward sentence! skip that fiddly bit to write the scene you have inspiration for! anything new that ends up on the page is progress and anything you don’t love can always be edited later

3) have fun :)

remember, this sprint is a little nudge to help you reconnect with your creative writing. it’s 100% low-pressure, anything goes, and we’re all in it together 💪

4) share your sprint results

this part is totally optional but if you’d like to play along, reblog this post (or copy-paste the rules into a new post) with as many (or as few) answers as you feel comfortable sharing

*and if you make a new post, pls tag me so i can clap and cheer for you!!

how long was your sprint?

how many words did you write?

*anything more than zero is great!

what project did you complete the sprint for?

what did you end up adding to your WIP (or new project)?

*no need to share specific lines since the sprint’s focus is quantity over quality, but absolutely go wild with the overview. did you add a whole new scene? a new character? important dialogue for character development? a fun side quest you hadn’t planned on? an interesting bit you have no idea what to do with?

what part of your new writing excites you the most?

5) connect with your fellow writeblrs!

tag people in your response post to keep the creative energy flowing and offer encouragement and kudos to those who participate and share their progress!

gently tagging my writing moots to get this started:

@peaceheather @antsday @moody-tortured-artist @agirlandherquill @ohromeoraine @sorrowsfallallaround

shoot me a message or comment if you don't want to be tagged in these sorts of things (or if i haven't tagged you and you would like to be tagged in the future for writing things)

I do a bingo board every year for low-pressure resolutions (most of them being things I want to do but might need a small nudge to actually get started, small things that will simply make me happy that I could use a reminder for, and some bigger goals/projects! very fun, I highly recommend)

anyways, my writing-related squares for 2025 are:

-finish my mha fic Short For Grenade (and post)

-engage more with the writeblr community (specifically, make another writeblr friend)

and

-try the NaNoWriMo challenge in March! (and I’ll post more abt this in the coming weeks in case anybody else would like to try to do it at the same time!)

Happy New Year!

Reblog or comment your writing resolutions for this year!

Hey! So now that I feel a lil bit more confident, I had another idea (again pretty simple, but I don’t have that many complex thoughts xD)

Midoriya Izuku (again, but I love this gremlin) + Eraserhead saves him (from a villain/classmates/his family/himself, whatever you want) + quirkless Izuku AU/Izuku didn’t receive One for All

Here! I love quirkless Izuku’s fanfictions because I really enjoy how the authors are dealing with his anxious self-deprecating mindset, writing angst with it or fluff - I particularly enjoy when Aizawa saves him or talks to him about it even if he doesn’t know anything about this kid, just that he’s quirkless and in danger.

Btw! I don’t remember that you asked for a vibe in particular but if you didn’t want to write angst or hurt/comfort, I’m really sorry! My prompt is really heading in this direction, so sorry if it’s not what you want…

In anyway, have a great day, evening or night 💚💫

Author's note: thanks for the prompt! I think AUs where Izuku doesn't have OFA are really interesting and it was nice to practice writing something without a romantic focus | 500 words

*cw for reckless behavior that could be seen as suicidal

Izuku was 76% sure he could do it. He shuffled closer to the ledge of the Daiki Electric building, eyeing the distance to the alley below. 

All he had to do was catch himself on the windowsill of the building next door, drag his soles against the brick to slow his momentum, hop to the opposite wall to counterbalance his falling weight, and then land. 

Easy peasy. 

Or, maybe not easy but…

“Necessary,” Izuku murmured, bending slightly at the knees as he gathered his courage. 

Maybe it wasn’t realistic or easy or safe, but Izuku didn’t have anything else, so- 

“Nothing else?” an unfamiliar voice challenged. 

Izuku startled, tipping toward the open air and the cold, hard concrete below- a shout ripped from his throat. 

76% suddenly seemed too optimistic. 

Izuku flailed, fingertips hardly scraping brick when something soft wrapped around his middle, unyielding, and hoisted him back to solid ground. 

Once released, Izuku collapsed on his hands and knees, gasping and trembling. 

“Breathe,” the voice instructed.

A man, Izuku was pretty sure. He’d only barely caught a glimpse of them perching on the roof, all wrapped in shadow while Izuku plummeted toward the sidewalk. 

That...probably deserved a thank you, didn’t it? 

“If you want to thank me, how about tell me what you’re doing up here?” 

Izuku’s head shot toward the man, startled. 

“You’re mumbling,” he explained. 

“You’re Eraserhead,” Izuku shot back, gobsmacked. 

The man tipped his head to the side, more of an acknowledgment than an agreement. 

Starstruck, Izuku rose to his knees. “You’re so cool! You have no idea! Or- actually I guess you would have an idea, considering you’re him and-“

“Thanks, kid,” Eraserhead murmured, “but we were talking about you.” 

“Me?” 

“You.” Eraserhead gestured toward the ground. “Jumping.”

Izuku waved his hands in frantic denial. “N-no! I was training!”

Eraserhead tilted his head again and, this time, it felt like doubt. 

“I-it’s true! I- I wanna be a hero, but...the thing is, I’m quirkless, so I have to work harder than everybody else a-and how could I chase a villain in a fight if I can't even...I mean, heroes like All Might can just shoot off and save the day, you know?” 

