Latest Posts by bi-focal12 - Page 4
The setting and style of Forest Fire has been fighting me a little, and I think I might be able to fix that if I lean more into the style of gothic fiction. I don’t know if the whole genre of my piece will shift as I write it out more, but it’s certainly a fun place to take inspiration from!
New WIP!!!
The Ghostly Aria
In a forgotten corner of a bustling city lies an ancient opera house, its walls steeped in stories of both grandeur and tragedy. Liang Wenqing, a young and gifted Chinese opera singer, arrives at the opera house with a voice so hauntingly beautiful that it seems to echo through time itself. Yet, as his fame rises, so does the shadow of something otherworldly—an eerie presence that lingers in the forgotten corners of the theater.
When Liang discovers an old, forbidden manuscript of a long-lost opera, he is drawn to its sorrowful melody, a piece rumored to summon the spirits of the past. As he prepares to perform it, he unwittingly awakens the ghost of Yin Zhenhua, a legendary opera singer who disappeared under mysterious circumstances centuries ago after her final, fateful performance.
Bound by an inexplicable connection to Yin, Liang must unravel the secrets of her disappearance before he becomes the next victim of the opera house's dark history. As the spirit's whispers grow louder, Liang finds himself torn between the allure of completing the forbidden aria, which promises to give his voice unimaginable power, and the danger it poses—not only to his future but to his very soul.
The tale weaves together haunting melodies, the weight of tradition, and a mystery as old as the opera house itself. A story of beauty, mystery, and the price of fame, The Ghostly Aria invites readers into a world where every note sung echoes with the voices of those who came before.
---
My ♡s: @paeliae-occasionally @willtheweaver @drchenquill @wyked-ao3 @the-inkwell-variable @corinneglass @seastarblue @frostedlemonwriter @oliolioxenfreewrites
posted a new (old) fic today!! all it needed was a little touch up and it was good to go :)
its called scraped knees and sunday dinners
summary:
Izuku didn't get into U.A. and Katsuki did and that was supposed to be the end of it. But a chance encounter at the convenience store reminds Izuku just how much their relationship hasn't actually ended. Even if their new normal isn't exactly...normal. And not exactly new, either, since not a year has gone by since they were four in which Izuku and Kacchan were not, somehow, together.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/61951150
in 2025 i'd like to write a full, first draft of my WIP Forest Fire (working title) and I think some external motivation would be a great push for me to keep engaging with my piece on a regular schedule! soo, what would you guys like to see me post by the end of january?
“Be curious about what you’re writing about” is not stock Common Writing Advice but it really, really should be. There are a lot of written works that fail due to the authors just being obviously incurious about what they are writing about.
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!
The General's Bride
Chapter 3
My ♡s: @paeliae-occasionally @willtheweaver @drchenquill @wyked-ao3 @the-inkwell-variable @corinneglass @seastarblue @frostedlemonwriter @vesanal @oliolioxenfreewrites
reblog if it's okay for your mutuals to message you and create an actual friendship, not just interactions
I set out to write at least a little bit every day in December and I managed to complete 27/31 days! I think this challenge really helped me identify some of my weaknesses and strengths as a writer and I’m proud of the work I put in
Hopefully I’ll be able to share a lot more of my writing with you all in 2025! Happy new year everyone <3
Week four:
22- fic- Short For Grenade
-slowly chugging my way through this one despite not having a clear plot. decided to make Katsuki take Nade chew toy shopping and then Izuku wormed his way in lol
23- fic- dabihawks companion piece to probably not (<-ao3 link)
-im changing a few details to have touya older when he's disowned by his dad (not presumed dead) since its a no quirk au. im kind of playing fast and loose with canon but i like the style of prose im using for this mini-series (though i have no idea if some of the sentences ive written are grammatically legal)
24- nada- family concerns and gift wrapping took precedence today but I did imagine that I was writing a whole sapphic book in verse while I took a much needed anti-headache nap, so that’s almost writing
25- fic x2- “probably not” companion piece & short for grenade
-just a line on the first one, the next section is still pretty up in the air as far as specifics, and a short continuation of the pet store scene in short for grenade :)
26- :( - meant to do some editing for short for grenade in the evening and then all of a sudden it was 1:30am and i was on my, like, 20th sonic fanfic soo no writing happened
27- fic and original- short for grenade & writing prompt
-rounded out that pet store scene for sfg (but this whole writing without a plot means im gonna need more intense editing than usual)
