◉_◉ THIS BLOG IS 18+, so minors and ageless blogs, DNI◉_◉
(づ￣ ³￣)づ I hope you are strapped in for the journey that is this blog. I haven't really kept with social media for over a year now, so let's.... just see how this goes (>人^)
✿
ABOUT ME: You can call me Cecil (I'm working on a drawn about me but until then!!),
I'm 23, I am super neurodivergent and mentally ill, I'm in a long-term relationship, I love music, music performance, & its related topics (i.e dance and musical theater. God; I LOVE musical theater). I also was an art student and therefore love creating art and exploring artistic practices, I'm SUPER into anime; current obsession is MHA.
Other anime fandoms I like: JJK, Fire Force, Soul Eater, KnY (Demon Slayer)
I'll put Musical Theater fandoms if anyone cares
Twt Acc: @xXMsFortunateXx (In the nicest way: Fuck Calling It "X")
ABOUT THE BLOG: This will be self-indulgent and explorative. I wanted to start writing MHA content, but I haven't written anything resembling fanfiction since about 2013 or 2014. I also want to physically house some of my OC Ideas/ brain vomit/creative work somewhere. I tend to explore ideas and concepts through application, so I would like to either start a comic and/or start writing snippets of some of my OCs' interactions.
I would LOVE to interact with people on these topics and fandoms as I spend an absorbent amount of time thinking/interacting with them.
ABOUT MY CREATIVE WORK: There will be both SFW and NSFW content on this blog.
ANY AND ALL EXPLICIT/NSFW CONTENT WILL ONLY CONTAIN EITHER CHARACTERS WHO ARE CANONICALLY 18+ or CHARACTERS WHO HAVE BEEN AGED OUTSIDE OF THEIR CANON TO BE OLDER THAN 18+.
As far as writing, I don't really currently have a writing practice, so I don't know what kind of writing I will post, but I will most likely start with headcanons and lil drabbles.
As far as drawing/visual art, you'll just get to see the art I do, I guess? This aspect mostly is informed by my OCs musical theater. I might draw snippets of fanfics that really just *mwahh chef's kiss*
I will post all NSFW art on My Twitter Page
In general, I am kink-friendly and intend to engage with dark and explicit content on this page. I will try to establish a tagging system so they can filtered out for your convenience. I'll probably only be writing x f!readers for a little while. I will want to branch out, but I want to become more comfortable writing something first and since I'm AFAB, it's pretty easy to not think about. I will definitely be in-between adhering as closely to the canon as I can & disregarding it for indulgence sake.
With that being said, I am not personally trying to RP with anyone, I'm trying to set these characters up in situations (realistic or otherwise). I have this online persona and then I have OCs. You can sexualize my OCs and I'm pretty okay with that I mean shit I do it, but I'm not okay with personally being sexualized by anyone that I don't know in this space.
RULES: be 18+, be courteous and respectful, ALWAYS feel free to chat with me (I love talking sometimes)
#: meet-cute. meet-ugly? adult reader. gn reader. injured aizawa. aizawa smokes when he's stressed. vigilante aizawa kinda.
N: i think abt this man too much
he's the weird guy in your apartment building who keeps odd hours and never says hello in the stairwell.
sometimes he smokes on his balcony and it wafts in through your window. it's obnoxious, and you're always yelling out the window for him to stop. he never says anything in response, but he always complies. you always shout, "Thank you!" and you think you hear a chuckle.
sometimes you don't see him for weeks at a time. sometimes he comes in limping. he never says a word, never asks anyone for anything, but the landlord never shows up to pound on his door, so you figure, if nothing else, he must pay his rent on time.
yeah, he's weird, but lots of people are weird. he's also not your problem. you write him off as background noise and go about your life.
then, late one night, you wake up to the sound of your door knob rattling and, scared to absolute shit, you peek through the peephole expecting to see a stalker on the other side.
nope-- not a stalker, just a weirdo.
your weird-ass neighbor. dammit.
he's swaying on his feet and muttering, trying to turn his key in the wrong lock, and you realize this guy must be drunk or something. your units are right next to each other, so maybe he's just turned around?
you don't even know this guy's name, what the fuck. it's too late for this shit.
still, you don't want to listen to him rattling the door all night, and you're a little worried he'll pass out or something, so you figure you might as well intervene. then he can go pass out in his own apartment, and you can get some goddamn sleep.
you finally open the door. all you mean to do is steer him 90° left towards his own front door, and that's it, end of interaction.
but then you see it-- blood.
