Stocking up on essential supplies after a long day.

Take a break. Everyone needs one.

Shout out to Loudspeaker's weird original design. In unloving memory.

Y'all mind if I talk about Present Mic's quirk for a second? Great.

So, my partner and I have been having Erasermic brainrot lately, and while we were binging content with them, I became interested in Hizashi's voice quirk. I began searching stuff about how sound/volume works, and linking it to his canon stuff.

I'll just say, the info I found makes him a pretty scary guy. It's a shame he's so underused in both canon and fanon.

You know what scene I still think about a lot? The conversation with Garaki and Mic.

Well, it's less of a conversation and more Garaki infodumping to cause as much emotional damage as possible before he gets his ass thrown in jail.

Still, all of the information we ever get surrounding nomu and Kurogiri specifically is so chilling. And if you've read the School Days arc in Vigilantes it's WORSE.

In Vigilantes, Oboro's death is framed by the narrative as an accident, a tragedy that comes as a result of educators and the government being too eager to throw prospective hero students into the world and out of their depth (wow I wonder where I've heard that scenario before). Shirakumo and Aizawa are in a fight they are not equipped to handle, and Shirakumo pays the price by protecting others over himself. He didn't do anything "wrong" for this to happen, but it happened anyway because the world doesn't care if you were in the right or not when it snuffs you out.

This isn't just a tragic backstory for Kurogiri, it frames Aizawa's entire mindset as he grows into an adult. His beliefs and unorthodox teaching methods come as a result of what he took away from thet tragedy. He emphasizes the unfairness of the world on the first day of class. He refuses to coddle his students. He's against the first years taking work studies. He fully intends to expel students who will not take this training or their own well being seriously because if he lets them stay, they're the next Shirakumo.

And then there's Garaki, all too happy to bring up Oboro to Mic as he's dragging his fat ass out of the lab. Because, you know, fun fact, that attack wasn't a coincidence at all. No bad luck, no wrong place wrong time, because that little work study team was All For One's target. He wanted a new quirk in his repertoire. It's just a shame that they got the wrong one. That erasure quirk would've been so useful. But, you gotta work with what life gives you, right?

Not only did that attack fundamentally change Aizawa as a person, but it was meant to kill him in Oboro's stead. And now Mic knows this. He knows that his best friend died in a deliberate attack to kill his other best friend. And with Midnight biting it not long after this, Mic has lost the last person chillingly aware of what happened to Shirakumo. The last person he would ever be able to tell outside of Aizawa himself. Mic has to sit there and mourn his coworker in Aizawa's hospital room, fully aware that Aizawa saw the lifeless body if their best friend because the intentional, avoidable attack killed the wrong person.

There's no way that Mic isn't aware of how Aizawa's behavior changed between becoming a student and becoming a teacher. He knows him too intimately to not see the difference, the callousness that grew from such a brutal life lesson, the hope that died in his eyes when faced with reality. But he can't say a word, not to him. He can't tell Aizawa that Oboro's death and Kurogiri's creation only came about because the target was on Aizawa's head. But he's forced to know that, carrying that forbidden knowledge to his grave in the hope Shouta never finds out.

Drowning my sorrows in still not seeing Mic yet...

Aizawa has returned

But....where is Mic? I'm glad he's back but also.....I need Mic too!

Colored in this panel because I just love Aizawa so much ✨

naptime

Yehaw boys I just finished this comission for @ill-go-with-that-then !! I drew the first kiss scene from their fan fic ‘All My Stumbling Phrases’ on ao3 and it’s real cute pls do read 👊😭💕

A cosy commission for @yeahmic

This was so much fun to do :’), a combo of all my fav things <3

Commission info here

Some Young Erasermic Because I Love Them With All My Dumb Heart

During their third year at U.A., Mic, Aizawa, and Kayama once passed an afternoon taking dumb personality quizzes. The results were predictable and obvious: Aizawa was logical, Kayama was ruthless, but Hizashi’s answer was a surprise - he was a romantic. The question that pushed him over the edge was “what kind of gift would you like best?” And Hizashi had chosen “something homemade! It really shows you care!” 

