Cool As A Cucumber!

MHA tweets pt.9 (continuation of pt.8)

December writing log: week one

1- fic- serokami, childhood friends to lovers, genderqueer questioning kami

-had this idea on a whim but thought serokami fit it well. i wanna focus on kami’s internal journey and family/friend relationships for most of it. princess bride references snuck their way in

2- original & fic- a short, nonsensical poem and rough planning for a new fic (bc planning is part of writing even if it’s not what im focused on this month 👍)

-poetry def helps get my creative juices flowing and honestly i forgot how much i enjoy it. had a nice convo w a prof today abt poetry that inspired me to pick it back up

3- fic- working on my first December prompt response! Deku + chronic pain + deku/bakugou/todoroki relationship

-poly seems really tricky to write but it’s a fun challenge and def outside my typical wheelhouse. i’m really happy so far with the decision to include Uraraka in the scene (and to have her dialogue do a lot of the work implying the background info and framing things). love my girl ochako :)

4- original- a six page script (aka the final for my ecocinema class)

-today was pretty busy so i only had a little bit of time to mess with my draft but i made a change to the intro that I think will help make the setting clearer and also sets up for the main theme a little better

5- fic- prompt response again!

-im def over 500 words rn lol but it’s really fun to work on. decided to take the route of romantic situation but deku’s lowkey oblivious to the intent until it’s spelled out crystal clear. so far it’s very sweet. uraraka = #1 wingman

6- fic & original- prompt response & six-pg script

-polished the prompt response and double checked the wc before uploading (very exciting!) and submitted the final version of my script. i'm not 100% satisfied with it at a creative level but i think i'll get a good grade and my prof liked the concept, which is nice

7- fic- serokami again

-only wrote abt two lines today but that's still progress. imposter syndrome go brrr

I want to write at least a little bit every day in December so I’ve decided to keep a log and post it here to keep myself accountable! I’ll list whether it’s a fic or original, what it’s about, and a few of my thoughts about each project. posted weekly, I think :)

Magical Anime Girl- i7 ficlet

genderqueer questioning nagi, pre-slash nagimitsu, based on that one scene where mitsuki tries to throw out all of nagi's merch (943 words)

still looking for an i7 beta reader, esp if you have a good grasp on the character personalities! and ofc id be more than happy to beta some of your stuff in return (for any fandom or original) so message me if interested!

Nagi had thought he’d confessed something, sitting on his knees while Mitsuki stared down with a blinding vengeance from Nagi’s bed, the both of them surrounded by boxes half-filled with his prized Magical Cocona keepsakes. 

Mitsuki had taken Nagi’s trademark magical stick from its place on the wall and brandished it with all the grace of a valiant knight from the stories Nagi’s father used to tell him as a child. Pointing the barrel of the wand at Nagi’s face like a steel-tipped sword, Mitsuki had said, “I know you’re more than just a womanizing anime nerd.”  

The words I know filled Nagi’s ears like static. 

“More than when you’re with girls or watching anime, when you’re dancing with us you smile the brightest.”

I know, I know, I know. 

“I know because I’ve been watching you,” Mitsuki had said, and Nagi thought that maybe he knew, too. 

Maybe he and Mitsuki were the same. 

Mitsuki set aside his sword- the magical stick returned gently to Nagi’s sheets instead of the box of to-be-thrown-out things- and he kneeled, too, bringing their faces close together. All the animosity from earlier felt washed away like the evening tide and Nagi’s water-worn eyes had shone, reflecting back the sudden gentleness he was faced with. 

No one who’d known had ever been gentle about it. 

Mitsuki smiled. 

“Man, you sure are handsome up close.”

The breath of those words on Mitsuki’s lips tipped Nagi further onto his knees like a young tree caught in the throes of a hurricane. 

I know. 

So Nagi steeled his trembling, windswept body and confessed. He’d confessed that he felt beautiful like the magical girl Cocona. Like elegance in velvet dresses and silk ruffles and perfectly pink princesses locked away in high towers, waiting to be rescued. 

(I must confess…I am beautiful.)

Mitsuki frowned, rising suddenly to make a dumpster shot of one of the Magical Cocona figurines displayed by Nagi’s bedside. 

“I was ready to listen but all you wanted to do was brag?” Mitsuki exclaimed incredulously, the words that had escaped Nagi’s lips too cowardly to confess anything at all. 