he's got one hand --you see bloody knuckles, and long, pale fingers that are bent in odd places, as if they've been broken and reset several times in the past-- pressed to his opposite shoulder, staunching a wound that's been slashed through the thick material of his jumpsuit. his hair, long and dark, is a mess around his face, matted to his forehead with sweat. his face is scuffed. eyes glassy with pain and spidery red. he's wearing a weird scarf that you've never seen before, and you spot slotted yellow goggles pushed up above his temple.
overall? your weirdo neighbor looks like he just went ten rounds with a heavyweight fighter.
he looks like battered shit.
you think, hero? no way. pro-heroes don't live in shithole apartments with weak water pressure and cracks in the walls.
then you think, villain? and you're not sure. could be. this guy could be anybody. with flashing-white clarity, you realize you don't know a damn thing about this guy, and it's late, and he's hurt, clearly a fighter-- and you've literally just opened the door for him.
you think, did I just fuck up?
and then he stops. braces himself. lifts his eyes. he looks so fucking tired, so thoroughly wrung out. he searches your face for a moment. you watch as he puts the composite pieces of your visage together like a jigsaw puzzle, fighting through pain and exhaustion in order to make sense of the scenario before him.
you see him realize, oh. I fucked up.
it doesn't appear to be an earth-shattering realization for him. judging by his battered appearance, this isn't the first time he's fucked up tonight.
he mutters, "Sumimasen," as if you're a stranger he's just bumped into on the train.
then he turns 90°, all on his own, and shuffles to the adjacent door.
you stand there in your open doorway, middle of the night, wearing only your pajamas, and you wonder, should I help him?
a good person would offer to help.
but it's the middle of the night. and he's a stranger. and maybe he's not a villain (or maybe he is) but normal people definitely do not walk around wearing weird goggles all covered in blood.
his door opens. it closes again. the weird man is gone before you can decide what to do.
you sleep. you wake. life goes on.
you don't see your weird neighbor again for four days. in the meantime, you go to work. you drink with friends. you go out on a blind date that ends in the worst, most awkward kiss of your life down on the front stoop of your apartment building. a normal week.
the next time you see your neighbor, it's late again.
middle of the night, just like before. you're woken by the tang of cigarette smoke, wafting in through your bedroom window. you sniff the air and roll over into your pillow with a grimace.
the usual complaint wells up in your chest -- "Put that shit out!" you know that if you shout, he'll hear you. he'll snuff the cigarette, maybe chuckle, and that will be that; yet another scheduled occurrence in your day-to-day life.
instead, you find yourself climbing out of bed.
there's a sweater draped over your desk chair. you pull it on. your slippers are by the bed, but you forgo them; you haven't swept your balcony in a while, and you don't want to track anything inside on your shoes. you'll go barefoot.
even as you're sliding open the door, you have no idea what you mean to do. maybe you feel guilty.
okay, you feel guilty.
that's 100% it.
an injured man --your neighbor-- showed up on your doorstep covered in blood, and you didn't take a single action to help him. you're not a busybody, but you like to think you're a decent human being. you should have at least knocked on his door the next day, to make sure he was alive.
well, he's definitely alive. you see that now.
the man looks over as you step outside. your balconies are concrete-walled and narrow, separated by roughly a foot of empty space between one wall and the next. your balcony is lined with houseplants, and a small wicker chair that you dragged outside, thinking you'd sit on it all the time to read books after work, but it's dusty. your plants need watering. you can't remember the last time you came out here.
the man's balcony is empty, save for a tin ashtray balanced on the concrete ledge. at least he's considerate enough not to flick his butts over the side.
he looks up, cigarette held to his lips. the bottom half of his face is hidden behind one large pale hand, and your eyes meet. he's lit from the side by the dim glow inside his apartment, which allows you to see the remnants of bruises healing on his cheek and on the sharp angle of his jaw. from this distance, it's hard to see his eyes, but he looks tired.
you say the first thing that comes to mind.
"Your cigarettes smell like shit."
his response comes as a smooth exhale of smoke, blown between his lips and even through his nose. his brow twitches upwards. was that a challenge?
you huff a laugh and fold your arms around yourself, coming further out onto the balcony where you lean against the ledge, peering at him in the dark. he takes a subtle step backwards.
weirdo.
"Did you go to a doctor?" you ask. you don't know why you ask. you don't even know what you're doing out here. this is not your problem.
again, the man's brow twitches. this time, they furrow inwards, then tilt up at the edges. he isn't sure what you're asking.
you roll your eyes.
"Dude, you showed up at my door the other night at ass o'clock looking like hamburger. I'm asking if you saw a doctor."
he takes another drag, and it's slow. one thing about this guy: he's not afraid of eye contact. he stares at you through the darkness, without blinking. even the flow of grey smoke from his mouth doesn't make his eyelids so much as flutter.
so fucking weird.
then he says:
"No. I'm fine."
