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#apparently she's half japanese

shibaraki · 2 years

Text

FILL MY LITTLE WORLD (RIGHT UP) ┊ AIZAWA SHOUTA

synopsis: you are employed by aizawa shouta to nanny for his vulnerable adoptive daughter eri while he’s at work. as time passes you find yourself equally smitten with them both, longing for a more permanent place in their family.

tags: AFAB reader, no quirk au, single dad aizawa (+ adopted daughter eri, + prev. foster son hitoshi), professional nanny reader, falling in love, fluff and angst, slice of life, child ptsd + past child abuse (eri), aged-up characters, best friends touya + rumi, brief talk of a parent with addiction (hitoshi), domesticity, handling of child trauma, finding your place in a family, eventual smut, vaginal oral sex (reader receiving), a lot of kissing, no power dynamic

wc: 20k+ (oops)

The address the agency had given you is still open and blinking in your Maps app, a congratulatory finish-line flash to indicate the end of your journey. Given the lack of response after five minutes of firm knocking, you’d have half a mind to consider that perhaps, this was the wrong house.

“Maybe I should call…” you mutter under your breath, fiddling with the touch screen and huffing as you rebalance the slipping rucksack back onto your shoulder. Despite all your years of professional nannying, the first face to face meeting always left you slightly anxious. You’d been granted access to your new employers profile after your initial verbal interview — Japanese male in his thirties, over six foot tall and employed as a criminology professor at an esteemed university, unmarried with a single adopted daughter — but all the contact you’d had with Aizawa had been either mediated by the agency or over the phone. No photographs. The only thing you truly knew about the man thus far was the low baritone of his voice.

Not forgetting the air-tight requirements that came with caring for his daughter. You had been chosen specifically for your experiences with vulnerable children, and apparently for the fact that you held some modicum of self defence skills. A protective parent, then. While the gritty details had not yet been shared with you, it didn’t take much to put two and two together. Eri, a young girl of only six years, would be in need of more than just someone to keep her occupied; you would have to be a genuine care giver, someone she could really trust. Another adult in her life that signified safety.

The title of a ‘Nanny’ was typically looked down upon. Armed with a bachelor's degree and qualifications in child development, professionals still viewed you as nothing more than a glorified babysitter. But you loved your job, and not just because you were good at it. You liked the kids. Their odd sense of humour and their thought processes, their imaginations and the lens through which they viewed life. You enjoyed expanding their worlds, and the simple yet joyful way that they would expand your own.

More than that, the kids liked you. They appreciated your honesty, how you would treat them with respect and truly make the effort to listen to their thoughts. Given that your services were hired, the adults around them were often too caught up in their careers and personal affairs to indulge in anything more than provision of the basics. It wasn’t something you could judge them for — the new parents you have worked with in the past were genuinely wonderful and most, if not all, carried a large amount of guilt for having to leave their children at home.

You only hoped that you could help this family, too.

Tongue pressed into cheek, the pad of your thumb hovers over the contact name. Aizawa Shouta. Just as you're about to hit call, you are startled backwards by a series of weighted clicks. Counting, it sounds like there are two locks alongside the turning of a key, and soon you are meeting the gaze of a slightly dishevelled man.

He appears out of sorts, as if he’d only just woken up. You think, absentmindedly, that he is handsome. Broad and built beneath his loose black shirt, square framed glasses low on the bridge of his nose and overnight stubble shadowing his jaw. He pushes the hair loosely curtaining his face back and tucks it behind both ears, sleeves rolled haphazardly to his elbows. The good looks are almost enough to distract you from the neon pink sweatpants.

“Ah… hi,” you smile sheepishly, straightening your back and withholding a wince as your bag almost slides from your shoulder a second time. “You’re Aizawa Shouta, I presume? We spoke over the phone”.

The man grunts an affirmative, scratching idly at his cheek. He inhales deeply, sharp eyes almost too quick to catch as they appraise you in the doorway. “Yeah. You’re from UAtots?”

You nod, “I am”.

He mirrors the action, though the movement of his head is heavier, swaying him forward. Part of you is concerned he’s falling asleep on his feet. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” stepping back into the threshold, he beckons you into the house, “we were taking an afternoon catnap”.

You step inside, a zip of apprehension along your spine at the proximity. He’s warm at your back where he waits to lock the door behind you. “Catnap?” you smile, sliding off your shoes and lining them up neatly by the others. You step aside so he can bypass you into the hallway, inhaling to steady your nerves and catching the smell of his cologne.

“Eri likes to sync weekend meal times alongside the cats so she can nap with them afterwards, since eating makes her tired,” he explains, walking you further into the house, his voice entirely monotonous as if the answer should have been clear to you. “I’m sure if this goes smoothly you’ll be subject to plenty of them yourself”.

Well, you’re not sure you could object being paid to nap.

You’re shown to the living area, finding it littered with evidence of a young child. Toys, colouring pencils, storybooks. Chaotic, but it is organised chaos. Splayed out in the centre of the main room is a double futon, covered with wrinkled mismatched blankets that have been thrown aside. You take note of the shelves and bridge-like structures built into the walls, some leading to little alcoves or cushioned platforms. One looks to be occupied by a mass of black fur.

Right, cats. Aizawa hums contemplatively. “She must’ve run off to her room after I left to answer the door. Not a fan of strangers”.

“Can’t say I am either,” you reply empathetically, chewing the skin of your inner lip at his lack of response. He guides you towards the kitchen; somewhat narrow in comparison to the other rooms, but still bright where the sun bleeds in from the large patio doors. The cabinets are a deep green, almost black in colour, and there are potted plants dotted along the windowsill. One particular pot has a small sign pierced into the damp soil that reads property of eri.

In your distraction, Aizawa has returned to your side with a full binder of paperwork. He sets it on the counter and pulls back the cover, revealing a numbered contents page. “I don’t expect you’ll read this now, but it’s a detailed folder of Eri’s circumstances and conditions,” he continues on the end of a shallow sigh, “I’ve also written up a list of instructions for a number of issues that might arise in my absence, along with emergency phone numbers — both my personal and my office, as well as some others in case you can’t reach me”.

The folder was fine. Appreciated, actually. You had endured far more peculiar parents than him, and his anxious preparation warmed you. Nerves were always to be expected, and not just from the children.

“I’ll make sure I familiarise myself before my next visit. Thank you, Aizawa-san,” you say, awkwardly gripping the strap of your bag. Drawn to the movement, his eyes squint somewhat at the things you were still carrying.

“Drop the honorifics, I hear that enough at work. And you’re welcome to leave your bag somewhere. Take a seat and I’ll bring out something to drink”.

Sitting on the far left of the couch, your rucksack tucked beneath the side table to avoid any accidents, you spend the brief wait absorbing the smaller details of the room. A fair few of your wealthier clients were largely minimalist, their homes brimming with things that sticky fingers should not touch. This house, while big for a two person family, is lived in. You think there might be nothing better than a well loved space.

When he hands you the hot mug of herbal tea, your fingers slip through the ringed handle with care. Even the kitchenware is well loved, a pattern of multicoloured paw prints surely but steadily scrubbed away from the ceramic with each use. “Thanks,” you murmur, ducking to blow against the rising steam.

The cushions dip as he sits adjacent to you, appropriately distanced. “Eri will be out once she’s ready,” he tells you after a drawn out sip of his drink. You can’t help but wonder how it didn’t scald his mouth. “I thought I could tell you a bit more in the meantime”.

You nod eagerly and take a sip of your own. It burns, and your tongue numbs.

“I’ve legally been Eri’s father for around a year and a half now, and she’s not a difficult kid by any means. Though she is quiet and struggles with anxiety she’s still kind, still curious,” his voice drops into something gentle, staring at the rumpled blankets and warming at the sight. “She’s always thinking of others first. She loves to read fantasy books about heroes and villains. Her imagination is vast, and because she can’t write well yet she has taken to acting out stories”.

“Very rarely does she fuss, and she loves to help with chores and cooking, which I can’t complain about, but,” Aizawa continues to speak and you drink while you listen, the tea cooled and more tolerant as you swallow, “…it doesn’t sit right knowing they’re done in an effort to placate me”.

To placate, to appease. To keep the peace, and keep their caregiver happy. After all, a happy caregiver is one that doesn’t raise their voice, or their hand. “It’s entirely normal for you to think that,” you offer comfort in the brief silence, “you aren’t the first parent who has felt that way”.

He finally turns his head to meet your gaze, and you find yourself remaining firm under his scrutiny. Then, imperceptibly, his eyes soften. “I just want her to feel safe. To act her age and enjoy her childhood,” then you hear a huff that sounds suspiciously like a laugh, “I might actually shed a tear the day she finally throws a tantrum”.

You laugh with him, close mouthed and short. An amused hum to cover the twist in your chest. Working with vulnerable children never got any easier to stomach. Some would respond to neglect by loudly seeking your attention, creating mess and yelling until their stomachs hurt. Others, like Eri, would shape themselves into timid dolls that never spoke out of turn, because attention often meant harm.

With lips parted to speak, you’re stopped short by an inconspicuous creak from the hallway. Observing from behind the door frame, only partially visible from where you’re sitting, is a little girl with silver hair. Your eyes meet, and she flinches back into hiding.

“One sec…” Aizawa mutters offhandedly as he gets to his feet, first leaning down to set his cup on the floor. Footfalls loud enough to be heard, the slight clearing of his throat to announce his approach, he slips into the hallway.

Like him, you place your drink down and listen. Minutes pass, and while you aren’t privy to the conversation you do hear a pair of muffled voices. Aizawa’s tone is soothing, and he waits patiently for his daughter's timid responses. Eventually, he reappears with her shielded behind his thigh, and weaving between her feet is another cat; chunky, flat faced and grey. Unperturbed by the uncomfortable atmosphere, it slinks into the room to sniff the abandoned mugs and ignores your presence.

Wordlessly asking permission to greet her, Aizawa encourages you forward with the tilt of his head. Luckily, you had a fool proof introduction when it came to children, one that covered all the bases. Eri’s grip on her fathers pink sweatpants visibly tightens as you close the distance, but she doesn’t run.

Lowering yourself to her height, you begin with a smile and your name, then you give her your birthday. What follows is your favourite animal, then your favourite colour, one thing you like and one thing you don’t.

It’s easy, simple, and likens you to them in a way they can understand. To a young kid, that’s all the important stuff.

Knowing more about you seems to set her at ease somewhat, and she steps out from behind her father after an encouraging look from him. In an abrupt motion she considers holding out her hand, but then chooses to clutch the hem of her knitted sweater.

“My name is Er— Aizawa Eri. My birthday is the twenty-first of December…” she glances towards Aizawa once again for his approval, only continuing with his assurance. “I like cats and the colour green. I think apples are the best fruit and… I don’t like mean people”.

You nod, humming in agreement to assuage her anxiety. “Mean people can be pretty scary. And I like cats, too,” — the grey-coated feline by the futon chooses that moment to yowl, pawing at Aizawa’s half empty mug — “I haven’t been able to properly meet yours yet. I’d love it if you could introduce us”.

Give her a chance to control the narrative, and in doing so allow her to tell you about something she feels confident about. It’s an infinitesimal thing, but all things are so much bigger when you’re young.

She straightens her back, shoulders no longer hunched forward to make herself appear small. Unobtrusive. No — there is now a dim glimmer of pride in her eyes as she shuffles forward, leading you back over near the sofa and pointing ahead at the noise-maker.

“That’s Bastard. He’s old and kinda grumpy but that’s just ‘cause he’s scared,” Eri looks almost as if she is pleading with you, concerned you might misunderstand her beloved pet’s behaviour. “Some people hurt him before, so… so he’s just trying to protect himself. If you’re slow and let him sniff you I think it’ll be okay”.

Some people hurt him, huh. Your thoughts subdue your initial amusement, though you try not to let it show in your expression. Heeding Eri’s guidance, you crouch at her side and allow her to extend your arm towards Bastard with her chubby fingers clasped around your wrist. He glares suspiciously between the two of you, but eventually his tail lifts into a clear signal of hello as he leans forward to huff at your fingertips.

He turns his nose up at you in what you read as disgust and stalks off to the other end of the room, but according to Eri’s bouncing feet it was a success. “He didn’t bite you or anything,” she pats your shoulder in a reassuring manner and Aizawa snorts as he collapses into the sofa cushions.

You’re pointed in the direction of the other cat — the black mass that has been curled into a ball atop one of the shelved platforms since you arrived. “Her name is Sourpuss. She likes to sleep a lot and we cuddle sometimes,” she explains seriously, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. Following a pause she adds, “don’t worry. She won’t bite you either”.

“I’m glad to hear it,” you reply, a pleasant kindling in your chest at her efforts, “I look forward to getting to know you all better”.

“Bastard and Sourpuss aren’t related but they are brother and sister. Just like me and ‘Toshi, right?” Eri glances over to her father to wordlessly seek his reassurance, cheeks dipped in pink. For a moment, the exhaustion in Aizawa’s body seems to bleed away, and he smiles affectionately.

“Exactly right, Eri,” he murmurs.

You straighten your knees at the sound of Bastard’s mewling, rewarded quickly with Eri’s devoted attention. Returning to your place on the couch, you lean towards him and subtly ask about the aforementioned ‘Toshi’.

“He was already my foster son when I first took in Eri as a foster. I cared for him on and off from age fifteen to eighteen”. Recognising your poorly veiled curiosity, he adds, “Hitoshi used to watch her for me but he recently started university. Her psychologist suggested someone more permanent and better equipped for her care”.

You nod amicably, turning to watch Eri as she offers her own small hand to the older cat. Bastard leans forward with nostrils flared, turning his head into her palm, and she beams. A stark contrast to how the feline felt about you. With the hope that you aren’t overstepping you ask, “You didn’t adopt him too?”

“Fostering isn’t just a doorway to adoption,” he replies. In your periphery you see the beginnings of a smile at the corner of his mouth as he observes his daughter. “More than anything, I think it’s about keeping families together. Hitoshi was old enough to decide for himself, and I still view him as a son regardless of the legalities”.

Somehow, the answer leaves you feeling scolded. “Right, of course,” you bow your head slightly in apology and his lips thin into a subtle smirk. Smothering the spark of irritation, at both his amusement and your own attraction, you push the conversation forward. “Then, uh. Will I be meeting him too, eventually?”

“I’d assume so. If he does visit I’ll make sure you know in advance”.

For the remainder of your afternoon visit, you observe their family dynamic with a keen eye. Eri’s shell does not fracture much, but you don’t take personal offence to it. She’s polite and friendly, often giving the answers she thinks you want to hear. You eventually join her amongst the blankets, recalling how she found confidence in helping around the house.

“Shall we put these away together?” you suggest. The little girl smiles and spring comes again. Under the moving sunspots cast through the living room window, the two of you get to work folding up the cotton linens. Eri is so preoccupied that for the first time that day, she doesn’t realise when her father leaves the room to wash up the mugs.

You understood Aizawa’s initial worry with Eri’s need to prove her worth around the house; but you also think, perhaps, she is just grateful and happy to help him.

When you leave, they both walk you to the front door. Your first goodbye to her is a perfect rendition of your first hello — little hand fisted into neon pink, shielded by the man she trusts the most. “Will you come back?” she asks quietly.

“If your dad is happy for me to,” — excitement pushes Eri onto the tip of her toes, her head barely reaching Aizawa’s hip — “when I do, we should read some stories together”.

Later that night, after a long hot shower to swiftly rid you of the tension in your spine, you settle into a heap of cotton and pillows with Eri’s binder. The cover is hard, like cardboard, and coloured blue. It’s heavy in your lap, and you find that daunting. Not because you don’t think you can handle it, but because you already want to do right by them both.

After the contents page comes the emergency contacts. You recognise Hitoshi’s name, and beside each other person is their immediate relation to Aizawa and Eri. Her school office. His best friends. Aunts. Uncles. Coworkers. A part of you unravels with the knowledge that the two have such a support system in place.

Then comes the lists. Food Eri does not like — she enjoys sweet things but tart is much too sour for her palate — and the medication she can not take. There are steps to follow if ever she gets sick, instructions on where to find the first aid kit and her favourite hot water bottle. More important than anything else, there is a page dedicated to summarising her triggers and subsequently how to handle them. No sudden touch, noise cancelling headphones always on her person, explain what you’re doing and why as you do it.

It’s incredibly comprehensive. The latter part of the binder is made up of her initial caseworkers notes, or observations from her psychologist that are important to her care. You learn that Eri might sometimes dissociate, is prone to freezing up when frightened and struggles with communicating her emotions. There are scars littering her body that need to be tended to once a day with steroid cream, but Aizawa notes that he will do that himself. She has little appetite and no tolerance for the dark, spending a lot of her earlier days in her father's care completely withdrawn and selectively mute.

Given her history you can’t blame him for covering all his bases; part of you wonders if he had put all this together in order to test you, to see whether the responsibility would scare you off. He would be mistaken, if that were the case. After all, you’d promised to befriend Bastard by the years’ end.

The next time you see Aizawa Shouta, he is in fitted suit pants and a dress shirt. It is sharp and tailored, accentuating the broad strokes of his shoulders and the dip of his waist. As he bends an arm to fiddle with the cuff, the material strains around his bicep. He looks handsome, and decidedly uncomfortable.

“Good morning,” he mutters, turning away from you expectantly. You amble after him once the door is shut, walking into the kitchen. Throat bared and leaning against the counter, he quickly downs the remnants of his coffee with an dissatisfied sigh.

“Bad nights sleep?”

A brow lifts as he glances up at you. You try not to focus on the absentminded swipe of his thumb at the corner of his mouth. “Always,” he replies. “You want some?”

Your mouth thins as you try not to smirk. “No, that’s okay. Thank you though,” you follow the movement of his hands as he leaves the mug in the sink, then extends his arms to expose his wrists and roll the cuffs mid forearm. Despite arriving at the time he’d given you, he appeared to be in a rush. You make a note to come earlier tomorrow, if only to make things a little smoother.

Eri’s footfalls are light, barely audible as she totters into the kitchen — you try not to think about the implications — and she stops short when she sees you. “Good morning Eri,” you greet warmly.

“Good morning,” she mumbles.

“You look very cute,” dressed in burgundy dungarees over a white long sleeved shirt, cuffed at the ankle to reveal frilly cream coloured socks, her hair has been tied haphazardly into two long pigtails. “I like your Sailor Pluto clips!”

“Thank you…” she pokes at the clips on her crown self consciously, timidly pleased at your recognition of them.

Aizawa circles around you both as he heads back into the hallway, “Sailor Pluto? I thought she was called Sailor Moon”.

Eri follows at his heels. “No dad, Sailor Moon has yellow hair,” she corrects him kindly, waiting by the coat rack as he bends to slip into his dress shoes. “But it’s okay, I get them mixed up sometimes too”.

Her attitude is a testament to his parenting. In the short time you’ve spent with them he has only ever spoken to Eri respectfully, in a manner that grants her agency. He clearly allows her to make decisions herself and experience the consequences of them, bad or good.

Before he has the chance to reach for his bag, Eri releases an abrupt sound of protest and grabs it herself. Both of her hands fit around the long handle with room to spare, and it drags by her feet as she gives it to him.

“I appreciate that sweetheart,” he replies, taking one of the jackets from the hooks and linking it through the crook of his arm. “Which one did I like best again?”

“Sailor Saturn!”

Dark hair curtaining his sober expression, he nods sagely and repeats, “Sailor Saturn”.

They are so caught up that, for a few minutes, you are nothing but a fly on the wall. It’s endearing, the interactions sitting warm like honey-lemon tea in your chest. At the sound of your laugh, Aizawa’s eyes snap over to your silhouette in the kitchen doorway. Eri glances between the two of you, and appears to hamfist the precious little courage she has to ask you, “Who— who’s your favourite?”

“I really loved Luna the cat,” you say. Her mouth forms the shape of an ‘o’ before it spreads into a small smile. You get the inkling there was no wrong answer; you feel accomplished anyway.

“Right,” Aizawa cradles his hand against her head to garner her attention. She peers up at him, eyes wide. “Her teacher is aware you’re going to be picking her up but you’ll need to give her the code just to be safe,” he says, settling the strap of the satchel across his chest. “It’s ‘candy apples’”.

“Got it”.

Gentle, he pinches her cheek between his thumb and forefinger. “Be good, alright?” Eri hums, giving her enthusiastic agreement, “have a fun day at school. And make sure you hold hands when you cross the roads”.

“You too dad,” her demeanour is slightly more unnerved at his imminent departure, fingers tightly curling and unfurling against her palms. “Be good at work”.

He laughs — low and undeniably fond, almost like a purr in his chest — and then he leaves.

Eri is cautious in his absence, but she still answers when you speak and smiles when you look at her. You can see what Aizawa meant by her placating nature — she’s scared to upset you, because she doesn’t yet know your boundaries. There was not enough time to have that discussion before school, but you endeavoured to do it some point later.

Her bag is garish, block colours of red blue and yellow. Different from her Sailor Moon accessories, the bento and backpack are distinctly Hero themed. Hanging from the zip is a cat keychain that looks suspiciously like Bastard, and it bounces as she moves.

The walk isn’t too far. The early air is still tepid and the morning traffic has mostly dispersed. You see other parents with their children, laughing and scolding and sprinting ahead. Eri remains at your side, hand in hand, and quietly tells you about a dream she had the night before.

Confoundedly, “Dad told me he doesn’t have dreams”.

“Maybe he does dream, but he forgets them as soon as he wakes up,” you reply. Her nose wrinkles slightly in a way that suggests she is thinking quite hard, and eventually she nods.

A staff member waiting by the gate recognises Eri and bids you both good morning, motioning for her to join her classmates. “I’ll see you after school, alright?” you say. The hand clutching at your fingers squeezes twice before letting go.

You linger for a few seconds longer, only to observe as Eri runs up to one boy in particular. His cap is red, too big for him and adorns two horns at the front. When she dips her head forward, you know it’s to show off her hair clips.

With five hours to spare, you decide to utilise the time by clearing up the house. There’s not much mess but it’s better than nothing, and if you spent most of it nosing around the spots you’ve yet to see, that’s no one’s business but your own — aside from Bastard and Sourpuss, who still deign to return your affections and settle for stalking you at a distance.

Mounted bridges and tastefully placed hiding spots can be found in most of the rooms; Aizawa’s respect for individual space clearly extended to his pets as well. There are fragments of them everywhere, in tchotchkes and photographs and framed stick figure pictures. You catch glimpses of the other people in their lives, of Eri much younger than she is now, of a too-big violet haired boy curled up in one of the cat beds.

