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og-danny-dorito · 4 years

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{ Some SFW Tamaki Headcanons For Your Daily Dose Of Somft™}

OKAY hi hello, I know I've been gone for a while but I'm kinda back now since ive had a burst of inspiration lately for no reason in particular. This is partially cause I actually just finished watching BNHA and good lord, let me tell you bro- I have WAY too many thoughts about this dude for it to be a normal infatuation so here we go! -w-;

- FIRST of all, I'm like 90% sure this dude listens to like really soft cute music like Lofi remixes or those rlly cute anime openings that give off Soft Boy vibes???

- he's like a soft person in general already so its kindof a given. he really likes pastel colors a whole lot for that reason cause they're more muted and subtle and aren't completely overbearing

- he actually owns like, 40 oversized pastel sweaters with various prints and designs on them for that reason. that and oversized soft sweaters are year-round

- most of his clothes are kinda oversized though?? like if you've watched the anime and can see how his shirt fits him I'm like 90% sure it's like a size bigger than it should be (his natural size is a medium in men's, I'm assuming, since he's like canonically 5'9" and not really muscular). his hero costume is also a little bigger than it should be in some areas and it fits around him like a big blanket

- there are MULTIPLE reasons for this imo, but the main two are that he's A) self conscious and therefore less confident in things that fit him better, and B) likes feeling like things aren't constricting him like tight shirts do

- on the self-conscious point, he already has issues with about like 500 other things that concern himself, so why not physical???

- let me explain- his form is naturally slim, which means that he hasn't really ever been as physically muscular as the other heroes (mostly cause his quirk burns up most of his calories and he has a naturally fast metabolism), and is consistently reminded of it

- he doesn't want other people to think of him as less or weaker in the general public because he doesn't look as physically strong as the other heroes, so he wears clothes that aren't very form fitting to hide this fact and therefore avoid the possibility of criticism of is physical features

- also, you're on tumblr, the land of people who are or have been physically self conscious for whatever reason, so it's pretty safe to assume that you've worn/wear oversized clothing. do you know how comfy they are??? it's like being wrapped in a formless blanket that makes it feel as if you arent able to be subject to criticism from others. it's literally the BEST

- his closet really just consists of things that are bigger than him really, but he does have some skinny jeans and a few formal outfits that fit him properly. his figure is actually kind of cute in a way since he's more on the slim/muscular side but if you EVER tell him he looks handsome in something that's more fitting than he ususally wears he will have a slightly boosted self confidence but amplified anxiety, no exceptions

- but he doesnt really like receiving compliments to be honest, and there's a few reasons for that

- as a kid not many people talked to him so he would occasionally be subject to being outcast by others. as a child he knew that when the teachers were being too nice to him by complimenting his work or talking too him too much that it was out of pity. he felt like he was being patronized out of personal obligation to be inclusive and not in personal interest, so he still has some remnants of that mentality due to having grow up with that

- being given a serious and genuine compliment isn't something he's used to and quite frankly he might be a little uncomfortable if he doesn't know you very well

- if, however, he knows you well and trusts that your comments aren't out of spite or ill-intent, his face usually turns a bright shade of red as he either A) stutters out a nervous thank you or B) hides his face in his hands and refuses to say anything until it's subsided

- he'll usually try to compliment you back, even though its hard to hear over his incredibly soft voice. it's usually something about how nice you are or how he doesn't understand how someone like you can think that way about him, but he secretly really likes feeling like someone cares and appreciates him

- speaking of soft voices, I'm almost entirely convinced that he can sing. since he doesn't really go out with friends in his spare time since he basically only has two close ones, he usually either trains or, alternatively, sings

- its more of a subconscious thing to him to sing along when his favorite song is on, but he only does it when he's alone. the thing is that he thinks his voice is horrible since he hasn't had any extensive formal education in music and generally doesn't try that much to refine his skills manually but his singing voice is like, literally angelic

- seriously, if you get this man to sing 'Heather' by Conan Grey its like listening to some sort of ethereal being trying to lull you to sleep

- its not like he'd ever do this in public because of his anxiety and insecurities, but asking him nicely and swearing you won't tell anyone about it usually gets him to do it, albeit kinds shyly at first. it takes some working up to really, from him nervously singing gently to a song while his back is turned to you to just starting to hum along to songs by habit while you're around

- the only time he really does it to his own violation can be when you're sick (he cant say no to someone who's injured, it makes him feel terrible), when you're about to fall asleep, or even when he forgets that he's around other people and is doing some sort of chore or task around the house

- mentioning it to others makes him even more embarrassed than physically possible, and he usually covers his ears to mask the sounds of your praise about him. he hates drawing attention to himself and simply cannot Deal™ with the compliments he's receiving

- this is amplified if you're in a romantic relationship with him since, lets be completely honest here, he's literally never been in a relationship before

- I mean like, if that one girl who was with him for a week in 5th grade counts for anything, then I guess he's been in one before but other than that he has no experience

- how does he accept compliments? how do you genuinely love him?? should he dress better when around you???? oh god, do you secretly hate a bunch of things about him and only like him because he's a good hero????

