The End! 🍊🥦

Idolish7 fanfic- Morning (1,210 words)

a friend showed me this clip of Idolish7 and i've been binging the show ever since

this is my contribution to the fandom lol

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“Iorin,” Tamaki whined, slumping into the doorframe of their dorm bathroom, still dressed in his pajamas. “Where’s my toothbrush?”

Iori continued straightening his school tie in the mirror, sparing an irritated glance towards his team member. “I’m not your mother.”

Tamaki’s head slumped lower on the frame. “But Iorin, it’s not there.”

“Where else would it be?” Iori shot back, thankful that Tamaki’s closed eyes allowed him to stealthily tally up the toothbrushes scattered around the sink. 

Iori’s toothbrush was resting upright in the cup meant for toothbrushes, as was Sogo-san’s and Yamato-san’s. Nagi-san’s- an obnoxiously pink, wand-shaped thing- was beside the cup at least, and Mitsuki’s was balanced on the tiny line of counter ledge the same way he’d done since they were young, and Nanase-san’s was in the shower like a heathen. 

Tamaki’s toothbrush was not there. 

“King pudding,” Tamaki mumbled. 

Iori stomped on his foot and Tamaki jerked to attention with a cry. “Don’t you dare fall asleep!” Iori chastised. 

“But-”

“Either go find it or go buy a new one, but if you’re late getting back I will leave for school without you.”

Tamaki yawned. “I’ll just have a mint.”

Iori frowned. “That’s unsanitary.”

“Then I’ll ask the manager for one.”

“That’s rude.” Iori pushed past Tamaki to exit the bathroom. “She’s way too busy already to go running errands for you.”

Tamaki groaned, letting Iori’s small nudge of his shoulder turn into a slow-motion pantomime of being shoved to the ground. “I just won’t go to school then,” he said, curling up on the hallway’s dirty carpet. 

Iori huffed and stepped over Tamaki’s limp body to make his way towards the kitchen where Sogo-san, predictably, sat at the table nursing a warm cup of tea. 

The mug was halfway to his lips when he noticed Iori’s approach and he paused, smiling. “Oh, Iori-kun. Good mo-”

“Tamaki’s on the ground because he’s lazy and can’t find his toothbrush and won’t go buy a new one and if he tries to leave the house with me without cleaning his mouth I might kill him.”

Sogo-san hardly blinked while Iori explained the situation, and only after a long sip of tea that had Iori tapping his foot on the ground in impatience did he finally say, “You’re not really a morning person, are you, Iori-kun?”

Iori frowned. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Sogo-san smiled gently. “You’re just normally a lot more…level-headed.”

“I’m being level-headed,” Iori huffed, “I went and got you, didn’t I?’

Sogo-san blinked. “What am I supposed to do about it?”

Iori, maturely, resisted the urge to groan aloud and walked (not stomped) to the fridge instead to pour himself a glass of orange juice. As he watched the glass fill with bright pulpy liquid, he mentally recited, it’s good for you, there are antioxidants, it helps your gut and when he felt marginally more relaxed he turned to Sogo-san. Calmly. 

“You manage him for Mezzo, don’t you?”

Sogo-san made a so-so gesture with his head, mouth twisting with uncertainty and what were probably thoughts he wouldn’t dare let escape his polite mouth. 

“So manage him,” Iori demanded, downing his glass in one go and depositing it in the sink where it belonged. He wrinkled his nose at the myriad of cups still littering the counter from yesterday. 

Iori lived with a horde of pigs. 

Sogo-san continued to drink his tea, lightly tapping out the melody to one of their most recent songs on the tabletop with the soft pad of his fingertip.

The clock continued to tick away. 

Iori marched to the chair directly opposite him and stared- maturely and unflinchingly. 

Ten seconds, Iori predicted. 

Sogo-san’s tapping turned more forced, his gaze darting anywhere but Iori. 

Eight…

“He’s not my responsibility, you know.”

Iori lightly tipped his head in acknowledgement, then let his gaze track pointedly over all the empty chairs surrounding them. 

