#vannah reads manga

[bimbosandbubbles]

✮⤷About me!

✰⤷My name is Vannah but everyone I know really calls me Nonnies! So both is just perfect if you’re having trouble deciding what to call me!:)

✰⤷ I adore the color orange,it’s my fav! I also love the fruit plus the mixed versions like tangerines or clementines! I love crunchy grapes and mint chocolate chip ice cream! I’m absolutely obsessed with chinchillas and snails! Seriously,do yourself and search up snails eating it’s the cutest thing ever! I am obsessed with dilfs! Ugh or big muscley men or just skinny men,tbh any man that’s kinda cute. AND OMG MEN WITH BIG NOSES🤭

✰⤷ I’m kind of shy and awkward especially when I know for a fact that a lot of people are cooler than me! Like omg people on here are so cool and such good writers! Plus ya’lls creativity to the themes of your blogs! Because I’m awkward though I tend to not talk to people because I’m afraid they won’t like me but I’m definitely gonna out of my shell to talk you to guys! I definitely need to be y’all’s friends!

✰⤷ Speaking of friends, part of the reason I came on here in the first place is to make friends! Once I turned 18, I downloaded this app and saw how so many creator have such a good community full of moots! I was just kind of a stalker blog who just read other people’s works! However,due to the lack of cared for chubby reader content I decided to try my hand at writing fics!

✰⤷ I’m racially black and ethically Haitian and Puerto Rican! Both of my parents are also the same ethnic mix as me so I find that pretty cool! However despite my Caribbean ethnicities I can’t speak a word of Creole or Spanish and when I attempt to my family just laughs at me（◞‸◟）. So the only language I can really speak is English. I know I’m not the only person who loves their culture(s) but don’t really know too much about them like language or traditions.

✰⤷ I’m a huge fat nerd! Literally,love talking about comics or manga! I love Marvel and Dc and obvi Animanga. I really like Shonens,Seinens and Josei! Especially Josei! I had a whole Nana and Princess Jellyfish phase til age 16. My favs seinens change a lot but Berserk and Real are most def up there for me. Shonens are Fullmetal Alchemist and JJBA! I’m literally obsessed with JJBA and omg before I used to be worse. I had a huge TR phase for months too! And super random but does anyone else struggle with understanding manga fights? I always just end up making up my own fights tbh.

✰⤷ My biggest fear is not being able to finish anything or being less than! And for some reason things crawling on me really terrify me.

✰⤷ I’m obsessed with music! Every single pair of headphones I own don’t get super loud anymore cause I busted them up by having the volume super loud all the time! But I can’t help it,I need songs to literally be shoved up inside my ears otherwise I don’t want it! But majority of the time I just like to have it on for background noise when I’m doing homework or something. I also love podcasts especially book or movie/show recaps or true crime.

✰⤷ Ok so,I feel like I over shared a lot so this is the end of my about me! Love you bookieee! Thank you for reading!

Ps-Please be my friend if you’re similar to me or get what I’m saying 🧎🏽‍♀️

Ps to my Ps- I’m really affectionate and call everyone nicknames out of habit. I use bookie or babygirl(as a joke I swear guys) a lot!

[vannahfanfics]

Spotted a MHA spoiler this morning and even though I haven't read it in full, I know pretty much the big deal and I'm a little shook because just a few weeks ago I was envisioning this EXACT scenario and apparently I have a mind-link with Horikoshi-sensei now.

In other news, I'm gonna use my newfound psychic power to manifest some MomoWase crumbs

[vannahfanfics]

I FUCKING STAN MT. LADY AND MIDNIGHT AND YAOYAOROZU MAN! OUR LADIES OUT HER REPRESENTIN' TODAY!

[vannahfanfics]

Me after reading the newest My Hero Academia chapter. 😱

[vannahfanfics]

Y'ALL I JUST READ THE NEWEST MY HERO CHAPTER AND I-

WHAT?! AHHHH? I'M SO STRESSED

[vannahfanfics]

Mashima really said Jerza rights this chapter huh

[vannahfanfics]

I'm three pages into the new MHA Vigilantes chapter and I'm fucking SOBBING, I am NOT okay, just tear my heart out and fucking STOMP on it why don't you!!!

[vannahfanfics]

Y'ALL, Y'ALL, Y'ALL, I CAN'T TAKE IT WITH THIS WEEK'S MY HERO CHAPTER! SHIT IS GETTING REAAAAAAAL!

