Latest Posts by bi-focal12 - Page 8
writers! favorite line(s) from your current WIP?
mine is: Shouto sits curled up beside the door and waits patiently for the flimsy defense to crumble. When it finally does so, it is not with the same fury and righteousness that Shouto had imagined, but carefully pushed- the creak an askance rather than a condemnation- with hardened hands more suited for holding children than tearing unholy beings apart. The only thing that rains down upon him from the open doorway is water.
currently looking for someone to beta-read some of my i7 stuff, so lmk if you’re interested!
I have a few short fics posted here under the #i7 tag and the #writeblr tag for reference
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.
Tentatively poking my head through the door... what's happening in Tumblr land?
Fool Me Once, 793 words, Riku x Iori, i7 shenanigans
“I swear to god,” Iori groaned, rubbing his temples as Riku followed him into the dorm’s common space, “every time you describe your brother as kind, an angel loses its wings.”
“What?” Riku exclaimed, his kicked-puppy expression glued to Iori and not the five other i7 members shooting him varying looks of concern and dismay. “But Tenn-nii is kind!”
A sudden, metallic crash drew their attention to the kitchen, where Nagi-san was flailing dramatically to the floor.
“My wings!” he cried, clutching his chest as he fell. “Riku, how could you do this to me?”
Iori and Sogo-san sighed in unison.
“Nagi-kun, we need that pan for dinner,” Sogo-san gently chastised.
Still lying on the ground with his eyes closed, Nagi-san picked up the pan and offered it in Sogo-san’s general direction.
Seriously, Iori thought to himself, how is this guy my senior?
“I-it’s not that bad! Really!” Riku defended. “He’s nice!”
Yotsuba-san groaned and fell to the floor.
Riku flushed a deep red.
“In his own way he is!”
“Oh no,” Yamato-san replied in monotone, slowly lowering himself to a horizontal position on the couch while he continued to flip through his magazine. “My wings.”
“Guys,” Riku complained.
“As a big brother myself,” Mitsuki began, ignoring Iori’s eyeroll, “I’m seriously concerned about your standard of niceness.”
“Didn’t you try to sell me, once?” Iori interjected bluntly.
Mitsuki waved away the protest. “I was like, three then. But now when my dear baby brother is upset, I- a superior big brother- make him pancakes in the shape of cute bunnies.”
“How come you only make the rest of us regular pancakes?” Yotsuba-san complained from his wingless position on the carpet.
“Now what does "Tenn-nii" do?” Mitsuki continued pointedly, heedless of the interruption.
“I know this one,” Sogo-san announced proudly before clearing his throat and drawing his features into something poorly resembling Kujo-san’s cold stare. “Nanase, who?”
“But-“
“And what does dear Iori-kun say?” Mitsuki prompted next, grinning widely.
“What?” Iori replied, narrowing his eyes in the face of so many sudden, teasing grins in the room. This felt like a trap. “We’re talking about-“
“Nanase-san,” Yamato-san said in a poor affectation of Iori’s voice, “I’ll make you a superstar!”
Mitsuki pretended to swoon into Yamato’s arms, effectively crushing the man and his magazine into the couch.
Iori frowned, ears burning. “That was-“
“Nanase-san, let me control you,” Nagi said next, reaching his hand out in front of himself like he was on the cover of a shoujo manga.
“You heard that?” Iori exclaimed.
Yotsuba-san laughed. “You said what, Iorin?”
Sogo-san began fanning his face. "Oh my."
“Nanase-san,” Mitsuki picked up next, rising off of Yamato-san to mimic Nagi-san's overtly romantic gesture. “You’re so cute. Ahem, I mean. You’re so stupid.”
Yotsuba-san gasped and pointed. “Iorin’s a tsundere!”
“I am not!” Iori howled. “And I don’t have to stand here and take this. Nanase-san-"
Riku turned toward Iori with wide eyes, his face only a few shades lighter than his hair, and Iori suddenly had no idea why his instinct had been to turn to him in the first place.
“Cat got your tongue?” Yamato-san teased.
“I’m leaving!” Iori declared, retrieving his keys from the shared bowl near the front door. The rainbow keychain he’d given Riku stared back at him mockingly.
“We’re making bunny pancakes for dinner!” Mitsuki reminded him.
“I’ll be back!” Iori huffed angrily, slamming the door behind himself.
Within the dorm, Riku stood frozen.
Tamaki wandered over to lightly fan his burning face.
“S-so…”
“Yay!” Nagi cheered, popping up from the kitchen floor. “Moment of realization!”
“So Iori-kun’s…a better brother to me?” Riku asked haltingly.
Nagi wailed and collapsed back onto the ground, various noises of exasperation and disappointment from the other members following suit.
Riku had to bite his lip to keep from laughing at them. Discreetly, he pulled out his phone.
Iori <3: are they done yet?
Riku: pretty sure, yeah
Riku: “brother” heh
Iori <3: gross. pls don’t make that a thing
Riku: it got them off the trail at least
Riku: tho idk why ur so set on telling ur parents first, obvi they can all tell already
Riku: and Mitsuki's literally ur brother
Iori <3: it’s called respect
Iori <3: and my brother deserves none. he finds out last. or perhaps never.
Riku: whatever u say, bunny <3
Iori <3: agahsjskdk
Iori <3: make sure they don’t eat all the cute pancakes before I get back
Iori <3: honey
Iori <3: ew wait no I don’t like it.
Iori <3: give me a do-over.
Riku: call me riku tomorrow and I’ll call it even, bunny
Riku: especially after u ABANDONED ur dear and loving boyfriend to the WOLVES
Iori <3: …fine. deal
Iori <3: riku
MHA tweets pt.16- shigaraki appears
Momo, swooning: Yuki's charm is like magic!! <3 <3 Mitsuki: oh no we dont say that word around- Nagi, materializing from the ether: DID SOMEONE SAY ✨MAGICAL COCONA✨??
i7 fake tweets 🫶
i’ve been writing a lot of i7 drabbles/ficlets lately, and I’m open to requests! (someone save me from the stress of college pls)
the two I’ve finished so far are Ringing Hearts and Morning if you wanna check ‘em out :)
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.
what if someone started a kitchen fire and then got yelled at by everyone else over twitter?
MHA tweets- special edition 😤
i7 has me in a chokehold, I’m so invested in this show
I’m rewatching death note rn and I love how ryuk, who is supposed to be above human concerns and is watching light’s life play out like a reality tv show, still saw him throw away that mini tv and was like, I can’t tell if ur cautious or just a spoiled brat 😒
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
--
“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.”
pro hero shinso!!!!
ALSO could I potentially ask how you make the fake twitter posts? :0
Do you just have the accounts and make twitter threads or?
Yes ofc! I make them using an app called TwiNote, that way I can make accts and switch between them pretty easily w/o any outside interaction or ppl viewing them before I’m ready to post :)
It looks like this:
You have quickly become one of my favourite MHA accounts just for the fake tweets- absolutely criminal that these don't have more notes holy shit
Will now be stalking you on here and ao3 <33
Ahhh tysm!!! <33 I’m super flattered
making fake tweets is so fun so I’m glad you enjoy mine! also your art is super impressive!!
“But my writing’s not good like-” Comparison is the thief of joy. Comparison is the thief of joy. Comparison is the thief of joy.