Six…

“Tamaki-kun needs to learn to do things for himself,” Sogo-san pointed out. “This could be a learning experience!”

Iori raised his eyebrow. 

Sogo-san’s mouth twisted. 

Four…

“This isn’t even Mezzo related. Not really.”

Iori scoffed. 

Three…

“Maybe…maybe he’s already gone looking for his toothbrush?” he suggested hopefully. 

Two…

Iori discreetly held his breath, hoping to punctuate the perfect silence permeating the dorms. There was absolutely no toothbrush-related ruffling. 

One. 

“Oh, fine,” Sogo-san sighed, rising unhappily from the table and pointing a finger towards Iori, “but I’m not his keeper.”

“Uh-huh,” Iori agreed lightly. 

“I’m not,” Sogo-san repeated, denial thick on his tongue as he walked toward the bathroom, tea still in hand. 

“And I don’t have a thing for idiots,” Iori murmured under his breath. 

There were still fifteen minutes before he and Tamaki needed to leave for school so maybe he could just shut his eyes for a-

Nanase-san suddenly pulled out the chair beside Iori and shot him a grin far too sunny for the early morning hour, placing two plates of toast down. “You don’t have a what?” he asked pleasantly, sliding one toward Iori. 

Iori squinted in the face of such brightness, then cleared his throat.

“Nothing. Is this all you know how to make?”

Nanase-san’s bright smile melted into a frown. “I told you I’ve never lived on my own before,” he complained. 

Iori took a bite of the offering, pleased. 

“You’re pathetic.”

“I am not,” Nanase-san denied halfheartedly, too used to this particular insult to rise to the bait like he had when they had first formed Idolish7. 

Iori would just have to try harder, then. 

“You didn’t even make anything at all! How’re you gonna stay healthy for the group if you’re skipping meals, huh?”

Iori spared a glance at Nanase’s overly sincere expression to ensure he wasn’t making things up but no, Nanase’s best rebuttal was an earnest appeal to Iori’s health. 

How cute. 

Iori cleared his throat. “How could I cook with Tamaki-kun making such a fuss?”

“What? Tamaki’s still asleep in the hallway.”

A spike of irritation shot through Iori. After he’d gone through all that effort to get Sogo-san to solve the problem, too. 

“He better not be. I’ll kill him.”

Nanase-san laughed, unfairly awake and amused at such an early hour. His right hand rested comfortably on the back of Iori’s chair. “You’re not much of a morning person, are you?”

Iori was…not sure what kind of a person he was, yet. 

Still, he knew he found delight in giving Nanase-san a hard time and, mature as he was, Iori couldn’t see a reason to give that up when it made him feel so pleasantly warm. 

Iori shrugged carelessly, tucking away any hint of the smile he felt growing in his chest. “Maybe I’d be cheerier if you didn’t burn my toast.”

“What?” Nanase-san exclaimed. “No way! I didn’t burn anything!”

Iori stared at him blanky until Nanase-san began to fidget, his cheeks taking on a bit of the color Iori worked so hard to see everyday. 

“Well,” Nanase-san mumbled, eyes darting away, “you ate it anyway so it couldn’t have been that bad.”

Iori rose from the table and placed his empty plate in the sink, where it belonged, lips curling upward only with Nanase-san at his back. 

“I’m very polite, Nanase-san.”

“Polite my ass.”

looking for fellow writers!! togachako writing game edition

interested in writing a second part to a short togachako fic i wrote?

i dont really plan on doing anything with this piece so i think it'd be really fun to see people's takes on how to continue it! like a super low pressure writing game

if you do participate, pls tag me or reblog so i can see your contribution!! even if its just a few lines!

the fic is a loose play on frankenstein with some adam & eve elements thrown in (and the unnamed girl is ochako)

have at it! :)

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Toga was a bloodied thing, she knew. 

She was born with cold metal kissing her bare skin and electricity shrieking down her spine. Her first breath- a choking, cut-off scream- was not even her own, the memory too tightly braided with the boom of Dr. Garaki's laughter in his small laboratory. 