[vannahfanfics]

Y'ALLLLLL HAVE Y'ALL READ THE NEWEST MY HERO CHAPTER? IT'S GETTING TOO GOOD! MY HEART CAN'T TAKE ALL THE SUSPENSE! JAIAKDOAOKSNDN

[vannahfanfics]

congrats vannah!!! your lists were amazing and it seems like so much effort, im so proud of you! could i please get aizawa and white please? thank you!

Hey! Thank you so much for requesting for the event, and I’m sorry it took so long! Medical school was very tough for me, so I ended up putting requests on the backburner for a very long time… But finally, it’s here! White symbolizes hospitals, death, and sadness, so… I’m sorry to inflict this upon you, but here’s Aizawa in the wake of the war with the Paranormal Liberation Front. Spoilers for the recent manga chapters!

Drinks on Me

“Hey, this weekend, let’s all go out and get drinks on me!” Nemuri smiled prettily, her long legs crossed as she swiveled back and forth in her chair across from Shota. “It’s been so long since we’ve all been out together. You never know, it could be our last chance!” she grinned while sticking out her tongue and winking playfully. She always said things like that, portents of doom and gloom hidden behind a winning smile, to rope Shota into joining her and Hizashi at clubs and bars. 

He should have regarded those for what they really were— omens. 

Shota jerked awake, snorting as his muscles spasmed. He laid there for a moment as he clumsily acclimated to the waking world, staring blearily at the ceiling fan spinning slowly above his head. When he finally realized that he was in bed, he exhaled deeply and reached up to rub his eyes with the heels of his palms. In the midst of his fitful sleep, he’d kicked the sheets off himself; the layer of nervous sweat on his skin absorbed the cold wind pushed down by the fan, coating him in a chill. Too exhausted to even bother pulling the covers back over himself, he flopped his arm back down to stare listlessly at the ceiling. 

The stump where his leg used to be throbbed painfully, almost as if it were aware he was awake now. He still hadn’t accustomed to the loss of his limb, nor the phantom pains plaguing his nervous system. Even now, he found himself groping for his calf, trying to ease the ache; but he couldn’t massage empty air, so it continued to burn dully, seeping down all the way into his sawed bone. 

Groaning, he pulled himself up into a sitting position, grasping the headboard as he hauled himself up. The rest of his body had endured a beating as well, making pain thrum through his nerves to shoot to his spine. He winced and grasped his shoulder, massaging the inflamed flesh until it quieted. He felt like an old man, much older than he ought to— tired, achy, defeated. He inhaled deeply, gathering the will to put on his prosthetic leg. His muscles tweaked in protest as he did, but as he gradually woke up his body and fastened the prosthetic to the stump below his knee, the pain faded into the background. 

He limped across his room to his closet, stumbling a little and using the dresser to catch himself. He hadn’t mastered navigating with his new leg, either. He took a moment to catch his breath, sweat already blooming on his clammy forehead, before tottering his way to the closet. He couldn’t tolerate dressing normally— not that he had impeccable fashion sense anyway— so he eased himself into a pair of black sweats and a gray tee and some sneakers. He tied his hair in a loose bun before shambling out the door. 

The dorm was alive with activity, but not the normal kind that Shota had become accustomed to. The air hummed with nervous energy as the students— and their parents, who were moving in to keep them safe— flitted about. Most of his pupils still sported injuries from the massive battle several days ago, bandages peeking out from beneath their clothes. But the worst injuries were the ones you couldn’t see, the ones on their hearts still oozing blood and bursting through the stitches at the slightest insult. They would be scars someday, an afterthought until the phantom pains struck when they least expected it. 

Theirs would, but not Shota’s. No, Shota’s inner wounds never really healed— and this newest one definitely would bleed for the rest of his life. 

A few of them greeted Shota quietly as he limped down the hall heading for the front door. Momo came up to him, asking if she could help him with anything— she had always been such a considerate girl, that one. He smiled and ruffled her poofy black hair, telling her that he was quite all right but thanks anyway. Shota could sure use some help, but there was no aid that any of his students could provide for him. He could feel Momo’s watery eyes boring into his back as he toddled out of the building. 

There were so many things that people took for granted every day. The ability to walk down steps without falling flat on your ass was one of them. Shota grimaced as he inched down the steps of the dorm, holding out one arm to seek purchase though there was nothing to grip onto. Somehow, he made it down to the sidewalk without eating shit, but the effort still left sweat beading in the crease lines of his forehead. He blew an irritated breath through his lips and raked his hand over his wavy black hair, taking a moment to let the pain pass before moving on. 

