Latest Posts by shoutashii - Page 3

hitoshi smells like coffee, cats (ifykyk that dough smell that cats have idk) and the og dove soap (+a random non-expensive body mist give or take) because being a kid raised in foster care, you find the value in being privlaged enough to be able to care about that kinda stuff.

MLA/WAR ARC SPOILERS

Since stabbing/shooting in the stomach is one of the most painful ways to die, imagine bakugo.

Katsuki, bleeding out from about 5 holes in his stomach, still conscious, hearing izukus bated breath, his own heart silenced in his ears. Usually when your under adrenaline you hear your heart, no? Why is it not beating? He's not in pain so where is it?

Katsuki is scared because 'zuku is fighting the biggest villain ever, and he can't get up. why can't you get up? Just GET UP.

Erasermic builds

Shouta obviously needs to be able to use his capture weapon to hold his own body weight, and also needs to be able to brace landings between buildings so his arms and thighs gotta be WHAM. While hizashi is a bfg, he still needs to fight because no hero is a one trick pony, but his fighting style is more like mina's, so he's still got muscle, but alot less than shouta and alot more lean in general.

dadmic save me

Denki feels most comfortable opening up to present mic then any other teacher because he feels the most understood by him and he knows how to cheer him up.🎀

Where erasermic adopt hitoshi when he wss a little tiny baby (like 7ish) and when it comes time to apply to UA hitoshis like "no i dont wanna get in thru recomendation" and shoutas like "when u become a pro you’ll have to ask for help, that could decide the fate of lives" hizashi doesent like how blunt he is w it but agrees nontheless, zashi also says that theres no way toshi can win against robots, so theres that 😛

Izuku and ofa, but he's been able to hear and talk with the vestiges since he gained the quirk,,

Nana: I don't know,, I think izuku and endeavours kid make a good team

Banjo: no way! Him and that frog girl are like- perfect!

Yoichi, pinching his nosebridge: Izuku and Tsuyu look like the couples in every glmv ever, thay could be siblings, please don't.

loving when ppl write toshinori (all might) as smart. like the golden retriever personality is his, but works scarily like present mics DJ persona- we've seen toshi get serious, we've seen him break down,, and we know he'd put his life on the line for his kids- yet he still manages to put on his signature smile. He's been a hero for a little around 35 years,, he obviously knows how things are run. He knows police procedures off the back of his hand, he knows how to learn everything there is about a person in 30 seconds flat, he knows the tells of a disaster in progress, he has the hero mindset to a Tee. If the dorky personality helps villains not notice the cogs turning in his eyes, it's just a slight perk.

Edit: upon seeing the reblog by @rurounivash I've realised that yeah lowk he goofs out on some things, sometimes he does just airhead his way through the day because damn, you can't expect the man to be vigilant 24\7 BUT, he does apply his godforsaken iq to learning how to do other things, i.e, teaching his kids

hc that you have to know atleast four languages to graduate underground from UA, so while hizashi only knows japanes and english (& a little duolingo french but does that even count), shouta had to learn korean, russian, english, and mandarin, although he can't write in mandarin anymore because it doesent need to be used in hero work as much.

MHA WAR ARC SPOILERS

Rocklock must be PISSED,, hes been saying that "the kids can't take the fall for the pro's not doing their job" (during the shei hassaikai arc) but now, in the middle of this war where all might is not even on scene, endeavour is missing an arm, his son, and his mind, and hawks is this close to losing his Quirk, rocklock says to an ex-commision pet/hero convict that "that kid (izuku) is our only shot at winning the war, everything rides on him."

lida got taught sign by tensei so he signs something about aizawa looking like a hobo (idc if this is ooc) and aizawa signs back something ten times worse without clocking

aizawa subconsciously acts more friendly/jokey (as much as he's capable of) towards lida because the boy is literally a picture-perfect spitting image of tensei when shouta and the dumbingos were in school

aizawa subconsciously acts more friendly/jokey (as much as he's capable of) towards lida because the boy is literally a picture-perfect spitting image of tensei when shouta and the dumbingos were in school

Idk but something about tomura having a rlly deep idol crush on aizawa while aizawa is in his late twenties, married to mic for five years, with hitoshi and eri is really funny to me,, like tomura slides in and he's like "yo wys homegirl" and aizawa is just standing there befounded

Kurogiri (kuroboro? UGH) who, because of the brain-scrambling experiments garaki conducted, sometimes forgets (how to do) things. Maybe it's small things like how many days in the current months, or what time he needs to leave for a mission. Sometimes it's more big than that, he'll lose motor skills, forget tomura's eczema meds, or even something that afo asked him to do. When he remembers, he apologizes profuseley- he's usually on top of things like that.

