I’m Pretty Sure They Never Show In The Anime How They Got To Class?? But I Love The Idea That Denki

Lost for words | bi_focal

Tags: Bakugou & Izuku, post-war, introspection, friendship/love, fluff (could be read as gen or slash)

Summary: Where Bakugou feels guilty about their childhood, Izuku doesn't know what to say, and they find that they don't need many words to communicate, after all.

Izuku lets his gaze drop to Kacchan’s fists, instead, and finds them clenched so tight he’s surely leaving half-moon impressions on his palms. There’s no smoke leaking out between his bone-white knuckles but, then again, Kacchan has always had impeccable control of his quirk. And they had always communicated better with their hands, hadn’t they?

1,690 words

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56130106

(i'm pretty proud of this one, guys)

MHA tweets pt.16- shigaraki appears

Idolish7 fanfic- Ringing Hearts <3

-Nagi x Mitsuki, introspective Mitsuki, fluff, slight angst-

Mitsuki lay on his side in bed, idly swiping through his phone. The only light left on in the room was the small square being projected onto his weary face. Mitsuki should be sleeping at this hour but he couldn’t bring himself to settle, allowing the soft music pouring from the speaker to create a more melancholic atmosphere than the day deserved.

Mitsuki was glad to be getting so much MC work lately. Really, he was.  

It was just difficult to set aside the fact that their fans thought he talked too much, knowing that Mitsuki had only made it onto i7 as part of a package deal. 

But Mitsuki knew better to dwell on that, so he swiped.   

Everything I’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it.

-David Foster Wallace   

Mitsuki lingered on this slide long enough for the music in the background to loop, then he laughed quietly.  

How odd was it to go seeking a distraction and stumble across a mirror, instead?

Mitsuki held the moderation Yamato had given him close to his heart, but this- this desperation to keep a white-knuckled grip on the things he held dear- was something written into the very marrow of Mitsuki’s bones. 

It was what kept him signing up for auditions- always reaching, even if it meant his hand might be slapped mercilessly away, again and again. It’s what kept him up at night when he ached from the brutal sting of rejection. It’s what had spurred Iori to glue them together in the first place, if only to spare Mitsuki the pain. 

Gratitude and insecurity were glued in equal measure to that memory, but now that they were here Mitsuki knew he would never let go of i7 without engraving his desperate desire for their success beneath his fingernails, first. 

The thought of ever being dragged away from the group was an uneasy one, though, so Mitsuki swiped again.  

Achilles did not slur my name, as people often did, running it together as if in a hurry to be rid of it. Instead, he rang each syllable:

Pa-tro-clus.

-Song of Achilles, Madeline Miller

Again, Mitsuki paused. An image of Nagi’s shining face poked its way into his thoughts, unbidden, whining for Mitsuki to watch Magical Cocona with him. 

Mit-su-ki, Nagi always said. Drawing the syllables out so the shape of Mitsuki’s name lingered on his lips. 

Thoughtful, Mitsuki raised a finger to his own lips and pressed down. 

Mitsuki was used to people wanting to be rid of him. Used to people batting away his outstretched hand in search of something more. Something better. 

No one had ever lingered on Mitsuki, before. 

The thought brought warmth to Mitsuki’s face and he slammed his phone down on the bed, throwing his room into a sudden, searing darkness.

Mitsuki’s heart pounded against his chest- a wild, fluttering thing- and he felt stripped bare, his racing thoughts thrown into sharp relief without the soft haze of the phone screen to blur them.

It was so warm, all of a sudden.  

Had someone messed with the thermostat? 

Surely that’s all it was, and not…

Mitsuki carefully grasped his phone, tilting the screen back towards himself. 

he rang each syllable, it said. Pa-tro-clus. 

A nervous smile tugged at Mitsuki’s burning cheeks, a gentle weightlessness skittering through his stomach. 

Mit-su-ki, Nagi always said. 

Mit-su-ki. 

Surely Nagi knew the emphasis didn’t belong in the middle of his name, and yet…

And yet, he rang each syllable. 

Mitsuki pressed his face into his pillow, carefully cradling the belltower resonance that had been struck each time his name was spoken with such care, building and building and building until the brass echo brought blood rushing to the surface of Mitsuki’s smile.

Mit-su-ki, Nagi always said- sparkling and golden and princelike. 

“Nagi Rokuya,” Mitsuki whispered into his pillow. “Na-gi.”

The music on Mitsuki’s phone looped gently again. 

Mitsuki carefully rang each syllable.

“Ro-ku-ya.”

Delighted laughter bubbled past his lips, swallowed by the walls keeping watch over Mitsuki's feelings. 

Maybe…maybe that’s what Iori had meant the other day. When Mitsuki was sitting on the couch with Nagi, watching the man far more than the anime, and he’d placed a hand on Mitsuki’s shoulder, leaning down to whisper, It’s okay, onii-san. 

Maybe it would be, Mitsuki thought. 

Maybe Nagi Rokuya was another one of those things Mitsuki wouldn’t let go of without a fight.

the dialogue I write in my head as I’m falling asleep is always so great, I wish they’d invent a me who remembers it in the morning

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.

Day 1 for the March 50k novel writing challenge I'm running on my sideblog (@bi-focal15):

Introduce yourself/your WIP/your writing goals/ your writing schedule and/or whatever else you please :)

Bonus: create a writing affirmation for the month!

Hi, I'm bi_focal! The WIP I'm focusing on for this challenge is actually based off of a writing prompt I did awhile ago (that you can see here) and most of my writing will be concentrated in the evenings

My affirmation is: It doesn't have to be good, it just has to exist

bakusquad all dressing up as gemg dynamight for halloween but it's split into deku, todoroki, and kirishima, who did it because they love bakugou, and kaminari, sero, mina, and jirou who did it to make fun of him

MHA tweets pt.17 💛

Kats doodle

all grown up