In each new room, you make sure to tidy up somewhat. Aizawa seemed the type to be particular about what fell under the definition of mess and what did not, and in that vein you stay away from reorganising anything that looks important, but it doesn’t stop you from picking up any stray socks.

One place you do not enter is Aizawa’s bedroom. Eri’s, however, has been left wide open.

The first thing you see is the feelings chart taped to the door, a small magnet with her likeness has been stuck in the ‘nervous’ box. Inside is surprisingly neat for a child her age. Cohesive. There are hues of yellow and grey along the walls, a white canopy hung over a brass ring in the corner of the room to curtain a pile of pillows. Her bookshelf is full, the pages are worn, and her plush toys have been organised in a line from big to small on her mattress.

There is a faux vine of leaves threaded through the bed frame, dotted with small LED lights. She must like plants, you think, recalling the greenery in the kitchen. You’d have to look it up, or ask her father.

Aizawa hadn’t requested you do any specific chores, but you don’t do well with idle hands. So you throw the collected laundry in the washer, clean and dry the plates and cutlery from breakfast, and refill the coffee machine with the beans kept in the cupboard. It’s the good stuff, expensive. You almost regret not accepting his offer that morning, but the dregs left in his mug smelt far too bitter.

At the start, as you’re acclimating to the chosen family, you are always left slightly aimless. Floundering. Especially with parents that have never hired a nanny before; they seldom understand how much the role entails, and struggle with letting go of certain responsibilities.

Thus, with precious little left to do, you end up leaving early to pick up Eri later that afternoon and taking the long route. You press the divots of the house key into your palm as you walk, metal cool in the late spring sun. With time to observe, you admit that Aizawa’s neighbourhood is undeniably beautiful. Passing a large nearby park, eyeing the climbing frames and slides and triple seated swings, you wonder if Eri would like to go there with you on occasion. There’s even a quaint, sectioned off area of land privated for communal gardening.

Maybe, on your scheduled weekends, you could take her to other places too. The aquarium, the movies or the science museum. You’d have to ask Aizawa’s permission.

Waiting behind the gate is another member of staff, different from the woman stationed there this morning but she greets you amiably all the same. Other parents are flocking into the grounds, some grouping together for small talk while others — such as yourself — lingered off to the side and waited alone.

When the children begin rushing through the school doors, it is organised by class number. Eventually you spot the little boy with the horned cap rushing towards his own guardian, but no Eri with him. Instead she is led out hand in hand with whom you presume is her teacher. You smile as she points in your direction and waves, jostling the cat charm on her bag strap.

The woman greets you first, a slight accent to her words that you can’t place. German, maybe. “Hi! I’m Eri’s teacher, Amano-san. You must be the new nanny I’ve heard all about”.

“That would be me,” you lower your head into a subtle bow, offering your name in a much more formal introduction than the one Eri had received. “I’ll be picking Eri up regularly from now on. It’s good to meet you”.

“And you,” Amano grins, the movement pushing her glasses further up the bridge of her nose. At a second glance, you notice a thin silver chain attached to the frames and looping around her neck. Coupled with a green pantsuit and the specks of paint along the lapels, you suspect Eri’s teacher may be the more eccentric type. Easy-going and comforting.

“I hope you don’t mind but I have to ask for Aizawa-san's passcode,” Amano motions flippantly with her free hand as she speaks, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “it’s just school policy, ya see. Can’t let the baby go without it — only for the first few pickups while the staff get to know you”.

“That’s perfectly fine. He informed me you might ask,” Eri’s head pivots back and forth between you both with bright, inquisitive eyes. Giving her what you hope to be a secretive look, pointer finger pressed to your lips and voice hushed, you add, “the code is ‘candy apples’”.

Rewarded with a minute grin, Eri toddles over to your side as soon as Amano lets go of her and bids you both goodbye. Reflexively, you reach to fix her pigtails where they’ve come loose but think better of it — she does not react well to sudden touch. “Oh,” you pause to count the remaining clips in her hair. “One of your Pluto’s is gone”.

“I gave one to Kota… he’s my friend”.

Kota. You silently mouth the name, and resolve to remember it. “Is he the boy with the cool hat?”

Eri hums a quiet affirmative, peering up at you and shyly extending her hand. You take it, giving a gentle squeeze. “That was very nice of you to do,” you tell her.

“Dad said love grows by sharing,” she replies. You notice that when she speaks about her father, her voice is a little louder. Proud, even. “That’s why he always lets me have his last pur— Purin cup”.

You try to picture Aizawa eating something as sweet as crème caramel and bite back a smile. He seems more the coffee jelly type. “Your dad is right. I bet Kota felt very special to have Sailor Pluto”.

You return home the morning route, in consideration of Eri’s short legs and growing exhaustion. Bastard and Sourpuss are theatrically pleased by her arrival, yowling in glee as if she’d been gone for months. They must recognise that you brought her back, and you try not to preen when the older cat begrudgingly rubs his gums against your ankle.

“Okay, Eri. What first? Homework or food?”

She wrings her hands together, pressing palms flat to her stomach. Face pinched, she looks like she wants to ask something of you. “Eri?”

“Can I…” her courage diminishes and she glares at the floor, scuffing socked feet against carpet. Lowering your body to her level, knee clicking as you crouch, you wait patiently with a small smile. You can see her internal battle with your own eyes, squeezing her own shut and taking a deep breath.

The drawn out exhale follows, and the tension bleeds from her muscles. Still unable to meet your gaze, she asks, “Can I show you my room first?”

You don’t tell her you have already seen it. Children deserve to be treated with respect, but some truths were worth keeping. Guided to the grey-yellow painted space, Eri is in her element. Homework and hunger can wait a few more minutes — strengthening her comfortability with you was much more important.

Once she starts she can’t seem to stop. Eri shows you all her magpie clutches of treasures and brings them to your lap, a back and forth skitter across the room. The knit blanket from when she was an infant, a pretty rock she found with her dad, a friendship bracelet from someone called Izu. Her love has no limit; you’re holding old shells and framed pictures and memory-imbued trinkets. Each one receives equal praise, indulgent sounds of awe that warm her cheeks.

‘Love grows by sharing’ is what she’d said. Steadying the heap gathered in your arms, you think you feel your heart swell three sizes.

By afternoon's end, Eri is fed and sitting contentedly in the middle of the living room. Aizawa had texted that he would be home soon, so you were simply enjoying the peace until then. Having tucked one of the couch cushions under her knees to alleviate the discomfort, all her focus is on the worksheets splayed out along the floor. Fractions. You grimace, watching Bastard bat at her pencil as it moves with her wrist.

Click, click. Eri is at her feet in less than a second. The sound of a key entering a lock and turning, the door jarred open as Aizawa shoulders into the house with arms full of assignments. He doesn’t startle as his daughter knocks into him, but he does scowl at the realisation that he can’t hug her. You hover cautiously in the hallway, “Ah— do you need some help with those?”

He looks up, the frown smoothing into something a little more vulnerable. Exhausted, but in a different way than he was this morning. You feel a misplaced sense of guilt for not having a cup of coffee ready for him.

“No, I can manage,” he replies, kicking off his shoes and lining them up half heartedly with his foot as he readjusts his grip. “I’ll be fine once I can sit down”.

He sets the papers on the far end of the couch and upon reaching the opposite, Aizawa falls back heavily into the cushions with a relieved groan that strums at your centre. You smother the feeling. Eri trails after him with her features pensive, carefully gauging his mood before doing anything further. The moment he limblessly opens his arms to her, she is clambering up beside him and pressing to his side.

Intuitively, you hold your breath. You take the opportunity to really appreciate how gentle Aizawa is with his daughter. Cradling the top of her head in a show of affection, his eyes slide from Eri to where you stand in the doorway. You’re left sheepish under the expectant lift of his brow, all too aware of how awkward you’re being. “How was it today? Anything happen that I should know about?”

“Everything went well. We held hands to and from school, didn’t we?” Eri nods, and the large hand in her hair further disturbs her pigtails, though she doesn’t seem to mind. “We’ve eaten our dinner and finished her fractions worksheet for tomorrow. She’s been nothing short of a dream”.

“A dream, hm?” he nudges Eri gently to encourage her to smile, and she does. “Always is”.

“I met…” your attention is quickly drawn to the tail curling around your leg. Sourpuss barely spares you a glance when she butts your calf, as if to pass it off as a simple accident. You don’t bend at the knee to pet her, because you know she’ll scatter and leave you pitifully rejected. “I met Amano-san,” you continue, “I introduced myself since I’ll be seeing more of her. She’s very… friendly”.

Aizawa’s mouth lifts in subtle amusement, “She’s boisterous but a good teacher. Eri loves her,” he pats his thigh as Sourpuss approaches, ready as she leaps onto his lap. He’s content, relaxed with his head tipped slightly in a way that accentuates his jaw, the shadow of stubble fading down the length of his neck. You quickly drag your thoughts back into the present before they can drift into inappropriate territory, steeling yourself under his gaze in the hopes he hadn’t noticed.

“You have your hands full and you’ve had a long day, so I’m happy to see myself out if that’s everything,” you say.

Eri’s eyes widen, her bottom lip slightly jutted. You aren’t sure whether she is wordlessly beseeching you to stay, or displeased at the thought of not walking you to the door — either way, you allow yourself some pride for having won some good favour with her so soon.

Aizawa must notice, because his hand slides from her crown to soothe along her back. “Don’t worry,” he reassures, “they’ll be back again in the morning, bug”.

He’s pensive as he appraises you, perhaps looking for what it was in you that his daughter had latched onto. Whatever he does or does not find, he begins to move. Sourpuss chirps a sharp noise of complaint, jostled from her place in his lap and leaping back onto the floor. “C’mon,” he says, getting to his feet and rubbing the nape of his neck as he clicks it to the left. Then, stubbornly, “I’ll walk you out”.

The next month and a half with them passes between blinks. You come to learn that even if every day is the same, there are a million ways to do it. And the place you carve into their lives is comfortable. Comforting.

Your attraction to Aizawa only festers. It seems that at some point, you had won favour with him, too. He begins leaving you offerings of food without explanation, and in turn you have a pot of coffee ready for when he gets home. He isn’t much of a cook and usually sticks to snacks, but occasionally you’ll find leftovers with your name written on a postit note.

Love grows by sharing.

Against better judgement you start finding excuses to arrive early and stay later, and sometimes your conversations linger like his gaze, until the only word left to describe the way he looks at you is ‘fond’.

Venting to your friends does nothing helpful, since they only encourage you to poke further at the relationship just to see where it’d go. Likened to a yellowing bruise on your arm, you knew exactly what would happen if you were to poke it — it would hurt.

Worse is, your feelings are not just an unfortunate result of being attracted to Aizawa. You adore Eri, and she likes you too; watches you with wide ruby eyes, collecting your speech patterns and body language like the tchotchkes kept on her shelves. With every reluctant shedding of her shell, a quiet but creative and joyous little girl is slowly unveiled to the world, and you know you want to be there to watch her grow beyond what your contract states.

At best, you are teetering on the edge of being very unprofessional. At worst, part of you is already one foot in the door and willing to step forward.

Today you were at the park. The grass is damp, sparse dots of moisture littering the pavements. You peer up mid-step and a drop of rain hits your nose, squinting against the light that bursts through the canopy. There’s petrichor in the air, fresh and crisp. Eri stands at your side at the crotch of the maple tree, watching quietly as the sun shower passes.

“Pretty…” she whispers, stepping towards the edge of shelter with her arm outstretched, fingers splayed like branches to catch the rain. She does this, but not before first seeking your approval, as she did with most things. The evolving comfort she felt with you didn’t negate any of the survival instincts she’d learnt in her earlier developmental years.

It hurt to know she didn’t get to have that — the new realisation that she was an individual person, with power of her own that she could wield. You were only glad that Aizawa always gave her a chance to make her own choices. She felt far safer accepting such freedom from him, because Eri knows that he trusts her. He trusts that she will eventually get it right, even if it isn’t immediate.

His unconditional patience when it came to making mistakes, and learning from them, paid off. You’ve no doubt that it came into practice with his own university students, too.

“Everything will be too wet to play on now,” your eyes scan the playground, finding the tarmac dark and saturated with water. The sun shifts and bounces sharply off the curve of the slide. You hadn’t been there for more than half an hour, so it was a little disappointing. “What shall we do instead?”

She rocks on the balls of her feet while she thinks, the end of her sleeve growing damp with every scoop of the oncoming shower. Peeking beneath them are the protective wrappings she keeps around her arms to cover the scars you’ve yet to see.

Her wet hand curls to form a fist, and she steps back into the shelter of the maple tree. You bend forward and beckon towards you, using the hem of your hoodie to gently dry her off. Minutes pass, and you can tell her lack of a definitive answer is making her nervous. “It’s alright if you’re not sure,” you tell her, quick to assuage whatever thoughts she may be having.

“Well, I picked the park so— so maybe you can pick next?” she hesitantly suggests.

“That’s very considerate!” Eri outwardly preens, tucking her chin to her sternum as she smiles. “I think… I’m craving sweet things today. How about we go home and see if we can bake something?”

It’s as if the rain takes pause and the skies open just for the two of you. There is no puddle left untouched on your walk home, Eri pulling you ahead by the hand, uncharacteristically hasty. Every time you find something new for her to enjoy you feel like you’ve swallowed a drop of sun. Aizawa’s expression in the face of her smile and freshly baked goods make it all the more worth it.

Leading up the street towards the house, you squint at the sight of a person. Sitting on the doorstep under the overhang is a violet haired man. Young, still a little youthful in the cheeks. Nineteen or twenty, if you had to guess.

“‘Toshi!”

Eri’s voice draws his attention from the phone in his lap, and when he looks up you’re met by a weathered grin adorned with two vertical rings hugging the left of his bottom lip.

The spider bites aren’t his only piercings; there are other jewellery cuffed along the shell of his ear, an industrial bar cutting across the cartilage of the other, and glinting in the light are two small spikes through his right eyebrow. Dappled shadows dance across his face, an oversized navy sweater hangs comfortably on his frame and pools around the waist of his tattered jeans.

You aren’t alarmed when he sweeps Eri into a hug, pleased by her melodic laughter. This was her brother, Hitoshi, presumably, the purple boy you’d seen in some of the framed pictures around the house.

“You must be—”

His voice overlaps your own simultaneously, “You must be the nanny”.

Prickly. He stands then, keeping Eri cradled in his arms, her own looped tight around his neck as her feet kick happily either side of his hips. No, you think. Protective. And taller than you realised.

“That’s me,” you reply stiffly. You had no idea he would be visiting today — Aizawa hadn’t mentioned anything about it, so you can only assume he isn’t aware.

Turning to smoosh her cheek against his own and glancing between you both, Eri is emboldened by the stilted atmosphere. She makes a point to introduce you to Hitoshi, reciting your favourite colour and animal word for word. Like flame to wax, her efforts soften the blank exterior and his expression wanes into affection.

This time, when he looks at you it is measured. He appraises you much like Aizawa had on your first day. A positive reference from Eri is invaluable, clearly. “I’m Eri’s big brother, Shinsou Hitoshi,” he concedes, the thud of his boots heavy as he steps forward. Readjusting Eri to his hip, he extends a hand and motions to shake your own.

Years of professional experience has your grip firm out of sheer habit, while his remains slightly loose, the cool metal of his ring pressed to your palm. “It’s good to meet you. Aizawa mentioned that I might, eventually,” you reply.

Hitoshi hums, though not absentmindedly. “Same. I’ve heard a lot about you”.

“Mostly good I hope?” you busy yourself with finding the house keys, hoping to get Eri inside to warm up sooner rather than later. “Let’s get you both comfy, then we can get started”.

“Started?”

Stepping into homes’ embrace is a relief, the chill dissipating from your cheeks. “We’re gonna bake!” Eri chimes her excitement from behind you as you toe your shoes to the side, turning to beckon them both inside. Hitoshi quickly closes the door behind him before the cats can slip past, and places his sister back on the floor with a small noise of curiosity.

“Bake what?” he asks, grunting in exertion as he crouches and begins untying the laces to his boots, wiggling his fingers at Bastard as he bats at the string. Eri mirrors him to fiddle with her buckles, slipping both shoes off and lining them up neatly by yours before looking to you for an answer.

“I was thinking we could make cookies…Ah!” you bring your palms together in a succinct clap, “maybe we could do melonpan?”

A subtle tug to the end of your hoodie. “What's melonpan?”

“They’re sweet, melon shaped buns covered in cookie dough,” you explain warmly, slow in stroking a hand over the crown of her head. She doesn’t flinch, almost feline in how she turns into the touch.

“I’m down for some melonpan,” Hitoshi slides back naturally into the conversation, Bastard held out by the armpits as his long torso hangs limbless. You try not to laugh at the displeasure on his face. “Maybe change into something comfortable and dry first though, bug”.

Prompted, Eri scurries up the stairs on both hands and feet. “And make sure to wash your hands,” you raise your voice after her. That just leaves you and Hitoshi.

He glances at you expectantly, inclining his head towards the kitchen as if to say, aren’t you going in?

“Guess we should get the cookie dough done first,” you suggest, taking the lead.

In Eri’s absence, side by side at the counter, you both fall into a surprisingly comfortable contentment. Quiet murmurings of small talk; while you work on the cake mix he beats the egg until it whites, whisks sugar into the butter until it dissolves. Hitoshi is stiff at first, short in his responses, but he isn’t rude. He’s just cautious, prying gently into your answers but never giving substance to his own. Even in early adulthood, there was an instinct inside him that called to mask the vulnerability within. To feign confidence and guide conversations in a way that conceals him.

He flowers a little when the topic steers to Aizawa.

“Did the old man tell you much about me?”

Old man. A decade and then some isn’t far off for him, but you supposed in a barely-twenty year old’s mind it would be. “Just that he fostered you through your late teens. I didn’t pry,” you reply. “I’ve heard more from Eri, really. She looks up to you”.

He exhales deeply, and you don’t press him to continue before he’s ready. “My mum struggled with addiction…” Hitoshi stares dolefully at the dough cupped between his palms, briefly flickering to the open doorway to check Eri was not within hearing distance.

“I was so pissed when social services first took me,” deft fingers begin to move as his voice returns, kneading the ball aimlessly in bread flour to smooth out his spike of anxiety. “I loved her a lot, still do. She never hurt me and I thought we were fine, y’know? I didn’t understand it back then. But it got to a point that she couldn’t take care of me”.

He avoids your gaze, feigning indifference, and it makes you wonder how others have reacted to his story. You swallow against the dry discomfort in your throat, rolling the inner flesh of your lip between teeth. There’s nothing to say other than, “I’m sorry. That must’ve been incredibly difficult for you both”.

“Thanks,” he murmurs. You watch a thought cross his mind, the corner of his mouth curving into a half smile. “I was such a dick when I got here because I thought I’d never get to see her again. But dad sat me down and told me he isn’t here to be my new parent, that his job is to keep me safe while my mum gets better”.

You recall Aizawa’s words — fostering is moreso about keeping families together — and smile back. “Funny that be ended up bein’ like a parent to you anyway, huh?”

An amused thrum, the dough in his grasp eventually moulded into what resembled a cylinder. “Yeah. He’s not so bad,” he breathes.

Eri joins in a fluffy sweater and leggings, socks pulled up all the way to her calves, fingers still wet and smelling of almond scented soap. Her eyes sweep across the room, alight with curiosity. “You’re just in time,” you tell her, discreetly putting the topic of Hitoshi’s mother to rest. “Grab the step from the corner so you can help rub the bread flour into the cookie dough”.

When she ambles over, gait stilted by the weight of her stool, Eri slots it between you and Hitoshi. Arms held out in front, you help to roll up her sleeves to avoid mess despite the protective compression underneath.

“Ready?”

“Ready!”

Chubby fingers take two pinches of bread flour, sprinkling over the cookie dough and patting carefully into shape. You let her take her time with it, endeared by how determined she looks carrying out a simple task.

Hitoshi supervises her while you begin the first fermentation of the bread dough. It’s lucky, and amusing, that Aizawa has such a random array of ingredients in his cupboards; you didn’t presume him the type to buy things just in case, yet the instant yeast has you sending silent thoughts of gratitude to him through sheer will.

With the cookie dough now wrapped and put in the fridge, Eri insists on helping you knead the bread dough. “We have to throw it a few times first,” you tell them.

Hitoshi smirks, “May I have the honour?”

The pale consistency is sticky and unpleasant as you pass it to him, some caught like glue between your fingers. At the sight of her brother's grimace, Eri pokes at the dough and makes a sound of awe. “It’s so gooey?” she mumbles.

“That’s why he’s gotta throw it. It’ll be nice and smooth,” you curl protectively around Eri as you explain, remembering her dislike for loud noises. “You might want to cover your ears, sweetheart. There’ll be a big thud when he does it”.

Hitoshi spreads far too much flour across the counter. Pressing the heels of her hands either side of her head, Eri steps back into your chest at the first impact and gapes as the white powder billows into the air, smattering the length of his forearms. He leans his body weight into the dough as he stretches it, glancing at her for permission and only throwing it again after she nods.

Gradually, Eri lowers her hands back down as she acclimates, and the next time she touches the dough it is firmer. “You did it, ‘Toshi!”

“Ye—!” his nose wrinkles and he suddenly dips into the crook of his arm, turning away from the counter as he sneezes. “Shi— Shoot. Bless me”.

“Bless you,” you laugh at him, trying and failing to wipe away the powder clinging to your own clothes. Somehow the white smudges worsen with the effort, and the flour has even ended up dusting the ends of Eri’s hair. “Next we gotta roll it up. Think you can help, Eri?”

By the time the dough is round enough to satisfy the siblings, the mess has worsened. You nestle it into a clear bowl and cover it with plastic wrap to let it sit — or as Eri had described, you tuck it into a ‘warm bed’.

With time left to spare as it ferments, Hitoshi departs to the bathroom to quickly clean himself up. In your distraction, the sound of a door opening and heavy footsteps does not register. It isn’t until you hear the fond invocation of your names from the doorway that you look up.

Covered in flour from your hands to your elbows, with the certainty that it is also dusted across your cheeks, you look up to see Aizawa watching you both wearing a small smile.

“Hi,” you offer lamely. He snorts.

“What’re you making?”