Cynonari modern au where tighnari is just about to go into his advanced forest bio exam and cyno keeps on making puns so tighnari keeps on accidentally writing 'cyno'plasm instead of cytoplasm

Hizashi is such a good character and yet we get so little of him. RAAAAAAH

Like he lost Oboro too and he struggles with that. His anger during that moment when they realized their dead friend was being used by villains sticks with me.

And I think about how all he wants is friends and he finds that in Shouta. He puts up a facade and the only person to really see him for who he is Shouta.

Their friendship deserved screentime. I want to see them being that rock for each other and the way that their friendship has evolved since the loss of Oboro.

I also want to see him solo. What he feels, thinks, his own love for his work and students separate from others. His passions. His drive. His ambition. I want to see what he thinks of his busy life. I want to see him feeding stray cats and him dealing with grading papers. I want to see his living space and whether it's cluttered or not. I want to see him play instruments and his process with planning things out for his radio show.

I just want to see Hizashi. I want to see him as a full human with his own complex thoughts and processes when it comes to his approach to life.

Just give me Hizashi

his persona is probably what he uses as a defence mechanism 💔

Present Mic deserved more screentime. He's such a fascinating character with such an amazing skill. Like the genuine damage he could do if he wasn't so devoted and dedicated to being Present Mic and not Hizashi.

Let my man lose his shit. Let him grieve. Let him feel everything that he is bottling up and let us see the damage he causes because he finally allows himself to feel. Show us Hizashi being Hizashi and not holding onto a persona

Erasermic, where their cats (bastard and sushi obvi) like to sit on the fridge and plot. They only come down when shouta gives them treats. When they come to the edge of the fridge, shouta swipes them up but still gives the treat. hizashi always complains that it's rewarding bad behaviour. At some point, they stop falling for shouta's schemes, and the only way to get them down is to scare them off by vigorously shaking plastic bags at them.

Cut to hizashi being woken up at like 5am by shouta coming home from patrol and 'bagging' the cats.

i think love is stored in nighttime conversations and “did you eat yet” and books left outside your door and “i waited to watch this with you” and splitting something in half to share and “im proud of you” and folded towels and “you can pick” and heads on shoulders and “you’re right, that was shitty. im sorry” and knocks on doors and “DINNER!” and stupid jokes and “hey i got this for you” and coffee made just right and… there are so many ways people say i love you silently every day over and over again if you only listen

pro hero eraserhead who's young (20) and not quite clutched the ropes of what is and isn't legal as an underground hero. his connections lead him to a 18 year-old tomura shigiraki who clearly idolises him and lets him have whatever info he wants, only if he shares a drink and tells him about his haircare, or his cats, or how many plants there are in his apartment.

CUTIEE

AWH LOOK AT THE BABY 💕💕 HES SO CUTE OMG OMG OMG HES NOT REAL

this is from the recent schlatt and co video “fight me”

The way I am everything schlatt has ever taken the piss on,, yes I am a teenage girl raving over a old ass crusty little man,, no I will not stop

GNAWING AT THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE

present mic but he has a podcast,, not like *that* but like how schlatt had the weekly slap. He's got comedy to entice adults but he's focused towards teens. they (mostly students) send him questions every week that are sometimes stupid and sometimes serious, looking for help and advice and he responds with his own experiences and mixes jokes inbetween

The Day I Picked Up Dazai - Side A (1)

Links to Parts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Final

I translated the first few pages of the new Dazai novel, which was given out as free bonus for those who come to the cinema to watch the BEAST live action movie in Japan.

Please carefully read the notes below before progressing.

- This post contains spoilers. It is not a summary, but a full translation of the first few pages of novel. So if you plan to read the novel later yourself and think this would ruin your expectation, please stop here.

· I tried to keep the translation as accurate as possible, but as I don't speak English or Japanese as my native language, I may make some mistakes or use weird words etc. This translation might not be final. I may come back and fix it later if I find any mistakes.

· This is a moviegoers-only benefit, so please be extra careful when discussing it about on Twitter. Use a #spoiler tag on your tweets or your fanarts. You can share the links to this post but don't take many screenshots.

· Don’t retranslate it. [UPDATE MAY 9, 2023] You can retranslate it but please keep in mind that my translation is not perfect and some meanings will be lost through re-translation. If you are not sure about the meaning at any part, please let me know! Don’t repost this translation anywhere else out of Tumblr.