Though this region of the city had been spared the carnage of the war with the Paranormal Liberation Front, its effects reached even the city around U.A. There weren’t nearly as many people on the street; Shota was alone most of his commute to the business district, save for the occasional person rushing down the street with suspicious eyes and fearful breaths. Shota could feel eyes on him everywhere, though; nervous onlookers peering out their curtains and blinds, suspicious of everyone in sight. They were all waiting for the inevitable pin to drop, for the next piece in this godawful chess game to move and tell them their next poor fortune. Things would get worse before they got better; everyone knew it, the hapless civilians most of all. Their hope in heroes was teetering on the edge of a knife; if they strayed but a little, everything would fall into ruin. 

Many small business owners had closed up shop to skip town, but the liquor store was still open. A pleasant bell chimed as Shota opened the door. The cashier apparently still wasn’t getting much business, as he leaned back in a chair with his feet propped up on the counter, reading the newspaper. As Shota began to walk through the aisles searching for a particular brand of rum, the cashier decided that apparently the news was too dismal to read because he crumpled it up and tossed it in the trash bin. 

“Warmongers, the lot of them journalists,” he spat at Shota, who raised his eyebrows at him over the top of the rum bottles he was surveying. “All they’re doin’ is makin’ things worse.” 

“Do you have faith in heroes?” Shota asked and looked back down, fingers skimming over the glass bottles emblazoned with coconut trees and beach zines. He smirked when the old cashier snorted derisively. 

“Sonny, I been around a long time. This ain’t the first time some upstart has whipped everyone up in a frenzy. The heroes always come out on top because that’s what they do.” 

“That’s some unshakable faith you have there,” Shota remarked while plucking his chosen bottle from the rack. He rounded the rack while the cashier hopped up from his chair so he could check Shota out. 

“Eh, it comes with age. Nothing rattles ya anymore,” he shrugged, grabbing the bottle to scan it. He put it in a brown paper bag and punched a few of the keys into the cash register. “O’course, a little liquid courage always helps, eh?” he added with a wink. Shota smirked at that, sliding over his credit card. He took the bottle by the neck, crinkling the paper around it. 

“Thanks for the advice. Do I need to pay you for that too?” Shota joked. 

“Nah, it’s on me this time,” the man responded with a chortle, sliding Shota’s card back. Shota took it and slid it back into his wallet, then bid him a good night. When he walked out, the sun had risen into the sky and was blessing the earth with its warm rays. Yet they didn’t kiss Shota’s skin; a lingering chill wafted around him, blocking out all the warmth to leave him cold. Eventually, he’d feel the sun again, he knew that— but he had a while to go. 

It was a short walk to the graveyard. The iron was hot under his fingers as he pushed the unlocked gate open, and it creaked loudly as if to protest. The small gravel marking the winding, meandering path through the various headstones crunched under his feet as he made his way down, counting the rows. At row seven, he turned and walked down until he found a clean headstone above a freshly-turned patch of dirt, a rectangle the size of a person. 

Sighing, Shota eased himself down onto his knees, his prosthetic leg stretching out beside him— it was easier on his hip that way. He pulled the brown paper bag off the bottle of rum and then broke the faux gold foil seal. He stared down at it a second, just stared, and then exhaled quietly. 

“Hey, Nem,” he murmured. He reached up with his free hand to stroke the top of the stone, which was warmed by the bright spring sun. He fell silent again, throat bobbing as the emotions he’d been surprising for days welled up inside of him. The tears bubbled up and spilled over his eyes, carving through the layer of nightsweat and grime coating his unwashed face to bead in his beard. “I miss you, Nem,” he said finally, voice cracking. “So much.” 

His hand shook as it continued to run over the unblemished stone, down over the carved letters reading Kayama Nemuri. He leaned forward to press his forehead against the rock, closing his eyes and squeezing out more of the salty tears. “I never did take you up on that offer for drinks,” he said with a wan smile despite the despair tearing his heart apart. “So I brought you your favorite, on me.” He leaned back, then lifted the bottle to spill the alcohol over the gravestone. The light gray rock darkened as the clear liquid gushed over it, spilling over the smooth surface in rivers. It streamed down to soak into the grass at its base, soaking up the earth down, down, down to Nemuri’s casket six feet under. Shota didn’t drink a drop of the rum; he poured every bit of it over her gravemarker for her to enjoy. 