A fool of myself, you think.

Eri’s eyes sweep over the mess anxiously. There is no indication that he’s angry, but her words still falter. She inhales deeply to steady her breathing just as you taught her, counting to four and releasing. Meeting her fathers stare, she strongly replies, “we’re baking melonpan to share!”

“Is that right?” his eyes squint into a smile and he steps into the threshold, tugging the hairband on his wrist off with his teeth and collecting his hair into a bun. “Got anything I can help out with?”

“We just—”

“Yo,” Hitoshi interrupts as he slinks back into the room with an easy wave.

Aizawa’s brow pinches into a frown. “What’re you doing in my house?” he says. You can tell he doesn’t mean it, and judging by the grin pulling at Hitoshi’s mouth, he can tell too.

“Just wanted to surprise you and Eri,” in closing the distance, Aizawa reaches over to Hitoshi and wraps an arm around him, giving a solid pat to the back of his shoulder. You watch as he squeezes, and they briefly turn into one another’s familiarity before letting go.

Feeling your stare, Aizawa looks at you. To the people that do not know him, his expression might be unreadable, but you understand the fulfilment there. He appears settled, like having you all there in his kitchen has thawed him. “I hope he hasn’t given you any trouble?”

“No more than you,” you cajole, dutifully ignoring the smirk plain on Hitoshi’s face. “They’ve both been very helpful”.

Pleased by your praise, Eri beams as she climbs down from the step stool. “We’re waiting for the bread dough to fer…fer…?”

“Ferment,” you whisper.

“Ferment!” she nods resolutely, stumbling over to her father to greet him. Before you can warn them, Eri has wrapped herself around his leg and pressed into the side of his hip, black dress pants now embellished with loose flour.

He cradles her head as he always does, his hand large around her silver crown. She peers up at him with unfettered joy, in their own private, unspoken exchange. You’re struck by the thought that it isn’t only Eri who thrives under his care. Aizawa, too, even as he tires, becomes that much brighter with her.

The house begins to breathe. It is more alive now than you’ve ever experienced it. From the upper floor is Sourpuss’s distinct yowl as Aizawa heads up the stairs to change, Eri on his coattails telling him about the earlier sun shower.

Hitoshi is moving around the kitchen alongside you, cleaning up the aftermath of his ephemeral flour-storm and avoiding Bastard’s abrupt burst of energy from the shadows as he darts through the remnants; fading white and sugar plum sized paw prints left in his wake.

You laugh when Hitoshi chases him, hissing disjointed curses as he tries to wipe away the prints with the sole of his socks.

When the dough is suitably risen, Aizawa sidles up beside you, shoulder to shoulder. You don’t lean into him, but you don’t move away. Each of you takes a cut, shaping it into the intended melonpan. The spheres wear their cookie sheet coats, dipped in sugar and engraved overtop with clumsy diamond patterns.

Eri lines them up on the baking tray and you put them into the oven. Calls for her to relax go unheard as she waits with her nose pressed to the glass pane until the buns are finally golden, face heated by the orange glow.

You sit with the three of them in the middle of the living room, cushions pulled from their spots and rearranged in a tight circle, and something eases into place — a quiet sense of belonging that you’ve never experienced in all your years as a nanny. The melonpan is warm and sweet in your mouth, so soft it almost dissolves on your tongue. “S’good, right?” you hum happily at the taste, finding Eri nodding alongside you with pink cheeks filled and a bright sugar coated smile.

“It really is,” Hitoshi affirms, almost an air of disbelief as he leans back onto his left hand, savouring his own melonpan with the other. You notice his eyes lazily following the movement in your periphery; Aizawa reaches across your front to brush the grains of sugar from his daughter's chin, his own pastry devoured.

The man ate unnaturally quietly, and quickly. Maybe he really did have a secret sweet tooth.

In retracting his arm, he glances to you. Thoughtlessly, Shouta wipes the crumbs from the swell of your own cheek. You feel sinnew turn to sand, sifting through his gentle hands. In that split, narrowed second, the rest of the room fell away. You’re returned to your body by the sound of Hitoshi’s pointed cough, and the touch disappears.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, furtive in his avoidance of your stare, “force of habit”.

The smile you wear is brittle over the cacophonous rush of blood in your ears. Poor of an excuse as it was, you still wonder whether it had any truth to it — ruminating over how he really saw you.

Soon enough it’s difficult to ignore just how long you’ve overstayed your welcome; atleast, in a professional sense. All five of the Aizawa’s, legal, honorary and feline, walk you to the door to bid you goodbye.

“Be good, alright?” Shouta calls after you, leaning against the doorframe long after the children have returned to their cushions. His monotony makes it all the more endearing.

The real paradigm shift comes with a flinch. Aizawa lets you into the house silently wearing a desperate look. He glances to the top of the stairs, but when you follow his line of sight there is no one there. “She froze up,” he murmurs, regret bleeding into his voice as it rasps. “I lifted my hand to pat her head and she froze, like she thought I’d hit her. She’s been avoiding me all morning”.

You frown, worrying your lip between your teeth. “Is there anything that might’ve triggered her?”

His shoulders deflate, mouth set in a grimace, and you realise then just how crestfallen he is. “Not that I'm aware of. She was fine before bed and didn’t have any nightmares to my knowledge,” — as he bends to pick up his own satchel, Eri’s helpful absence is particularly stark — “if anything goes south let me know. I’ll come straight home if you need me to. We were going to see her psychiatrist soon for a review so I’ll try to have it brought forward”.

“Alright. I promise I’ll take care of her,” you reply, watching with brows pinched as he turns to the front door. You don’t like the slouch to his back — different to the typical exhaustion. This is defeat. Grief, in some ways. While you cannot hear his thoughts, you know intuitively that he is blaming himself.

He stops as you grab his wrist, door partially open. Pray tell, what is the right thing to say?

“Things like this aren’t linear,” your grip tightens, squeezing around his pulse. There’s soft hair under the pads of your fingers, the skin there rough from decades of use. “I’m willing to bet this minor setback isn’t your fault. Bad days happen”.

“I know,” he rasps, still refusing to look at you.

“I know that you know, probably better than most,” you smile where he can’t see it. “I just wanted to remind you”.

You experience a palpable sense of accomplishment when his arm turns, inner wrist twisting and sliding forth until your palms kiss. Aizawa holds your hand and peers at you through the curtain of his hair. As clouds part and the sun pierces through the threshold it refracts in his eyes. In a fleeting trick of the light, you think they look red.

“Thank you,” he says.

Away at work, the house is too quiet. Eri isn’t a rambunctious girl by any means, but her presence can always be heard. Can always be felt. No pitter patter of socked feet, no muffled laughter, no hushed conversations between girl and cat.

A part of you whispers how similar it is to being in your own home. But acknowledging that loneliness is another bruise you don’t fancy poking.

You find Eri curled up in her bed. She has pressed herself to the wall and brought both knees to her chest. The small bundle quakes, cheeks wet with tears that have begun to saturate the pillowcase. Eri keeps her cries unsettlingly quiet, in a way you’ve only ever seen in children afflicted with soul-deep wounds.

“Eri?” you call out to her with gentle cadence. She is, visibly and emotionally, an animal cornered. You move in closer, keeping to the edge of the room, focused on the worrisome flush to her skin and her laboured breaths. It worsens as you close the distance, a frantic gleam in her eyes.

“It’s just me, Eri. You’re safe here,” pausing a foot away from the edge of her bed, you gingerly lower yourself to sit on her bedroom floor. “I think you’re having a panic attack, bug. So we’re gonna try to slow your breathing. Can you do that for me?”

Her mouth quivers, pursed right as she hiccups. Another quick blink, another round of tears. You try not to collapse with relief when she nods, “You’re already doing so well. I know it’s scary right now but you’ll get through this”.

Despite the frenetic ache in your chest and the instincts in your body urging that you reach for her, you remain as you are. This is ultimately why you were chosen. Years of schooling and experience puppets your body, autopilot taking lead.

“First we’re going to breathe in through our noses for three seconds, nice and deep so your chest opens up. I’ll do it too,” — motioning inwards with your hands, you inhale until your ribs expand and lift a finger for each second that passes — “brilliant, sweetheart. Now hold that breath in for two more seconds. Ready? One… two…”

The minutes progress excruciatingly slowly. You continue to instruct her, keeping your voice soothing and calm with each cycle of breathing. Gradually, the tension bleeds from Eri’s body and she’s cognisant enough to say your name.

It follows an aborted reach for you, halted midway and dropping onto the bed, small hand hamfisting the bedsheets. “Is it okay for me to touch you?” you quietly ask.

With her permission, keeping your movements telegraphed, you shuffle toward the mattress on your knees and wrap your arms around her like one might cradle a baby.

Pulling her closer to your chest, you realise something is off. There’s heat soaking through her clothes, and in stroking a hand along her shoulders you notice they’re wet. “Eri…?” chin against sternum as you peer down, the back of your hand finds her forehead too hot.

“Are you sick?”

The question makes her freeze, statuesque where she’s curled against your chest. “I’m sorry,” she whimpers. Unease settles in your gut.

“I’m not angry, Eri. It isn’t your fault you’re sick, it happens to everyone,” you say, gently brushing the hair away from her face. “Is that why you were anxious today, you thought I would be upset?”

“They… they get mad”.

“Who does, sweetheart?”

“Grown ups,” she rasps, her voice thick and cloying in her throat. Steadily, the breast of your shirt becomes damp too. The hand threaded into her hair lowers to thumb away the fresh onslaught of tears.

“Grown ups can be scary,” you affirm, beginning an instinctive back and forth sway as you hold her. “But not all of them. Your dad, Hitoshi and I won’t be angry if you’re sick because we want to take care of you”.

Aizawa’s earlier expression flashes unbidden through your thoughts. What he had interpreted had been fear, but not for the reasons he initially thought. Eri was not scared of him — she just didn’t want him to know she was sick. No doubt, if he had caught wind of her fever he would have called off work completely.

While she doesn’t speak about her past to you, it's clear the adults in Eri’s life before entering foster care had treated her needs as something burdensome. Your gaze drifts to the bandages on her forearms and realise they may have even harmed her for it.

“I bet these feel all sticky and uncomfortable now, huh?” you’re cautious to trace the protective sleeves with the pad of your finger. As expected, they’re sweaty.

She readjusts in your grip, a sheen of perspiration across pink skin. Panic at bay, now she is exhausted. “Sticky,” she weakly agrees.

“Then how about I run you a bath?”

It’s this that leads to you finally seeing the extent of Eri’s scars.

When you settle her into the tepid water, your eyes do not linger on mottled skin. Expression carefully schooled into something familiarly pleasant, you keep your thoughts in the present, away from the horrific what ifs and the whys. Unawares of your inner struggle, Eri raises her cupped hands steeped with bubbles and blows them across the bathroom with a tired smile. Having earned so much of her trust is not unlike Atlas, the heavens on your back.

You find Eri enjoys routine even while sick, but she isn’t especially particular about it and for that you’re thankful, as she is forgiving of your initial clumsiness. She uses the lavender bubble bath because it soothes her, not the raspberry scented wash. Eri’s towels are softer and brighter than Aizawa’s, and the difference is important because they are hers. Socks are stifling, so you needn’t lay them out. The nightlight stays on when the curtains are closed, but you still need to leave a crack in the door for Sourpuss and Bastard, who’ve both dutifully stationed themselves outside her bedroom.

You turn around and fuss with her bedsheets while she changes into something thin and light. The pyjama top is on backwards, and after retracting her arms into the shirt so you can swivel it around correctly, she clambers into the quilts. Dekiru: The Can Do Hero was her chosen story. Satisfaction thrums through your chest as her eyes start to grow heavy, a damp cloth wrung out and placed across her forehead.

There’s a pull to your sternum as you leave her room, dipoles strengthening and compelling you to stay — to make sure she’s still alright. Bastard and Sourpuss watch you with bright eyes, pupils needle-thin. Something very human in you feels as if they’re saying thank you.

More importantly, you need to text Aizawa.

You : 11:16

Just thought to update you. I think Eri might have a virus, or a stomach bug. She’s okay and resting.

Aizawa Shouta : 11:20

Do you need me to come home?

You : 11:21

We’re okay, but do whatever you think is best. Will let you know if anything worsens.

When he eventually returns home it is with cold-bitten cheeks and tension in his brow. A long day looks good on him, you think, stray hair falling loose from his bun and the collar of his shirt crooked. “Any more problems?” he asks with veiled trepidation.

“She’s alright for now,” you don’t bother hiding the wry smile that pulls at your mouth, “I heard all about the different voices you use when you read to her. Apparently I don’t hold a candle to you. Didn’t think you were the type”.

He holds your gaze with intent, “I’m full of surprises”.

You exhale a laugh, quiet and warm behind closed lips, “I’m starting to see that”.

“Only just?” his initial teasing slowly retracts, a gradual sink back into melancholy. “Is she really okay?”

“Still slightly feverish, but her temperature is down from thirty eight to thirty seven…” your weight shifts between each foot as you internally debate how to inform him of the panic attack. Aizawa lends an ear while he removes his coat, and the soft hair on your arm lifts at the chill still clinging to his clothes. You imagine taking his hands into your own and coaxing the blood back to his fingers.

“Speaking of temperature, let’s get you some coffee”. Already boiled and percolating on the counter, you’d made it in conjunction with his journey home as you always did. A little extra something you enjoyed doing for him. Aizawa would say that you do plenty in taking care of his family — but this was just for the two of you.

A quiet moment together, kitchen dimly lit in the oncoming twilight. With this, you can warm him from the inside and out. With this, you can tell him without words, I was thinking of you.

You stand opposite him, boxed into the narrow space. He appraises you from his place by the sink, leaning back casually against the counter. Heat settles in your belly before your first sip. Eyes never leaving yours over the rim of his mug, Aizawa drinks, and hums a low, pleased sound at the taste.

The sting to your palms tethers you to the present. A light, somewhat floral aroma fills your senses as you inhale. You lift your own coffee to your mouth, blowing away the plumes of steam. It is rich on your tongue.

Your gaze lingers where he licks his lower lip. “It’s a little different this time. Almost… spicy and sweet?”

Smile hidden behind your mug, you say, “I tried steeping cardamom with the coffee grounds this time. Do you like it?”

“I do,” he murmurs. He takes another sip, wearing a subdued smile of his own. In the muted light, it accentuates the bags beneath his eyes. Even in his contentment, there’s a pensive air about him that lets you know his thoughts are elsewhere.

With his daughter.

“You should know that after you left this morning I found Eri having a panic attack”.

“Shit,” he halts. Regrettably, the frown is back. “Did she hurt herself?”

“No! No,” you demurred, hastening to reassure him, “I knew what to do. She was scared at first, but I calmed her down”.

The mouth you’re so enticed by is caught between teeth, his fingers tapping restlessly against the ceramic of his cup. Aizawa sighs, erring on a scoff as he places the half drunk coffee in the sink and scrubs a hand against the stubble on his jaw.

“Do you know what caused it?” he asks. Did I do something wrong? you hear.

“It wasn’t until she let me touch her that I realised she had a fever. I thought she’d just exerted herself during the attack,” you mirror his actions, setting aside your mug carefully on the countertop. “She told me… before she came into your care, adults would be angry if she needed help or got sick”.

His eyes are cast to the floor, in a haze almost. He nods but you aren’t sure that your words are registering. Resting against sternum, his hand clenched into a fist.

“Eri wasn’t scared of you. She just didn’t want you to know about her fever because she feared it would disrupt your work,” and then gently, to truly make sure he understands, you repeat: “she isn’t scared of you, Shouta”.

He breathes the reality in and slacks against the counter with an exhale, as if the tension had been the only thing holding his strings together. You’re drawn forward by the urge to comfort him, moving into his space with a hand laid overtop fist before you’re able to consider the professional consequences of crossing such boundaries.

But he doesn’t bat you away or scold you. The warmth of your touch slowly softens his grip until you’re able to unfurl each finger without fanfare. There are faint crescent moons embedded into the heel of his palm. Without speaking, Shouta overturns his wrist and holds your hand again.

“I thought about what you told me this morning. About none of this being linear,” he continues to speak somberly, his voice so tender you felt you could marinate in it. “Eri started out as a foster with me when she was four. It was awful at the start — constant appointments with doctors and the police and social services. I’ve temporarily fostered a few kids in my time but a case as severe as Eri's was a first”.

This wasn’t a time to interrupt, just to listen. You can’t look away from him as he looks at you; looks at the space between your bodies where you currently intertwine, like he was memorising every dip and peak of your knuckles.

“Adopting her scared the hell out of me. Even though she’d become my daughter in every way that counts, there were always times I worried I’d fuck it up. Still are,” he murmurs. You do not shy away when he peers up to keep your gaze. ��But you reminded me that bad days are expected, not something always within my control, and not a reflection of my parenting”.

To anyone looking in from the outside, this would be an intimate moment. You and Shouta, curved toward one another like coupled swans. “Thank you,” he squeezes around your knuckles in successive beats as if to press the sentiment into your skin. “For taking care of both of us”.

The corners of his eyes wrinkle, and you find yourself on the precipice of something more.

The depths and the possibilities that lie within haunt you through to the weekend. You cannot forget the rough pad of his thumb stroking across your knuckles, the intermingling scent of flora and cologne, or how easily you could have dipped forward to kiss him.

Eri remains sick for two days and Shouta promises you it’s fine that you stay home. You can appreciate that he wants to spend time with her, to assure her that he is a safe and constant presence in her life. Still, you miss them far more than you should.

Your best friends don’t take well to moping. Touya and Rumi are not the type to mope — their stubborn, vindictive natures were a large part of why you loved them. You just much preferred it when those qualities were not inflicted upon you.

“Remind me again why we couldn’t just drink at my apartment?”

You are dragged to a little hole in the wall Touya had found during your university years. It’s slightly industrial, a wide open space with tall, steel beams spaced around the room. What differs is the warmth; lighting low, muted orange bulb fixtures in the centre of each table casting an intimate glow, accompanied by soft acoustic music overhead.

A large drinks bar had been built into the centre, corners slightly rounded with stools around the outer — one of which you have taken for yourself. The three of you sit together on the curved edge so you can face one another, Rumi contented to be in the middle. Being here felt similar to huddling around a campfire, or candlelight. Alcohol insulating your bones and loosening your tongue, easy laughter shared with friends.

You were brought here on a quest for distraction, and yet—

“I don’t think you understand how dire this is,” you bemoan, feeling yourself pout at Touya’s self indulgent eye roll. “He tells me to be good before he leaves now, too. Looks right at me and says ‘be good, both of you’”.

Your initial goal may have been overly optimistic.

“Like a bit of praise, don’t ya?” Rumi laughs.

Touya smirks, wiping away a stray bead of soju from his mouth as his eyes sweep across the bar. “Who doesn’t?”

“It isn’t funny,” limp wristed as you swirl the sweet tasting concoction in your glass, Rumi slips her arm along the back of your stool. “I want to kiss him. All the time!”

A hand rubs firm circles between your shoulder blades. At the very least, neither of them are irritated by the topic. Embarrassing to admit, Aizawa Shouta had featured prominently in your group chat over the past month. Most of their responses have been either good natured teasing or detailing complaints about their own love lives, for which you’d been thankful, because at the time you’d only needed a place to vent and an ear to listen.

Now you weren’t so sure. Heartbeat in your mouth, his phantom touch around your fingers. You knew him sleep mussed and lazy, his low rumbling laugh, the way your name sounds when he smiles. Inch by inch the spool unravels, you take more than you need, left wanting still.

You couldn’t pretend a line had not been crossed anymore, and you tell them as much.

“So, we’re actually talking about this now?” Touya asks, waving his hand between the three of you. “I know we’ve been joking and shit, but if we’re getting serious I’ll need another round”.

Though he acts nonchalant, you can tell Touya cares. Turned inward to face you and leant forward across the bar with his cheek against his palm, the scarred skin slightly glossy as it pulls taut. Where his words say very little, his body speaks for him. Rumi coos and throws her other arm around his shoulders when you reach across, and he reciprocates in taking your hand.

“Dumbass,” he mutters. “We’re here for you. But I’m not joking about that drink”. You grin, tucking your head into the crook of Rumi’s neck, draped beneath white, to return the hug while she waves over the bartender. Another grapefruit soju, a kirin lager and a cocktail of the night.

Words come easy when you’re loose-lipped. “I’m anxious that it’s obvious to him,” you say. “Fuck. I don’t wanna make anyone uncomfortable”.

“Is this Aizawa guy really the type to tolerate anything that makes him uncomfortable?”

“I think so…”— he is, and he would, if it were for someone he cares about —“…But not without saying anything about it”.

“There ya go then,” Rumi replies, exhaling happily at the end of a long sip from her pint glass. “And you’ve told us before that he’s always honest with you. What was it you said…?”

Touya clears his throat and warps the pitch of his voice to mimic your own, “Why is emotional maturity and clear communication so hot?”

“Fuck off,” you laugh, heat thrumming beneath your skin. You wished you had a stray straw wrapper to flick at him, jokingly adding, “it is hot. I love you, but not all of us get off on being ignored, y’know.”

“Sue me,” he jests, narrowing his eyes into a drunken glare that at best, looks like a squint. “And I don’t get ignored. I do the ignoring”.

Noticing his empty bottle, Rumi slides him her glass sympathetically, “sure ya do”.

The bar is notably less empty than it had been an hour ago. Not full by any means, but the music has slowly been overwhelmed by the quiet lull of overlapping conversation. Tuning out the lovable bickering at your side, you take a moment to appraise the new crowd.

Something sinks into the pit of your stomach and you baulk, caught on a familiar sight.

Fuck, you think. How long has he been there?

There he sits, aglow with the sunset hue affixed to the centre of his table. Hair loose, ebony drapes over his shoulders. He’s in a pale turtleneck sweater, looking distinctly out of place. Beside him a lean man, bright in demeanour and loud across the room; a blond braid follows the line of his spine, tinted glasses resting on the end of his nose.

A woman approaches the pair, beaming. Curved and soft, wearing a lilac, off the shoulder dress that hugs the line of her body comfortably. She sets a tray of drinks down beside their numerous empty glasses and presses herself between the two, unperturbed by the lack of space.

A spark of recognition frissons through you. They must be the friends you often see framed around the house; Nemuri and Hizashi, if you remember correctly.