- there's literal pages in his search history dedicated to is panicked questioning about what he should do if you haven't told him you love him in more than a week, what he should do if he accidentally calls you the wrong name while making out/having sex, when it's acceptable to talk about getting a plant together without seeming like he wants to get married in that instant, etc.

- for this it doesn't matter whether or not you're experienced since its good both ways! someone who isn't experienced could help ease his nerves a bit since hey, you might not really know what you're doing ether, so you're both gonna mess up. if you're a little more experienced then you can help show him the ropes and probably might help him improve in future relationships if you ever decide you don't want him anymore. both win-win situations basically

- it also doesn't really matter if you're male, female, or anything else since he's demisexual panromantic. your personality is basically the most important aspect to him, even though he still thinks you have the face of a god/goddess

- the first few weeks of the relationship are basically him figuring out when its okay to touch you and/or ask for you to touch him since he doesn't want to scare you off with how affectionate he can be

- and when I say affectionate, I mean like a full out cuddle-bug

- Tamaki is straight up touch starved so like jot that down. like high key he really didn't have much physical affection as a child and even now can’t really figure out how to do it since he doesn't have any experience with it. he still craves physical affection though, and consistently

- a good way to tell that he wants affection is that he sticks a little bit closer to you during the day. not exactly under your feet, but still in your space when he knows its appropriate. usually just giving him a long hug or hdoling his hand in private helps to alleviate it a little bit, but his favorite way to get affection is to sit down and either sit in your lap or have you sit in his lap

- the reason I say private though is because PDA makes him nervous. it already kinda draws attention to the two of you since the act of PDA is basically outing a relationship on display and that alone makes him nervous, so he usually avoids it unless its in a barely populated park, a quiet cafe, etc.

- so in public he's probably gonna stick close but not outwardly hold your hand by himself, but behind closed doors he's basically hanging on you wherever and however he can

- can you really blame him for liking you as much as you do? I mean you're patient with him, you genuinely like him, and you're so sweet that he doesn't even know what to do with himself. that, and you're super fascinating to observe

- not,,,- he doesn't mean that in a creepy way I swear. he means it like- he means that he likes watching you work because the way you move around catches his interest. part of his training is observing others and he already does it a lot due to being more of that type of person by default, so he can tell a lot about you just by watching you do simple tasks such as cleaning the floor or doing some work you need to get done

- his observance makes him a great partner when it comes to remembering small things about you like your favorite color, how you do your hair in the mornings, what your favorite band(s) is/are, and more! expect him to bring you small gifts that reminded him of you because of something you said four months ago at a very specific time and a very specific date and a very specific location

- this applies to anyone that he really knows or pays special attention to really, but you're one of those people that he subconsciously has encyclopedic knowledge of because he thinks about you so much all the time

- anyway, we're getting to the end so lets get to my favorite part of the list- miscellaneous headcanons! :

he really likes Conan Grey and Lofi remixes of songs that he likes since they're more on the calming side and less intense and help his nerves go down if he's feeling anxious

when he does get severely anxious he curls into a ball and pulls at his ears and cries. he's unresponsive for this time but usually just letting him calm down after a little bit on his own or telling him softly to listen to you helps

he likes insectariums a while lot, specifically the butterfly rooms where you can walk through and let them fly around you. for some reason they tend to be more prone to lighting on him than anyone else, even though he only really wears dark colors and doesn't make an effort to get them around him

he has some purple fairy lights set up above his bed in his room that look like glowing butterflies cause he thought they were cute

he's incredibly good at cooking complex and simple dishes since he usually has to eat large amounts of certain things for his ability, and almost always cooks for the two of you if you're staying long enough to eat with him. he's arguably one of the best home-taught chefs at UA besides Bakugo even though they specialize i different areas of cooking basically

- well, it looks like thats the end for this list! Tamaki is such a sweet dude, really. being his friend or lover is like having a cheerleader, an endlessly loyal supporter, and an eternally loving partner (and more) all rolled into one. once you've been nice to him like once he's automatically favoring you over others. it may be hard to try to help him get more comfortable with the things he's anxious with, but he's a fast learner and if it makes you happy it makes him happy too

- Be careful with him, and you've got a friend for life!