"As in... you didn't see a doctor, but you're fine?"
"That's what I said."
his voice is deeper than you expected, given his willowy frame and thin face. he speaks in a flat tone, almost bored. no, weary. this man needs a nap. and maybe a puppy to cuddle. actually, he seems like more of a cat person.
"So, what, you sewed up your own arm?" your eyes dart to his shoulder, the one you'd seen covered in blood. it's dry now, and concealed by the long sleeves of an oversized black shirt. you assume there's bandages, hidden under there.
"Yes."
"...ouch. Must have hurt."
"A little."
a laugh works its way out of you, huffing past your lips. you scrub a hand against your face. he's just so damn blasé.
you say what's on your mind.
"Man. You are weird."
you think you see amusement flash across his face, but it's dark, and he's hidden by his hand again, puffing the last few centimeters of his cigarette.
"A little," he says again, breathing smoke.
a brief pause, then--
"Are you a villain?" another of your inside thoughts pushes its way out.
at this, he chokes a little on the cigarette. his gaze sharpens in your direction.
"Do I look like one?"
"I mean-- you kinda act like one," you say, ignoring the way your stomach flutters under the full force of his attention. "You show up at weird hours. You never talk to anyone. And the other night was definitely not the first time I've seen you limp your ass back home."
"So I must be a villain," he answers. a flat, rhetorical question.
"Oh, and you brood on your balcony like three nights a week. Dead giveaway of villainy."
belatedly, he seems to realize that you're only giving him a hard time. his broad shoulders come together, head turning as he draws the last wisp of nicotine from his cigarette. he drops the spent filter into the tin resting on the ledge. it's a novelty breath mint tin, you realize. the lid, when he flips it closed, is stamped with All Might’s face.
your weird-ass neighbor turn to look at you again.
"Shouldn't you be sleeping?" he says.
"Oh, I'd love to," you reply. "But some jerk keeps blowing smoke up my ass."
"You could have yelled through the wall like you usually do."
for a moment, you falter. he's got you there. what the hell am i doing out here? your eyes drop, arms wrapping tighter around your frame.
once again, you speak your mind.
"I... wanted to make sure you were okay, I guess. I felt... bad, the other night. About not helping you."
his expression shutters. he's uncomfortable with your pity. "You don't owe me anything just because we're neighbors."
"True," you concede. "Which is the only reason I was able to sleep that night. But... the more I thought about it, the more it bothered me, and... I dunno."
"But I could be a villain. You said so yourself. Why help me then?"
there's the soft sound of bare feet on concrete as he pads over to the end of the balcony, closer to you, like he's trying to get a clearer view. the light passes across his face, skimming over crests and planes that you hadn't noticed before.
he's handsome, you realize.
you try not to let it affect your answer.
"I can't go around assuming every person I meet is a villain." you shrug. "That's... not a good way to live."
"Easier though."
"Yeah, and lonely as fuck." you laugh.
"True."
you meet his eye again. as you do, you crack a smile.
you tell him your name, even though he didn't ask.
he hums, then offers his own.
"Aizawa."
you give him your hand, reaching out across the open divide between your balcony and his own. drop anything down there, and it would fall five stories.
his palm is rough, and broad, and warm to the touch.
he squeezes once, then lets go. never blinking.
as you withdraw, you laugh again. am I his weird neighbor? you wonder.
"Please don't actually be a villain, though," you amend, taking a step back towards the sliding door into your apartment. "Like, if you're looking for career advice, it's probably not the way to go."
"Right." you hear a familiar sound: a rough chuckle with just the slightest depth. up close, it sounds warmer than you expected.
"Right," you parrot.
and then, there's... really nothing to do but to leave. you've said your piece, and it's late, and your neighbor is still weird as hell, but at least now he has a name.
you pause in the doorway, looking back.
"Night, Aizawa."
"Good night."
the last glimpse you have of him is a pale figure dressed in black, lit halfway by a distant yellow lamp. his face is set, and tired, and bruised, but there-- at the corners of his mouth, you think,
huh. what a nice smile.
N: comments and reblogs are always appreciated! if you want to read more of my work, please check out my ao3!
So the thing is boobs really do be jiggling. If having breasts has taught me anything it is that the ladies frolic. I don't even have that large of boobs but every time I go down some stairs all I can think about is that stupid quote about boobing breastily down the stairs or whatever it is because God Damn.