· DON’T GO TO THE AUTHORS’ OR OFFICIAL TWITTERS TO COMMENT ABOUT THE CONTENTS OF IT.

I'm sorry if that's too much but honestly all I want is for everyone to have a good experience, for those who wants to read the novels to be able to read the novels, and for those who don't want to be spoiled, to be safe from it as much as possible.

If you have read and are okay with all the above, please continue to move forward and enjoy the novel. Have a good day!

A bloody corpse of a young man is lying on my front porch.

I look down at the corpse, then at the front of the house. It is a quiet morning. The apartment across the street is casting a long black shadow on the pavement in front of me. The trumpet vines planted in the hedge are rustling in the breeze, and whispering to each other in a way that human cannot decipher. Somewhere in the distance, I can hear the sound of the long-distance trucks scraping against the road surface. And there is a corpse in the middle of the stairs in front of me.

In any case, to our eyes, a corpse is always a strangely exaggerated presence. But this time it is different. This corpse blends in with the landscape, becoming one with the everyday peaceful morning scenery. After a while, I realize the reason. The corpse’s chest is moving up and down faintly. It is not a corpse, it is alive.

I look at the young man. He is all black. A high-collar black cloak, a three-piece suit, a black tie. The things that are not black are his button-down shirt, and the bandages around his head. This one is a mottled color of white and red. This color pattern reminds me of some ominous Chinese prophetic characters. The place he is lying, is the middle of the stairs that leads to the front porch. The blood stains continuing down the cracked concrete stairs looks like he has been crawling.

Question. What should I do with this nearly-corpse in front of my eyes?

The answer is simple. If I touch him with the tip of my toes and put some weight on him, he will just roll down to the ground below. If I do so, then he will not be on my premise anymore. He will be on a public road. The country’s territory. All those who are in trouble within the territory of the country should be saved by the mercy of the country. An ordinary postman like me should go home and have breakfast.

I am not doing that because I am a cold and heartless person. I am doing that because it is a survival necessity. The young man’s wounds are clearly from gunshots. He has been shot multiple times. There are probably more holes in his body than I can see from here. And to top it all off, he is holding a bunch of new notes in his left hand.

What can this mean? Nothing. It means nothing, except that his existence is a huge trouble, and that nothing good will come out of getting involved with him. In other words, he is clearly not someone that an average citizen should get involved with. A normal person in his right mind should have fled to the next city at the sight of him. Just like Jonah in the Bible would do the second time he runs into a giant fish in a stormy sea.

I look at the young man, at the road, and the sky, and at him again.

And then I start to act. First, I approach the guy and lift him up by his sides. Then I drag him by his heels into the house and lay him down on the wall-mounted bed. He is much lighter than he looks. Carrying him alone is not that much of a trouble. I check his wounds. There are many deep wounds, and the bleeding is not usual, but if he receives immediate proper treatment, it is not like he will die.

I take out my medical kit box from the back of the closet, and give him some simple first aid treatments. I put a towel under his upper body, cut his clothes with a pair of scissors to expose the wounds, and check if there is any bullet left inside. In order to stop the blood flow, I apply pressure on the pressure points: below the armpits, inner elbows, ankles, backs of knees, and tie them tightly with a clean cloth. Then I put disinfected tourniquets to the wounds to stop the bleeding. Fortunately for him, I can do this kind of first aid even with my eyes closed.

After I am done with the treatments, I look down at the young man and cross my arms. His breathing has stabilized. His respiratory system and bones seem to be intact. But he does not seem to be waking up. “It’s fine already, just kick him out.” I can hear the voice in my head. There is nothing more stupid than treating a suspicious guy like this. I guess I should listen to that voice. That is what a wise man would do.

Before following the angel’s advice, I take another look at the young man. I don’t recognize his face. Probably not someone I know. I say probably, because the bandages covering half of his face makes it almost impossible to make out his features. But he is much younger than what I first thought. He is probably young enough to pass as a “boy”.

Then I remember the wad of cash he was holding. He is still holding them. If it is actually as much as it looks, it must be a fortune for someone with a miserably cheap wage like me. In this situation, it should be okay to have some of them gently transferred to my pocket as a thank for saving his life, right? Thinking so, I pick up the wad of notes. And now I finally realize that I am the biggest idiot in this town.

I feel a bitter taste spreading inside my mouth.

That is an unused bundle of notes. There is some blood on them, but the paper strap, the proof that they are new, is there. There is no bank’s name printed on the strap. There is no printing of any kind. And the notes are neatly lined up by serial numbers in ascending order.