-looked around for a prompt to help me get over a little writers block and i was pleasantly surprised by the outcome! despite not having anything but the second line of the story in mind (the first line being the prompt) it actually flowed really easily and an actual setting/plot started to take shape around the dialogue. im happy with how the scene turned out
28- fic- companion piece to probably not
-got the intro to my next scene down. im excited to work on the dialogue between dabi and hawks as soon as im feeling up to it (curse you cold and flu season)
29- fic- companion piece
-i think the league dynamic in my no-quirk au is starting to come along nicely. also read through a lot of my old stuff, did some minor editing. proud to announce that i do actually like my writing (usually) and will prob be finishing up a few abandoned pieces to post on ao3 now that I’ve re-discovered they exist. short for grenade is on my to do list but prob won’t be up until Jan or Feb depending on what I decide to do with it, plot-wise
30- ficx2- let it sink in & short for grenade
-some touch ups to let it sink in bc i felt the beginning was really weak compared to the middle, + sharing a few lines of it on my page
-completed a writing sprint for sfg that went way better than expected. i might do a few more to get more of the content down before going back and fleshing out all the character development parts that got sort of glanced over. plan is to have this finished by the end of Jan!! 🤞very excited to share it
31- fic- short for grenade
-added a small section of banter between Katsuki and his mother because I love them, lol
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 :)
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
sooo.. I finally started my first draft and I'm struggling! I used to write on wattpad so I'm used to making sure every chapter is really polished so trying to just write without revision is hardddd!
Also, just to mention I decided not to plot this time. I noticed in the past when I would plot each chapter I would kind of fall off on it because it no longer fits, so now I'm just doing beginning middle and end and progressing based on my character's arc.
Today I wrote around 1.3k words for the first chapter but it's literally just dialogue and whatever happens that will push the plot forward. So theres no imagery which I know will be a pain in my ass to add in when I edit everything, but it gives me time to practice writing descriptions.
I also didn't completely finish my world building... which I don't know if thats good or not. I have a fully fleshed out magic system and an outline for how the world works, but I think I'll just add things as my book progresses.
Maybe in my next post I'll introduce my main character :)
Anyways, thats my writers rant for the day! Good night everyone
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)
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.
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)
Hihi this was so fun to draw ! I just really like imagining them hanging out I guess haha 🧡💚
omg ur writing is so good like how have i never heard of u before
-seafloor509 (im asking anon bc if i ask regularly itll show up as smth else and i dont want that)
(also u liked my ONE ONLY post so i came and found u and like ong ur writing is so t a s t e f u l)
thanks so much!! that really made my day :,)
and yes i remember your piece! i really enjoyed reading it. you have a strong voice and the atmosphere was really interesting
for the last prompt:
“Don’t touch those books, sweetie. They have souls.”
Miranda hesitated with her fingers poised over a golden spine.
“Excuse me?” she asked, wide-eyed and more than a little fearful.
The librarian simply rolled her eyes, adjusting the hem of her coffee-colored sweater. “Did you not read the danger signs we passed?”
Slowly, Miranda lowered her hands and laced them behind her back. “Thought that was another of Dougie’s pranks,” she murmured quietly.
The librarian sighed.
“Miss Pickery-"
“I still don’t know why you hired my brother,” Miranda interrupted, eyes slipping back to the shiny, golden book she had been tempted to pull off the shelf. “He’s not exactly…bookish. Or terribly employable.”
“Well, he doesn’t attempt to touch the books with souls, for one,” the librarian replied.
Miranda pressed her lips together firmly, attention slipping guiltily to the carpeted floor and catching on an oblong stain that the librarian gestured to with the toe of her heeled boot.
“And he doesn’t suffer the consequences of such misbehavior like my previous apprentice, Ronald.”
Miranda couldn’t help the startled gasp that left her as she drew her arms closer to the center of her body, head whipping back and forth in the narrow aisle to ensure no part of her was near any part of these…these murdering, soul-having books.
Seriously, if Miranda had known about Ronald the Oblong Stain when she’d received her brother’s stupid email about checking out his “cool new job”, Miranda would have deleted it without a second thought. Unread, unreplied to, and un…un-in danger, Miranda thought sternly.