[ ~Thank You For Reading, and if you think I missed anything please let me know in the notes or in my inbox. Any feedback is heavily appreciated!~ ]

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oldshrewsburyian · 5 years

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“Are you drunk?” for Garcy?

Well, mysterious anon, I’m sure this prompt is supposed to elicit Lighthearted Hijinks. But 1) I am not sure that I could not write Lighthearted Hijinks if I tried 2) I think these characters might bestow thousand-yard stares on anyone attempting to bring them anywhere near things that could be thus described. I don’t think Garcia Flynn ever really has to ask Lucy if she’s drunk. She’s a petite 5′5″; she will always be tipsy far before he is. So I asked myself about the circumstances under which she might have to ask an extremely self-controlled ex-soldier if he were drunk, and I came up with no remotely lighthearted answers.

So. This became somewhat angsty (which should surprise no one) and perhaps painfully domestic, and um, mildly smutty? which mildly surprises even me. Compatible with, though not dependent on, and history immeasurably is wealthier.

Lucy Preston is very glad to be home. Another week of the quarter down, not that she’s counting (she’s counting.) And ditto, just about, to another week of her second trimester. She’s definitely counting; even if she weren’t, she thinks, her body would keep track for her. Each week, almost, seems to bring new symptoms. At least she’s only lost her balance and stumbled into the blackboard once so far. And at least that’s almost something she might have done anyway.

She deposits her briefcase, kicks off her shoes, and shuffles her slippers on. “Home!” It’s long since become a ritual. Still, it gives her a thrill that surprises her a little, a slight fluttering under the breastbone, to know that it matters to someone else — to him — that she’s home and safe. That Flynn doesn’t answer is no cause for alarm. He’s probably upstairs, translating Russian, or Arabic, or French. Lucy puts on the tea kettle. If he’s not translating for the cabal, he’ll be testing paint swatches for the room she’s trying to think of as the nursery.

Lucy pours the water over her teabag, inhales the aroma of the ginger. She’s glad they’re having a girl; she’s glad it can still be Amy’s bedroom. It still almost chokes her sometimes, the giddy knowledge that they’re doing this, she and Flynn, building a future on all the pieces of their pasts. It takes Lucy several minutes to realize what she’s staring at, oddly abandoned on the kitchen island. For one thing, Flynn defaults to a soldier’s tidiness. For another, he’s been very sweet about joining her in enforced temperance. So the corkscrew — still open, still with a slightly torn cork impaled — is odd. Lucy tries not to let it frighten her. She consciously deepens her breaths (out, and in, and out) as she finishes preparing her tea. The wine bottle is nowhere to be seen.

She finds it and Flynn both in the living room. “Hey.” It comes out more breathless than she expects it to.

“Hi.” He is absolutely motionless; he does not even turn his head.

Lucy swallows. She assesses the level of wine in the bottle. “Are you…” No, okay would be a mockery. “Are you… drunk?” Lucy winces. That might be even worse than okay.

“No.” His voice is low and dangerous, anger in it like a current under ice. “English has many good words for…” With one hand he gestures towards the wine bottle, the near-empty glass. “And I am not yet drunk.” His tongue curls around the word, contemptuous.

Lucy puts her hand on the back of the sofa — his first warning, his first intimation — and carefully settles herself into it. “Okay.” She leans her head back, settles deliberately against his arm (rigid, corded with tension.) “Colonial and Revolutionary America went well today.” He makes a noise in his throat. Lucy finds herself wishing he’d curse in five languages instead.

“Hey,” says Lucy softly. “We’re fine. I’m fine.”

With his free left hand he takes hers, raises it to his lips. He doesn’t kiss it. He breathes against her knuckles, her fingertips. He rests his forehead against her palm, and Lucy blinks back tears, intensely aware of the feverish heat of his skin, the rapid pulse of the vein at his temple.

“We’re fine,” says Lucy again, a little helplessly. “You saw, on the scan yesterday: she’s healthy, it’s — oh.” She’s filled with the sudden and incandescent desire to murder the ultrasound technician. Lucy Preston reflects dispassionately that she should, perhaps, be alarmed by this homicidal capacity. But she left nice behind a long time ago, and she doesn’t really miss it. She’d barely registered the remark. (We’ll have to hope she’s not big-boned like her father, right?) It was so unimportant. It was background noise, chit-chat; they saw hundreds of couples, thousands in a year, and they said trite things and stupid things and Lucy didn’t care. Not with her hand gripping Flynn’s and a strange, almost surreal image filling the screen, filling their world.