But anime and video game boob jiggling is like. The most uncanny valley shit I've ever seen nine times out of ten. You would think people this horny about tits would have actually looked at some but I guess not.
What we really need is some pervert to compile the ultimate visual guide to boob bouncing physics that's just like 500 hours of meticulously organized videos of breasts of different size and shape and under different fabrics bouncing around from a wide variety of physical movements so horny game devs can finally get it right and I don't have to be creeped out by women who appear to have surgically implanted softballs in their chest under skin made of rubber bands.
has anyone noticed that after the porn ban of 2018 tumblr was essentially killed from the mainstream and everyone flocked to other social media sites like twitter and meta. then those sites got enshittified to where twitter became Nazi Central and meta sites had an entire meme around getting “zucced” aka mark zuckerberg himself would ban you for saying a no-no word like fuck. and then the mainstream shifted to tiktok where infamous toddlerspeak sentences like “he got unalived by a pew pew” were born because if you once again say a no-no word like kill or gun or any other word that isn’t corporate i mean kid friendly then the algorithm will bury your post into the ground. and somehow we’ve come full circle and tumblr is now the most bearable social media site because although we can’t have female presenting nipples we can at least talk to each other like adults. has anyone noticed that at all or is it just me and the flaming skull
Sighhghh,, thinking about erasermic × reader threesome.
Aizawa grunted and readjusted your restraints. "Woah Shota! That scarf of yours is really useful during sex" Yamada exclaimed, as he watched your wrists get tied down to the bedposts his cock twitching in his boxers.
They had been teasing you for what felt like hours. Aizawa lazily made out with your sex through your creamy panties as Yamada sucked on your tits. But they wouldn't let you cum just yet.
The weight of the two sweaty men above you was suffocating. And it was driving you mad. Especially when Yamada wouldn't shut his mouth and just fuck you already!!
When they finally did fuck you they had you sobbing. Both talking turns fucking you and choking you on their fat dicks. Aizawa was ruthless with your pussy. He was using you like a fleshlight and it had you sobbing onto Yamada's length. You couldn't help it, once Aizawa found that spongy spot that made you cry out he bullied it until you came.
Yamada wasn't any nicer. He held your head down, gripping your hair and pushing you up and down on his cock until you choked. He was loud about too. He had the most beautiful, loud pornographic moans you had ever heard. He threw his head back, praising you over and over. "OH FUCK- Hah- baby! Mfg yes you take me so well!"
I love that casual Hizashi wears all these silly little bracelets. I just know little teenage Hizashi was spending his free time at summer training camp making friendship bracelets for Shouta and Oboro
I have said it before but (mostly cis) men have the situational awareness of a fucking gnat and then become irritated when women are more aware of their surroundings. A dude on TikTok made a video about basic etiquette for male hikers to follow to keep from frightening solo female hikers and it was common curtesies like “announce your presence to avoid startling a fellow hiker” and “do not follow women” and “do not ask potentially concerning questions like ‘are you alone?’” and you would have thought he asked these men to transfer $10k to a woman’s bank account right now. Asking why they should INCONVENIENCE themselves to make women safe, mocking women for being afraid of strangers on trails. Bitch, your rugged masculinity will not save you from a guy with a knife in a secluded place. No, other humans are generally not the greatest threat on a hike but you should still remain aware of them and lone women have a completely valid reason to try to avoid strangers, I’m sorry if that hurts your little feelings.
as a former escape room host i highly recommend doing an escape room as a first date. its a great way to learn how ppl react under pressure and how well they collaborate with you right off the bat. also more than once ive seen people enter an escape room as a couple and exit broken up LOL its a fantastic litmus test
sorry to broadcast ur tags but this is also a valuable part of the litmus test! it seems like you learned a lot about how this person makes you feel in their social group. they didn't go out of their way to include you, and neither did their friends. therefore you can come to a pretty good conclusion about how you might feel being part of their life outside of an escape room; someone who doesnt include you or your feelings in a game is likely going to do the same in other situations
As a former Escape Room Game Guide, I agree! It's interesting what you see and hear when people forget or don't remember they are being observed/think they have some privacy.
The idea of listening to no black music is bizarre to me. Even if it's not rap like no earth wind and fire? No reggae? No moonstomp? No ska? No classic jazz? No R and B? No disco??? No skindred? No jungle? No even like metal bands with a few black members? No gospel? Not even stuff like alors en dance? No blues music? No mo town? No jazz of any kind? No big band? No soul music? Not even a little James Brown?
not even yola or tanner adell or brittney spencer or tracy chapman or india.arie or chapel hart or the carolina chocolate drops or rhiannon giddens????