Shouta’s clear exasperation as he moves to accommodate Nemuri makes you want to laugh. But still, there is a fondness there that rolls over him like mist. He sinks into the arm around his shoulder, surrendering himself to the affection.

“Oi. What’re you staring at?” You blink, startled by the large hand suddenly waving in your face.

“He’s here”.

“Your hot dadboss?” Touya mutters, doing a poor job of acting natural as he abruptly turns to scan the room, “where?”

“Could you be any more fucking obvious?” Rumi cackles, bumping their shoulders and forcing his attention back to the table. “‘Sides, it’s clearly the trio on your two o’clock. Scruffy guy with long dark hair, eyebags that couldn’t legally board a plane — the works”.

As Touya peers over his shoulder towards Shouta, you release a long, suffering groan, slumping forward with elbows propped on the bar surface to bury into your palms. You hoped a sinkhole would open up beneath you. From behind your hands you hear, “I find your taste in men questionable”.

“Like you have any room to talk,” you glare at him through the spaces in your fingers, “didn’t you fuck a guy that had a poster of your dad over his bed?”

Seated adjacent, Rumi chokes on her drink while you knock back your own. “A poster of your dad? Hasn't he been publicly disgraced in every print media possible?”

A dismissive wave of his hand. “I will not be commenting at this time,” he sneers.

“Holy shit. I’m gonna tell your brothers—”

“—Like hell you are!”

Amidst your friends' loving exchange of insults, your phone buzzes.

Aizawa Shouta : 21:34

You handle your drink better than I thought.

Sensing the playful tone, you pointedly take a sip of another. Glancing up from the screen you meet his eyes across the bar, a smirk hidden behind his scotch glass. Chewing the inside of your cheek to withhold a grin, you text him back.

You : 21:34

Look who’s talking. I spy four empty glasses on your side of the table.

“Are you seriously messaging him right now?” Touya asks dryly, unperturbed by the middle finger you throw in response. Rumi laughs at his side, tucking her chin into the palm of her hand as your phone lights up again.

Aizawa Shouta : 21:36

You sure are paying a lot of attention to me.

And then:

Aizawa Shouta : 21:36

But you’re right. No doubt I’ll miss your coffee tomorrow morning.

A shot glass is placed in front of you. Goaded into bringing it to your lips, you grimace at the burn in your throat. Coffee sounds like bliss.

You : 21:37

I’ll miss making it. Who is watching Eri?

Aizawa Shouta : 21:37

Hitoshi. They’re having a movie marathon.

You smile to yourself, imagining the apoplectic way in which Eri would likely detail her night to you in a few days. Feeling the weighted stare, you glance up and meet Aizawa’s eyes again, half squinted into a private smile of his own. He nods in acknowledgement and warmth settles in your chest. Rumi, inebriated and loose-lipped, leans into Touya incognisant of his scowl, “Jesus. I feel like I’ve stepped into a romcom”.

You : 21:38

I can’t wait to hear all about it.

It is expected that they stay with you after a night out. Your place is closer to the bar — a matter of routine and convenience. Rumi, lightweight with alcohol and heavyweight with musculature, passes out unceremoniously on your couch before she’s halfway through her large glass of water.

Touya had sobered up on the walk home. Mostly. Just a two man party, you retire to the bathroom together with intentions of skin care and gossip. He watches you in the reflection of the mirror, bent over the sink and applying the pale clay mask to his face with careless strokes. The colour is almost identical to the faded pink of his burn scars, tight and slightly raised over the swell of his cheek. “You’re not the first person who has wanted to fuck their boss and you won’t be the last,” he mutters.

“Do you really have to put it like that?” you huff, leaning back against the toilet tank. The seat is closed and cold against the back of your thighs. You didn’t often have time for nights like this anymore, but made sure to pencil them in wherever possible for your own sanity — even if your best friend was the complete opposite of comforting.

“You’re so delicate,” he rolls his eyes at you, pushing the cat-eared headband further onto his crown to keep his hair out of the clay. Mockingly, he adds, “My apologies. I meant ‘make sweet love to’”.

Your wide smile cracks the clay dried to your skin as your leg extends to kick him behind the knee, laughing at the hissed string of expletives while he steadies himself. “Dick…” the amusement tapers, a memory of Eri flashing unbidden through your mind.

“His daughter has had it really rough. She has scars all over her body,” you quietly tell him, fractures forming in the words as your emotions swell. Of all the people you know, you think he alone understands, “it isn’t fair”.

Touya exhales, clicking the small container shut and loudly dropping the brush into the sink to rinse. Not unkindly, he says, “If I ever meet her we can bond over our shitty biodads. Make an exclusive club”.

You smile weakly at his comment, picking idly at the small wick of flesh embedded in the corner of your fingernail. “They’re both so important to me now, Touya. I don’t want my feelings to mess with this, or to hurt either of them”.

“It’s not— look,” he huffs, turning to face you where he stands, slumping back onto the counter with a comically serious expression. “I’ll say this once. Your feelings aren’t a burden, and they’re fucking lucky to have you. If the-walking-dead doesn’t want you back it doesn’t mean it’s the end of the world, but it does mean he’s an idiot”.

You might laugh again if you didn’t recognise how sincere he was being. Touya struggled with reassuring others in need and was renowned for giving terrible advice, but he loved you enough to try anyway. Tiled flooring tepid against the soles of your feet, you cross the short distance to hug him, angled awkwardly to avoid getting pink clay on his shirt.

“Thank you,” you murmur thickly.

“Better appreciate it. Being nice isn’t my forte,” he knocks his chin against your crown, comforted in the narrow clutch of his arms. “Takes a lot outta me. Kinda feel like I need a cigarette now”.

“You haven’t had one in a month. Don’t even think about it,” you flick the space between his brows, dodging his retaliation as he reaches to pinch your waist with a less than coordinated stumble.

Out in the living room on the edge of your coffee table, your phone buzzes twice.

Aizawa Shouta : 00:08

If you’re free tomorrow, can you come over to talk?

Aizawa Shouta : 00:08

Just us two.

Possibilities ran amok in your head. The anxiety thorning through your chest is reminiscent of the very first time you’d met him. Shouta was not a religious man but if there was anything that man insisted on, it was that Sunday’s are for rest. You knew he liked to lie in, a small weekly respite, and so you hesitated to knock.

A door you had opened, locked, leaned against and lingered under, now seemed so foreboding. From here on out, you imagine there will be a before and an after. Had he heard you in the bar? Had one of his friends? Or, had you been too obvious, just like you feared?

Touya and Rumi had practically ushered you out of the apartment that morning, promising to stay behind and wait for an update. Greasy food and camp horror movies were in the wings incase of a broken heart.

With bated breath, you lift your arm. The momentum of your swing slows until your knuckles are soundlessly touching wood. You really, really didn’t want to knock. The idea of your feelings being spurned far outweighed the desire to see Shouta soaked in sleep and early afternoon sunlight again.

Amidst your trepidation, the decision is made for you. You pull back at the familiar click of a key being turned, hand now clutched against your chest. The door is opened.

Belatedly, you notice that his face is clean shaven; hair combed and half tucked behind his ear to display the smooth skin. Absent is the neon pink, today the sweatpants are dark and cuffed around his ankles. You hold his gaze, resolutely avoiding how his shirt hangs loose enough to expose his pale collarbones, and find that each of his socks is a different colour — one green, one yellow.

“Will you be loitering out here all day?” he asks in lieu of a greeting. There’s an amused inflection to his tone that, at the very least, softens your embarrassment.

“I didn’t plan on it,” you reply, stepping into the entryway to be embraced by the house’s warmth. Anticipation strums deft fingers through your centre of gravity. Shouta barely moves, a hair's breadth between your bodies as you slip by him, head turning to watch you pass. “Eri isn’t here?”

Bending to remove your shoes, you hear him say, “She’s staying with her aunt Nemuri tonight. Coffee’s brewed, so you can sit if you want. Get comfortable”.

“You made it?” playful in the way you glance toward him over your shoulder, slightly invigorated by how natural this all feels. He certainly doesn’t look like a man who’s about to fire you — quite the opposite. “I’m a little scared”.

The first time you’d caved into drinking one of his morning coffees it'd had the taste and texture of tar. It had been nothing short of punishment. As if he was reliving the memory alongside you, Shouta huffs a short laugh.

“I’ve improved. I won’t be shown up in my own home,” he dismisses you with a wave and heads into the kitchen, “now go and sit”.

Bastard observes your entrance perched atop the back of the couch, expression etched into a permanent glare. A soft thud follows his leap down, slinking into your lap once seated and rolling his body weight into your stomach. You smile down at him, carding through his soft fur and feeling the vibration of his purr beneath your fingers.

Befriending this fickle little creature is a testament to how far you’ve come with their family.

“Here,” you look up to see Shouta standing before you, a familiar mug decorated with multicoloured pawprints held out. You take it by the handle, wary of its heat. The other end of the couch dips as he settles beside you, notably close.

“It smells a little like… cinnamon?”

He hums an affirmative, bringing the rim of his mug to his lips and taking a long sip, unconcerned by the temperature. “I added some to the pot this time. Not too bad”.

The tawny surface ripples as you lightly blow across it before having a taste. It’s full on your tongue, but in a way that is creamy rather than viscid. You can feel his stare boring into the side of your face as you savour the subtle sweetness of the cinnamon.

“Not too bad,” you echo with a wry smile, meeting his gaze. Shouta appears uncharacteristically… relieved by your answer. You’d never known him to actively try to impress you. His shoulders relax, rubbing his hand awkwardly along the line of his jaw.

Without forethought, you blurt, “You’ve shaved”.

His movement halts, and you regret having said anything.

“I did,” he replies dryly. “...I was pestered by some very annoying people into putting some effort into my appearance before we had this conversation”

You stroke the pad of your thumb around your mug handle, made restless by the implication. Shouta was always effortlessly considerate of you, but his actions as of late are so obviously purposeful, and you didn’t know what to make of it. “I don’t think you needed to,” you tell him, your voice almost wistful in how sincere it sounds. “The scruffy look works for you. It’s handsome”.

The contact breaks for a moment as he lifts his coffee in effort to disguise his snort. You watch his throat bob, swallowing deeply. Brow quirked, he asks, “You think I’m scruffy?”

“I think you’re handsome,” you correct, a giddy sensation bubbling in your chest as the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Stop fishing, you said I’m here to talk about something”.

“You are,” he agrees, abating his mirth and returning to a more serious tone. You immediately miss the warmth. “I’m no good at this kind of thing. But I want to remind you that you can leave, if at any time I make you uncomfortable”.

Bastard fidgets, but dull claws kneading through your clothes does nothing to alleviate your sudden anxiety. “Alright… What’s— what’s all this about?”

You can see the breath he takes to steady himself, the internal monologue you aren’t privy to. There’s a discomfort that sinks into his expression, almost like a grimace. Like predetermined regret. Despite your earlier concerns, this was clearly about him and not about you.

“I admired from the very beginning how brilliant you were with Eri. You weren’t the first nanny we’d been introduced to, but she never took well to any of the others,” as he begins, you tuck a hand beneath the feline in your lap, distractedly stroking his chin. “We both saw something comforting in you. It was unnerving how easily you fit into our lives”.

Mirroring you, Shouta reaches his free hand across to scratch behind Bastard's ear. “Eri came to love you, and eventually I…” the bridge of his nose wrinkles, lips thinning as if he tasted something sour. You’re both hesitating, teetering over a cliff's edge, wary of the jump. Your pulse beats loud in your ears, and part of you worries you’ll mishear him all together.

“Over time, I developed strong romantic feelings for you,” he says. In admitting it, the fight visibly bleeds from his body. He sounds apologetic, and it hurts. “I might have dealt with it myself had Hitoshi not told me I was being too obvious. If that’s the case, and I’ve crossed any boundaries with you I want to apolo—”

“Don’t apologise,” you hastily interrupt. “Sorry for cutting you off. I— I didn’t know, but, I like you too”.

The grip on your mug is shatteringly tight. He stares at you unblinking, eyes widened in imperceptible surprise. “You do?”

“I thought I was embarrassingly obvious,” You laugh weakly, seconding him another glance. He’s still watching, a light shade of pink creeping up his neck. “I’ve been feeling so guilty. Not only about crossing professional lines, but because I don’t want any of this to hurt Eri”.

“Then we’re on the same page,” he concedes.

Your reciprocation sees a shift in atmosphere. As you both soak in the words, and all the consequences that may follow, his hand gradually slips beneath Bastard’s chin and brushes against your own. Fingers twitch, gluttonous, the moment held in suspension.

And then they’re spreading, unfolding like a flower in bloom. Your palms align and stems intertwine. Shouta holds your hand like it’s something precious, filling the spaces between your fingers. Bastard remains incognisant of the world around him as he sleeps, resting his head heavily against your wrists.

“Realistically,” you begin again, after a brief silence. “Where would you want this to go? Between us”.

His grip tightens, and he runs his thumb along the points of your knuckles. “Well. I initiated this discussion knowing things likely would not be the same again after,” he murmurs gently. “Best case scenario, I hoped either we would come up with a schedule that kept more concrete boundaries in place so my feelings wouldn’t disrupt your relationship with Eri, or I’d get lucky and you’d want to build something more with me”.

More. Maw. The aching hunger in your heart is suddenly startlingly prominent. The very thing you’d been wanting for, offered to you on a silver platter. Knowing he had always planned to keep you in Eri’s life strikes a chord, and you feel like you might cry.

Squeezing his hand back, you blink away the sting in your sinuses. “This is… slightly overwhelming”.

He smiles heistantly. You never thought you’d see the day that Aizawa Shouta looked shy. “Do I need to get the feelings chart?”

“Shut up,” you laugh. “I’m just happy. This is a big thing, and it’s about more than just us, but for now... I’m happy”.

Then, with the lines in the sand patently smoothed over, you relinquish restraint and lean into his shoulder. He rests his cheek against your temple, and you shape around one another instinctively. “If I could be the one to pick, then I think I’d choose to build something more with you”.

“Yeah?” There’s a raspy baritone warming his voice that pulls at your centre. You want to curl up next to it like kindling.

“Yeah”.

“So,” he turns his head and his lips are softer than expected along your skin. “You wouldn’t mind if I took you on a date?”

“I wouldn’t,” you breathe. He hums, a sincere happy little sound.

“Would you mind if I kissed you?”

The mug of coffee, still held in your right hand, is cold. Bastard remains heavy, spread across your lap like a blanket. You can feel Shouta’s apprehension, the uncertainty that comes with drawing new lines on a blank slate. Again, you repeat, “I wouldn’t”.

He doesn’t fumble. Shouta rests his drink beside the couch, a fleeting loss of his warmth, and then he’s back to take your own. All without releasing your left hand. Bastard complains when your legs move, knees turning inwards to face him as Aizawa moves to cradle your face between palms, and the feline departs your lap, stray hairs dotting your clothes.

A sense of weightlessness floods through you, fingers entangling into the fabric of his shirt to keep yourself tethered. He reveres you for a moment, eyes lingering on your expression as he brings your foreheads together. This close, you can see a faint scar curved along his cheek that you had never noticed before.

“You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs.

Heat pricks at your skin. You can feel his breath on your lips. “Hurry up,” you insist.

The lilt of desperation in your tone inspires a lazy grin, “You could say please”.

You had no problems parting with your dignity. “Please”.

And so, he kisses you.

You’re certain you would be formless without Shouta’s hand smoothing along the column of your throat, untethered. The other moves to your hip. He grounds you, thumbs circling the soft skin of your waist, he pulls away for breath only to dip and capture your lips in another tender kiss. It’s slow, patient and lacking in direction. It’s without expectation and arousal. It is just that — loving.

When your lips part, he murmurs your name softly into your mouth. His tongue is wet and languid, smooth as it maps out the grooves of your teeth, sliding warm against your own. Excitement frissons along the length of your spine, compelling you to press closer and sate your hunger.

He tastes like cinnamon.

The touches evolve into something more frantic. You end up curled into him as he sinks back against the couch, half pulling you onto his lap. Appreciative and firm, a hand squeezes the fat of your thigh where it is strewn over his knee. You swallow every sweet murmuring, every soft groan he gives you, and it falls like a small stone into the pit of your stomach. Barely filling.

You wanted more, and between gasping breaths, you knew he did too.

“Can I take you to bed?” he asks, the question rough in his throat.

The muscles in your legs clench at that, pressing tightly together. It wasn’t that you didn’t want it— you felt yourself throb at the thought, shrinking under the weight of his hunger — but you’d hardly come here expecting anything. Especially not this.

“I— I didn’t come prepared for that?” you answer honestly. His gaze grows heavy, brow curved in a silent bid for explanation. “I didn’t… shower for very long,” and you hadn’t worn particularly alluring underwear, either.

He takes a measured breath and you shy into the couch cushions. “You think I care about that?” he says. Your eyes flicker then at the gentle stroke of his fingers along your jawline. He tilts your chin with the hand cradling your cheek, and forces you to look back at him. The pad of his thumb traces along your bottom lip, and he smiles when you reflexively kiss it.

“We don’t have to, I know this might be too fast. We can stop right here, ” he murmurs, enunciating each word as if to stress his sincerity. “But know that I do want you, I want all of you. And I want you now, as you are”.

You shift in place, reflexively seeking friction. Still, he waits. “Do you have condoms?”

“I do,” his eyes are half lidded, and they gleam with mirth. “Two kids at home and twenty in my criminology programme. Not looking to have more anytime soon”.

Maybe your transparency should be, at the very least, a little embarrassing. No doubt you’re wearing a lovesick expression. But you can’t find it in you to care. “Then okay,” you tell him. “Take me upstairs”.

Excitement stirs in your gut during the walk up, feeling his presence at the small of your back. The door to his room has been left ajar, and when he overtakes you to enter first you’re struck by the realisation that this is the only room you’ve never been in.

You aren’t sure what you were expecting. It’s a cool off white colour, save for an accent wall painted a dark emerald green — so dark, that without the sunlight you could mistake it for black, not unlike his kitchen. There are two alcoves fixed with shelves, lined with books and titles you haven’t heard of, and a small desk beside his chest of drawers covered in paperwork.

The bedframe is high, but there is no headboard. Pillows upon pillows, blankets old and new. Sitting square in the middle of the mattress is Sourpuss, her paws tucked against her belly as she stares at the intrusion.

You aren’t given much time to process. There are hands on your hips, teeth paving tender nips down the curve of your throat. “Still ok?” Shouta rasps, nosing the delicate skin beneath your ear.

“Yeah,” and you’re sinking into his chest like warm water as he gently guides you into the room. Before reaching the bed, you turn in his arms to kiss him. Your fingers thread into his thick hair, light as you scratch against his scalp.

Sourpuss complains when you’re lowered onto the bed, jumping to the floor as you scoot up towards the pillows. You offer her a half hearted apology, already distracted by the roll of Shouta’s hips.

His cock is hard beneath his sweatpants, rocking deliciously against your clothed sex. Everything is hot. “Shouta—!” face turned into the sheets to muffle your whine, you note that they smell like him.

“I know love,” he ruts forward again, expression pinched in pleasure. With your throat bared, he continues the path of open mouthed kisses to your collar, a hand rising to cup your chest. You arch into the touch as he squeezes. “Bet you could make me cum like this—”

“—But not before you do,” Another kiss to your lips, chaste in comparison. He pulls away to meet your gaze, seeking permission. “I want to taste you”.

“Okay…” you tilt your chin, pecking the corner of his mouth, and you feel it curve up as your hands find purchase at the hem of his shirt. “Just take this off, first”.

When he sits back on his knees, arms crossed to lift the fabric over his head, you are left adrift to enjoy the view. He is well built but appears to have lost definition over time, with his biceps and pecs still thick but his stomach soft. There’s sparse hair on his chest, thicker beneath his belly button.

Indulging the urge to touch, he shudders as you trace your finger through it and tease his waistband. “Yours too,” he says, the instruction rough in his throat.

His body moves with yours like the tide as you sit up to remove your shirt, already there to lick the valley between your breasts. You wrap your arms around his head, gathering the dark hair draped over you and brushing it away from his face to watch the way he reveries you.

Your abdomen flinches under his soft kisses. Shouta travels the length of your torso as if he were savouring you. He’s pressing sweet nothings in your skin, inaudible mumblings that still leave you warm because they’re spoken so breathlessly.

He hooks into your waistband and looks at you. Before he can ask, you slip your hands alongside his — “here, let me…” — and begin to push both your pants and your underwear over the curve of your ass. As the material peels away, you can feel it cling to your sex. Wet.

“Fuck, look at you,” a hand gently parts your knees. He forges another line of light, barely there kisses along your inner thighs, and once he reaches the apex he inhales with a quiet groan that has your fingers tugging at his hair. He’s immovable as your embarrassment pushes him back barely an inch, satisfaction twitching at the edge of his mouth. Jaw slack, pupils dilated and almost gleaming in rebellion, he rolls his tongue forward obscenely to flick the bud of your clit.

Your breathing stutters. It loosens your grip enough that he can tip his head forward to consume you completely, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure like it was his arousal own being satiated. Covetous, he signals contentment with a rumbling in his chest and it vibrates against your sex.

The beat of your heart ricochets through your centre; pulsing in your throat, your ears and your pussy. Shouta’s tongue slides over you, wet and soft. Where it seems like he’s indulging himself, you realise he’s still adapting each movement to the sounds you make. Wherever a moan falls past your lips he maintains rhythm and pace, reins himself in to watch the rise and fall of your breasts.

The knot in your belly tightens and your body coils in on itself, thighs clamped against his ears with hips bucking into his mouth. The mattress shakes, and when you notice it’s him rutting into the sheets, you moan helplessly louder. “Shouta, I’m—!”

He groans, fingers sinking into the fat of your hips and pulling you impossibly close. Your heels dig into his back as his nose slides against your clit, and he tilts to unrelentingly flicker his tongue over the swell.

“Just like that,” you gasp, grip searing at his scalp. Lewd, wet sounds reverberate around the room. “Fuck!”

A momentary breath is caught in your throat. Your body bends, spine arched forward like a bow as you crest. All at once, the sharp twist in your belly lessens, diffuses, warms your body from the inside out in gentle pulses.

In returning to yourself, you realise he’s steadily carrying you through the motions; soft licks and forgiving kisses until sensitivity overwhelms you. He hums again, like a man that has just finished a meal. You relinquish your grip on his hair and begin massaging the roots in apology.