Eraserhead paced slowly closer to Izuku, then dropped into a crouch, reminding Izuku that he was still on his knees.

Still shaking. 

“If I were quirkless,” Eraserhead started carefully, “I would think that means…weight training. Cardio. Martial arts or a long distance weapon. Both, even. Not leaping off of rooftops.”

Izuku’s breath caught in his throat, saltwater slowly blurring his vision and slipping past his lips. 

“I…I just wanted…” Izuku choked out. 

“I know, kid.” Eraserhead’s hand landed carefully atop Izuku’s head. 

Warm. Grounding.

Izuku shut his eyes in relief, still sniffling. 

“Let’s get off this roof, okay? I'll...buy you a milk, or something.”

“A-and you’ll give me your autograph?”

Eraserhead huffed softly. 

“Only if you can make me a list of things that'll keep you off of rooftops."

"Your autograph would help."

i feel like my writing has been on a steady decline lately, so pls enjoy this offering from a writing class that i took last spring (when i felt my writing was getting a lot better). it was one of the first, serious original writing pieces i worked on and i definitely leaned on bakugou katsuki's personality to help inform how i wrote Tony lol, but i was pleasantly surprised with the outcome!

i'd love to hear your thoughts (and if anyone's interested in beta-ing my i7 work, pls message me!)

it never got a title but i suppose ill call it...

In Ten Year's Time (1,737 words, original one-shot)

The bus was late.

Tony slumped further in his seat, trying to tune out the chattering next to him while the hard metal rungs of the bench dug further into his back. Tony didn't care if Maria's youngest child had finally started kindergarten or if the acne-ridden line cook sitting in between them was saving up to go to flight school. He did care that their conversation was making the words of his essay prompt swim on the page, 'night shift' and 'empty nest' burrowing an unwanted space between 'where do you see yourself in ten years?'.

Hopefully by then he'd be done waiting at this stupid bus stop.

Maria cackled loudly at something Acne Face had said and Tony took a deep breath through his nose, bouncing his left leg and focusing more intently on the notebook balanced on his right.

In ten years I will be, he wrote, pencil jerking when one of them- Maria, probably- began playing a video clip that started out like an air raid siren. Old people never knew how to fucking lower their volume in public. Tony didn't bother erasing the jagged line that streaked across his page or the one knitting his eyebrows together.

...in anger management, he finished wryly. Or jail.

Maria's shiny clump of necklaces caught the light as she leaned forward and Tony made the mistake of glancing up to investigate, caught in the headlights of her searching gaze while the large man in between them tried to respectfully shrink into nothingness.

"I'm sorry honey," she said apologetically, the remnant of a laugh still caught in her throat. "Are we being too loud?"

Tony grit his teeth against his instinctual, biting response. As much as she was getting on his nerves now, Maria was unbearably nice to him and always dropped off an apple pie during the holidays.

"A bit," he forced out, along with his best half-smile.

Her pleasant expression- endlessly patient while he searched his vocabulary for words that wouldn't sting- turned apologetic and Tony's stomach soured. "It's- it's whatever," he amended, turning away. "I was gonna wrap it up anyways. Bus should be here soon."

"Still," she said softly, followed by an awkward apology from the line cook that might have been the result of an expectant look from Maria. Tony couldn't be sure, eyes locked on an uninteresting pebble.

He rolled it around beneath the sole of his show for the five seconds it took for him to become bored, then kicked it and watched the rock skate clumsily over the curb and into the empty space beyond. Where the bus should be.

"Tory's not picking you up, today?" Maria continued pleasantly.

Tony shook his head, biting down a mean grin while imagining the way his mother's face would scrunch up at the nickname. "Nah."

"Well," Maria replied, the sigh and shifting fabric letting him know that she'd given up on eye contact, "might still be faster if she gets you from here."

"What?" Tony asked, turning his head only to be met with a pale, tattooed bicep. With a barely audible huff, he leaned forward to see around the line cook. "But the bus is supposed to come at four," he insisted.

The line cook chuckled and Tony scowled at him, unencumbered by apple-pie shaped shackles.

The man reigned himself in with an awkward cough. "I don't know where you heard that," he said, "but this bus never shows up earlier than five."

Tony stared at him, then Maria, then the line cook again. The man offered him a shrug.

"Five," Tony repeated blandly.

"Five," they agreed.

Tony clenched his fists, silently burying himself in his backpack to escape their sympathetic grimaces but he could still feel their eyes on the back of his neck like a rash. He rifled carelessly through notebooks and folders and textbooks, crumpling half of them in his wake before coming back up with a fresh sheet of paper and the stub of a pencil.

The stubs were harder to snap.

Tony chewed on the inside of his cheek and tuned out the tentative chatter starting up again on his right.

Where do you see yourself in ten years?

Tony scribbled his name on the top of the page, first and last. Then the date. Then the name of his homeroom teacher just for the hell of it, trying to at least look like he was busy and not avoiding the rest of the page.

"College applications, huh?" the line cook commented.

Tony's nostrils flared. Apparently he didn't look busy enough.