“I’m a beautiful man,” Nagi tried again. Beautiful, not handsome, but the hard lines in Mitsuki’s forehead clearly said Nagi’s message wasn’t getting through. Mitsuki didn’t really know so Nagi switched tactics, trying his luck with the other truth Mitsuki might have been referring to. “I’ve had girlfriends, but never boyfriends.”

Nagi had never had this. Japanese boys crowding into his space 24/7 and admiring his face, admiring him aloud, kneeling on his bed like a specter of divine judgment and leaning closer than they’d ever really need to be. 

“You’re my first,” Nagi said, hoping that this was known, at least. These secret feelings, barely beginning to bloom, expressed only in the suggestive asides Nagi’s meager vocabulary could manage.  

Nagi realized too late he’d slipped into the plural you but Mitsuki didn’t hesitate in the slightest before correcting the words Nagi had placed so purposefully at his feet, so perhaps this wasn’t the truth Mitsuki knew, either. 

(You mean, your first friends?) 

And the members of idolish7 were Nagi’s first friends, like Mitsuki assumed, so Nagi hung his head and agreed, grateful that his cowardice and incompetence had at least allowed him to retain his dignity a little while longer. 

Nagi had weathered the crashing wave of anger like he always did, misplaced as it was this time, and Mitsuki had gentled once more. 

Then Mitsuki called him cute and helped Nagi right the storm of his room and he smiled when Nagi began explaining the pure perfection that was the MagiCona series and Nagi felt…warm, in a way he didn’t usually allow himself to. 

He softened his body language until he felt more himself, mimicking the easy femininity of the magical anime girls he so admired, and Mitsuki never blinked. So maybe Nagi could allow himself this wordless honesty. Here, in his room spun with silk and safety that Mitsuki had stayed to help him rebuild even if he didn’t know.  

And at night, after MagiCona had aired and everyone else was asleep, Nagi could allow himself- herself? Perhaps themself- to imagine that Mitsuki had known something else and stayed to help Nagi rebuild all the same. 

*

Manager knew, Nagi thought. Or she at least suspected. 

Somehow girls always did, and that was part of why Nagi liked them so much. Tsumugi Takanashi was a beautiful woman, and Nagi told her so often, but he didn’t desire that sort of connection from her. 

“There’s a Magical Cocona themed planner being released today, isn’t there?” Manager asked as they strolled past the Zero arena. “Should we stop at a bookstore after we visit the salon?”

This connection, though- this easy friendship unafraid to wade away from masculinity was something Nagi wouldn’t trade for the world.  

“Oh, yes!” he cheered. “Magical Cocona! Yay!”

And maybe when Nagi found the words for a real confession, Manager would be the first to hear them, her gentle understanding a lighthouse in the swirling storm Nagi would finally admit existed within his head. 

“Are you okay, Nagi-san? You have an odd expression on your face…”

Nagi extended his hand, fingers curling upward, while the other rested gently on his own chest. Manager carefully placed her hand in Nagi’s and laughed as she was twirled, skirt billowing out in a beautiful circle. 

“I’m fantastic!” 

Nagi lightly squeezed Manager’s hand before letting go. 

“As long as you’re sure,” she said. 

“I am,” Nagi replied, smiling. “We’re going to get Magical Cocona today!”

And the baby steps were important. The magical girl Cocona assured him of this.

this scene actually broke me and i havent even watched the actual episode

found an iori-centric i7 wip in my files today that i'd like to finish up. id love to post what i have now but there's no good place to chop it into two parts so here's a snippet instead! the fic is called let it sink in

iori/riku pre-slash, self-discovery, angst & hurt/comfort

Iori ran his finger along the thin skin beside his nail bed, tempted to pick at it but far too restrained to give into the impulse. “Meeting Yuki-san helped you figure out who you were?” Was that just the alcohol talking?  Iori had been under the impression that those sorts of answers could only come from some secret place inside. One that Iori was still struggling to gain access to.  “Mhmm!” Momo-san agreed brightly. “He was just so…” he sighed wistfully, rocking up onto his toes for a moment before settling back onto his heels and staring up at the moon. “And then I kept coming back. And back. And back. To see him and Ban-san. Like he was drawing me in.” Iori gently bit the inside of his cheek. “That sounds…familiar,” he admitted.  Momo-san grinned brightly, excitedly leaning closer to Iori. “I thought so!” Iori could smell the alcohol on his breath and took a subtle step back.  “It’s the same for you and Riku, right?” Momo-san’s expectant gaze shimmered despite the wan lighting, oddly intense, and Iori turned his gaze to the moon to avoid meeting it.  Iori wasn’t drunk but Momo-san was, so… “I think so,” Iori murmured softly. “It’s…I feel,” he tried, unsure how to end the sentence. Iori looked down towards his tightly clasped hands. “It’s weird,” he settled on.  A complete non-answer if Iori’s ever heard one, but that was all Iori seemed to have lately and Momo-san supposedly had the key to his own lockbox so maybe Iori could learn something if the man simply talked long enough.  