“Hey,” you mumble, resting your cheek against your shoulder as you peer down at him between your legs. Resting against your thigh, face sodden and pink, he looks rather pleased with himself.

He sighs, tongue lazily swiping along his lower lip. Half lidded, he meets your gaze. “Can I preface this by telling you it's been a while since I've had sex?”

You laugh at the unexpected response. “What, why? Did you cum in your pants?”

The question itself is a joke, but when he levels you with a carefully blank look, your mouth parts. “You did?”

“Possibly,” he grunts, tucking his chin to nose along your navel.

Sensing his simmering embarrassment, you reach to encourage him back up the bed until you’re face to face. Unperturbed by what's left of your own arousal, you cradle his jaw and kiss him soundly.

“That’s so—” again and again, punctuating each word, “—so fucking hot”.

Shouta grins against your lips, slipping his arms around your waist and gathering you to his chest. Your palm rests over his heart, fingers idly twirling around the short hair there. “So were you,” he murmurs, pointedly shifting his hips. You can feel his sweatpants are slightly damp. “That was the problem”.

“Sorry,” you offer playfully, enjoying the pleasant buzz prickling under your skin. “It doesn’t matter. We’ve got plenty of time, haven’t we?”

It is then that your intimate afterglow is cut short, by the long suffering yowl of Sourpuss no less. Glaring sharply from her place by the desk, mortification rolls over you.

“Please tell me she wasn’t watching us?”

Shouta snorts, the sound dissolving into peals of quiet laughter as you smack his shoulder. “I don’t know,” he replies amusedly, loosening his grip and turning to the edge of the bed. “I was a little preoccupied”.

He stands and ushers the feline towards the door, which he’d mistakenly left ajar. “I can’t believe this,” you bemoan, crossing your arms over your head to hide your face.

There’s a dip on your side of the mattress, followed by the sound of something being placed on the bedside table. He sits beside you, leaning across to pry away your limbs. “Come here,” he croons, first bringing your inner wrist to his lips. “I’m sure she wasn’t”.

His hair curtains the two of you as he presses your foreheads together. It brings you back into a world made up of just the two of you. “Let me kiss you,” and you do. You can appreciate the distraction.

You part when something vibrates. In your peripheral vision, you notice a screen light up. He must’ve taken your phone out of your pants pocket. “You should check that, it buzzed earlier too. I’m gonna get out of these boxers”.

“Okay,” you smile as he presses another kiss to your temple. You never would’ve guessed he’d be so affectionate.

He busies himself changing while you look at your messages. It’s the group chat with Rumi and Touya.

Sugar tits (Touya) : 13:03

Oi. Are you alive.

Ru-ru (Rumi) : 13:12

Babe. Please reply to us before Touya sets ur mans house on fire lol

You : 13:26

Sorry sorry!! I’m alive. My legs feel like jelly though (´ ꒳` )

Almost immediately, the device is furiously vibrating in your hands again. You rest it against your sternum and grin, choosing to bask in the feeling a little longer.

When you are next tasked with caring for Eri, a few days have passed and the weather has turned. You pick her up from school on the tail end of an unexpected heatwave with the promise of a surprise when you get home. She holds three of your fingers in her hand, and a small handheld fan in the other. It’s Sailor Moon themed.

After cleaning up that afternoon, Shouta sat with you and had a much longer discussion about what the next steps should be. He made it emphatically clear that he didn’t enjoy the thought of being in a relationship with someone he employed — admittedly, it didn’t sit right with you either.

But the importance lies with Eri. For the both of you, she must always come first. Your sudden upheaval as her other caretaker would likely cause a lot of hurt and confusion. So Shouta asked that you patiently wait for your first date until after he has talked to his daughter.

You watch her with a smile as she warmly greets Sourpuss at the foot of the stairs — whom you still cannot make eye contact with — and skips into the living room. In your mind, you count backwards from three until you hear the expected gasp.

She must’ve found the fort.

Less of a fort, more of a… linen cave. It’s an old king-sized bed sheet you’d found in the closet, held in place by a book at each corner, and gaping open with the assistance of a fan at the entrance.

“Can I…?”

“Yes, yes,” you beckon her to climb in, already relieved by the cool gust of air rotating into the sheet. “Go on in. It’s for you!”

You’d tried to make it as comfortable as possible, filled with cushions and soft toys from her bed. At the very least it has a seal of approval from Bastard, who has curled up into himself atop one of the pillows, his long coat moving in the current. Eri crawls in on her hands and knees, settling beside him with a happy giggle.

“You too!” She cheers. You clamber in, tucked between her and one of her favourite plushies.

“Come on,” you say, grinning as you excitedly encourage her to join you, “watch this”. With curious eyes watching, you lean towards the spinning fan and speak into it. “Isn’t this cool?” your voice is given a jarring staccato effect as the sound waves bounce back. “I. Am. A. Robot”.

You didn’t think your smile could get any bigger until she began to laugh delightedly. She slumps her weight against you, cheek to cheek and pressed close to your side as she rushes to try it herself. Silver hair billowing in the current, she declares with a distorted voice, “My. Name. Is. Eri!“

You hold her steady as she continues to giggle. The cool air is beginning to dry out your lips, and your eyes are growing sore with every blink, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. “I like this. I’m happy,” she says, the confession sincere even as it warps.

“Good,” you murmur, stroking your hand over her crown. “When you’re happy, I’m happy”.

For reasons unknown to you, this gives Eri pause. Her lips pursed, expression adorably pinched in contemplation. Whatever it is, you let her think, and you wait.

“Amano-sensei talked about families in class today,” she tells you, turning on her knees with hands folded formally in her lap. Despite her resolve, she is anxiously picking at her fingers. “Sensei told us that everyone's family looks different. Some... some people have one mama or one dad, or both. Or none. Or two dads or— even two mamas”.

A nod, “That’s right sweetheart”.

An irrational bout of nerves settle in your stomach as she gauges you. “Some kids' parents picked them, like my dad did… others have two but they aren’t married…”

“That is true,” you concede gently. “Not all families are related by blood. Like you and your dad, or you and Hitoshi. But you’re still family”.

Eri hums, glancing down to her lap with cheeks puffed. You smile fondly when she exhales the air with an exaggerated noise. “Then!” she starts, shuffling closer on her knees, “if we’re family, but you and dad are not married… What should I call you?”

For a startling moment, you’re sure your heart is in your throat. She continues, “Do I have two dads? Or two mamas? Or one dad and a…?”

“Eri,” your words falter, reaching to still her restless hands. “You think we’re family?”

Her head tilts. “Aren’t we?”

The breath is forced from your lungs. Even seated, you feel as if the floor has been stolen from beneath you. Willing away the prickling behind your eyes, you assuage her with a firm squeeze.

“We are,” you warmly avow, “and you can call me whatever you’d like”. She beams, any and all uncertainty dwindling, in your mind and her own.

Satisfied with the answer, she drops the topic. You think it must’ve been plaguing her the entire walk home, given how quiet she’d been. More than that, you wonder whether Shouta had laid kindling for those thoughts or if she’d come to that conclusion herself.

After an hour of reciting her favourite book into the rotating blades of the fan, complete only with your expert cartoonish voices, it is time for a cat nap. It isn’t hard to fall asleep when splayed across such comfortable bedding, accompanied by white noise and a cool breeze. But you wake not long after to an obtrusive ray of light piercing through the duvet fabric. The makeshift cave is now sun drenched and warm, and laid on the far edge is a new guest.

Shouta is still in his work clothes, laid on his side with Eri turned towards him in her sleep, small hand fisted around his tie. His lips are parted, inhaling shallow breaths. He’s asleep, too, with an arm extended to rest his hand over your hip.

You carefully thread into the spaces between his fingers and watch them both in quiet appreciation until your eyes, too, are heavy. Your chest has never been so full. And as consciousness slips, your heart tips over the cliff's edge and is pulled, inexorably, towards home.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta x reader

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blowingoffsteam2 · 21 days

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Kingdom Key D and Sora's Heart

Gonna paste some thoughts about Kingdom Key D that struck me last night:

Ok so on the topic of KKD being Sora’s true keyblade aka the one made from his heart (as KKL is made from Riku’s) it just struck me that in kh3 Mickey tells Yen Sid that his keyblade-kkd- was damaged in the realm of darkness along with Way to Dawn breaking in half.

Now we already know the theory that Way to Dawn actually broke during Riku’s sacrifice in the first unseen timeline, lining up with the “drop point” when Riku gets swallowed up by the demon tide in the RoD… but if kkd is made of Sora’s heart and what I suspect about Sora’s heart breaking or being damaged in some way during Riku’s sacrifice in the first timeline…That would perfectly explain why kkd randomly gets “damaged” despite them not even showing it to us and quickly glossing over it!

Think about it. Before kh3 we never even knew keyblades getting broken or damaged was a possibility- because keyblades are extensions of a person’s heart not a truly “physical” object. The only other time we’ve seen a keyblade actually be broken was in recoded when Maleficent breaks data Sora’s keyblade. And the ONLY reason she is able to do this, as explained, is because that keyblade was just a data imitation, it wasn’t tied to a real heart. Until Data Sora gets a heart of his own.

Keyblades don’t just break or get damaged because they get hit by a strong heartless. Sora and Riku have faced stronger enemies that small demon tide plenty of times. No. Keyblades only become damaged if the heart they are extension of become damaged. That has to be it.

The way Mickey says this and it’s just completely glossed over. Why would they even bother having KKD getting damaged and replaced when it’s an iconic keyblade and they don’t even SHOW the damage. It makes no sense... unless it’s planting a seed. Something to come back to with new context. Rather than getting a full replacement Mickey seemingly fuses KKD with Star Seeker, his bbs keyblade, in order to repair it.

This is also the first time we’ve seen this type of fusion of keyblades, again with zero explanation or showing it happening on screen. Star Seeker also happens to be the keyblade Sora gets with his first drive form, Valor form…

The fusion keyblade is called Star Cluster, and also apparently in jp it is “Kingdom Key W” (what does the W stand for??) The Star/Galaxy aesthetic also reminds me of that starry space in ReMind where Sora connects constellations…

Other things:

Apparently in Japanese the letter W is very commonly used as an idiogram for "Double" or "Two". This would make sense for a fusion keyblade like Kingdom Key W. Other ideas that were suggested: W for Waking, W for the "Win" timeline (as the previous timeline was fated to be lost to darkness). It's possible it has multiple meanings.

2. “Only King Mickey can open a door to the realm of darkness. It’s because he has a special Keyblade of Darkness. He figured out how to make it open the way.”

As stated in the kh3 glossary there are only three ways to enter the realm of darkness voluntarily: Beings of darkness have the power to open paths to it, a special keyblade of darkness (of which I believe KKD is the only known example- Nomura has explained that it doesn't mean that the keyblade's nature is dark or evil, only that it's a key that works on doors to/from the RoD), and the power of waking (which Sora uses to reach Riku).

I just think it's interesting if KKD is made from Sora's heart it just so happens to be this special keyblade of darkness. It's a complete mystery as to why KKD was just sitting there on the dark side of Destiny Islands. Mickey seems to know that it's a counterpart to KKL and that it would appear where KKL appeared....but how did he know that? What does it mean? Another interesting connection- during the fall of Destiny Islands notice how the door from Sora's dive to the heart appears in front of the Secret Place, and how the door within the cave only blasts wide open when Sora gets near.

Anyway, I've always thought KKD getting damaged was wierd and suspected it had something to do with what happened in the first timeline but assumed it had to do with Mickey's heart getting damaged somehow. But this makes so much more sense to me- after all we know KKD isn't made from Mickey's heart, it was just a keyblade he found. For both Way to Dawn and KKD to have become damaged as a result of Riku's sacrifice, due to whatever happened to Sora and Riku's hearts....it just makes sense. Sora's heart was damaged, so of course the keyblade made from him would be too.

#soriku #kh theories #Riku's sacrifice #kkd

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rallamajoop · 4 months

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Translating the original RE8 trial scene storyboard

RE8’s bonus DLC concept art pack includes a couple of pages of an early storyboard for the trial scene, dating to back when Miranda was still going to be a foreign researcher rather than a village native, and Ada Wong was still part of the cast. Though the text is all in Japanese, I had a crack at translating it ‒ it makes for a fascinating comparison to the finished game.

Images and translations are under the cut below – but here’s the dot-point version of how this older storyboard compares to the finished one.

Instead of Miranda, the trial is overseen by a masked figure called only ‘shaman’ (祈祷師). Instead of lycans, the trial is attended by numerous villagers, all eager to see Ethan punished.

This may be the big one: the shaman claims an ‘Adam-sama’ has been angered by Ethan’s (unspecified) crimes. My best guess at this mysterious ‘Adam’ is that it might be a name for the megamycete. Whoever he is, all the 'Eve' connotations of Eva/Eveline (and even the Rose flasks) suddenly start to sound a whole lot more significant.

Even here, the trial is dominated by Dimitrescu and Heisenberg fighting over who gets Ethan – or at least who gets his body, after his execution. Dimitrescu still wants his blood, while Heisenberg presumably wants him for soldat-material. Moreau briefly makes his own bid, but he just wants to eat Ethan.

Donna’s one act is to apparently stop time at a crucial moment to speak directly to Ethan without anyone else hearing – though this seems to be an illusion she creates while contacting him psychically. No sign of Angie, who probably isn’t part of the game yet.

Rather than escaping through Heisenberg’s gauntlet, Ethan is rescued by Ada Wong (disguised behind a plague mask). I’m guessing Heisenberg’s role as pseudo-ally hadn’t fully developed while Ada was still supposed to be involved.

Conflict between the lords seems to be framed more as conflict between separate houses/families. Heisenberg makes a reference to ‘us Heisenbergs’ (perhaps this is from the time when his mother, father and twin brother were also supposed to be characters?) and Moreau to his ‘Kuku-family’.

Though the name ‘Heisenberg’ does appear, he’s mostly called ‘Geek’, while Moreau is ‘Half-fish-man’ (半魚人), and Donna is simply 'Spirit' or 'Ghost' (心霊). Lady Dimitrescu is the only character who is actually called that (though it’s mostly abbreviated to just ‘lady’). I could not tell you why a Japanese dev team would decide that ‘geek’ was a good moniker for their heavy-metal-Frankenstein-wannabe, but here we are. (Note that most of the game files associated with Heisenberg are still labelled ‘geek[something]’, so clearly this was a moniker that stuck. Donna’s files are almost all called ‘ghost[something]’. Moreau and Dimitrescu mostly get shortened/mangled into 'moro' and 'domi'.)

Heisenberg and Dimitrescu actually come to blows over Ethan in this version, with Heisenberg launching his hammer at her and seemingly killing her, or at least blowing her away. But I think we can take it as read that even in this version, she'll show up okay and be back to torment Ethan later.

Oh, and did I mention this little addendum at the end which hints at Miranda doing some kind of surgery on Chris? WTF?

Standard disclaimer for all my Japanese translations: I’m nothing like fluent, and rely on online dictionaries for a lot of harder vocabulary. Corrections from anyone better qualified are welcome.

Okay, on to the actual translations! I'll include the full pages as we get to them, but I'll also break them down into smaller chunks so I can share and translate smaller chunks as we go through.

Page 1

[Ethan wakes up to find he can't move because his handcuffs are chained to the floor]

[Ghost-nobles and villagers buzzing in the church]

[Banging noise as shaman bangs his staff]

Shaman: "Everyone, quiet!"

[Church falls silent]

Shaman: "I have heard from each of the lords. This man's crime threatens the very foundations of our family! Lord Adam is furious! To allow this man to live will bring disaster upon the village! Only his death will appease Lord Adam's anger!"

[Cheering from the crowd]

Lady Dimitrescu: "In that case, after the execution, the Dimitrescu family shall receive the victim. My daughters haven't had nearly enough blood to drink of late."

Geek (Heisenberg): "Oi, wait a minute. From what I've heard, you witches have had it your own way long enough."

["Geek" burns Ethan's hand with a cigar]

Geek: "Us Heisenbergs will be taking this one, got it?"

[Ethan shrieks in pain]

Lady: "Didn't you have several victims sent to you just the other day?"

[Half-fish-man (半魚人) walks up to the Geek]

Half-fish-man (Moreau): "Oh, grant him to my Kuku-family, I.. I want to break him open and eat his insides!" (Note: I think Moreau's actually saying something even more colourful here, but I'm having trouble translating it)

[He approaches Ethan, parasites emerging from under his hood]

["Geek" halts him, brandishing his hammer]

Half-fish-man: [Groaning noise]

Lady: "I will not allow you two to do as you please!"

Geek: "Hm, how to settle this?"

Half-fish-man: "Oh, oh…!"

[Rising noise of cursing onlookers]

[Geek raises his iron hammer]

Page 2

[The moment he throws his hammer at Lady Dimitrescu, a halucination begins and time seems to stop. Direction and focus of camera fits the spirit]

Ghost (Donna, in a voice no-one else can hear): "….(You… have summoned him… receive your reward…)"

[Reality returns]

[The hammer pierces Lady D. and blows her away, part of the church collapses. Panic as villagers fall or die]

Geek: "Don't worry. Your corpse will become my plaything."

[A mysterious masked figure appears and fires three shots into Heisenberg, five into the shaman]

Masked figure: "Run!"

[Cuts the chain holding Ethan to the floor]

Geek: [getting up] "..what the…?"

Shaman (still full of arrows) yells to the villagers: "What are you doing! Don't let them escape! After him!"

Masked figure: "This way!"

[Still handcuffed, Ethan runs through passages before finally making it outdoors]

Page 3

Masked figure: [while reloading crossbow] "Your daughter is alive. Go get her back, okay?"

Ethan: "What are you…"

[Masked figure sees someone coming from behind] "No time, go!"

[Ethan screams as he's thrown over the railing]

[And here endeth the storyboard]

Page 3 Addendum

This brings us to the latter half of Page 3, which contains only a single column of panels. Remaining space features an extra half-page of Miranda in her original foreign-scientist incarnation, pictured with what I assume were some of her experiments. There's some text on these too ‒ hand-written rather than typed, which made it a right bastard to figure out. But I had a crack anyway, because even at a skim-read it had me going, "wait, does that say the monster is Chris?"

Yep, it does. The captions (as best I could make them out) read "Miranda's paranormal organism experiment" (奇生体の実験) and "After plastic surgery on Chris' face" (クリスの顔に整形後).

This only raises so many more questions. Is Chris actually working with Miranda, or has she captured him for experiments? Is she repairing Chris' face after some horrific accident? Is she altering some monster to make it look like Chris Redfield? Or ‒ in a far more entertaining possibility ‒ was this meant to be an in-game justification for why RE7's Chris looks nothing like he does in RE8?

I have no answers for you, but you can really feel how much this game changed in development just from these little glimpses of what might have been.

#Resident Evil Village #Karl Heisenberg #Lady Dimitrescu #Mother Miranda #Donna Beneviento #Salvatore Moreau #Chris Redfield #Ada Wong #meta #RE lore #Resident Evil #cut content

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lookismstuff · 3 months

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Lookism Theory: On The Deaths of "The Sister" and "The King"

SPOILER ALERT FOR EPS 482-485 AND THE WAILING (2016)

Ep 485 pretty much solidifies PTJ's statements on March 2022 and September 2023 (in vlogs that have since been made private) that the Cheonliang Arc is based on the Korean horror film The Wailing (2016), also known as The Strangers. So I'm going to talk about the deaths of Seongji and The Sister from the film's standpoint.

Based on the film's plot these are the archetypes of both characters.

Seongji The King of Cheonliang is "The Demon in the Cave" and,

The Sister is "The Woman in White" and "The Hanged Woman".

A. The Death of Seongji (The Demon in the Cave)

In The Wailing, the entity in the cave is actually a Japanese demon with a human identity. He used to live in a run-down house in the mountain, before being chased away by angry and scared villagers that he nearly died in a deserted cliff. A character appeared midway through the film (Il Gwang the shaman) because he was invited, and was actually in cahoots with the demon. Towards the end, the demon retreated into a cave and resumed his original appearance as a demon.

So, based on the film's plot...

Seongji was probably ambushed by either the villagers, the Yamazaki henchmen, the Kojima brothers, or perhaps even Charles Choi's or the King of Seoul's men in his cave or in the mountain, assuming that the latter was already an acquaintance of the shaman's (Shinmyong).

The duel that resulted in Seongji's death was probably unfair, because he was chased away from his house, ran away through the woods in the mountain, and was cornered, wounded, and exhausted.

If the King of Seoul was involved, somebody must've invited him to Cheonliang on purpose. This invitation probably came from someone in Shinmyong's circle or from the shaman himself.

If Vin really murdered Seongji, then it was probably an accidental death or a mercy kill. In case the latter actually happened, it probably happened when Seongji was dying alone in a deserted place.

B. The Death of the Sister (The Woman in White and the Hanged Woman)

In the film, a naked woman appeared on a stormy night in front of the town's police station. Then she hanged herself the next day after murdering her family, and nobody saw it. Apparently, when she stood naked she was wandering in the state of possessed after getting in touch with Il Gwang the shaman and the Japanese demon. She was the first victim in the town, and after her a series of other violent murders happened.

Elsewhere, a mysterious unnamed woman in white tried to warn the other characters but was unsuccesful in protecting the town from evil, because they thought that she was an evil spirit. In the end she could only watch as Il Gwang and the demon left together.

Going by this film's plot...

When The Sister appeared during a rainy night at Vin's doorstep, she was actually half-drugged or was in a daze from other causes, and she ran away from trouble.

The reason why The Sister's clothes were disheveled because she either ran away in a daze or was assaulted.

Whatever happened to The Sister must've involved either Shinmyong the Shaman, Taejin, the Kojima brothers, or anyone else closely affiliated with them.

She probably tried to tell what happened to her or another secret but was stopped before she could do anything.

It was her death that sparked the change in Cheonliang, and it probably happened before Seongji died.

The girl was probably found dead early in the morning and nobody actually saw how she died the night before.

#lookism #lookism webtoon #lookism manhwa #vin jin #jin hobin #yook seongji #seongji yook #taejin cheon #cheon taejin #cheon shinmyong #shinmyong cheon #the wailing #lookism 485 #kojima shigeaki #kojima hiroaki

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that-basic-simp · 8 days

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Dance

Mizu X Fem!Reader CW: N/A WC: 1.6k+

Sticking my finger in between the collar and my neck, I tried stretching the fabric out so I could have some breathing room. I let out a sigh as it was futile. Trying to blend in in London was a lot harder than it was in Japan. Maybe it was because I had to wear completely different clothing and still pretend to be a man as well, since women were treated practically the same as in Japan. Not to mention I was also half Japanese and raven black hair wasn't really common among the white folk. Brown was, but not black like mine. Not to mention I had to wear it down and not in my normal bun. I still stood out like a sore thumb, but at least my eyes kind of matched theirs.