The librarian frowned back at her, all sharp featured and unimpressed, like she was privy to Miranda’s imaginary word making.
“U-um, so where is Dougie, anyway, Miss?”
“Late,” the librarian replied. She raised her right wrist to peer at a square watch wrapped over her sweater sleeve, the arms curved like octopus tentacles and spinning far faster than the plain, round one on Miranda’s own wrist. “Or perhaps early, depending.”
“Depending on what?”
“Oh, what I wouldn’t give to be conversing with Ronald, instead,” the librarian murmured to herself, causing a deep frown to appear over Miranda’s face.
Oblong Stain-Man, one. Miranda, zero.
“Well, he invited me here,” Miranda petulantly reminded the woman. “I’m still not sure why, but I doubt it was to kill me so is it possible for us to wait for him in a different section of the library? Maybe one without, you know, danger signs?”
The librarian gave Miranda a swift once-over, then peered up at the ceiling, expression unchanging.
“No. Here will do.”
“Oh, okay,” Miranda whispered shakily. “I’ll just stay here and try not to turn into goo, then.”
“Oh, pish posh,” the librarian dismissed, waving her hand in the air. “That Evelyn has much more flare than that. She would have ignited you, most definitely.”
“E-Evelyn?” Miranda repeated, peering behind herself for other, potentially-murderous library patrons. Perhaps one carrying a blowtorch.
“The book you were going to touch,” the librarian explained. “She has quite a flair for the dramatic, that girl. Your death would have been very phoenix-like.”
Miranda eyed the golden-spined book with far more wariness than before.
“Phoenix-like…” she echoed. “Like…as in I’d come back to life?”
The librarian’s nose scrunched. “As in you’d go up in a spark of flames and crumble to ash before you could say-”
“Mimi!” Dougie called out happily, appearing in a cart-like contraption over their heads. Dougie tugged gently on a hanging rope within his cart and the whole thing slowed to a squeaky stop.
Miranda eyed the small cylinder of metal attaching the cart to the track embedded in the ceiling with open skepticism.
“Took ya long enough,” he said, smiling.
“Took me-?!” Miranda began to sputter, only to be silenced by a hand from the librarian.
“Douglas,” she greeted calmly. “Anything to report?”
Dougie’s smile turned slightly bashful, and he scratched the back of his head. “Not yes, Miss. But with Mimi here, things should be fixed in a snap!”
“I fucking hate that name,” Miranda muttered darkly beneath her breath.
“Quit whining, girl,” the librarian said, not unkindly. “It’s time to go.”
“Please,” Miranda agreed, quickly ascending the thin, metal stairs that had stretched out from Dougie’s cart like a particularly slow accordion. She would happily go anywhere to get away from Evelyn and Ronald and who knows who else.
The librarian followed quickly after.
“Where are we going?” Miranda asked, cringing at the grating noise emanating from the ceiling as the cart rocked jerkily back into motion. “To lunch?”
Dougie’s email had promised lunch.
“Uhhh, not to lunch,” Dougie admitted, ignoring Miranda’s heavily disappointed sigh. “We need you to fix something, actually.”
“And it’s not a sandwich?” Miranda pressed hopefully.
“Sorry, sis,” Dougie laughed. “It’s…uh, well it’s a little bit bigger than that.”
“These swinging death cages, then?” she tried next. Because they could use some serious oiling, but otherwise seemed mostly stable. Even if the eccentric design didn’t invite anything but distrust.
Dougie pulled on the rope again as they entered a new room and Miranda brought her hands up to cover her ears while she peered curiously over the edge of the cart, still hoping in vain for a cafe or a bistro.
What she saw instead was a massive, boiler-looking thing, with moving arms on just about every square inch of its rusting, bronze surface, rounded caps lifting periodically to release hissing trails of white steam.
What really caught her attention, though, was the small door built into its base, boasting a massive dent and an odd array of talon-like scratches along its surface. And one scrawled out word.
Miranda Pickery.
“...well,” Miranda said slowly, hands falling to her hips as she quietly examined the structure. “Surely I’m not the only Miranda Pickery in the area. Total coincidence, really.”
The librarian’s wrinkly hand landed on Miranda’s shoulder, her other pointing towards the far end of the boiler room.