"Oh, Angelica had such an awful time with hers," Maria lamented. Tony had already chosen his prompt but he leaned further over his paper to write down the other two. "Something about who you'd want to have dinner with? Honestly, how a college can pick you based on your dinner guests makes no sense to me," she complained, huffing, "and if Mother Teresa isn't good enough for them then they're not good enough for my daughter."

The line cook whistled appreciatively, a bit of mirth slipping out in the shade of his voice. "You tell 'em."

Tony slowly uncurled from his hunched over position, not quite turning his head to face them.

"Angelica got rejected?"

"Mm," Maria agreed solemnly. "Three times." Then she shrugged, the bitterness alighting from her shoulders like birds on a wire. "But she'd happy where she is."

Tony tapped his pencil stub against his knee, retreating from the conversation once more.

Angelica was two years older than him and he only ever really saw her at church or the odd Christmas party but he knew for a fact she had ranked first in her year. Hell, he'd overheard her reciting her valedictorian speech instead of prayer during communion too many times to count.

Tony pulled out his phone, tapping until he found the right screen.

He held his breath.

S. Antonio, 42

And kept holding it, idly wishing that he could just pass out and not have to deal with college applications anymore. He imagined a puppet doctor in a crisp white lab coat saying, Sorry ma'am, turns out your kid's terminally ill and needs to be exempt from college applications. Bed rest only.

His little wooden limbs would jangle as he shrugged.

Then he imagined his puppet mother pointing in the doctor's face, demanding that they heal him because Tony wasn't allowed to die before becoming a doctor himself and the puppet doctor would droop like his strings had been cut and do as he was told because Tony's mother controlled the universe.

"Uh...hey, kid? Everything alright over there?"

Tony's head snapped up to the line cook, blinking away his daydream and the black spots while he heaved in a lungful of air as subtly as possible. "I'm fine," he spat on the exhale.

Tony's pencil stub lay on the ground between his feet, having slipped from his shaky hands. The sheet of paper, still mostly blank, lay plastered to his thigh.

"Essay that hard?" the line cook asked lightly, lips quirked up in a careful smile.

Tony sneered in the face of it, bristling. "No," he snapped. Heart pounding and lungs still trembling, Tony sat up straighter and gave the man a onceover. "I know damn well where I don't want to be in ten years."

The man's eyes widened but a chuckle was quick to follow. "On your way home to the love of your life after a good day at work?"

Tony's mouth fell open, letting loose a weak, "I-"

"Antonio!" his mother called, her sleek gray car pulling into the space in front of the bench. Right where the bus should be. "Get in, what're you waiting around for?"

Tony scrambled to shove his things back into his bag, staunchly avoiding eye contact and standing before he was finished, nearly tripping for his efforts. The back of his neck burned.

"Nice to see you, Tory," Maria called.

Victoria's mouth pursed, then smoothed out into what she probably thought was polite neutrality, fingers tapping the steering wheel at regular intervals. "You too," she said, voice so falsely sweet it could rot your teeth. Tony wondered if they could tell. "How's Angelica doing? I heard she moved back home?"

Tony paused, hand on the open frame of the passenger side door. His mother's interest might not have been genuine but Tony knew as soon as he was inside the car she'd be off without waiting for the answer. He stepped away to load his bag in the backseat, instead.

"She's happy," Maria replied, the serene smile audible in her voice. "Rediscovering her passions." Tony's mother offered a noncommittal hum, sharp eyes darting to her son's hesitating form. "And your children?" Maria inquired.

"Oh, they're wonderful," Tony's mother replied. "Brock's nearly finished with law school now. Columbia. And of course, Antonio here's getting ready to apply to all the best schools in the country." She smiled, polished teeth flashing. "A little doctor in the making."

Tony kept his eyes low as he slipped into the passenger seat and his mother hardly waited for the door to shut behind him before pulling away. For a few, long moments neither of them said anything, letting the quiet hum of the engine permeate the empty space the way other families listened to the radio. Tony's leg bounced silently.

"Maria's nice," he finally said, the statement hanging in the air like a reprimand.

His mother's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "Mhmm."

Tony rolled the words around behind his teeth, weighing the risks, before adding a careful, "So's her wife."

"Did I say anything unsavory?" his mother snapped. Tony shook his head, shifting in his seat to stare determinedly out the window, cursing his inability to disappear or turn back time or sew his mouth shut.

"Well?" she pressed.

Tony wished he hadn't said anything at all. "No."

"That's what I thought," she said shortly. Then she sighed. "I don't know why you always have to paint me as the villain, Antonio."

"Sorry," Tony muttered quietly.

In his head, he wrote, In ten years, I do not want to be like my mother.

In his head, he wrote, Maybe I'll sit on a bus bench with a friend after a good day of work and won't daydream about dying.

Maybe I won't even mind if the bus is late.

That’s a really fun self-Pavlov lol

trying to find the time/energy to write now that the semester has started up again is not going to be as easy peasy as i thought lol

writers, pls reblog with your fav writing rituals/habits! i love getting inspired by seeing what works for other people :)

More pixie hollow au!

reference-a-day 1/?

this is so dumb lol