He sat there for a while, even after the hot sun had begun to evaporate the alcohol absorbed by the porous stone. Somehow, sitting there watching the color fade back to normal was cathartic. Like Nemuri was there, enjoying that rum. He could see the smile playing over her lips as she stirred a straw around a piña colada— and that’s when Shota felt the kiss of the sun, warming up his skin. He looked up to squint at the bubbling circle in the sky, then back down at the gravestone. Smirking, he patted the slightly damp rock before using it as leverage to push himself up. 

“Thanks, Nem. I’ll be back sometime, with drinks on me, of course,” he chuckled. He couldn’t linger here all day; he had work to do. Some upstart was out there whipping everyone up in a frenzy, and it was up to the heroes to bring him to justice. When they did, Shota would be sure to bring Nemuri a whole liquor store’s worth of rum— on him, of course. 

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

[vannahfanfics]

Vannah please your writing is so good, I honestly think it has to do with the fandoms. I can't say for other fandoms, but the BNHA one has been steadily dying. And the fact that the series is more relevant than ever because of the new chapters in the manga makes it obvious it has nothing to do with the series itself dying, rather the fandom itself. I don't like complaining or shifting blame but damn the readers in this community have just been consuming and consuming and consuming, without sparing a minute of their day to give back to the content creators. More and more writers are done with writing, and new writers are discouraged from starting because of this. Few new creators are popping up, and some of the already sizable blogs aren't posting as much because of this lack of interaction. It's sad.

It's always my moots who actively support me, and the odd vocal reader here and there but other than that it's just lurking all around. I'm getting more frustrated with it by the day if I'm being completely honest. I'm gonna make a post about this if the fandom continues in its ways, watch it get no notes lol

Silky, my night in shining armor coming to lift my spirits <3 Thank you. I totally get what you mean; it definitely feels like the MHA fandom is the quietest when it comes to this kind of stuff. But it definitely pervades most fandom culture I think. 

Other than the handful of dedicated readers I have who comment on the stuff they enjoy, it just feels like people are just consuming without even considering the fact that there’s a living, breathing person behind the content, ya know? As nice of a sentiment as “create for yourself” is, I’m not on here putting out my writing to the world with out expecting just a little bit of recompense. It’s downright exhausting to be churning out content like this, big and small, and not even getting likes any more! Part of that I’m sure is Tumblr’s jank algorithm, but you can’t deny that the culture of not reblogging or commenting (or even liking in recent months) contributes a big deal for people getting significantly less notes than they used to. 

I’m lucky if my work gets above ten notes these days. And on one hand I feel selfish for complaining but on the other hand, why shouldn’t I complain? I’m putting my heart and soul into these pieces and I get so little in return. I love the people who do interact with me because they keep me going, but I can only go on for so long with the same five or ten people before the disconnect becomes so much more glaring, and that’s the same for all creators! 

I don’t want to stop writing. It’s what helps keep me sane with school, but at this point it feels like just as much an energy sink. Why tire myself out writing after I’ve busted my ass with school all day when I’ll be lucky to get a handful of likes, maybe a reblog or comment if it’s the right time of day? I can see why so many content creators are just abandoning it. So many times in the last week have I struggled to put words on paper, just staring at my word document for half an hour at a time wondering what’s the point when the people who read it- if they do- won’t bother to say anything and I’ll wonder if I just can’t hack it anymore. 

We can all do better. I can find more time to read and support other’s work. I can make more of an effort to comment on the stuff I do reblog to my promotion blog. But the lack of drive taints everything, and so we have to fix the root of the problem and work better to buoy content creators up on this site, ya know? Content creators are the backbone of fandom and fandom is dying because of the shift to just idly consuming content instead of celebrating and sharing content. And that’s so sad. Because what will we have when all the writers and artists and GIF makers are gone? 

TLDR; support your mutuals at least because we’re all floundering out here. 

Silky, start tagging me in shit and you bet your ass I’ll start reblogging it. That goes for everyone! Due to school I’m not on most of the time but I check my notes throughout the day and will get to every single one of the things you want shared! And follow my sharing blog @vannah-spotlight. And for the love of all things, like what you consume. Reblog to share it with others. If you’re feeling frisky, comment or write something in the tags. Creators need that more than ever in these bleak times.