Shouta had never considered that. He’d picked “C - whatever I need most” so the idea that the effort to create the gift could count for more than its overall value was a revelation to him. This explained why Hizashi hadn’t looked too excited at Shouta’s gift of an umbrella on his previous birthday. But! July was coming, and with it Hizashi’s 18th birthday. It was a month away, Shouta still had plenty of time to make… something.

But what?

The obvious solution was a mix CD. Hizashi loved music, it was the perfect choice. Except… the only songs Shouta knew were from the CDs Hizashi had given him. He tried combining his favorites into one CD, but they just didn’t sound right, Hizashi must have put them in a better order or something - this wasn’t good enough at all. Besides, Shouta thought, Hizashi knew all those songs anyway. That wouldn’t be a good gift. He should make Hizashi a cake!

But… baking was so illogical. If you turn the heat up higher, the food should bake faster! It doesn’t make sense that it doesn’t! It doesn’t make sense to put salt in a cake!! Cakes are not salty!! And if you put Hizashi’s favorite candy in the batter, the cake should end up being that flavor!! Not some weird, lumpy mix of plain and over-sweetened. 

Anyway, after the third fire, Shouta was banned from the kitchen. He had to think of something else.

Other failed gift experiments: a knitted scarf (he kept snapping the needles), a drawing of Hizashi as a pro hero (according to Kayama, it looked like “goth jeanist who stuck his finger in a light socket”) and a photo album (turned out Hizashi was the one who took all the group photos.) Finally, it was the night before Hizashi’s birthday and Shouta had nothing - not only that, but he’d spent almost all his money on the other attempts. As a last ditch effort, he started listening to old episodes of Hizashi’s podcast, hoping it would give him SOME idea, ANY idea of something Hizashi might want.

Shouta listened to podcasts for five hours before he accepted that Hizashi never talked about anything he might like for a gift. He talked about everything else: music, the local hero scene, new All Might movies - even the cats at the cafe they frequented. But as hard as he tried, Shouta couldn’t think of anything that would make Hizashi happier than he was when he described the cafe’s new kitten stealing Shouta’s scone to the few dozen people that subscribed to his podcast. 

At that thought, Shouta stopped banging his head on the desk long enough to blink. That was it - the perfect idea. He didn’t have any more money, but he didn’t need any, the supplies for it were already in his room. It would be a long night, but Shouta had spent longer nights on less important things. He got to work. 

He and Hizashi met up for lunch the next day - Shouta had offered to take him someplace better than the cat cafe, but now he was glad Hizashi had said no, since cake and a bubble tea were about all he could afford at the moment. After they ate their food, Shouta shoved a clumsily-wrapped package across the table. “Here,” he said, already blushing. His mind worked furiously as Hizashi excitedly undid the wrapping. This was a bad idea. Why had he ever thought he could make anything? Hizashi was going to hate it, and worse yet he was going to be polite about hating it. If Shouta moved now, he could be out the door and halfway down the block before Hizashi knew what happened. There was still time to get out of this.

 But Shouta didn’t. He just sat quietly and waited for Hizashi’s judgement.

“REALLY?????” Hizashi screamed when he saw the gift. His jaw dropped, but he was still smiling, like Shouta had given him something perfect and valuable, instead of just one of his t-shirts with some yellow paint on it. He held the shirt up to his chest - it would fit, and you couldn’t tell it had been worn, Shouta thought. The black was a little faded, but that was fashionable, right? Wincing, Shouta wished he’d done a better job with the paint. The letters were wobbly; Put Your Hands Up!! was legible, but with Present Mic took a little puzzling out. 

“IT’S MY PODCAST!!” Hizashi shrieked, his grin even wider somehow. “THIS IS AWESOME!!”

Realizing that - just maybe - Hizashi wasn’t only being polite, Shouta decided it was time to move on to part two of the gift. Smiling a little awkwardly, he undid the zipper on his hoodie, revealing his own shirt - the twin of Hizashi’s. The writing on his was even messier, he’d given Hizashi the better attempt, but Shouta figured this was the true test of whether or not it was really the thought that counts. 