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

Hate it when I’m writing a first draft and have to focus on Getting Words On The Page and not Making The Words Pretty And Perfect, I’m actually in hell

-someone who enjoys writing very much

Prompt requests open for December!

This time I’m doing a 500 word limit challenge to practice effective storytelling and characterization so if you’d like to send a request please leave a comment or send an ask like this:

[Character] + [headcannon] + (optional) [canon-verse or AU]

If you don’t have a preference for the setting, I might play around with AUs or maybe different aspects of the canonverse 

I’m gonna limit this to MHA for now but that’s still a pretty wide range of characters so please don’t hesitate to request something! I'd really love to hear your headcanons! As always, please only sfw requests

Here’s one i wrote for practice as an example but i hope i get much better with practice (fic below the cut!)

500 words | Katsuki Bakugou + afraid of frogs + AU: no quirks (and this is part of a larger au of mine where aizawa/present mic are bakugou’s guardians)

"You!" Katsuki shouted, socked feet planted on top of the dining room table and Aizawa's heaviest textbook held threateningly above his head. 

Aizawa paused with his hand still resting on the doorknob of their home, blinking slowly. The bag on his shoulder was heavy with ungraded essays. 

"Me," he agreed flatly. "What are you doing on the table?"

"I've fucking told you not to leave the backdoor open!"

Aizawa hummed, pulling off his shoes and setting down his things in the entranceway. Vaguely, he remembered stepping onto the back patio with a cup of coffee early this morning, though he couldn't remember opening the door at all, let alone sliding it shut. 

"How many frogs are in the house?" Aizawa asked, stepping around the table to warm up the kettle. He could feel Katsuki's glare doing its best to burn a hole through the back of his head. 

"Four," Katsuki seethed. 

Aizawa kept a careful ear out while he opened the cupboard above the stove, debating between the cat mug he'd found at a yardsale and the orange one Hizashi had made for him last christmas. Faint croaking carried over from the living room. And maybe the staircase. 

"Didn't you fucking hear me?" Katsuki demanded, his reflection blob-like in the silver kettle. 

"Four frogs," Aizawa repeated, though he suspected there were only three.  

"Four pests," Katsuki shot back through gritted teeth. 

"I believe the neighbor's call them 'beloved pets', and I'm not willing to cover up another murder like I did with Rafael."

Katsuki scoffed, though the sound was reedy with unease. The croaking had grown louder. 

"Stupid thing shouldn't have jumped at me while I was using the blowtorch."

"Do you hear that, frogs?" Aizawa called out, flicking off the stove. "Beware of blowtorches in the hands of teenaged boys who should not have had them in the first place." 

Aizawa spared a backwards glance to find the textbook finally drooping, though Katsuki's grip on the pages remained white-knuckled. 

"Are you ever gonna let that go?"

Aizawa leaned his back against the cold countertop, cradling the orange mug between his hands and blowing lightly at the steam. "Not in your lifetime." He could see a frog resting on the third stair. "Why don't you call your friend already so she can catch them?"

Katsuki's left eyebrow twitched- temptation, Aizawa was certain- before drawing low. 

"Fuck no! Frog Face is my second mortal enemy!" Then he crossed his arms. "Besides, I saw some exposed wiring on their house yesterday."

"You cannot blow up their house," Aizawa sighed. He could still remember a six year old Tsuyu returning a handmade eviction notice to their door, Rafael poking out of her shirt. 

"He spelled eviction wrong," she'd said before skipping away, unbothered. 

Aizawa tipped his head to the side. "But at least your tactics have evolved."  

Katsuki glowered. “You're not. Helping.”

"Fine," Aizawa said, pulling their butterfly net from its place on the wall. "I'll play hero."

"Bastard," Katsuki hissed. “Hurry up.”

the way you jump from creating silly, hilarious fake tweets to really beautiful pieces of writing is so inspiring to me. I'm happy I could read ur stuff and deeply appreciate every comment you've left, even if it takes me a while to reply lol <3

tysm!! im glad that the things i create were able to inspire you this year! that’s so cool :)

and im really happy we were able to connect on here! i look forward to seeing what new things you write in 2025 (and the new bkdk things you reblog lol) <33