“Garcia.”

“Yes.”

“I love you.”

She watches his jaw work; she watches him swallow. He releases her hand. “And I you.”

“Mm. Move over.” His shoulder under her hand is still stiff, but she settles herself in his lap, pulls his arms around her. “There.” Wordlessly he draws her closer, changes his position so that she can lie in his arms. “Mm,” says Lucy, burying her head against his chest. “That’s nice.”

“Lucy,” he says, and stops. She wonders sometimes if he grew unused to words, during those two bleak years when he was chasing hers in a journal.

“I love this,” she says softly, and she means it. Even with his heartbeat too fast underneath her, even with unshed tears in his voice. “I love this. Intellectual history on Mondays, queer history in the US Tuesday-Thursday, colonial America Wednesday-Friday.” She tilts her head up to kiss his chin. “And you.” Again she becomes conscious of the pricking of tears behind her eyes; from where she is lying, she can see the wall that they painted together last year, the matching bookcases that she came home from a conference to find flanking the fireplace.

“This,” says Lucy Preston, “is more than I ever thought was possible. I — I tried to believe I could be a good historian in my own right, and I told myself that I could have kids someday, that it might happen, but…” She guides his hand under the hem of her tunic. She feels him shudder. “I never dared to want this,” she whispers. “Not really. Wishing… wishing for more than I ever knew. That’s all it was. And now…”

“Lucy.” She can feel his quickened breath. “Lucy, you have given me — ” another pause, a kiss pressed to the top of her head — “my life. Several times. As you know.” She laughs, at that; a few tears fall, are absorbed into his shirt. “I know,” he says, “that we cannot live a life without danger. But I cannot — I cannot — ”

Lucy reaches behind her, gets a hand firmly anchored in his hair. “Shh.”

He swallows. “I hate,” he says, “the knowledge that I am endangering you.”

“You’re not endangering me,” she counters quickly. “Garcia, you’re not. You are, at my request, snuggling me on the couch.”

“Snuggling.”

“An excellent English word, I’ll have you know. You are snuggling me on the couch,” repeats Lucy Preston, with emphasis, “and we, together, are doing something dangerous and a little bit terrifying and absolutely amazing. But that… that just counts as normal in our relationship, right?”

Flynn presses another kiss to the top of her head, inhales deeply. “Moja najdražo. I don’t deserve you.”

“Pots,” says Lucy firmly. “Kettles.” She stretches, rolling her hips, arching her back. “I could… give you things to do.”

“Mm?”

“Mmhmm.” She takes his hand in hers, guides it lower. There are, she has been discovering, many advantages to elastic waistbands. “You could — ah — make passionate love to me and then — yes — you could make that broccoli-anchovy thing again.” He sits up, pulling her against him. Lucy wonders briefly if it would be indelicate to observe, at her next sonogram appointment, that there are distinct advantages to being considerably smaller than one’s lover.

“Lucy,” says Garcia Flynn. “Lucy, my love, my heart.” Her shirt lands on top of the wine glass. “You have very, ah, specific ideas.”

“I do,” she says happily, and hooks her feet around his calves, leans back to kiss along the line of his jaw. “’S what happens when you have more than you’ve ever wanted. Anchovies on pasta become the height of your worldly desires.”

“Mm.” He raises his mouth from the base of her nape. “I see.” Lucy gasps a little as he brings his hands to cup her breasts. “But this first?”

Lucy leans back into her lover’s arms, where she has always been safe. “Oh yes,” she says. “This first.”

#garcy ff #i love them #electricbluebutterflies #you wanted to be tagged when i wrote for these two #why am i so emotionally invested? the answer is probably complicated #asks and answers #ficlets of consolation

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theanoninyouraskblog · 5 years

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Well, well, well.

@erasermic-aus

Looks like henry and windy are at it again. Lets give them hell shall we.

Mmm look at that delicious hint. Alright you know the drill lets look at obvious stuff first.

1: We’ve got a recording microphone. Specifically based on the shape it looks like we either have a condenser mic (specifically a large condenser mic) or a Ribbon microphone. Knowing what we do about Present Mic canonically (He has a radio show) we can assume this Mic also has a radio show (or a vlog, we’ll get to that later) which means he’s probably using a Ribbon Microphone given that they’re said to have the most natural sound and are usually used for recording human voices.

But we can take this further.