“OH MY GOD!!” Hizashi pressed his hands against his face, overcome. “This is the best day of my life!!!! Can we get a selfie??? I NEED A SELFIE OF US!! SHOUTA PLEASE!!!”

“It’s your birthday,” Shouta shrugged, blushing even harder. “Do what you want.”

It’s illogical to carry photos - why would you, when they can be stored digitally and accessed from anywhere? But to this day, Aizawa keeps a copy of this one in his wallet, just the same. 

As im sitting here wearing my own yellow put your hands up radio shirt.....this is absolutely perfect.

Banana Pudding and Other Words of Love

It’s late when Hizashi gets in. The rattle of his keys as they drop to the table is the only sound besides his footsteps, and the apartment is dark and still. “Shouta?” He calls out softly, not wanting to disturb him if he’s asleep. Shouta’s shoes are by the door, as is his binding cloth. He’s definitely home. But a quick glance finds the couch empty, and their bed still made-up and undisturbed. 

There’s just one place left to check. Hizashi slides open the closet door, and there’s Shouta, wrapped tight in his sleeping bag and dead to the world. “Found you,” Hizashi whispers fondly, crouching down beside him. He should have expected this; Shouta had been coughing earlier, and squinting at the lights like he was battling a headache, and he hides away like a cat when he’s ill. The closet is his favorite spot, dark and closed-off from the world. 

“Oh Shouta, look at you,” Hizashi sighs, brushing the sweat-damp hair out of Shouta’s eyes. 

“Where’s Hizashi?” Shouta mutters, turning away from the touch and pressing his face into the fabric of his sleeping bag.

“Right here,” he replies, amused. The first time he’d seen Shouta like this, he’d panicked and rushed him to the emergency room. But now he knows it’s just how Shouta is when he’s feverish, that the world looks vague and dreamlike to him, and it will pass. 

“I miss him.” He curls in on himself, shivering as Hizashi unzips the sleeping bag. It’s a little heartbreaking, and for a moment Hizashi is tempted just to wrap him back up and let him be. But he’ll be more comfortable in the bed, with a pillow and real blankets and Hizashi to take care of him.

“You do, huh?” Hizashi slides one arm beneath Shouta’s knees, and the other around his shoulders, then lifts him gently, pulling him close so he can lean his head against Hizashi’s chest. 

Shouta hums contentedly. He may not know exactly what’s going on right now, but some part of him recognizes that he’s with Hizashi, that he’s safe. “Too quiet without him.” 

Hizashi maneuvers him to the bed, as steadily as he can. Shouta’s not a small man, however he looks in his baggy jumpsuit, but it’s not far, and Hizashi gets them there with a minimum of jostling. Pulling the covers back is tricky, he should have done that first, but he he manages it, and soon enough Shouta is between the sheets. “You like the quiet though,” he says, half-expecting Shouta to have forgotten what he was talking about. 

“He sings sometimes.” Shouta wraps his arms around a pillow, pulling it against himself. The cool fabric probably feels good on his over-warm skin. “When he’s happy. I like it.”

It’s nothing Hizashi didn’t know already; Shouta’s not as subtle as he thinks, but the words still put a smile on his face. “He’s probably happy a lot when you’re around.”

Shouta beckons him closer, looking up to meet his eyes, and for a moment Hizashi thinks he’s come out of his daze. He leans down, close enough for Shouta to whisper. “You want to know a secret?” 

“Absolutely I do,” Hizashi says, without a shred of guilt, knowing Shouta would do the same in an instant if their positions were reversed. 

The ghost of a smirk crosses Shouta’s face. It makes Hizashi want to press a kiss against his smug mouth, but he restrains himself. He’d rather hear what Shouta’s going to confess. “Hizashi always wants banana pudding when he has a bad day. That’s why I buy it, even though it’s terrible. He likes it better when he thinks he’s stealing it from me.”

“How sneaky,” Hizashi says steadily. The urge to climb into the bed with Shouta and pull him into his arms is almost overwhelming. Later, he promises himself. First Shouta needs medicine, and maybe soup, if Hizashi can coax him into eating.