I feel like someone just punched me in the stomach.

There are two possibilities that I can think of. First, this bundle of notes has been taken out of the Reserve Bank of Japan Mint, before it hits the market. That would mean this man is a plague. There is no chance that an ordinary person could get his hands on such a thing. The notes printed at Japan Mint are first sent to the Ministry of Finance, where their serial numbers are scanned to become usable notes. Then they will be sent in cash transport vehicles to branches of the Reserve Bank. From there, they continue to be subdivided and distributed to city banks. At that point, the straps will be switched with those of the city banks.

However, there is no printing on his trap at all. The only way to be able to carry out a wad of notes in that state is to steal it from the Reserve Bank. The most likely way is to attack a cash transport car. Could it be that he just returned from a raid like that?

But if so, I will just stroke my chest in relief, and go back to making coffee in my kitchen. The cash car robbers are violent guys, but only violent. Violence alone cannot make a storm.

There is another possibility.

These are counterfeit notes. I take out a magnifying glass from the back of the room, and carefully examine the wad of notes in my hand. I become completely chilled that my fingers are tingling. I try comparing them with the notes in my own wallet. I can’t tell the difference at all.

A supernote.

I feel dizzy.

If that is the case, the thing in my hand right now has become as dangerous as a small nuclear warhead. Counterfeit currency is a tool of warfare that has been used way before bows and arrows. If one can bring an amount of well-made false currency into an enemy country, the value of that currency will drop due to the increase amount of money in circulation, leading to inflation. A country is, in a sense, its own currency. By skillfully fueling distrust in a country’s currency, it is possible to destroy the economy and bring down a whole nation. For that reason, the National Security Agency is always on the lookout for counterfeit notes. If this level of a note is to be brought into the market, it would not be the city police’s business. It is much higher. The National Security Agency, or the Military.

I put the wad of notes on my desk as if I am throwing them away. I don’t want to leave my fingerprints on them anymore. I head to the phone. If I report the incident right away, I might be able to argue for some extenuating circumstances with the authorities. There is no time to waste.

When I pick up the receiver, I hear a faint voice. It isn’t coming from the phone.

“Put the phone down.”

I turn to the direction where the voice came from. Before I knew it, the young man has opened his eyes and is looking at me with those eyes. I look at the receiver and the youth in turn. Then I say, “What if I don’t?”

“I kill you.”

Those words are as mediocre as the unsold leftover packs lining up in a deli, at least to this young man. I can tell from looking at his eyes. When he utters the word “kill”, it is nothing more than an ordinary, everyday word for him. Just like cutting your nails, or going out to buy more cigarettes, those kinds of words.

“How?” I put down the receiver, but I have not returned it to the base station. Then I say, “You’ve got holes all over your body. You can’t move anything. You’re dying everywhere. You don’t even have a gun. To kill me in that condition, it would take two hundred of you.”

“I don’t need that much.” He says with a chilled voice. “I’m Port Mafia.”

Those words only are enough.

“Port Mafia”, I carefully choose my words before saying “Then I have no choice but to obey.” Then I take my time and quietly put the receiver down.

“That’s good,” he chuckles.

If he really is from Port Mafia, I would have to be careful even about lifting or lowering a spoon in front of him. When the opponent is the Port Mafia, the synonym of darkness and violence, even if I report this and manage to escape today, there is no telling what will come later. A human being has a total of about two hundred bones. But it would not be strange if I will be shredded into just as many pieces of flesh.

I stare at him for about three seconds. Then I go to the kitchen. I keep the door open so that I can watch him from there. I start making coffee in the kitchen. I put the kettle on the fire and wet the rod with some water. I add the coffee powder, and pour boiling water in.

“If I’m not allowed to call the police, what about the doctors?” I say, keeping my eyes on the water.

“What I’ve done is just emergency first aids at best. If you don’t get checked by a proper doctor, you will die soon.”

“No need to worry.” The young man speaks with a slightly stretched out voice. “This much is no big deal. I’m used to injuries.”

“Is that so? Then I will obey.” I stir the coffee and set a timer. “In any case, there is no way a normal postman like me can go against the Port Mafia demons.”

“Being obedient is good. So next…”

Suddenly, the young man starts coughing and vomiting blood. I quickly run up to him and turn his head to the side so that he will not choke on his own blood. I check inside his mouth. I can’t tell where the bleeding is from in this situation. It could be just a cut inside his mouth, or it could be an internal injury. I don’t know.