Hizashi’s Microphone is a mounted mic on stand... obviously (they help with audio quality). And he appears to have a pop filter on the front (basically it makes audio not sound like shit or in the words of an expert: “One of the simplest recording gadgets is the humble pop filter... positioned between the vocalist and your microphone to block plosives – those percussive P and B sounds that cause annoying low frequency bumps.”- a random fucking website, I did this research myself, I’m not sighting it if I don't have to.)

2: Red eyes. Now Hizashi canonically in the Bnha comics has read eyes, it was changed for the show... for atheistic reasons I guess? This isn’t some measly one off, because Windy and Henry aren’t sloppy. Lets take a look at what versions of Mic have green eyes. The mad hatter. Waiter Hizashi. That's it... there aren't that many full color pictures of hizashi with his eyes colored/open.

But lets look at who has red eyes. God’s Abomination, specifically when it’s villain mic and hero eraser. (there's no fully colored version the other way round so I’m just sort of assuming his eyes are green when it’s hero hizashi and villain eraser, would make my job soooo much easier being able to draw that conclusion) BUT NOPE I can’t make that clear decisive cut of red means evil, because guess what... HERO MIC HAS RED EYES IN SCREECH’S AU.

But you know what we do know.

Mic isn’t a hero. Henry told us as much.

Odd emphasis on not there... implies he’s a villain. But we wont rule out civilian yet.

Now we get to talk about this:

Firstly, that one eye visible one eye not is a fucking trope in the art world.

Want to know why?

Nah, I’m joking it’s been around a lot longer than him. But the glasses glare and the one eye is a very common theme. Don’t believe me?

That hiding one or both eyes on dangerous characters thing? Also a fucking trope.

Want a list of popular anime character with only one eye showing??? I have one!! https://www.ranker.com/list/best-anime-characters-with-one-eye-showing/ranker-anime Want a whole fucking page about it? https://www.animecharactersdatabase.com/tags.php?id=1085 Here's the data base!!!

Want videogame examples? Undyne (undertale), Sans (undertale), Garry (Ib)! The list goes on!

And doing something with a character’s eyes is always a trope! Character got possessed??? Guess what you can change the eyes to clue your audience in! You’re character just went fucking feral? SLITTED PUPILS ARE THE WAY MY DUDE. Aizawa Shouta just activated his quirk? Zoom in on them eyes, change color and do a weird color fracture.

Super powerful character has eyes flash? Totally normal, robot character’s eyes change color when scanning? One eye changes color?

Heterochromia is also super common.

This implies that Hizashi is dangerous, since it’s not happening before a fight as far as I can tell, it just implies he’s a dangerous man and not to be messed with.

Also remember how I mentioned vlogging? There is the off chance Hizashi is blogging and that’s why his attention isn't on his microphone. Or he could be looking at photos, or something... maybe a kidnapped and tied up Aizawa... who knows.

3: Now lets look at that dialog.

“He was amazing!” We can infer that the he in this situation is probably Aizawa... though it could technically be anyone. But we’re going to stick with Aizawa.

He was amazing? Well sounds a bit like Hizashi talking about Hero Aizawa, having seen Aizawa on patrol or even having fought him. One this is for sure, this is probably an obsessive mic. The sort that fixates on Aizawa or the like. Seems to me like a villain obsessing over a hero. Now, subtler details.

1: Lets take a look at this background. That’s glass right there which means this isn't Hizashi’s house, this is a recording studio. And Hizashi is either the host or is being interviewed, and we can rule that out due to the fact his feet are up and it’s fucking rude to do that if your being interviewed.

Now this could also be a police interrogation room, but the chair lends to it not being so, as does his posture and the mic itself. No this is a recording studio which means Mic defiantly has his own show.

Not only that, he’s a public figure. And probably a villain!

2: Hand guestures are something distinctly Hizashi. As someone who speaks with their hands the same way he does, expressing with hands isn’t just a thing for other people, you move your hands by yourself, reminding yourself to put on socks with motions, etc. But that, that's an odly specific position.

Now talking with your hands is a common phenomena, books have been written about it, it allegedly conveys strong leadership and the like... however it’s also a trait sociopaths and psychopath are known to mimic in order to endear people to them. Now let me put up a sociopath/psycopath checklist (The tests are very similar and I didnt feel like doing both) and lets look at Present Mic as a character.