“Listen,” Shouta sits up a bit, reaches out to press a hand on either side of Hizashi’s face, like he might have any intention of looking away. He sounds serious. “Listen, I have to tell you…” He pauses, glancing around the room like he’s lost his train of thought. But then he rallies, his eyes meet Hizashi’s again. “Banana pudding is so fucking bad.” Vital information imparted, Shouta collapses against the pillows. Then, so quiet Hizashi almost can’t hear him, he murmurs, “I’ll buy him as much as he wants, though.”

“I won’t tell,” Hizashi promises, pulling the blankets up around Shouta’s shoulders. Unable to help himself, he presses a lingering kiss to his temple. It’s hard to pull away.

He expects Shouta to drift off then, to doze for a few minutes while Hizashi gets together the things he needs to take care of him. But Shouta’s eyes stay stubbornly open. “Do you think he knows?”

“About the pudding?” Hizashi asks, uncertain.

“How much I-” Shouta stops, unable or unwilling to finish the sentence. Instead he closes his eyes, scowling like he’s frustrated. Hizashi gently strokes the crease between his brows until he relaxes, his expression smoothing into something more peaceful. “I don’t like that I can never say it,” Shouta murmurs, eyes still closed.

“It’s okay,” Hizashi whispers, resting his hand against Shouta’s cheek. Shouta sighs and leans into the touch, and it’s everything, everything. “Don’t worry. He knows.”

ERASERMIC AU WRITTEN FOR SPITE

So @ladycakepops told me I couldn’t make a cute AU where Aizawa worked in a factory and Mic was a dog-walker. I’m 99% motivated by spite always, so this is the result of that. I’ll leave it to you all to decide if it’s cute or not! :D

Aizawa never made it into the hero course. He graduated from General Studies without distinction, and tried for a few years to get an internship with a hero agency, ANY agency, but none would accept him. So, unmotivated and low on resources, he took the first job that became available, just to get his feet under him while he made a new plan

He lives in a shitty, one-room apartment in an awful neighborhood. He likes it though - he doesn’t care where he lives, and the neighbors are quiet. Until one day the old guy in the apartment next to his moves out, or dies. Aizawa doesn’t know and he suspects the guy stole his mail, so he doesn’t care, either. But he starts to care a lot when his new neighbor moves in. His new neighbor who loves music and apparently hasn’t realized that the walls here are thinner than paper thin. 

He tries to live with it. He knows what kind of people live in this neighborhood and he doesn’t want to start any trouble - he can’t afford to move right now. But he works second shift, four to midnight. So he really doesn’t appreciate it when the guy starts blasting his music at 6:00am, an hour after Aizawa finally falls asleep. The third time it happens, his rage propels him out the door of his apartment, down the hallway that’s probably never been cleaned, and to the guy’s door, where he bangs on it furiously. 

The music stops instantly. And a few moments later, the door opens to reveal probably the best-looking guy Aizawa has ever seen in real life. It suddenly occurs to him that he’s wearing ratty pajama pants, and only ratty pajama pants. His feet are bare. And his words are gone. “I… Uh…” is all he manages to say. 

But the guy’s face instantly crumples in apology. “Oh my god, did I wake you? I am so sorry. I have the music down low, can you still hear it?”

“I-“ Aizawa tries to collect himself. To rally. “Uh… the walls are… really thin?”

The guy closes his eyes. His face is pink, Aizawa figures he’s embarrassed. That’s fine, Aizawa is also mortified. “I’m so sorry. It will never happen again. I swear. Headphones only, from now on.”

“…Thanks,” Aizawa says, because he is amazing at socializing. A champion. Is it okay to ask someone for their number when you’ve just disturbed them at six in the morning? He doesn’t know, and he’s only running on a single hour of sleep, so he just stands there while his brain sluggishly tries to process what’s happening. It’s awkward. 

“Are you hungry? I’m making breakfast. It’s the least I can do since I woke you,” the guy offers. 

“Thank you. That sounds good,” Aizawa says, suddenly understanding how a drowning person must feel when they’re thrown a life preserver. The guy steps aside, and Aizawa follows him into the apartment. It doesn’t look much like his own, but after a quick look around, Aizawa realizes that the differences are only superficial. Where he has his sleeping bag, a phone charger, and a single box of possessions, this guy has actual furniture. It’s cheap, old and scuffed, but it’s homey. There’s a colorful blanket draped over the worn couch, and an attempt at curtains in front of the single window. There’s even a plant on the windowsill. Aizawa knows he’s well out of his depth. 