I made you, he had explained, pain still ringing oddly in her skull. 

She had been made, not born, and no one loved to remind her of this fact more than Dr. Garaki himself. 

Pet, he called her, grinning indulgently in his tall, wingback office chair. The reflection of his glasses shone like fire. Like the spark that had jolted her alive. 

I made you, he’d say. I made you. 

But what am I? Toga would ask, twin pinpricks of too-sharp teeth digging into her too-wide lips while she fumbled out the words, warmth dribbling from her rosy smile. 

Dr. Garaki did not like this image, nor the question. 

You are my creation, he’d snap, the floor rumbling with the force of his rise from the wingback chair. Do you not trust me, pet? 

Toga would watch the sky flash outside the dark windows of the laboratory and nod, nod, nod because she did not know what she was but she knew punishment well. 

All Toga knew was punishment and Inside. 

The Inside of the laboratory, which smelled faintly of the coins that slipped between uneven couch cushions, and the Inside of Toga- drawn from her own disordered lips- red as plush velvet and twice as sweet. 

Good, Dr. Garaki would say from behind his wide, unbreachable desk. Now behave. 

Behave, behave, behave. 

This word buzzed around Toga’s head like the constant drone of heavy machinery in the lab. It followed her when she closed her fists around home-smelling coins, retrieved from their hiding places late at night, and when she draped her goose-bumped body in the off-limits, grass-green curtains, and, louder still, when she peered out of small, dirt-smeared windows, asking after the word for grass.

Red had leaked from her cheek, then, bursting forth from the skin by the rings adorning Dr. Garaki’s punishing hand. But the word had slipped out as he’d shouted. 

Toga’s tongue had darted to the corner of her mouth and she’d imagined the word blooming over her tongue- swallowed and safe within herself. 

Yes, Toga knew of Inside well. She craved the taste of Outside, now. 

Outside she saw a girl with red flowers in her hand, picked from the border of Dr. Garaki’s property, and high on her cheeks laid a dusting of soft-petalled blush. 

Toga had never known the color red could be so gentle.

Toga longed to be picked from the laboratory like the thorned stems in the girl’s steady hands. To be lifted up. To be held. 

“You’re not supposed to be looking through there,” Twice whispered from over Toga’s shoulder. “It’s bad.” 

Toga gnawed on her bottom lip, drawing red to the surface until she matched the roses being carried further and further from the laboratory. 

“Why?” she asked. 

Toga didn’t know who she was asking- Twice, the disappearing girl, or the flowers? 

Twice was the only one to respond. 

“Because Dr. Garaki said it’s bad,” he reminded her nervously. 

Toga watched the girl’s form begin to blur on the horizon. 

Twice shook her shoulder and Toga’s gaze slipped to the touch, observing the firm boundary between Toga and Twice. His fingers held the same shape as Dr. Garaki’s- more same than Toga’s- yet held none of the anger. Only urgency. 

“How come Dr. Garaki gets to make all the rules?” Toga asked. 

Twice’s hand slipped away like the question had bitten him, and, Toga thought to herself, maybe it had. With Twice’s same-enough hands he could cradle lessons from Dr. Garaki on how to name the objects in the laboratory. His scratching fingers could be gently pulled away from his seams. He could hold close the smiling shape of son on Dr. Garaki’s lips. 

Twice held the honor of being made same-enough while Toga’s hands and heart and smile were wrong, wrong, wrong. 

Pet, Dr. Garaki said, teeth glistening behind a simper. Filthy-

“Mr. Garaki wants what’s best for us,” Twice said, twitching on the last syllable and scratching the ragged line carved down his forehead. 

“Does he?” Toga questioned. 

How do you know? she wanted to ask. She craved his certainty with a desperation that left her Inside chest pounding hard against the firm line of her Outside body. 

Twice twitched. 

“I trust him.” 

The dull roar of the laboratory seemed loud today, and Toga felt restless. 

“Do you trust?” Twice asked. 