Miranda followed her gaze to a large, hand-painted mural spanning the entire length of the flaking wall. The figures were all done in black, or perhaps a very deep blue, and nearly impossible to make out in the dim space. The orange light from the boiler only illuminated the lowest section, where there were rows and rows of what looked like people, carrying stacks of what looked like books, and a few, hanging, claw-like feet that suggested an array of birds above their heads.
The librarian clapped and the space flooded with blue light. Hovering orbs lined the room like street lamps- above the boiler but below the cart- revealing a concerning amount of bookshelves lining this room, too.
A concerning amount of bookshelves and Miranda’s likeness, that is, painted in the very center of the mural with such detail that any hopes of pawning off this mystery onto some other hapless sod immediately wilted and died within her heart.
“Oh,” Miranda said dumbly.
“Oh,” the librarian agreed.
“So…” Dougie started, awkwardly clapping his hands together. “Lunch, anyone?”
WRITING PROMPTS - Library
A 24/7 library has no staff, but those who enter never think to steal.
"We can't make out! This is a library!"
A magical university has a library that changes its contents entirely whenever it hits midnight.
"Shh! Reading time."
A library is the only building unaffected by a massive earthquake.
"Where did you get that book?"
A group of academics decide they want to be buried alive in the cursed library that the government are burying.
"Don't touch those books, sweetie. They have souls."
working on a dabihawks companion piece to the one above ^ (official version of probably not on ao3 but i only changed like two lines)
im thinking touya would be like 17 here instead of the 13(?) he was when he disappeared and was presumed dead in canon
here's what ive gotten down so far:
*cw for homophobia!
The first time Touya became Dabi, he was angry. The echo of his father’s parting words had been ringing sharply in his head- over and over striking the church tower bell in his mind with an unceasing hammer.
Disgrace, he’d said. Unfit to be my heir.
Touya’s face had felt on fire beneath his father’s stony gaze. His mother’s timid silence had crawled like ice across the back of his neck.
The lingering ghost of soft lips pressed sweetly against his own- tall, handsome ones; a new hire in his father’s precinct- had all but disappeared under the way Touya’s teeth had bit into his skin, desperately holding his tears at bay.
Choose that lifestyle, and you’re dead to me, his father had spat.
It was purely by accident that someone had failed to lock away that day’s evidence into its proper place, a few cans of spray paint left abandoned on a precinct desk next to a bloody flyer and a broken phone.
Touya had swiped the purple as he stormed away from his father’s stupid promotion party, scrubbing uselessly at his face. Half-hoping that his mother would have skittered after him once his father’s back was turned to wipe them away herself.
Half-hoping that his father would have finally hired Touya to work alongside him, proud to announce it in between important handshakes and celebratory drinks.
Half-blind with rage, Touya had spilled out of the back door like a drunkard, laughing softly to himself at first- grief grating the tender sides of his throat and then spilling harshly out into the open air like a hyena among the broken bottles and forgotten alley trash.
Alone, behind the building that was his father’s one and only pride and joy, the can in his grip had felt heavy with promise and Touya didn’t pause to think before his trigger finger was pressing down on the release.
Probably dead by now, he'd scrawled, the angry words biting into pristine red brick. Spite drawing a humorless huff from Touya’s unsmiling mouth.
“All for a fucking kiss,” he’d whispered.
But Touya knew- in the same, wordless way he knew his mother had never loved Touya more than she’d feared him- that Enji Todoroki was never going to hire Touya in the first place. No matter how good his marks, how fast he ran the mile, how much he volunteered with the other interns. The ones who always whispered behind his back that Touya’s last name made him golden.
“Fuck him,” Touya had hissed furiously, slamming the can of spray paint onto the ground where it clanged satisfyingly against dark-cut asphalt, drowning out the sound of his disownment. Then he’d kicked it, for good measure, blinking wetly as he’d watched as it rolled into the shadow of a broken street lamp.
The cars whizzing by had been none the wiser.
Slowly, Touya had walked forward- boots thumping step by step by step until he was encased entirely in the single halo of darkness left on a bright, lamp-lit street.
There had been a cracked-open window. A pop of champagne. A muted cheer.
Without a second thought, Touya had crouched down to retrieve the can, slipping it into the pocket of his suit jacket before stomping away, an alias on the tip of his tongue and the life of a cracked-open son left behind. The ghost of a kiss left abandoned like a cigarette stub on the sidewalk.