Sighing, I looked at myself in the mirror that was in front of me. This ball, this dance I was attending apparently was where Skeffington was going to be. Fowler made sure of it. I still don't trust him. But if I am able to get to both Skeffington and Routely through Fowler, I might as well keep him alive. If I can get all three of them in a room together, that'll be even better. Three birds with one sword. Getting ready, I made sure I had my sword on me before giving myself one more glance in the mirror, catching something from the corner of my eye.

"Who's there?" I turned, my hand on the hilt of my sword.

Scanning the shadows, someone came out. They were wearing a poofy and long dress, similar to the ones I've seen the ladies wear here.

"Y/N?"

"Mizu," she smiled.

"W-What are you doing here? I thought you left Edo and went back with Ringo."

"Nope. I followed you."

"Why on Earth would you follow me?"

"You need someone to watch your back."

"I am more than capable of watching my own back, thank you very much."

"Mizu, this isn't Japan. You're in London."

"I am well aware of that."

"They have guns. You have a sword. They're technologically more advanced than you are right now. And right now," she pulled the dress back a bit, revealing a gun strapped to her thigh. "You're going to need all the firearms you can get. You will never raise a gun, I know that much."

"I did back at Edo when fighting Fowler."

"But did you shoot it?"

"No."

"Exactly. You use your sword and I will use the gun. Understood?"

I sighed. It's not like she can go back to Japan. I can't ensure her safety getting there either. So she had to stay with me. No. She has to stay with me. I can't afford to lose her.

"You stay beside me no matter what. Is that understood, Y/N?"

"Yes, Mizu."

"Good. I don't want you wandering anywhere without me."

She nodded her head. Letting out a sigh, I extended my arm out for her. Locking her one arm around mine, we walked out of the room and towards the ball down the street. It took a lot of negotiating and talking, but Fowler was able to ensure we got in without any trouble. This was definitely going to be an interesting night. I just hope it doesn't go to shit and one of ends up injured. If anyone was going to be injured, I was going to ensure it would be me. No one lays a hand on Y/N.

Stepping into the giant castle that held the dance, I found Y/N gasping from the corner of my eye. I couldn't deny it, this place was a sight to behold. A wonder in and of itself. It made the palaces and castles back in Japan look like a house. No wonder the white people wanted to have ballroom dances every so often. They had to get use out of it. Or else there would be nothing to fill this much empty space. There were people going around with trays in their hands, some drinks on them. Y/N was about to reach for one, but I stopped her.

"You're not going to like it."

"What do you mean?"

"We're not from around here. We need to blend in. And we won't blend in if we drink their drinks and be sick all night because of it. They don't drink sake. They drink some other form of alcohol that I am not familiar with."

"Come on, Mizu. We can't indulge ourselves every once in a while?"

"Back at home, yes. But we're not at home, are we, Y/N?"

"We'll be fine," she said, removing her arm from around mine and disappearing into the crowd.

"Y/N? Y/N?! Fuck!" I darted off into the crowd, trying to find her. It should be easy, since she wasn't anywhere near as tall as the people here.

Making my way through the crowd, I still kept an eye out for Skeffington. He was tall, so that was one thing that was going for me. Everyone here was tall, which didn't help. Almost bumping into everyone there, I eventually bumped into the right person. Well, one of them.

"Pardon me," a tall man said, smoothing out his suit.

Narrowing my eyes, it was him. It was Skeffington. Fowler described him perfectly and he matched every detail. The only thing that we had in common was our height, as Fowler stated back in Japan. Standing straight up, I stuck my hand out. Peering down, Skeffington shook it.

"Pleasure," I said.

"Night is wonderful, is it not?"

"I guess you could say that," I said, turning towards the crowd of people. He did the same.

"Who wouldn't love a dance tonight? It's a perfect night to do so," he chuckled, holding a glass of something that looked to be a yellow color.

"I'm sure there are other perfect nights," I said, trying to go along with him.

"There are, but tonight is especially perfect."

"What makes you say that? I think all nights are perfect."

"Well, there are reasons to celebrate."

"Celebrate what exactly?" I slowly turned towards him.

"Does there need to be a specific reason to celebrate? We're in London!" he turned towards me.

His breath reeked of alcohol and it made me want to gag. It wasn't the best smelling alcohol, I mean, what alcohol smells good?

"Go, my friend! Dance! Celebrate!"

He shoved me towards the dance floor, which I stumbled slightly. Getting my footing, since I was not used to my entire feet being covered, I slowly started to make my way around the crowd again, trying to find Y/N. Walking through the people on the dance floor, the live band playing started to get into a slower song, one that was obviously meant for couples. Even though I didn't take it to be that kind of ball. But again, this is London. Briskly walking off the floor, someone grabbed my wrist and pulled me back on. I thought it was Y/N, but it was someone else.

"Well, aren't you a dashing young man," the woman smiled.

"I-I--uhm," I struggled to find the right words.

"Come now, don't be shy," she said. "Come take a dance with me."

"I-I must decline," I respectfully pushed her away. "I am looking for someone."

"They can wait, dear. Have a drink! Dance. Stay a while."

"I-I really must be looking for my--"

"Hey!"

Marching over was Y/N. I let out a sigh of relief as she stood in between me and the other woman.

"Well, look who came barreling in," the woman smirked, trying to be funny.

"Step away from him," she slurred.

How many drinks did she have?

"You're too drunk, hon. You should probably head home, where it's safe. You don't want anyone taking advantage of you."

"You better back the fuck up," she swayed here and there.

"Y/N," I reached over and grabbed her shoulder, pulling her towards me. "Let's get going. You need to rest."

"Hold on, Mizu. I gotta teach this bitch a lesson."

"Excuse me?" the woman gasped.

I couldn't help but smile. Who knew Y/N was a protective drunk. I just hope she doesn't pull out the gun on this woman.

"Yeah. You heard me. You're a bitch. But not like those big ones that are scary. More like those little ones that are yappy. Annoying to listen and look at."

The woman scoffed, "I'll have you know--"

"'i'Ll HaVe YoU kNoW'," Y/N said in a mocking tone.

I placed my hand over my mouth, trying not to laugh at the situation.

"What are you laughing at?" the woman pointed a finger at me.

"I-I'm sorry," I said.

"Hey, don't point your finger at him. Only I can do that."

"What? You order around this stick of a man?"

"I'll have you know, Mizu is not a stick of a man. He's quite athletic."

"Oh, now why don't we have a look see," the woman stepped closer to Mizu.

"Hey, back off. No one touches him other than me."

"And does he like touching you when you're drunk?"

"Fuck yeah. We get down and dirty," she started to thrust her hips and some blush started to crawl onto my cheeks.

The woman was disgusted and walked off. Y/N turned to face me, perking up and smiling at me.

"Were you drunk?"

"No," she said.

"So you acted drunk?"

"Yep," she flashed a proud smile. "No one touches my Mizu."

A soft smile appeared as I took her hand, "And no one touches my Y/N."

The music started to slow down to a soft melody, one where someone could fall asleep to, or dance to. Still holding her hand, I bowed to her.

"May I have this dance, Y/N?"

"Of course, Mizu."

We walked out onto the dance floor and danced with the other people there. My one arm wrapped around her waist while her one arm wrapped around my neck, the tips of her fingers digging into the back of my hairline. Our other hands intertwined with one another's and we started to spin and sway with the music. She leaned her body into me, the side of her head nuzzling against mine. I smiled, closing my eyes, enjoying this moment together. It was rare for us to get any semblance of peace. Tonight was going to be that night where we relished it in. In each other.

#mizu x reader #bes mizu #mizu blue eye samurai #mizu #blue eye samurai

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sacchiri · 2 months

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I recently bought the jp volumes of Hellsing along with the guidebook, and since I'm reading the series in its native language for the first time I might as well share some random things that stood out to me in no particular order.

This isn't meant to be an analysis of translation differences, I'm too lazy for that. Also it's been 12 years since I've watched the anime and read the low quality fan scans of the manga so some of these comments are just "Lol, forgot this was a thing"

Volume 1

... I really want to know who this guy is at the beginning, yelling at Alucard in overly familiar language to "Get your shit together!" and "You're the only one we can count on!!". We know from the style of speech that it's a dude, probably just some Hellsing rando, and maybe it's not all that strange since he has probably been working with the same soldiers for years--but it's still funny.

"I know, it's just so nice out :("

..The way "HELLSING Organization" is spelled out like this reminds me that apparently the name is supposed to be an acronym. No really.

...

God they're so silly.

Now that I think about it, the only thing Seras has done this chapter since being turned into a vampire is say "I'm sorry" over and over.... girl you got shot in the lung, why are you apologizing

Not a huge difference, but what Integra actually says here is "Leaving a corpse here for 20 years... You're a terrible person too, Father" and not "What were you thinking, Father?" as the Dark Horse translation suggests (note the lack of question mark in the raw version). I thought that might be of interest to some.

Something else I thought was interesting is the first line Alucard ever says to Integra, and how uncharacteristically polite he sounds.

O-kega wa gozaimasenka- That's two honorific 御's back to back! (He even said them in kanji, even Walter isn’t that straightlaced and he’s literally the butler.) This is also the only time Alucard uses this overly flowery gentlemanly language with her, and good thing too because it would be so annoying if he spent the whole manga ending his sentences with ~gozaimasu.

What I'm trying to get at is, after seeing this sentence in the Japanese version, I'm like 100% sure he actually heard her when she was mumbling to herself about hoping to find a knight in shining armor, and he was totally going the extra mile in playing into that role for their first encounter. Which is kind of sweet.

Lol they misspelled Alucard on the top left... or rather, they incorrectly spelled it right?

One would normally expect Alucard to be written アルカード, and indeed pixiv dict lists アーカード as a misspelling (the u sound is weak in Japanese, so it's easy to mishear arukādo as ākādo). Hirano was definitely aware of the correct spelling though, since he used it in the pilot chapter and in his old character sheets. It was only when the manga officially began that he switched to the アーカード spelling. I doubt it was because of copyright issues because there is already a long precedent of vampire characters named アルカード in various old manga, OVA, and games in Japan that have coexisted without issue (like this guy Hirano mentions in volume 1's afterword).

Most likely Hirano simply thought it looked better, or was a means of differentiating his character from the others somehow. It certainly makes life easier for Japanese fans searching for fanart since アーカード is only going to bring up Hellsing and not the Castlevania character.

Jan Valentine even pokes fun at the spelling discrepancy later in volume 2, but since there wasn't a good way of expressing this in English it was left untranslated.

(Speaking of spelling inconsistencies, there's a lot of minor details I'm noticing now, like half the time the furigana for 吸血鬼 is written バンパイア and the other half it's ヴァンパイア... anyway)

Um, just noticed literally everyone's wearing glasses What should I do

Hirano's habit of jotting random comments underneath his panels is one of the underrated perks of reading the manga

The Dark Horse translation almost makes it sound like she's looking forward to seeing this battle play out, while in the Japanese she simply sounds apprehensive. Almost as if she's worried about them? And she's going out on the field personally to make sure nothing bad happens? Aww

Ok this is a weird tangent, but I just noticed the scans of the Dark Horse version I've been looking at use a slightly larger image range than the Japanese version does. It was only noticeable when I got to this part:

The second image is what the Japanese version of the scan looks like and I can confirm that this is what it looks like in my physical volume as well. You shouldn't be seeing the messy borders of the inking on the bottom like that.

Manga manuscripts are set up so that there are a few millimeters of bleed border around each page. You're supposed to color and line all the way up to (4) while keeping in mind that printing and paper cutting may result in the image being trimmed up to (3).

Either Hirano didn't color his lines all the way to (4) (this man has been drawing manga for years but this is Hirano we're talking about so it's very possible), or Dark Horse didn't honor the original bleed borders of the manuscript. I'm kind of leaning towards the former since there was a Hellsing exhibit in Japan a few years back where you could look at Hirano's original manuscripts and there's one where you can clearly see that he spilled a mug of tea or coffee across the entire page

Anyway, it's weird, and I'm curious to see if someone that owns a physical copy in English can confirm whether theirs actually looks like that. It's volume 1, page 141.

#hellsing #integra hellsing #alucard #seras victoria #i'm too lazy to do this for all the volumes #unless someone REALLY wants to see them for some reason but i doubt it

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vocaloidfactoftheday · 8 months

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Have You Seen This Lost GUMI Anime Pilot?

This is a bit of an unusual post for this blog, but I think I may have come across a case of lost media involving an anime pilot starring GUMI. It's possible that it exists on the Internet, and I hesitate to declare this as "lost media," but I cannot find it anywhere, and I figured that a post on this blog was the best way to see if anyone has any leads or extra info.

The anime is titled "Koisuru Dessan Ningyo," with an English title of "Do Drawing Dolls Dream of Love?" I don't know the runtime of the pilot, but I think it was most likely around 5-7 minutes. I believe this could have been the first instance of a Vocaloid being cast in a main voice acting role (perhaps, the first one cast in any voice acting role). I'm not completely sure if they actually used the Megpoid voicebank, or had Megumi Nakajima voice act as GUMI, but the way AnimeAnime (Japanese anime news site) describes it, it seems like it may have been the former. In either case, the character that GUMI portrays in the anime is a character that is clearly made to resemble her.

(These are the only screenshots I could find that come from the pilot, but more may exist.)

The main character is a doll (who I'm not sure is named), who models for a girl's drawings before eventually falling in love with her. I don't believe GUMI's character has a name, but she plays a main role as the girl the doll falls in love with.

Where It Was Seen

The pilot aired on NHK TV on January 9, 2014, during late night (possibly just after midnight?). It aired alongside another pilot as part of the program Aoyama 1seg Kaihatsu. This was a sort of tournament, where two pilots were broadcast once a month for three months, and viewers would vote for which pilot they liked best. Then, the three winners would go against each other in a final round, where the pilot with the most votes would get picked up to become a series. (I think they held this tournament once a year from 2010 to 2014 or 2015, though I don't know if it was the exact same every time.) The broadcast was 25 minutes long for each of the first three rounds, with the first half dedicated to showing both pilots and the second half dedicated to presentations about each pilot. (This is why I think this pilot was around 5-7 minutes, though I'm not sure exactly how much time commercial breaks would take up.) For a few years, including 2014, the program was hosted by the now-disbanded Japanese girl group E-girls (no relation to what you and I know as "e-girls." in their case the E stands for "exile.")

According to the official Tumblr account, karappo-heart, this pilot won the first round of the competition! It probably didn't make it out of the finals, though, since it didn't get picked up for a series. It's also possible that it did win, but some other issues prevented its production. In any case, the Tumblr account hasn't been updated since the first round ended. While this contest was going on, three shorts were apparently available to watch on NHK's website, but they have since been removed. I think at least one of the shorts was web-exclusive. I haven't been able to find info on who actually won the finals, or even what GUMI's short won against.

People Involved

The doll is portrayed by a masked dancer refererred to as Hitori de Dekiru Mon. I can't find much info about him online, but I think his real name is Takemura Ryohei. (I'm not sure because that part on his Japanese Wikipedia article has a "citation needed" label.) AnimeAnime specifically refers to his role as being the doll's "human form," though it's possible he provided voice acting too. AnimeAnime points out the unusual nature of having a human portray a doll, and having a Vocaloid portray a human.

Masanori Okamoto (who also wrote the screenplay and produced the pilot) animated the pilot with the pixilation technique, using time-lapse pictures to show movement of objects and people (this may have included live-action photos of the doll's actor portraying a "human form" of the doll). It seems like it may have blended stop motion/puppetry and live action stills with traditional animation? This is an example of Okamoto's work from around the same time, which seems like it might have been made in a similar style:

youtube

The third known person to have worked on this is none other than Vocaloid producer sasakure.UK. He composed the theme song, which of course features GUMI, and a few other songs to be used in potential future episodes. If you're a big fan of his, the anime title may sound familiar to you, as he released 3 of these songs (though both news sites I looked at, AnimeAnime and Anime News Network, say he made 4 total) plus their instrumentals as an EP under the same title. You can listen to the whole thing on YouTube!

I think this EP uses GUMI's VOCALOID3 voicebanks (the first sounds like either Native or Sweet, the second one sounds like Adult or Power (if it even is GUMI--it sounds more like IA to me, but sasakure.UK labeled it as a GUMI song so I kinda have to take his word for it) and the third sounds like Sweet). If that's the case, her V3 voicebanks would have probably been used for the voice acting, too.

Places I've Looked

After some Internet searches only garnered me a few screenshots, I decided to see if there was a way I could ask sasakure.UK himself about the short. I believe he has a contact form on his website, which I used to send a message in both Japanese and English (in case Google Translate was more helpful to him than my incoherent Japanese). This was back in May of this year and I never received a response. (Since I used a website contact form and not a direct email, I don't have the message I sent him anymore. I guess that's lost media now too.)

It occured to me while writing this post that I never contacted the animator himself, Masanori Okamoto. While his Vimeo and YouTube pages don't have the pilot, and his Twitter and Tumblr links haven't been updated in several years, he does have an email address listed. I sent him a message (in English because I was too sick and tired to try to write a coherent email in Japanese and I don't like waiting to do these things). I'm not sure he still checks his email since his social media that I've found has all been inactive for years, but I will post an update if he responds.

I know that this pilot is not on the NHK website, or, again, on the animator's YouTube or Vimeo pages. I also could not find it on the Internet Archive.

Now, I don't expect anyone reading this to have saved this on their computer and kept it there since 2014. But with this post, my goal is simply to make more people aware that this exists at all, and I'd also like to learn more about it myself (such as whether or not the pilot won in the finals after all, how much animation actually exists for it, if any more screenshots are out there, etc.)

Thank you for reading such a long post! Please feel free to correct any info I got wrong, or add on to this post with any knowledge you might have about this lost pilot!

(also sorry for any typos :()

#vocaloid #lost media #sasakure.uk #gumi #japanese vocaloid #vocaloid2 #vocaloid3 #internet co #lost content

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starfreak · 2 months

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Random Elden Ring Rant (Contains Spoilers, VERY LONG)

So, the Numen. We can choose it as a character preset, which tells us they come from another world, or another land. I say "or another land" because historically, America is referred to as the "New World," but it's not a separate planet. However, translations from the Japanese version of the game suggest that the world they come from is one of spirits, the dead, etc., so it could definitely be a Literal other world.

Marika is (rumored to be) a Numen, as are the Black Knife Assassins that participated in the Night of Black Knives.

If Marika is Numen, then it stands to reason so is Radagon, since they are the same person in the same body. This means their children together, Malenia and Miquella (and now presumably Messmer since he has red hair like Radagon, but Miyazaki said that he's the child of Marika, so unless there's another red-haired hottie running around the Lands Between, Radagon is the father), are also Numen. This also means that other children of Marika/Radagon are half-Numen.

It seems Numen are not a single ethnicity, but a whole race of people, with various different contradicting skin tones and hair colors. The template in the character creator has medium-dark skin and brown hair. Marika has pale skin and golden hair (possibly changed to be gold from the Greater Will's influence) and Radagon has the same skin with fiery red hair. We know from the Giant's Red Braid item description (below) that Radagon was either cursed by the Fire Giants or simply born with red hair. I mean...no item descriptions suggest he was born with it...but if I was born with hair I hated, I would blame it on a curse too. Though, to be fair, it IS the same color as the Fire Giants' hair.

Also the Black Knife Assassins have no physical form, so we can't discern their hair or skin colors.

So skin tone seems like a non-factor, but Hair is much harder to parse, due to half the Numen in the game having fiery hair and pronouns. The game says nothing about Marika's hair changing to gold, so it may have always been that color, leading me to believe that indeed, Numen are just...magic humans from a land far away...she's just blonde.

WELP.

That's all cool, but what is the culture of the Numen like? Well we can see that they have a very strong affinity for women and femininity. Not only is Marika, the most powerful Numen we know, a woman...all of the Black Knives are women. Additionally, if we choose to believe that Malenia and Miquella are Numen, this fact is further evidenced by Malenia's being a strong warrior woman (she is literally a Valkyrie) and Miquella's own complex gender identity. Miquella was (supposedly) born male, but presented as rather feminine/androgynous all his life. While Malenia is a masculine woman and reflects Radagon, Miquella is a feminine boy reflecting Marika. Not to mention that Miquella is ALMOST DEFINITELY Saint Trina, who is exclusively referred to as feminine.

In addition to the stong feminine aspects of Numen society apparent in the overabundance of strong fem-presenting characters, the description of Marika's Hammer suggests that women in Numen society (like Marika) have a role as destroyers and warriors, while men (Radagon) have a role of construction and repair.

"Queen Marika shattered the Elden Ring and Radagon attempted to repair it."

Again, this is just speculation, and the mythological actions of Radagon/Marika are likely motivated by a mutlitude of things (namely, the Greater Will constantly looming over them, the presence of the Elden Beast constantly lurking just under the surface), but I'm making do with what I have.

Also, back to genetics of the Numen again for a second, of all Radagon and Marika's children outside of the ones they had together (Messmer and the Twin Empyreans), most of them seem to inherit Radagon/Marika's hair.

Radagon and Rennala's kids, Radahn, Rykard, and Ranni, (presumably) have red hair. We never actually see Ranni's hair pre-doll form, so I'm assuming it's red lkke her brothers'.

Marika and Godfrey's kids, Godwyn, Mohg, and Morgott, all have either pale hair or no hair (Mohg has no hair visible on account of all the omen horns).

So it seems like the genes of Numen are incredibly dominant, even dominating the gene pool multiple generations after the first. Godwyn's kids, Godrick and Godefroy, have the same hair color as he does. Malenia's "daughters," although not genetically related to her, all seem to have gained her red hair through exposure to her Scarlet Aeonia. This may also be true of the Cleanrot Knights, but they could also have plucked the red hairs from Fire Giants or Leonine Misbegotten and used them as decor for their armor.

Even merely interacting with a Numen as powerful as Marika, or her direct children, can change one's appearance irreversably. Sure, this could all likely be from her status as a God, but who knows how powerful the average Numen could become if granted the strength? We become Elden Lord after all.