GLIB and SUPERFICIAL CHARM — The tendency to be smooth, engaging, charming, slick, and verbally facile. Psychopathic charm is not in the least shy, self-conscious, or afraid to say anything. A psychopath never gets tongue-tied. They have freed themselves from the social conventions about taking turns in talking, for example. ✓ Hey, look Charm? Never gets tongue tied... hmmm

GRANDIOSE SELF-WORTH — A grossly inflated view of one’s abilities and self-worth, self-assured, opinionated, cocky, a braggart. Psychopaths are arrogant people who believe they are superior human beings. ✓ This one is a little harder to check off, because he’s not nearly as self centered, but cocky? yeah... yep, so he gets half a point here.

NEED FOR STIMULATION or PRONENESS TO BOREDOM — An excessive need for novel, thrilling, and exciting stimulation; taking chances and doing things that are risky. Psychopaths often have low self-discipline in carrying tasks through to completion because they get bored easily. They fail to work at the same job for any length of time, for example, or to finish tasks that they consider dull or routine. ✓ I dunno if you’ve met Hizashi, but this fits in rather well.

PATHOLOGICAL LYING — Can be moderate or high; in moderate form, they will be shrewd, crafty, cunning, sly, and clever; in extreme form, they will be deceptive, deceitful, underhanded, unscrupulous, manipulative, and dishonest. ✓ If he’s a villain he checks this easily. Especially if he’s a public figure AND a villain.

CONNING AND MANIPULATIVENESS — The use of deceit and deception to cheat, con, or defraud others for personal gain; distinguished from Item #4 in the degree to which exploitation and callous ruthlessness is present, as reflected in a lack of concern for the feelings and suffering of one’s victims. ✓ See above

LACK OF REMORSE OR GUILT — A lack of feelings or concern for the losses, pain, and suffering of victims; a tendency to be unconcerned, dispassionate, cold-hearted, and non-empathic. This item is usually demonstrated by a disdain for one’s victims. Ehhh… I really need to see more of this version of Hizashi to determine that.

SHALLOW AFFECT — Emotional poverty or a limited range or depth of feelings; interpersonal coldness in spite of signs of open See above.

CALLOUSNESS and LACK OF EMPATHY — A lack of feelings toward people in general; cold, contemptuous, inconsiderate, and tactless. Once again see above

PARASITIC LIFESTYLE — An intentional, manipulative, selfish, and exploitative financial dependence on others as reflected in a lack of motivation, low self-discipline, and inability to begin or complete responsibilities. Nope.

POOR BEHAVIORAL CONTROLS — Expressions of irritability, annoyance, impatience, threats, aggression, and verbal abuse; inadequate control of anger and temper; acting hastily. ✓ Acting hastily? Yep.

PROMISCUOUS SEXUAL BEHAVIOR — A variety of brief, superficial relations, numerous affairs, and an indiscriminate selection of sexual partners; the maintenance of several relationships at the same time; a history of attempts to sexually coerce others into sexual activity or taking great pride at discussing sexual exploits or conquests. Cannonically this would make sense but we wont check it.

EARLY BEHAVIOR PROBLEMS — A variety of behaviors prior to age 13, including lying, theft, cheating, vandalism, bullying, sexual activity, fire-setting, glue-sniffing, alcohol use, and running away from home. Dunno yet.

LACK OF REALISTIC, LONG-TERM GOALS — An inability or persistent failure to develop and execute long-term plans and goals; a nomadic existence, aimless, lacking direction in life. This man wanted to be a radio host. That's not a fucking stable job Hizashi. This is poor planning. ✓

IMPULSIVITY — The occurrence of behaviors that are unpremeditated and lack reflection or planning; inability to resist temptation, frustrations, and urges; a lack of deliberation without considering the consequences; foolhardy, rash, unpredictable, erratic, and reckless. ✓ No duh

IRRESPONSIBILITY — Repeated failure to fulfill or honor obligations and commitments; such as not paying bills, defaulting on loans, performing sloppy work, being absent or late to work, failing to honor contractual agreements. ✓ if He’s a fucking villain.

FAILURE TO ACCEPT RESPONSIBILITY FOR OWN ACTIONS — A failure to accept responsibility for one’s actions reflected in low conscientiousness, an absence of dutifulness, antagonistic manipulation, denial of responsibility, and an effort to manipulate others through this denial. ✓ if He’s a fucking villain.

