Izuku hasn't been without a journal in -- a long time. He'd been small, he thinks, when he'd picked up the hobby. His mom had been teaching him to read and write, and, well -- he'd put it to use. He started writing about -- about heroes. Every tibdit of information he could get his hands on, anything he could deduce, every improvement idea -- it was all in there. Maybe it was ... weird. Everyone thought it was weird. Izuku was weird and creepy. He mumbled a lot. The things he writes in his journals are almost stalkerish.
Kacchan blew up his last journal. He'd kept using it, but, well -- he didn't. Have it. Anymore. He'd, um. He'd left it at home -- reasonably, considering that Izuku hadn't exactly left by choice.
These days, Izuku's paws constantly itch for his journal. He'll just -- he'll just see something, something interesting, a cool new power, a cool new application, and he'll start reach for his notebook, and he -- won't have it. It's weirdly numbing, and it just makes his mumbling problem .. worse, somehow.
Izuku didn't think that his mumbling problem could get worse.
For the first while, Izuku ... tries not to worry about it. It's for the better -- what would he take notes on? There's not any heroes to take notes on, just ... the other people living here. And ... and that's ... a little invasive, isn't it? ... ... ..
Right.
In the end, it's inevitable that Izuku get his hands on the supplies for it. How he does so is ... somewhat of a mystery. The book isn't anything special, just a composition notebook. He'd had to tear out a few pages -- the previous owner wasn't using it anymore, they'd said, but they had used it at some point. His writing utensil was ... less usual. He hadn't been able to get any pens or anything, simply because they were so small. So he'd basically .. made his own. He was keeping it in a tiny jar he'd found washed up, empty.
Obviously, the first thing Izuku did upon obtaining it was start writing. He didn't have anything to carry it in yet, but he carried it into an open, sunny spot and started writing.
It's .. relieving. He puts the ink on the rock above him and begins writing. He writes about things he's seen, people he's encountered. Little things that're stuck to his head. And then -- it happens. He's just about to get more, but then -- it topples. The bottle disappears from beneath his paw, and Izuku squeaks, finally looking up. ... .... He only just closes his eyes in time, as the bottle hits his head. It splatters over his face, dripping over his chest, and -- oh. Izuku blinks one eye open, and shrinks away at the sight. It's not -- it's not irreparable. There's still .. a decent amount of fluid over the page, though, making the page he's working on, and the few empty ones after it .. entirely unusable.
The kitten's head falls onto the ground with a miserable whine. A burn on his chest burns with the fluid dripping over it, but Izuku barely pays it, nor his ink-covered eye, any heed.
He can't believe this. He's going to die. This is it. His flow, ruined. He should've just gone through the extra lengths, the extra social interaction, for an actual pen.

Izuku had absolutely not expected to be noticed.
It's Bokarsi, first. The kitten starts at the prod from the dhole's staff, jerking to attention to give them a wide-eyed look. Almost involuntarily, Izuku curls further into himself, shaking his head. "I'm .. I'm okay," He squeaks, high-pitched. It's a lie, of course -- Izuku's been hurting for a while now, worse now, but the last thing he's going to do is say so straight-up.
Izuku's face crumples a bit further as Bokarsi motions to the journal. It's not even a big deal. Izuku's had journals worse ruined before, this one was still fine except for the -- the few pages it bled through. But it's his fault, this time. He nods somewhat jerkily regardless.
In all honesty, Izuku didn't even need the journal. Kacchan had destroyed enough journals for him to have refined the art of remembering his own personal rambles, but -- well. It helped focus his thoughts, shape them from something rambling and abstract into something .. manageable.
The kitten squeaks once again as Bokarsi approached, flinching as they reach for him. He doesn't pull away, but largely because Izuku's never been particularly good at putting his foot down on .. just about anything. "You, um, don't have to do that, you'll just get it all over your fur --" He says in a rush, bobbed tail thumping against the ground anxiously.
.. Honestly, though, Izuku's almost thankful when Roan approaches. It gives him a distraction -- Izuku is already feeling quite overwhelmed, and his expression is rather shaky. He'd probably be mortified to hear Roan's thought process, in all honesty -- it just felt too dramatic, true though it was. "It's okay. I just, um -- I just have to take out the pages, I guess," And ... and find a pen, maybe, and redo the page he'd been working on. He doubts it'll be as good as the original, but that's .. that's okay. He tries to muster a smile, to dubious success.
Then there's Octane. "Y, yeah," Izuku tells him, tail thumping against the sand once more. There was ... a lot going on, and it wasn't even a bad sort of a lot -- well. Yes. It was bad. Izuku hated it, and he hated how many people showed up to witness him freak out over his journal, but they weren't being mean about it. Rather helpful, actually, even if Izuku doesn't particularly appreciate Bokarsi's method of help.