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yamishika · 2 months

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have any other ethnicity headcanons for fairy tail characters?

Fairy Tail Characters Ethnicity HCs

I don’t have as much extensive proof as I do for my Erik headcanons post but I will explain my thoughts for why I think certain ethnicities.

Natsu Dragneel : Japanese + Greek? (Because of the clothing style in his past flashback with his biological family)

Erza Scarlet : British + ? - I say British because she reminds me of Lara Croft who in her older days had reddish hair, also English history is big on knights, which Erza is. The other half I can’t tell as I don’t actually know what to think of her father Rung as. He seems like a POC though. (Maybe Mexican?)

Lucy Heartfilia : British / American - Because Lucy’s heritage as a noble it reminds me more of English nobility, but then her characteristics remind me more of american for some reason (it doesn’t help that Lucy looks a lot like Ashley Graham from the original RE4 and she’s American so I am kind of biased there)

Gray Fullbuster : Canada or Serbia (I think that’s mainly because I am making the link of cold countries though). Also if with Serbian I can see Ultear and him coming from similar places)

Gajeel Redfox : Native American (His hair and features remind me of Native Americans and I don’t know he kind of reminds me and looks like of Ratohnhake:ton / Connor from AC3) Juvia Lockser : Spanish + Russian (Spanish as the name Juvia is Spanish origin and Russian since the ushanka she wears and her clothing style in general)

Jellal Fernandes : Mixed ethnic - Mixed Arab (mainly Levantine Arab) + Latino (Brazilian), but then in my HCs he’s also part Desi too since the name Jellal is most prominent in India (And I want Erik to have a desi bro in CS). And the Arab/South asian idea came from him wearing Kohl/Surma in S1 in the anime.

Ultear Milkovich : Serbian with mixed Central Asian or Kazakh (Again cold countries but since Ultear looks Eurasian but with dark features these countries came to mind. Serbia because apparently the name Milkovich is Serbian origin)

Macbeth/Midnight : English w/Scottish + Irish + Japanese - English/Scottish/Irish is a given since his name ‘Macbeth’ but since his aesthetic is alike to Visual Kei, I see Japanese influence. But I don’t know, I just can see Macbeth with a british accent, maybe that’s just me.

Sorano Aguria : French and Korean/Japanese (I don’t know why I have the French, it just fits me when discussing with my friend @acutemushroom. Korean/Japanese because despite having a Japanese name (her and Yukino) due to her features she gave me kind of Korean vibes for some reason)

Sawyer : English (I can’t explain other than the name. But I thought of Romanian too for some reason, so English + Romanian?)

Richard Buchanan : South African + Scottish? (My only thought for this was because Buchanan I knew it as a last name big in South Africa, and Scottish is probably because of the red hair and ruddy complexion that I know scottish people can have)

Meredy : Irish (I don’t know why, it was hard to think of anything for her)

Kinana : Desi (Since the name Kinana is an urdu name apparently - So Pakistani)

Cana Alberona : Irish + Italian (Guildarts gave me tanned Irish vibes for some reason and Alberona is I believe an Italian name)

Minerva Orland : Chinese + Latina (She wears a Cheongsam and her hair reminds me of Chinese culture but then I see Latina too) BUT, maybe she has Egyptian too and Italian since Minerva (Italian/Latin) but the blue eyeliner/eyeshadow she always has is alike to Malachite powder that was used by ancient egyptians

Laxus Dreyar : Ukrainian + Russian (He gives me eastern europe vibes and also his features) but also since he's Makarov’s grandson he’d have Russian in him

Makarov Dreyar : Russian - (I think his full name is of Russian origin but I can't be sure.) These are the HCs I have off the top of my head, hope this answers your question!

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ace-reviews · 3 months

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WINTER 2024 ANIME RECOMMENDATIONS

I counted and there are 8.5 blonde ladies in either a lead or primary love interest role this season (8 if you count the one whose hair is sometimes black as half of one). Do what you will with this information. I only share it because it’s something that was ticking me off that I noticed.

Anyway, we’re trying out a new format this season: Instead of only recommending anime we’re not familiar with, we’re each picking one we are familiar with and one we went into completely blind.

ACE’S RECOMMENDATION #1: MR. VILLAIN’S DAY OFF

After the deluge of isekai that try to teach the importance of having a healthy work-life balance by having the lack of one kill off it’s main character in the first five minutes of the episode, it’s really nice to have something that teaches the same lesson by choosing to model what one looks like rather than killing anybody. It’s also got a lot of pandas in it, which is always nice.

ACE’S RECOMMENDATION #2: SENGOKU YOUKO

Satoshi Mizukami seemingly can’t catch a break with anime adaptations of his manga: Lucifer and the Biscuit Hammer sucked and this one is being seriously overshadowed by all the other really good and/or long-looked-forward-to adaptations this season. (Planet With was an anime first so it escaped the curse.)

Anyway, please watch this and have your friends watch this and buy the Blu–Rays and have your friends buy the Blu-Rays so my dream of a (good!!!) Spirit Circle anime can someday come true.

---

CHARLIE’S RECOMMENDATION #1: SOLO LEVELING

(for the sake of our more sensitive readers, actual screenshots of the anime cannot be shown at this time)

If you like Cheat System anime, and don’t mind “a bit” of graphic violence (read: so much. There’s just so much violence.) , give this a shot. It’s based on one of the Korean manhua that made the genre what it is today, and as far as I’m concerned, they’ve done a good job being faithful to their source so far - they didn’t even give them Japanese names, you guys.

CHARLIE’S RECOMMENDATION #2: A SIGN OF AFFECTION

(adorable)

It’s cute, and disability rep is always a bonus. I like how they animated the sign language, which seems fairly realistic to me, someone who speaks no sign languages.

---

FEN’S RECOMMENDATION #1: LOOKING UP TO MAGICAL GIRLS

This is a series I’ve been following since there were only five chapters out in the manga, so I would like to preface this recommendation by saying I’m the only one who’s actually right about it. I’m a veteran, a true soul who’s stuck with it for the past x years since it first released, and as such everything I say about it is valid and correct and anything people who aren’t as familiar with it says is complete horseshit pulled out of their ass. This is a factual statement.

Mahou Shoujo ni Akogarete, which has been translated for the manga as “Looking up to Magical Girls” (correct) and by vile HIDIVE as “Gushing Over Magical Girls” (bad and wrong) is a trashy, over-indulgent yuri series for weird perverts that is good, actually, (genuinely), and if the adaptation manages to capture Onanaka Akihiko’s remarkably deft hand in weaving the series’ fetish gags with the story’s genuine moments of pathos and surprising character depth then the anime will also be good, actually.

Dude trust me.

FEN’S RECOMMENDATION #2: METALLIC ROUGE

This is an anime original series about super fighting robots on Mars doing a hitman shit on android rebels for the government and also yuri, maybe. ACAB includes Rouge Redstar, watch this show.

---

BONUS RECOMMENDATIONS: DUNGEON MESHI AND ‘TIS TIME FOR “TORTURE,” PRINCESS

A recommendation to watch Dungeon Meshi is the most redundant thing on the planet this season, but even so you should still watch Dungeon Meshi. Also, Fen and I had a bit of a back-and-forth over who would recommend Torture Princess since it was something she was familiar with and something I had only heard of and I wasn’t going to recommend it because I thought she would and she apparently chose not to recommend it because she thought I was going to so take it as a recommendation both from someone who is and someone who isn’t familiar with Torture Princess to watch Torture Princess.

#solo leveling #dungeon meshi #metallic rouge #sengoku youko #mr villain's day off #a sign of affection #looking up to magical girls #it's time for torture princess #winter 2023 #first impressions

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osamusriceballs · 5 months

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The Accident - Part XI

Atsumu x fem reader

Warnings: None

Words: ~ 3,1 k

About: A date with Atsumu Miya~

Part I II -> Next Part

The silence is almost intimidating, and you find yourself looking around in silent awe.

Atsumu looks exceptionally good. The red uniform suits him well, and he looks even better and more professional than in the videos you've seen. "I can't believe we're actually here. I didn't want to ask Hinata for tickets because he's been busy lately, but I can't believe Atsumu-san managed to get two tickets for this- in the front row even!"

You nod and gaze at the court thinking back at the sudden message that you had received a few days ago.

Atsumu: "Are you free this weekend, Mrs. Miya?"

You stare at the message blankly, trying to figure out what to say. You had just started your nightly routine, not really expecting Atsumu to send you a message tonight. But here it is, white and blue. With a nickname that makes your heart skip a beat.

You: "Yes! :)"

Atsumu: "Great. Wanna come and watch me play? We can hang out at Samu's or my place after that, if you're up for it?"

You: "Sounds good!"

Atsumu: "I'll save ya two spots if you want to. You can bring your friend; Shoyo-kun will be there too. I'm sure she's interested too."

You: "I'll ask her. Thank you for being so considerate <;3"

You close your eyes for a few seconds, fearing his reaction to the heart emoji.

When you open them, you see his instant reply.

Atsumu: "Of course <3 I can't meet ya before probably, but we'll keep in touch, 'kay?"

You: "See you then <3"

Atsumu: "See ya <;3"

It's a special event, a pre-match before the Olympics fully start in a few weeks. The stadium is only half-full, but the people watch excitedly how the members of the Japanese Olympic team participate in a promotional match against each other. Apparently, a very exclusive event that has not been opened to the public, yet, here you are. Sitting in the first row next to Yachi with a drink in your hands—one that she got for you, despite your protests.

"Look, he is going to serve. That's why they are all quiet. It probably won't be like that during the Olympics; there will be a different audience. Today is a very special event. Randomized teams and starting positions, but look how well they all adapt. True professionals." Yachi whispers into your ear, her cheeks flushed already from her drink. You're just glad that Tsukishima has offered to pick her up after the game, you would have been worried about her otherwise.

"It's so quiet; it's almost intimidating." You whisper back and watch Atsumu. He seems really focused on his set, his expression cold and blank, unlike you've ever seen him before. He's truly intimidating on the court.

He seems very focused when he's taking a few steps back and concentrates on a point in the opposite field. It just takes a few seconds, and then you see him jump, the ball flying towards the field in the fraction of a moment. The loud impact makes you shiver, while you watch the field in stunned silence. When you glance back at Atsumu, you could have sworn that he looked at you before he high-fives one of his teammates. The crowd yells and cheers, and you find yourself clapping and calling his name too.

"Did you see that? That's what the boys had to endure back in high school. And it was just as scary back then." Yachi groans and rubs her bare arms; the goosebumps visible in the brightly lit hall. "He's amazing." You know that you're probably watching him with hearts in your eyes, but you can't help yourself when your heart skips a beat at the way he got even more attractive to you now that you've seen him actually play. You definitely get the fangirls now.

As he prepares to set again, you hold your breath nervously, and this time the other team manages to receive it. You watch with wide eyes how the ball is suddenly on the other side of the court again, a quick attack from someone you recognize as Bokuto, and then it's Atsumu who sets the ball flawlessly, a dark-haired spiker scoring a point. The crowd goes wild, chanting a name that you don't know yet, and Yachi is quick to lean over to you again while you watch Atsumu and the dark-haired player exchange a wordless fist bump.

"That's Sakusa Kiyoomi; him and Atsumu-san make a deadly combo on the court." You nod, your eyes not moving from Atsumu, who suddenly turns to you and grins widely. You shyly wave back and give him a thumbs up and a smile; he winks, holding up another finger and pointing to you and then to the ball. You're not sure you completely understand what he's trying to tell you, but you still nod and smile, hoping it was an appropriate reaction.

You finally get that he probably meant to tell you that he'll do another service ace for you when he nails the serve effortlessly, and you stare at him with wide eyes when he turns to you and playfully winks with a thumbs up. You cheer loudly for him, and Yachi also cheers alongside you, not noticing the silent exchange that had just happened right next to her.

---

The teams bow when they finish the game and wave to the crowd, probably well-aware that some of their greatest sponsors sit alongside there. "That was amazing!" You smile at Yachi, and you both clink your glasses and drink the rest of the drinks.

"Kei will pick me up at the back entrance; is it okay if I leave you here?" She looks at you with worry etched in her features, and you nod reassuringly. "He'll pick me up right here. Don't worry; I'm sure he'll be here soon."

You hug her, and after you promise to text her, you sit back in your place. You watch all the people leave until the hall is almost empty, and then finally, after you played with your phone for a while, the athletes start to stroll in the hall, now dressed normally and all of them looking fresh. You look for Atsumu and quickly spot his blonde bright hair. He is now sporting a pair of dark jeans and a black shirt that tightly fits on his torso, his blonde hair still slightly wet from the shower—he looks really good. He strides energetically towards you, a delighted expression on his face, and he doesn't even hesitate before he pulls you into a tight hug.

"Hey."

"Hey, Atsumu. You were great; congratulations." You mumble against his shoulder, and he squeezes you a bit tighter before he lets you go. "Thanks. I hope you had fun."

"I did! I loved every second; it was really cool."

He wraps an arm around your shoulders while you speak and gently directs you towards the exit. "Just wait till ya see the Olympics, that will be even better. Let's go to my place, huh?" You nod and follow him to his car.

xxx

Atsumu has a really nice apartment. It's rather high up, but the elevator is so modern and smooth that you barely realize how high you drive up. Everything is clean and cozy, and you find several pictures of Atsumu and his family on the wall and a lot of trophies. The TV on the wall is ridiculously big, but the couch is far away from it, far enough for it not to strain your eyes. Atsumu gestures for you to take a seat on the couch in the living room, and you sit down comfortably.

"I felt a bit out of place, though. Everyone was wearing fan shirts. I should probably get one too for the next game." You stare down at your plain shirt while Atsumu takes a seat next to you, still making sure to keep enough distance not to make you uncomfortable.

"You wanna wear a shirt with my number?" He grins at you, his eyes sparkling while he musters you, and you embarrassedly laugh. "I still need to decide about my favorite player. I might favor Sakusa Kiyoomi, he seemed quite impressive too. And Kageyama's sets were amazing as well." He pouts at your words, pressing his hand to his chest as if you just wounded him. You quickly raise your hands and laugh.

"I was just kidding. Of course, I'd only wear your number. I want to support your big dream of becoming a famous volleyball player someday."

He nods approvingly and reaches into his bag. "In that case, I think I have the perfect shirt for you." He offers you a crumpled piece of cloth that you quickly recognize as the shirt he's been wearing during the game. You stare at him blankly, your eyes wandering from the shirt in his hand to his face. "That's your shirt."

"Yes." He nods, still holding the shirt up.

"You will need it for the Olympics."

"Yes."

"Won't you get in trouble for this?"

"It's not like they can fire me at this point." He just shrugs his shoulder, and you finally reach out for it. "Thank you."

"Of course, can't have ya walking around with Omi's number. He is the worst, have ya seen his ugly face and his glare? I dunno why he has so many fans." He fakes a gagging sound, and you giggle while you place the shirt on the couch next to you. You're quite sure that his shirt would sell online for a fortune—especially his worn shirt. Not that you would do that.

"You seemed to get along pretty well with him on the court." You say with a teasing smile, and he rolls his eyes playfully. "He's still an ass sometimes. He's just lucky that he's good at playing. Would have ditched him otherwise. But we normally get along well, I just love complainin' about him."

"He seems... quite intense." You both exchange a glance and nod in silent agreement, and then he clears his throat.

"Uhm.. do ya wanna drink something?"

"Water is good, thanks." You smile, and he is quick to go into the kitchen and return with two glasses and a carafe of water.

"Thanks." you smile and take a sip of the glass he offers you. You both sit there for a few seconds in silence, and you mentally debate if you should suggest for him to turn on a movie or something- or to start a new topic, but he always makes your brain go blank. You wonder if he regrets his choice of inviting you over. He might have been curious about you in the beginning, like you were curious about him, but what does he actually think about you? He's so hard to read, especially since you're having a hard time figuring out if he just has a natural flirty personality or if he just does it with you. You try to stay calm while you keep on overthinking next to him, your hand tightening almost uncomfortably hard around the glass, but then he suddenly interrupts your thoughts.

"Ya wanna play a game? I got this truth or dare on mobile thing. I bought the full lifetime version when I was drunk a few years ago, and I plan to use it to the fullest." His brown eyes are warm when you meet them and you find yourself forgetting about your worries.

"Oh? I think that is a story that I'd love to hear."

"Ya might if ya use a dare for that." He winks, and you feel your cheeks heat up. He fishes for his phone and starts typing your names in the bright and cartoonish-styled app. "Is random mode fine with ya?"

"Sure." You smile and wait for him to set things up, and he places the phone between the both of you an you both look curiously at the screen.

dare for Atsumu:

Show your latest pic in your camera roll.

He pales visibly after reading it and stares at his phone blankly while you eye him curiously. "Can I pass?" Your eyes widen at his sudden static state, and you simply nod. "Uhm... you don't have to do it if you're not comfortable."

He sighs and runs his hand through his hair. "I just don't want to make ya uncomfortable."

Now he has really piqued your interest. "I won't be. Promise."

He doesn't seem convinced but opens the gallery in front of your eyes and clicks on the last picture—a shirtless picture of him, probably taken right after the game. He's still wearing the red shorts and very seductively grinning into the camera, his bare abs on full display for the camera. You quickly avert your gaze and clear your throat, feeling like a teenager looking at their crush. You now rub your throat to hide how flustered you feel from just seeing a goddamn picture of him. "I didn't expect that, to be honest. It's - uh- a nice picture, though."

"I didn't plan on posting it; I just like the after-game pump." He is quick to explain, and you just nod with warm cheeks. It's definitely getting hotter in here. The game successfully managed to create tension in the room- something that you didn't expect from a game that looks like a dorky party game. You take another sip and clear your throat. "Uhm... next?"

"Yeah." He is quick to open the app and tap on the screen.

truth for Y/N:

Who is the hottest person in the room?

You laugh and point at Atsumu. "That is quite self-explanatory."

"Ya got an easy one here since it's just the two of us." He complains and looks at you accusingly while you just laugh about his cute pout.

"Make it a bit more demanding then?"

"How about you tell me who's the hottest person in the Olympic team? You've seen all of us play today. Who's your favorite?"

"I haven't seen them all close up," you try to be neutral, but he just groans.

"There was a poll once about hot volleyball players worldwide, and someone from the Argentinean team won. He's close to Tobio-kun, apparently."

"You didn't win?" You look at him surprised. Atsumu is definitely on the hotter side of the team members from what you've seen so far- at least in your eyes. You haven't really paid attention to the other players though, your eyes always coming back to Atsumu.

"Ya seem genuinely surprised; I take that as a compliment. Nah, I didn't win, but I was in the Top Ten." He proudly puffs his chest, and you give him a playful thumbs up. "Congrats. I would have put you on number one, though." You try your best to calm your heartbeat when you see how intensely he looks at you at your words.

He grins and nods before he simply turns on his phone again without saying more about it.

dare for Atsumu:

Take a picture with a person in the room and set it as your profile pic.

"I can't set it as my Instagram pic or somethin' like that, but maybe just my screensaver?" He says as he contemplates his options.

You nod and move closer to him on the couch, until your shoulders are touching and your knees almost bumping together. He lifts the phone for a selfie and tilts his head in your direction while you tilt yours in his direction and you both try to smile brightly.

You look awkward.

That's easy to tell, and he seems to notice too because he's not taking a picture. "Uhm- maybe. We should do it like this."

He wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you closer to his chest, and you hear the click of the camera while you look surprisedly at him- shocked at this bold actin. "Now, look at the camera." His hand comes up to pinch your cheek gently, and you find yourself smiling at his actions. He's probably in a good mood since he won the game today, so you just let him proceed, trying not to think that this had a deeper meaning- because it probably doesn't. He grins too and takes another picture, and you remain in that position for a few more seconds, his pleasant smell invading your senses now that you're so close to him, and you subtly try to inhale deeply again. He feels good against you. Warm and solid, your body almost naturally fitting against his. Even though you'd love to stay, you slowly move back to your place and create some distance between the two of you. His muscles seem even more prominent when you look at his still raised arm and he slowly lets it sink down to his side.

He goes into his gallery again, and you both look at the two pictures. You look like a real couple. With the way you look up at him, pressed against his chest, your expression clearly flustered while he looks down at you with a grin- it's almost too intimate for you to bear. The other one in which you both smile brightly while he pinches your cheek is a rather cute picture, and he hums while he taps the picture.

"I'll take the second one then?" You nod and watch him set it as a background. "It looks nice." You nod again, definitely not trusting your voice. He is perfect boyfriend material.

"Next one then?" He sets up his phone, and you hold your breath for a second when the words show up.

dare for Y/N:

Kiss the hottest person in the room.

You awkwardly laugh and look down at your glass of water, waiting for him to laugh with you. But he doesn't. It's just silent between you now. Atsumu has not shown any reaction, just staying still as he is, still looking at the screen. You look at him with furrowed brows and then again at the screen. Should you-

No. What are you thinking?

You notice that Atsumu's knee has started bouncing, something that you think is his reaction when he's feeling nervous, and you experimentally lean just a bit closer after taking a deep breath and his eyes move from the screen to you.

His gaze flickers from your eyes to your lips when you lean forward just a bit more, and then he is slowly leaning into you too, much to your surprise. Your gaze shifts to his lips, parted just the slightest bit, so kissable-

He is waiting for you to make your move, giving up all control of the situation to let you do as you're comfortable with- and then you realize one thing when your breath meets his lips and your eyes fall shut.

You're about to kiss Atsumu Miya.

#haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu x reader #atsumu #atsumu x reader #atsumu fluff #I've decided to update every Monday! <3 hope that's okay with you #it just works best with my schedule <3 #and you know that you can rely on it on Mondays then! <3 #I hope you enjoyed this part <3 #and I hope I'm not moving too fast #this part got longer than I expected lol #I'm pouring everything into this rn ahhh-

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glassconfined · 3 months

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saw headcanons, pre saw

featured characters: adam stanheight, amanda young, lawrence gordon, mark hoffman, peter strahm. mentions of scott tibbs & cecil adams

adam stanheight

his eighth birthday party was at chuck e cheese, but he was scared shitless by the animatronics. while he hid away in the tunnels, scott tibbs blew out his birthday candles.

briefly played bass in a band. not wrath of the gods, though he badly wanted to (scott insisted all the roles were full, and besides that, he needed adam as a photographer).

a mediocre grasp on basic spanish. it was one of the few classes he actually did well in when he was in school. in addition, his interest in kaiju & japanese horror films has helped him pick up a couple japanese words and phrases. granted, for both languages he has a rather apparent american accent.