@probabydeadbynow i saw your user (though im now realizing i misread it, lol) and it sparked this short fic idea so i wanted to share it with you before i post to ao3 (bnha, no quirk AU)
There was a piece of graffiti Izuku always saw around town. Sometimes it’d be done in white, other times blue, but most of the time it was purple- each letter looped and sprawling and bleeding into the next.
Probably dead by now, it always said.
Izuku didn’t know why he liked it so much. It felt odd to smile at those words when he saw them spray painted underneath the Musutafu bridge but, then again, he remembered seeing those same exact words when he was being driven home from the hospital after breaking his arm for the first time, a lollipop between his lips and a new All Might plush under his arm. And then again the morning his Dad came home for Christmas, surprising Izuku at the door. And then again the day of Kacchan’s 10th birthday party. The one with the All Might impersonator that had carried them both around on his shoulders for a while, their sweaty hands linked behind his head for no other reason except that they were happy.
White then blue then white again. Purple today.
Probably dead by now, it always said.
Probably not, Izuku thought back, peering out of the passenger window with a growing smile.
Izuku had never seen the artist. Never even caught a glimpse, but their handwriting was paint-splattered over so many of Izuku’s brightest memories.
“What’s got you so smiley, huh?” Kacchan asked.
Izuku turned away from the window, watching the way Kacchan’s sweaty hands gripped the steering wheel like his life depended on it. He’d only had his license for a few weeks now.
“I think something good’s going to happen today,” Izuku replied.
Privately, he was pretty sure it already had.
Kacchan hadn’t invited Izuku anywhere since that 10th birthday party at the arcade and now they were on their way to tour a newly built school together.
Kacchan scoffed lightly. “What’s so good about college?” he shot back.
“I don’t know,” Izuku replied honestly, idly flicking through the UA pamphlet resting on his lap. “Maybe…” Izuku glanced towards Kacchan. Quieter, he said, “Maybe we’ll end up going there together. You know, like old times?”
Really old times, anyway. When Izuku would trade his apple slices for Kacchan’s potato chips at lunchtime and they’d walk home together in their baby blue smocks, hands clasped firmly together.
Not like the way they’d make passing eye contact in the halls of their high school, always in opposite motion even if Izuku’s eyes would sometimes trail after Kacchan's back.
Even if sometimes he caught Kacchan looking, too.
Kacchan was quiet for a few moments, the careful tick of the turn signal a feeble echo of Izuku’s hammering pulse.
Izuku was pretty sure he remembered seeing that same graffiti- purple, and nearly washed out by a recent rainstorm- the day Kacchan threw Izuku’s notebook from a third story window in junior high.
“Just don’t expect me to fucking hold your hand,” Kacchan eventually bit out, eyes averted- his focus too intense on the empty road for it mean anything other than embarrassment.
His tone too light for it to even feel like a denial.
Izuku quickly turned his gaze to his knees, smothering a smile. The UA pamphlet creased beneath his fingers.
Probably dead by now.
Purple. Scribbled across the window of an empty storefront.
Kacchan had grabbed Izuku’s hand two blocks later and shoved that same pamphlet at him, holding on for a beat too long.
“You dropped that,” he’d lied.
His hand had been warm.
“My dad and I were gonna tour it this weekend but he’s got a work thing.”
Izuku’s eyes had been wide and curious. He’d held his breath while Kacchan scratched the back of his neck and scuffed the toe of his shoe on the ground, casting around for the right words to say.
“I guess you could take his spot or whatever,” he’d continued with a shrug. “If you pay for gas. ‘Cause I’m going whether you catch a ride or not.”
Izuku had thought that Kacchan would probably leave him in the dust by the time it came to go to college. Or not go, he supposed, but…
Izuku lifted his head again, listening to the way Kacchan hummed softly along with the radio. His sunglasses were All Might themed- a custom release with a subtle design that Izuku hadn’t been able to afford.
There was a second pair, just like it, shoved towards Izuku’s chest when he first climbed into Kacchan’s car, along with a muttered comment about how Kacchan didn’t want to hear any crybaby complaints about the sun.
They rested comfortably on Izuku’s head now.
Probably dead by now, it always said.
Izuku pulled them down until everything in his field of vision was tinged a soft yellow.
Life was funny that way, he thought.