Toga’s mouth quivered and she turned her gaze back to the small window. The girl was gone now but she would be back tomorrow. 

Toga flinched as the door slammed open and Dr. Garaki appeared a moment later. 

Pet or-

“Filthy woman,” Dr. Garaki muttered, striding forward to yank the green curtain from Toga’s body. The view of Outside disappeared. 

Toga shivered. 

“Don’t you know your shame dirties you?” Dr. Garaki continued, staring at the Outside of her body. 

Could he see the Inside?

Toga desperately hoped that he couldn’t. 

“It’s unbecoming of my creations,” he stated before spinning on his covered foot to stride through his office door, a box of rattling machine parts held in his arms. 

Toga’s trust in Dr. Garaki was as brittle as the vase she had tipped over the other day, fascinated by the sound it made when it hit the floor. Left in a puddle of red after Dr. Garaki had found her. 

Inside herself, Toga said, I do not trust Dr. Garaki, and shame bloomed hot and heavy in her chest. 

She felt like the vase, one breathless moment before it shattered. 

“Toga?” Twice whispered, eyes drooping with concern. 

“It’s cold,” Toga whispered. 

Twice fidgeted for a moment, his nails hesitating a  few inches from his sewn-together face. After a furtive glance towards Dr. Garaki’s closed office door, he gave into the urge to scratch, leaving raking, red lines across his Outside. 

“I know,” he murmured. “Do I? I…yes. I know.” 

Toga blinked away the blurry heat gathering in her eyes and reached out with her not-same-enough hand until it rested on Twice’s knee. 

Slowly, she ran her hand up and down one length of his leg. Then faster. 

Twice stared. 

“See?” she whispered. “It makes warmth.”

“I…” Twice peeked over his shoulder, towards the door Dr. Garaki had disappeared behind. “…see. I see. I do.”

Toga removed her hand and watched Twice repeat the action for himself. 

Toga turned back to the green curtain, looking in the place she knew the window lived, and began rubbing warmth back into her arms as she imagined the girl. 

I trust her, Toga decided. 

And how lovely was it for there to be a her that wasn’t Toga? A her that Toga might be same-enough for. 

Dr. Garaki cursed the Outside people but Toga bit her lip and danced with the idea that the girl from Outside might see Toga- red as the roses she always returned to- and pluck her, instead. 

And then maybe Toga could live how she wanted to. Cursed or not.

Chapter 126 - Open Up, World

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.

Midoriya: *yelling excitedly in the distance because AM gave him a rare piece of merch*

Todoroki: What was that sound?

Bakugou: …It was the last thread of my patience snapping

Bakugou, quieter: This favoritism is fucking bullshit

sometimes I look back on my past writing and think it’s the worst thing ever written but occasionally there will be a killer line hidden in there that saves me from the depths of despair

like, yeah I wouldn’t write it that away again if given the chance but that one line?? etch it in stone, my guy

sponsored by this line from a merthur s1 ep03 re-write I wrote ages ago (you can find it here if you’d like)

“All he could see was Merlin walking peacefully from the room, his stupid neckerchief flowerless and hanging from his throat like a poor man’s noose.

When his father adjourned the council, Arthur was still trying to figure out where in the folds of that tattered fabric a part of himself was hidden because he had ceased to be whole the second his manservant disappeared around the corner.”

🩷

reference-a-day 1/?

this is so dumb lol

me, to characters im intentionally making suffer for the Plot:

in related news, i was working on a seroroki time traveler x immortal fic today (that im super excited abt) and i started it in Greece in the year 400 smth BC but then i realized i need to make some huuge time jumps to make the plot work right

and as i typed out the +212yrs all i could think about was immortal todoroki having to live through all that time not knowing if sero was ever coming back :( or if he'd been abandoned :( :(

as if i didnt contrive this whole thing, lol

really love dynamics that are like 'it honestly doesn't matter if you view them as romantic or platonic, the point is that they love each other. the type of love is inconsequential, all that matters is that it's there'. gotta be one of my favorite genders.