“I’m Hizashi Yamada, by the way,” the guy - Hizashi - says as he walks over to the corner of the room that’s as close to a kitchen as this place gets. “And I hope you like eggs.”

“I like anything,” Aizawa says truthfully. His favorite food is free. “And I’m Shouta Aizawa.” 

“Welcome, Aizawa!” Yamada waves an arm towards the couch. “Make yourself comfortable!” 

For lack of anything better to do, Aizawa does as he’s bid, dropping onto the couch and looking around the room uncomfortably, trying to avoid staring at Yamada, who’s whistling as he sets a pan on a hot-plate. He wracks his brain for something to say, but Yamada beats him to the punch. “So, what do you do, Aizawa? Are you some kind of personal trainer or something?”

“No,” Aizawa says, slowly. “I work at the crab-processing plant down the street.”

“Ah.” Yamada glances at him. “Sorry, I just assumed.” 

“What do you do?” Aizawa asks, because he’s curious but also because if he has to sit there in silence while his hot neighbor makes him breakfast he might actually perish. 

Yamada throws him a grin over his shoulder. It’s pretty. Aizawa would give a lot to be wearing a shirt right now. “I’m a musician! Well, by night, anyway. By day I’m your trusty neighborhood dog walker!” 

“This neighborhood has a dog walker?” Aizawa asks, skeptical. This building doesn’t allow pets, and he’s pretty sure no one who lives on the entire block could afford the fees for them, let alone pay for that kind of service. But Yamada just laughs. 

“No, the ritzy neighborhood five subway stops away has a dog-walker. This neighborhood has an asshole who plays his music too early in the morning.” 

Aizawa snorts. “Pretty sure anyone who invites their rude neighbor over for breakfast loses the right to call themselves an asshole.” 

“Hmm, would you accept dick then?” Yamada asks so innocently. It’s not his fault Aizawa’s filthy, tired brain has taken his harmless question and skidded completely off the rails. 

“I’d have to get to know you before I decide,” he says, automatically. He doesn’t slap his hand over his mouth afterwards, but it’s a close thing. 

Thankfully, Yamada takes his statement at face value, “Hey, great idea! I don’t know many people around here yet. Wanna come over and watch a movie later?”

“My shift is from four to twelve,” Aizawa says, regretfully. 

“Too bad!” Yamada says, looking more put-out than Aizawa would have expected, all things considered. “Maybe on your next day off.” 

“Yeah, maybe,” Aizawa mutters, already planning how to tell his boss he’s swapping to third shift. But Yamada seems to mistake his hesitance for reluctance. 

“No pressure!” He says brightly, as he flips eggs out the pan onto a couple of plates. “You want ketchup on these?” He grins at Aizawa’s nod, finishing the plates and crossing the room to hand one to Aizawa. “Sorry there’s no rice. If I knew I’d be having company-”

“It’s fine,” Aizawa interrupts, staring at the eggs. The ketchup on top is shaped like a smiley face. He’s never thought of himself as the marrying kind before, but he’s reevaluating his five-year plan anyway. Things change. “And I’d like to hang out. Soon.”

Yamada’s grin softens into something quieter, more vulnerable. “Great, that’s great! Anytime!” 

Mercifully, the food diverts their attention from the conversation for a few minutes. Until eventually Yamada says, “In the interest of full disclosure, you should know that I practice my guitar kinda often.” 

“That’s fine,” Aizawa says. He’s feeling a lot more charitable towards music at the moment. “It won’t bother me.”

“I’ll keep it to reasonable hours, I swear!” Yamada goes on, like he might still need convincing. 

Hoping to distract him from the memory of their less then pleasant introduction, Aizawa asks, “What kind of music do you play?” It was a good question. Yamada brightens immediately, and starts talking rapidly, and with a lot of musical terms Aizawa is unfamiliar with. But he nods along, trying to figure out how to keep the happy look on Yamada’s face. As the words wind down, Aizawa goes for his finishing move: “I’ll have to hear you play sometime.” 