“Go to the hospital. Get treatments. You are really going to die.” I state.

“It’s perfect then.” he speaks like whispering. “Just let me die like this.”

I feel a chilled wind passing through me.

I look at the young man. He is just staring at the ceiling. No emotions, no intents. Just a flat expression, like one who is just telling his age. I cannot believe my own eyes. I don’t even feel like there is a human there. If it was late night instead of a refreshing early morning, I would think that he was a ghost or a hallucination.

Crazy things keep happening today. My life is about to get screwed up it seems.

“Fine then.” I say. “If you want to die, just die. It’s your own life. I won’t stop you. But I will be in trouble if you die here. If you die here, no one will be able to testify that I am not the one who caused your injuries. I might be arrested.”

“To be arrested, or to be killed by Port Mafia later, which one is better?’

I stare at him while saying, “That’s a hard question.”

I go back to the kitchen, wait for the timer and turn off the fire. I then take out the cream can and ask, “You want some coffee?”

No answer.

“How did you collapse in front of my house?”

Still no answer.

“What the heck are those notes in your hand?”

No answer for this one of course.

I feel as if I’m talking to a wind fairy. A character from a picture book who suddenly came to my house on a peaceful morning. Just that he is covered in blood, and he wants to die.

I pour coffee into two cups and add in the cream. I watch the steam, wait for some time and start stirring. Then I notice that I can’t feel the sign of anyone in the next room anymore. I can’t even hear him breathing. No hint of death drifting either.

I poke my head out of the door, the cups still in my hand. The young man is crawling towards the front door. If he could move his legs, he would just walk out. But it looks like he hasn’t got that much strength back, so he just has his arms hooked on the floor and slowly creeping forward. Just like a prisoner escaping from cell in those old war movies.

He notices my gaze, and then as if he has given up, a mocking smile appears on his face.

“You don’t want me to die in this house, do you? Then if I leave, you’ll have nothing to do with it. No need to help me. No need to ponder anything. Just stay there and watch.”

I ask him, still holding the coffee, “Do you want to die that much?”

“Of course I do. I joined the Port Mafia, but there was still nothing.” replies the young man in a voice that sounds like a soul-deprived gasp. “The only thing I want now, is death.”

Then he starts crawling again.

I take a sip of my coffee while watching that. His progress is pathetically slow. I take another sip. He keeps moving without a rest. He has no intent to look back at me anymore.

There is only one thing to do.

“It’s no use to stop me.” The young man seems to notice my movement. He says with his eyes looking forward, “No one can go against the Port Mafia. And no one in the Port Mafia can go against me. In other words, no one can whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!??”

He is pulled backward.

I wrap him with a bed sheet and lift him up. I then twist the two ends to close it. Like a candy wrapping paper. Then I turn him upside down and carry him back.

“It hurts it hurts it hurts! My wounds are opening! What the hell are you doing, you blockhead. You want to be killed?”

“I don’t want to be killed. But I don’t want to let you die either. If you go out in this state, you will definitely die. Just make up a death story without me in it when you get better.”

As it looks like he is going to let out more complaint, I shake the lump of cloth.

“Ouch ouch! Stop it! I hate pains!!”

“Then will you give up?”

“No!”

I try to come up with a way to deal with it and I get one. Let’s tie him to the bed.

I put him down on the bed and open the pack. I bring in a big towel and wrap it around his arms, which are crossed in front of his chest, altogether with his torso. I take the decorative cord from the door way to bind his legs together and tie the ends to the metal fittings of the bed. I raise the pillows, change the blanket into a new one, and open the window to let the fresh air in.

“For the time being, until your wounds have healed, I will have you stay like that.” I look down to the young man and say “Is there anything you want?”

“My nose is itching.” He looks at me resentfully while wriggling his two arms that are no longer free.

“Poor you.” I go back to the coffee in the kitchen.

The young man’s insults are echoing behind my back. But this neighborhood is sparsely populated, so there is no need to worry about disturbing the neighbors. I enjoy my morning coffee.

And so begins the strange and short communal life of me and Dazai together.

...

overworked and underpaid but still going on

I had a vision and went through with it

+this is my peak with lighting and I will probably never achieve anything better

+just now realizing the earring is fuckereys but whatever its not that deep

I love them so much (I had a little too much fun with the outline pen)

I beleive we as a community are neglecting tenya lida too much. Him without his glasses? Him jn the scene where he's pulling out his engines? Him and midoriya being exited over dinner? He's so skrunkle I could bite him