MANY SHORT-TERM MARITAL RELATIONSHIPS — A lack of commitment to a long-term relationship reflected in inconsistent, undependable, and unreliable commitments in life, including marital. Nope

JUVENILE DELINQUENCY — Behavior problems between the ages of 13-18; mostly behaviors that are crimes or clearly involve aspects of antagonism, exploitation, aggression, manipulation, or a callous, ruthless tough-mindedness. Dunno yet

REVOCATION OF CONDITION RELEASE — A revocation of probation or other conditional releases due to technical violations, such as carelessness, low deliberation, or failing to appear. Dunno yet

CRIMINAL VERSATILITY — A diversity of types of criminal offenses, regardless if the person has been arrested or convicted for them; taking great pride at getting away with crimes. …..✓

Let me spell this out for you, Hizashi is displaying an oddly exaggerated handmotion, even for the most exuberant of hand talkers. (Generaly talking with your hands never gets outside of a box, here I’ve drawn the box on mic for you.)

The larger box is where most people talk and people why are shy or have been bullied/are self conscious of their hands talk in the smaller box.

He as a character ticks of most of a psychopathic checklist and if he is indeed a psychopath he could have learned that hand motion endear people to you. Now I’m not saying he is a psychopath, most people tick off at least 4 of those boxes, I’m just saying it’s possible.

3 yep that eye is still confusing me, he defiantly seems like he’s looking at something and the more I look at that smug expression the more I think it’s Aizawa tied up and gagged in a chair with his own capture weapon glaring at him.

4: That's a nice chair. That's a nice chair. Not interrogation I guess. But something about that chair irks me.

Alright nitpicky now.

Posture:

That's not fucking relaxed posture. That’s posturing to give of the air of being relaxed. Mic may have been relaxed when he crossed his legs but those arms are not relaxed. Look at the stiff angles. That’s a man who’s up to something.

And lastly, no, no I could not figure out what kind of shoes Mic is wearing, and I don't think it’s relevant.

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willsnow8 · 7 years

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Episode 2, in which I kiss a girl for the first time

My fledgeling sexual encounters were with nobody but I. (Presumably that's the case for almost every adolescent. Presumably even our ape ancestors, before they felt the invisible pull from other ape ancestors, would have first become adept at the manual pull upon their own erogenous bits.) And for a long while such selfish stimulation was enjoyable enough to stave off any sense of lack; I yearned for nothing more substantial or complex than tossing myself off. Certainly then had I no desire for girls to come between my erection and I! This was not due to disinterest in heterosexual intercourse. (Far from it: the fornication fantasy dominated the imagination as I reached each regular climax.) But fantasies were all they were - fantasies that remained internalised, stimulating no interaction with the opposite sex.

My attitude towards girls was still that of an 8-year-old boy intimidated by these prevalent female wonders due to their otherness, what with their general preference for clandestine incantation over squabbling one-upmanship. They were really more like adults, albeit much smaller and obsessed with hair-braiding. Apart from one unusually-confident and quiffed boy whose name I now forget, my male classmates and I co-existed immiscibly with girls - cheek-by-jowl yet somehow also separate - their giggling chatter at once compelling but indecipherable.

Gradually, though, as we progressed through High School, these fluid dynamics were disturbed, and inter-gender mingling started to occur. The earliest occurrences of this effected me greatly by challenging my perception of what children could or should do; in fact, they challenged my very status as a child.

The first such occurrence was heralded in Maths one morning by the Chinese-whispered announcement that Jenny Lee and Gary Carr were going to 'get off' with each other on the school-field during break. Stunned and unable to concentrate on the sums we’d all been set, instead I spent the rest of that lesson glancing across the classroom either to Jenny or to Gary, both of whom had a newfound air of celebrity, like fully-fledged soap-stars sat amongst us lowly children. Gary in particular, though unchanged in appearance, now possessed an inner power betrayed by a flickering smirk. A smirk that made a fool of me. That was how I felt: fooled, deceived. Granted, we were not best friends - rather mere acquaintances - but he had been 'one of us'. He’d been like me, or so I thought. Yet it turned out that, all along, he'd been cultivating secretly the chutzpah to commit the preternatural act of plaiting tongues with Jenny Lee. Never before - never - had I experienced such envy.

At last, when the lesson ended, our entire class made its way as one along the narrow corridor towards the nearest exit. Drunk on collective consciousness, we stifled grins like circus-psychics teasing one another by refusing to acknowledge aloud the elephantine force which propelled us to the field. A small crowd (how did they know?) awaited our arrival with palpable anticipation. This we joined and formed a loose ring that attracted towards it more ambling clumps of pupils exiting behind us.