It’s a win. Yamada looks delighted. “Yes! Absolutely! I mean, you’ll probably hear me a lot if the walls are as thin as you say, but I’d be glad to play something for you! Or you could come to one of my shows!”

“Sure,” Aizawa shrugs. He’s never been to a music performance in his life, but he finds he’s suddenly willing to do a lot of things for someone who makes a breakfast as good as this. “Sounds fun!” 

Yamada opens his mouth to say something, but gets distracted by the clock on a side table. “Oh shit! I gotta roll or I’ll be late for work. Hey, it was great meeting you, Aizawa.”

Aizawa brings a hand up to rub at the back of his neck. “It was… nice meeting you, too. I know it wasn’t the best first impression…”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Yamada says, off-hand, and Aizawa would swear he saw the man’s eyes flick down to his chest. “I think we’re going to be great friends. It’s fate!”

“Yeah,” nods Aizawa, who doesn’t believe in fate at all. “Must be.”

Shouta climbed up onto the rail again but this time, he held his arms out, his right arm meeting Hizashi in the middle, Hizashi’s fingers wrapping around his hand again, holding onto him tightly […] 

Excerpt from Theory of Liminality by @deafmic 

This fic kinda plays like a movie in my head, so scenes like these just- compel me to paint them. I’ve missed doing daily paintings, so this ones kinda rough, like the 30 day challenge ones.

Another Soulmate AU because I guess that’s who I am now

Aizawa grows up hearing from every reliable source that someday he’s going to meet his soulmate - the perfect person for him, someone who will understand him completely, be perfect for him, etc etc. It’s supposed to be a happy thought, but it’s really not - Shouta had a difficult home life, anyone who can understand that perfectly is going to be as messed up as him. And Shouta doesn’t know if he’s in a good enough place himself to help. He wants to focus on becoming a hero, on getting out of his shitty home and not looking back. Hizashi Yamada is the name on his wrist, and whoever that is, Shouta is scared of the responsibility he has to him. 

So Shouta starts working twice as hard, three times as hard. He was already planning to save himself, he can save his soulmate too. That’s fine. He works hard in school, he gets into UA, he fights his way into the hero course. 

Where he meets Hizashi Yamada, and all his plans and assumptions shake apart. This is his soulmate? This is the person who’s supposed to understand Shouta, this smiling, friendly genius who makes everything seem so effortless? How can he possibly understand anything? What has he ever worked for? Who’s ever told him he can’t do something? Even now, after a lifetime of work, Shouta is still behind the other students, physically and academically. But Yamada is at the top of the class, he takes down his classmates with ease during quirk training, and he still has time to chat about his friends and hobbies. His future is bright. He couldn’t be more different from Shouta. This is clearly some kind of cosmic joke.

Yamada is, of course, thrilled to meet his soulmate. He’s nothing but excitement, wanting to learn everything about Shouta on the first day, offering to meet up after school to train or study or just ‘hang out.’ He talks about how great it is that they’re both going to be heroes, as if that weren’t far from guaranteed in Shouta’s case. Shouta learns Yamada speaks English fluently and is learning Mandarin, that he plays three instruments and has his own podcast, that he has an internship lined up at a radio station, because he wants to be a DJ as well as a hero.

How can Shouta tell him about himself? How his own dad goes weeks without speaking to him, how every adult in his life has told him that with a quirk like his, he’s not going to make it as a hero. How his grades are middling because half the time when he gets home he’s too exhausted to study. He looks into Yamada’s beautiful smiling eyes and knows he’s going to drag this boy down like an anchor. That somehow, some way, this has all gone wrong, and it’s probably Shouta’s fault like everything else. 

“This isn’t right,” he says abruptly, in the middle of Yamada’s story about his summer abroad. 

Yamada pauses mid-sentence, brows furrowed. “Do you not like your drink?”

“It’s fine,” Shouta shoves away the overpriced coffee Yamada had bought him on the latest of their outings. “But this-” he gestures between himself and Yamada. “This is a mistake.”

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