Fats Waller (early jazz, invented a whole new form of piano called Stride, which is I think where Boogie Woogie comes from)
Cab Calloway (jazz, this man's VOICE I swear, plus look up his performances, he invented lots of dance moves)
Lead Belly (blues)
Screamin Jay Hawkins (FIRST shock rocker!)
The Temptations (early R&B, motown)
Harry Belafonte (the King of Calypso! Coconut Water is a fun song)
Eartha Kitt (crooner jazz)
Sammy Davis Jr (crooner jazz)
Todrick Hall (queer rap)
Big Freedia (Bounce--that's a genre she invented)
Shirley Bassey (THE voice of the Bond Theme, HUGE powerful voice)
Buddy Miles (R&B, jazz, fusion)
Mickey Guyton (country)
Darius Rucker (country; the only male country artist I like. He's always talking about "I love my wife and North Carolina and also my wife and children. and my wife." it's really sweet)
Audra McDonald (opera, broadway)
Brian Stokes Mitchell (broadway)
Ken Page (broadway, but look him up in Ain't Misbehavin', a musical honouring Fats Waller's music and life)
Mildred Bailey (early jazz crooner, Bailey was Skitswish and actually discovered Bing Crosby and educated him on jazz)
Use whatever music player you normally do and just do a search!
We don't talk enough about America's permanent ongoing saturation of "Stranger Danger" hysteria. It's like this country's whole social ecosystem teaches full grown adults to perceive an invisible army of rabid bogeymen lurking around every fucking corner. And it's everywhere. Absolutely fucking everywhere, top to bottom, from true crime media and urban legends like the old Poison Halloween Candy thing to our sadistically rage-fueled, revenge-based justice system and immigration policies. The NRA and the war on drugs and post 9/11 airport security and mccarthyism and satanic panic and just E V E R Y T H I N G in America, everything that has defined its history for 100+ years is constantly nothing but this fucking FEAR TERROR FEAR TERROR.
on my posts about sexy Neanderthals people keep being like “they could not consent because they did not have the vocal range needed for complex speech” HELLO???? ableist weirdo. an inability to speak does not necessarily indicate an inability to consent, people with mutism are capable of having happy and healthy sex lives. verbal communication is not the only kind of communication. based on the close and complex society Neanderthals exhibited, I’m certain they had other forms of communication and since they created art, I’m certain they had fairly advanced forms of expressing themselves.
i think a big part of hizashi's character throughout the series is that he doesn't allow himself to feel deep. to show more than what it seems, to tell more than what he shows. and, that is a neat detail that's been there with us since we first saw him; he went from seemingly one-dimensional character to a multidimensional one. from apparent simplistic to hidden depth.
and— that makes quite a lot of sense, when you remember that — by the moment he first came into the world, the superpower he was so generously gifted, born with him, and immediately deafened his peers and folks, as it is natural for a newborn baby to cry as they are finally brought to the world. and we all know what big, deep emotions do to a person, right? be them strong enough, capable of leading to emotional outbursts, an emotional disaster.
combine that with hero society— their expectations, their norm; yeah you just lost your best friend in a tragic villain incident, why are you still affected by it? it's been some time, and it's a society with unnatural superpowers, heroes and villains in different sides of the coin; sad it happened so early, but— it's only inevitable. — not a single adult, not even their teacher, offered consolation, or understanding of their situation. nemuri was a kid too, and she could only do so much when she's immediately graduating by the next year and super busy with her newly part-time duties;; she wasn't as close with oboro as hizashi and shouta were, either. she wouldn't understand, not to the same extent.
hizashi only had shouta, but— they are just kids, dealing with the tragic death of their best friend, by themselves. their coping mechanisms are tragically different from each other's; one isolated himself to dive deeper, the other pushed himself to avoid it at all costs. — do you think hizashi developed abandonment issues after oboro's death, and especially after shouta distanced himself? because i do. i think he's also projected that depth onto shouta, not only seeking shouta's presence (to make sure he doesn't distance himself again— hizashi was always a lonely guy when you think about it), but also subconsciously seeking some internal comfort, some validation of how he feels, some knowledge of his depth, and shouta is the only one who understands. he was there too. he felt it too. they are both emo kids in different flavours. they both lack self-worth in different ways.
..i think that's why, or at least part of the reason, he has this one-sided beef with emo kids so much. he is an emo kid himself, but doesn't— can't allow himself to openly relate to them, so he feels a bit envy— jealous, if you may, of people that are free to express their own depth. their feelings that could lead to emotional outbursts. their own emoness. he's a gloomy little punk himself.
Revelry in The Dark @xxms-guidancexx - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