For a few uneasy minutes this human circle shape-shifted around two gravitational centres; Jenny Lee’s female friends huddled closely to her, cooing compliments about her complexion; whilst our male group (including an unusually reserved Gary) continued to ignore the real reason we were there by reverting to our default tone of insecure piss-take punctuated by arm-punching. The crowd expanded and grew restless. Some of the older, more disinterested boys at the fringes began to pierce our group’s omertà with outspoken bawdy goads that stoked the prevailing impatience into a gathering hum of discontent. Eventually, a silver-backed sixth-year called Oggy grabbed hold of Gary’s bomber-jacket and thrust him towards the supposed object of his affections.

A thrown, careering Gary caused the huddled girls to scatter, leaving him and Jenny Lee alone at last inside the circle. It was at this moment of sudden union that something happened to Jenny, to overtake her. Whether this was an all-encompassing Big Bang rapidly swelling from within, or the first outward appearance of a long-held conviction, I do not know for certain, but it appeared to be the latter - a flowering of feeling the buds of which she’d tended for a while. Calm and in control, she threaded her fingers through Gary's so that their hands clasped together like spring-clamp combs. Then she lifted up their long joined arms and twirled half around, confidently nestling her arse into his groin and pulling him close. In his embrace she swayed a little, causing them both to rock stiffly side-to-side for a second, Jenny’s half-closed eyes staring at the empty air in front of her, Gary peering down as though carefully counting the cowslips, his face racked with self-conscious seriousness as he awaited further manipulation.

Entwined around each other, Jenny led Gary on a slow and clumsy four-legged walk to the sparser end of the circle furthest from the school. Here they stopped. She raised their threaded hands and twirled back to face him, rubbing her hair against his chest before pointedly meeting his gaze. Mobilised by a cue he finally recognised, Gary lurched forward abruptly and clamped his open mouth around hers. They French-kissed vigorously, with amateur-dramatical desire. There was neither subtlety nor tenderness in their competing attempts to swallow one another. The moment had the dispassionate industry of a mid-shift bed-bath. The gathered audience witnessed this brief encounter in complete silence. Only when it ended did someone half-heartedly jeer so as to ease the awkward transition back to normality.

Released from the clutches of Jenny Lee, Gary returned to our group wearing an ill-fitting mask of nonchalance. Being sure to avoid eye-contact, I searched his face for signs of romantic feeling, but saw only braggadocio. A couple of the other lads asked him strangulated questions in an attempt at worldly experience that fooled no-one and to which Gary responded but with deep-throated chuckles; a baritone amongst castrati. He was distinct from the rest of us now; we all knew it. Having graduated from our childish world of Top Trumps, sweets and wheelies, he occupied now the time zone that we all wished to reside in but to which we daren’t yet venture.

Never again did I witness such a public display of affection in broad daylight. But there did soon follow similar (albeit more private) encounters amongst my peer-group. Legendary was Kim Lazenby’s birthday party to which my pals and I were invited: a long, unchaperoned evening eating Pringles in front of Friends, culminating in a game of ’spin the bottle’, during which I had my first ever proper kiss, with Kim’s slightly-older cousin called Sarah. My own substandard contribution to this kiss was to close my eyes and repetitively gape my mouth open and shut like an oversized goldfish, in the hope that it looked and felt roughly as it should. I did not enjoy it at the time, and was in fact thoroughly relieved when it was over; nevertheless for many years afterwards did I think of it when masturbating.

As I occasionally found myself the object of adolescent fumbling (whether determined by the settled position of a spun bottle or by the undammable determination of a hormonal teenage girl) my ‘wank bank’ of titillating memories from which to draw began to accumulate slowly. But it did not occur to me to progress beyond mild foreplay. The snogs preluded a climax that was a solo refrain rather than a duet. This was due in part to my stereotypically British reserve - just as I was reluctant to chat to a stranger on a bus, was I also reluctant to start fingering a girl I was kissing - for one shouldn’t presume that a word spoken or a digit inserted will be welcomed by the open ears or legs of its recipient. Associated with this reserve was my low self-esteem, because, surely, an acne-ridden gibbon with a smelly palate brace should be grateful for a kiss and should certainly not strive for anything more. My frigidity was also due in part to the prudishness that lingered from my Church-going days, when the 'desires of the flesh' were preached about with such pious disdain.

Plus there was the Peter Pan factor, my unshakable attachment to childhood. Surely sexual intercourse with another was something only adults did, whereas I was still determinedly but a boy, a status which ejaculation did not invalidate by itself. And, always, one of my defining characteristics as a boy was that I never ever rushed towards the bustling fun of the playground, but instead would I hesitate at the unlocked gate, overwhelmed by the sight of such communal enjoyment, before heading back, alone, to my bedroom, to make perfunctory use of my toys.

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