… technically this was several years after his death, but since it’s in the context of him not having been in a trap, let me have this—he would’ve thrived in the eras of scene kids, myspace, facebook flair, and yolo.

amanda young

she owns an australian shepherd named carrie! carrie was adopted by cecil for guard dog purposes when amanda’s drug-induced paranoia was at an all time high. she’s well-loved and spoiled to bits, though, with her own half of the bed that amanda sleeps in.

on a night she can hardly remember, amanda got a trampstamp tattoo. a cliché heart with wings that she used to boast above low-rise jeans and juicy sweatpants (though, now she can’t help but feel a little embarrassed).

lawrence gordon

nicknamed a walking computer by his coworkers, a human encyclopedia on account of his wide array of knowledge. he’s a trivia buff and a mastermind at strategy games, you’d be hard pressed to find someone better than him at cards or board games.

mark hoffman

he comes from a long line of detectives. his father, his father before him. frankly, when he was younger, mark didn’t want to be a detective—he wanted to be an english professor. with his father, though, there was really no other choice than go follow in his footsteps.

he wants a dog so goddamn bad. for a man who barely has enough time to take care of himself, however, it’s just not possible. if he could have his way, he’d have a french bulldog.

peter strahm

studied french in college.

i mentioned it in my music headcanons, but i’ll touch on it again—peter can play the saxophone, as well as the piano. he took a couple gigs at a jazz club to make a quick buck while he was in school.

also in the college era . . . though he’d never admit to it, he wound up in a sugar baby relationship with an older woman for a few months.

for an undercover mission, he had to take flamenco classes. add that to the tango and waltz knowledge he has under his belt, and he’s not too shabby on his feet.

#mark hoffman #peter strahm #adam faulkner stanheight #lawrence gordon #adam faulkner #adam stanheight #amanda young #scott tibbs #saw headcanons #sawposting #my post #ive had this sitting in my drafts. take it <3

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kitthepurplepotato · 3 months

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Shenanigans EXTRA (1/2) - A trip to another universe!

Summary: Y/N, Katsuki, Izuku and Shouto goes on an adventure to another universe. Having of each is already enough but two?! Things get weird really quickly.

Warnings: Swear words, sex jokes, horny thoughts

Helpful note:

To make it easier I tried to play around with names to make it obvious who’s who, so…

Izuku - Normal Izuku

Deku, Midoriya - Other world’s Izuku

Katsuki - Normal Katsuki

Bakugou - Other world’s Katsuki

I hope that helps!

If you want to start at the beginning, CLICK HERE for the first chapter!

If you want to read the Alternative Universe Arc alone, CLICK HERE! (It can be read without knowing the full story! It’s only 3 chapters!)

Check out all my works HERE! 💥

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

A few months ago in another universe.

Bakugou Katsuki. University student. Hobbies: Drums, nerdy things, Marvel and All Might movies. Secretly collects Pokémon and Yu-gi-Oh cards. Loves Funko Pops. Top student. Drummer in a cool, edgy band. Definitely not a hero but apparently he is one in another universe. Because that shit exist. Yeah. Shocker.

How does he know that? Because he met the love of his life when the gate between the two worlds had suddenly opened. She fell from the sky. Literally. He swears he wasn’t on any substances when this had happened. He does drink quite a lot, don’t judge him, he’s a fucking UNI student, but drugs aren’t his thing. He also have two bozos, Deku and Shouto, who can vouch for him if you don’t believe him. They were also completely sober, even though with those two, Bakugou is never sure. They look high 24/7.

So long story short, this random, absolutely gorgeous lady fell from the sky, she knew them by their names and she also told Bakugou that his other self hates her guts and he got so angry he started crying out of pure frustration, promising this gorgeous girl that he’ll find her in his world and fucking marry her on the spot because Bakugou was head over heels for her the second her lovely butt touched the ground.

Bakugou did not a give a fuck about love before but now he does. Oh hell, he really fucking does. This lady was only with them for 24 fucking hours but it’s been months now and he still can’t forget about her. But here’s the problem; this lady wasn’t Japanese. She was a fucking foreigner living in Japan. Which means, Bakugou had to work his ass off while doing UNI full time to have enough money to fly to her country for a whole month. It was terrible. He had no life, no time for anything, he was tired 24/7 and even though he just landed on this foreign land and he should be excited about it, he just want to fucking sleep for a week, which he won’t, because he only has 4 fucking weeks to find this bloody woman and make her fall for him. No time to sleep here.

“Kacchan, you won’t woo her with a face of a serial killer, you do need to sleep.”

He hates when his best friend is right.

So he sleeps. For one whole day. That will hopefully be enough to rid him of his Gucci bags.

He’s out of the bed by 7AM the next day, fueled by a weird feeling which makes him believe that Y/N is close by - Which would be ridiculous. Meeting her on the first day? Absolutely not possible. Life isn’t that kind and Bakugou doesn’t believe that faith has the power to connect two people out of the blue even though he literally fell in love after a foreigner fell from the sky for him and is literally spending all his money to find her right now. He’s a fucking hypocrite, isn’t he? Yeah, whatever. He believes in faith in a way, he believes that you can feel when you are on the right path, you can feel when you meet the right people, but faith opening the right doors to find the right path is nothing but a fairytale. Again, says the guy whose girlfriend fell from the sky.

With that said, Bakugou leaves the house in his fanciest clothing which only makes him look like half a nerd and not a full one. Should’ve gotten contacts though. His glasses are really fucking nerdy. He can only hope that Y/N likes nerds because otherwise, this mission is a failure from the start.

He decides to take it easy and get some breakfast instead of searching like an idiot. The other world’s Y/N gave him some potential addressees he needs to check but he can’t do this shit with an empty stomach, so he runs into the nearest coffee shop to get some pastries and a big jug of black coffee but some bozo decides to run into him, trying to get through the door first, even though there is enough space for the both of them inside.

“Oi, careful!” Bakugou reprimands after realizing that the girl he just bumped into is much more fragile than him. Because he’s a fucking gentleman. You heard it right, a GENTLEMAN.

Okay. No fucking way. This is a fucking joke.

“Fuck’s sake, this is the shittiest day of my life!” Y/N tries to squeeze past mumbling back in English for some reason, but there is no way Bakugou will let her run away.

“It’s 8 in the fucking morning, silly.”

Oh god. He sounds so lovesick. And his accent is so shitty. The Y/N of the other works spoke perfect Japanese so he must say he’s a little bit uhm… surprised. But at least she speaks English. That’s… helpful.

“The fuck are you so happy for? Did you win the lottery?” Y/N tries to acts nonchalant but her cheeks are dusted red.

“Yeah, I think I just did.” He admits with the silliest smile on his face.

… there goes Katsuki’s plans to be cool. Nevermind.

“Well, you have a weird way of flirting. I’m intrigued.” She answers back. They are literally standing in the doorway, blocking the exit but no one dares to speak about it. What a chill country. Maybe he should move here after retirement.

“Well, it’s far more believable than saying that I’ve met your twin from another universe a few months ago and I was kinda looking for you for several months now.”

“Is it weird that… I can kinda believe that?” Y/N looks into Bakugou’s eyes and that’s when Bakugou completely loses it. His face becomes a mess of emotions, there is adoration, wonder, a weird kind of anxiety he’s never felt before, his urgent need for coffee long forgotten.

“Can we share a table, then?” Bakugou tries his best to sound confident, but his voice wavers when Y/N looks at him with eyes full of rejection.

“Not unless you can help me with my Japanese homework. I have an exam in two days.” She sighs, finally moving away from the door, leaving the lovelorn Bakugou alone in the doorway.

“Well, luckily for you, I’m Japanese.” Katsuki answers in his own mother language, trying his best to not smirk menacingly, but he probably does it anyway.

“Study date with a stranger?” Y/N fucking winks and that’s when Bakugou descends into another world, thankfully, not literally.

“Oh my god, you two, get a table.” The bartender rolls her eyes and it’s weirdly sounds like “get a room.”

~•💥•~

Bakugou and Y/N has a study date. By the end of the day - yes, they’ve been at it the whole day, eating pastries for breakfast, lunch and dinner - Y/N looks like she’s about to pass out, but she has a content smile on her face as she looks at her notebook filled with random notes from Bakugou himself.

Bakugou isn’t the most patient person when it comes to studying so needless to say he did end up yelling at the poor girl quite a few times but instead of the usual resentment he got nothing but cute giggles as a reaction. Bakugou is already head over heels for this version of Y/N. She’s fierce but cute, she can handle his temper perfectly and they just… click. It really feels like they were meant to be.

“Any chance you are the type of nerd who’s great at everything? I also need to catch up on math and English.”

“Same place, same time tomorrow?” Bakugou smirks and Y/N smirks back at him.

“Deal.”

“See you tomorrow, Y/N.” Bakugou leaves a cheeky kiss in Y/N’s hair and runs towards the door, trying his best to hide his red face from the crowd.

“How do you know my full name?!”

Bakugou doesn’t need to think about an answer for this one.

“Faith.”

~•💥•~

Bakugou helps Y/N with her studies every day for the whole month. It’s around the second week when Y/N admits she’s been looking for opportunities to study in Japan. She doesn’t need to say anything else for Bakugou to know there is something more behind that decision than Y/N’s dreams to see Tokyo; the way they are cuddled up on Bakugou’s floor surrounded by random notes is more than enough for him to know that he’s not the only one feeling this weird connection between them.

Y/N kisses him on the lips when they say goodbye at the airport. Bakugou sells half of his clothes to make space for her stuff in his closet after he gets home.

~•💥•~

Now back to the hero world.

“Are we all ready?” You yell loudly to gain everyone’s attention.

“Let’s go!” Yells Katsuki, exhilarated.

“Yes.” Typical Todoroki. He doesn’t even look excited.

“What if we get stuck there? Are you sure you are capable of doing this, Y/N? There must be a limit to your powers, what if something goes wrong and we will be stuck in a weird in-between or in the quantum realm like in that cool superhero film? What if by the time we manage to come back all out friends are dead?! Oh my god….”

Do you even need to say who that was? Probably not.

“Well, have fun.” A grumpy voice comes from the background. “Don’t worry about me being left out. Honestly, no biggie, I’ll just cry myself to sleep, alone in my room while my friends are having a pajama party in a cool universe…”

You would love to be able to bring Eijirou with you as well, but someone needs to run the agency.

“Shut the fuck up you stupid red monkey, I told you I’ll stay back the next time!”

You sigh and decide to just go for it before poor Izuku’s brain explodes from all the unnecessary worry.

Everyone screams. Then they scream some more when they start to fall into eternal nothingness.

You think about the University those guys go to. About the green grass and the benches surrounding the small clearing right next to the University, you think about Midoriya’s eyeliner, their unproblematic smiles and suddenly, a small spot of light appears right under your foot, the spot getting bigger and bigger as you fall and fall and fall until your butts hit the pretty green grass.

“Fucking hell, babe, that was a shitty landing!”

“Sorry, princess, I’ll get you a massive bed for the next time, okay?”

“Fuck you.”

“You wish.”

“Always.”

“Guys, I’m… me is looking at us?! Okay, I’m officially freaking out. Oh my god, I’m wearing an eyeliner. I think I’m going to pass out. Guys, I’m passing out. Oh my…”

“Pay up, halfie.”

“I’m not mad, just disappointed.” Shouto pulls out a note from his pocket and hands it to Katsuki.

“Y/N!” A really gay-looking, lanky nerd jumps on your back and hangs there like a monkey. You decide to show off your new strength by catching the guy’s thighs and give him a piggy back ride.

“Oi, put your filthy arms away from my woman, you nerdy little shit! Also, your other self just passed out on the floor!”

“Oh my god, that’s me?!” Midoriya jumps off your back and goes towards Izuku to take a better look. Todoroki (the other one.) runs back to their bench to grab a bottle of water and sits down next to your Izuku, absolutely ignoring his other self for the sake of your world’s Izuku.

Well, now… it’s really hard not to laugh.

Picture this. There is a passed out Izuku on the ground, surrounded by two worried Todorokis, one lean and nerdy and one looking like a greek god. Then there is this world’s Midoriya, slim and wearing the colors of the rainbow, shamelessly touching Izuku’s massive arms with pure wonder, at least until he looks up to the Greek God Shouto; he stares at the guy with hungry eyes, looking him up and down, and he just says.

“I would let you ruin my favorite underwear in a heart beat.”

Katsuki hollers.

“Oh my god, this guy is Deku? THIS?! Are you fucking kidding me?! Also, you just let your boyfriend salivate over another guy right in front of your face?” Katsuki looks at the other Todoroki who only shrugs at that.

“Well, technically, he is me. So he’s salivating over me just with more muscles.”

That’s fair.

“Hi, I’m Todoroki Shouto. Nice to meet you.” Shouto shakes Todoroki’s hand. Katsuki is about to pass out from all the laughing, still laying on the floor.

“Uhm, hi. I’m also… Todoroki Shouto.”

Awkward silence. Katsuki is dead.

“Okay, while I really enjoy your shenanigans, let’s move to somewhere private before someone gets a heart attack from seeing this shit.” You giggle. Shouto is about to take his boyfriend into his arms when Todoroki stops him.

“I’ll take him.” He takes a deep breath while Midoriya snickers in the background. Needless to say he can’t even lift the guy off the ground. “Nevermind. You can… take him.” He moves away awkwardly, back to his partner’s side who looks at him with nothing but pity in his eyes.

“We will start working out from tomorrow.” Midoriya gives Todoroki a shoulder pat.

Todoroki doesn’t say anything just nods.

Shouto takes Izuku’s body in his arms without even flinching.

“I think I peed a little a bit.”

“Oh my god, Deku.”

~•💥•~

“You are so cute.”

Those are Izuku’s first words after he finally decides to wake up properly, now in Todoroki’s room. This world’s Todoroki blushes like a maniac.

“How long am I going to be ignored? Huh?” Katsuki decides to throw an actual hissy fit, hand on his hips and everything. “What about me?! I look fucking hot too! Don’t ignore me!”

“Yeah, where is the other Kacchan?” Izuku asks the million dollar question.

“Yeah, where is my other boo? I wanna kiss his stupid face for making me realize this guy isn’t just an asshole.”

It’s harsh, but it’s the truth. Without this world’s Bakugou you wouldn’t be here right now. You must thank him properly.

“Oi, don’t ignore me!”

“Kacchan, don’t worry, you look gorgeous, honeybun!” Midoriya decides to save the day. “I love the undercut and damn, that waist!”

“Finally, thank you!” Katsuki mutters with a red face. “Fucking ignoring me, I can’t believe this shit…” He mumbles in the most adorable way and you can’t help but cuddle into him, your eyes full of adoration.

“I love you, you gremlin.”

“Asshole.” He mutters back but he kisses your forehead anyway.

“SURPRISE BITCHES!” Todoroki’s door opens and that’s when it’s your time to loose your shit; seeing this world’s Bakugou again is already enough for your heart to act up but there is another person next to him, none other than yourself. “No fucking shit! No way! Y/N!” Bakugou is right in your personal space, hugging the shit out of you while your other self gawks at the whole scene.

“So that comment before wasn’t a poor attempt at flirting?! Katsuki?! What the fuck is going on?!” Your other self stares at you for several seconds before she finally speaks again. “Damn, I’m hot! Damn, you are hot! The fuck are these people?!”

You are just about to answer your own (?) question when Bakugou makes a move towards your boyfriend, extremely pissed all of a sudden.

“You fucking asshole!” Bakugou attempts to hit Katsuki but needless to say, he dodges it and literally just grabs the guy’s shirt and yanks him up and far away from him, like he weights nothing. “Oi, let me fucking hit you! You broke Y/N’s heart, you absolute moron, you are the e stupidest fucking blonde in the whole wide universe! I’m ashamed of you! Shame! Shame! Shame”

“You know Kacchan is mad when he starts quoting Game of Thrones.” Rainbow Deku adds helpfully.

“Stop fiddling and calm the fuck down! I’m doing my best to not fucking hit you myself for cuddling my girlfriend back then! I was so mad I couldn’t sleep for three days after that!”

“Oh?” Finally, Bakugou stops moving around and just looks at himself (?) with a questioning look.

“Yeah, oh, you fucking idiot, do you think I actually hated her guts back then? I was stupid, but I’ve learnt my lesson so stop fucking trying to kill me with your chicken arms!”

“So, you two…”

“Yeah. I fucking love her. Of course I fucking do. We just moved in together.” Katsuki finally puts Bakugou down, blushing like a school kid.

“We also have a pet pigeon, Steven… wait no. Stephanie.” You put your arm around Katsuki’s torso and pull him close. He leaves a tiny kiss on your forehead again.

“We also have two grand kids. Stephanie just had babies.” You look up at your boyfriend like you are talking about your actual grandchildren and not just about some random pigeons who decided to live on your balcony. Katsuki looks back at you with so much fondness in his eyes it kinda makes you tear up.

“Oh my god, get a room.” Deku smirks at your boyfriend, who smirks back.

“If there is a spare room we can use, I’m happy to oblige.”

“You can use Izuku’s room, it’s free!” Todoroki says right away and Bakugou slaps his own face out of embarrassment.

“Honeybun, you just told them to go and fuck in my room.” Deku puts his hand on Todoroki’s shoulder who gets as red as a lobster when he realizes his mistake.

“Why is human language so hard?”

“Don’t worry, you are not alone.” Shouto goes over to himself with an understanding look. “I’m also terrible at understanding these things. I get in trouble all the time. Or I just get laughed at. Just smile like you’ve meant it as a joke and then they’ll think you are just funny. Don’t ask me why, I don’t understand either, but that’s what I was told to do.”

“Okay, why don’t we sit the fuck down? I’m starting to get dizzy from seeing two of the same people. I need a moment of silence to get my head around this shit.” Your other self speaks up and honestly….

“Same.”

… Last Chapter!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Potato ramble:

- Sorry for being so late with this, I finished this chapter ages ago then I forgot that I need to post it? 😂 I was also busy writing the two upcoming series, one Bakugou x Reader and one Kirishima x Reader (different reader) spin-off for this series! Please please please give them a read when they come out! I’m so excited for them!

- I hope it wasn’t too hard to understand who’s who, I really tried my best!

-I’ll try to post the last chapter of this one as soon as I can, I’m almost done with it! I will post the Kirishima one first though, so you guys can have a little peek into what’s coming! 💜

- Thank you for all your support during this series, your comments give me a reason to live 💜

TL: @sixxze @iwannahaveaprettyaesthetic @hanatsuki-hime @cloroxisadelectabletreat @cheesenmax @coffeent @smolsleepybat @therealpotatobish @qardasngan @canarystwin @unofficialmuilover @nanamomo1 @mikestuffffs @p4ndawrites @yao-ai @porusuniverse

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou x self insert #bakugo x you #shenanigansbypurplepotato #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #pro hero dynamight x reader

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genericpuff · 6 months

Note

Hope you don't mind my asking but do you mind elaborating on why you don't like Mongie too much? I know all about why everyone dislikes Let's Play itself. There are various videos and post upon post online tearing it to shreds with criticism but I've not heard much about the creator herself like I do Rachel Smythe. Does she also run into the same issues that Rachel does or is her behavior different but equally questionable/annoying?

It's kinda equally questionable, kinda different. They both have the same issues of like, fetishizing youthfulness and creating unhealthy power dynamics. They also haven't done a great job at depicting POC in their comics, you can tell they're written by white women who don't understand other cultures but are trying to make their series more "progressive" by including stand-ins for representation.

That said, considering Let's Play is set in a real world setting, the POC characters (and the casually racist issues in their writing) are a lot more obvious than in LO (where you have to know the context that the neon-colored nymphs are based on POC to really realize that they're lower class POC people who are getting the shit end of the stick from the rich upper class main protagonists).

And I don't even mean in the usual "there aren't any POC in this comic" or "the POC in this comic are stereotypical/poorly written", I mean in the sort of white-victim-complex "I added in other ethnicities and people got mad at me anyways so what more do you want!" kind of way (paired with the "they're poorly written and stereotypical" aspect).

Dean is a good example of the stereotypical designing and writing, IIRC he's a Hispanic man but he's written like some Spanish soap opera character who flirts with every woman he sees and always has rose petals falling around him.

Even in that sentence he says "part Asian" which is weird because he's looking for Marshall who's supposed to be his best friend and it's been established in the comic that Marshall is half-Japanese, but that brings us to the other instance of mongie being casually (if not directly) racist and even more so than with Dean...

Apparently mongie thought it was a good move to say that it was "more inclusive" to make Vikki only vaguely Asian. Which is just... so not true LOL Asia is an entire continent made up of MANY different cultures and ethnicities and so generalizing all of them to just "Asian" is not a great take from someone who's trying to seem "more inclusive".

But of course, when her community called her out on this and asked her to elaborate, she and her mod team basically dug their heels in and made up excuses that made mongie out to be a victim instead of just acknowledging she made an error that didn't connect well with members of her audience.

And theeen in comes mongie ready to torch the place. Note that up until this point, it's basically been her mod team speaking up on her behalf and giving her benefit of the doubt, so when mongie DID get her chance to speak, she jumped right to:

"FINE, SHE'S HALF CHINESE HALF KOREAN THEN, STFU AND STOP ANALYZING ME WHEN I INCLUDE CHARACTERS FROM RACES THAT DON'T ALIGN WITH MY OWN !!!" (╯‵□′)╯︵┻━┻ is very much the vibe people got from this, understandably so. It's also odd (and extremely privileged) for her to say that she'd "rather focus on a character's personality and not their race" because it's very "I don't see color" which has been proven to be counterintuitive to understanding and celebrating different races.

And then we get a lot of self-victimizing "well I can't win no matter what so you people are ungrateful and actually it's MY feelings that are hurt" excuses:

Again it's weird because she had NO problem specifying that Marshall was half-Japanese and she didn't make him into any sort of weird stereotype like she did with Vikki. So I don't know why she's having such a hard time grasping that being vaguely Asian for Vikki isn't inclusive.

Although, let's be real here, the only reason Marshall is half-Japanese at all is because he's a self-insert of Markiplier, a half-Korean Youtuber who mongie apparently worked for on payroll as a graphic designer prior to Let's Play. Which is just a whole layer of ick that I think surpasses even Rachel Smythe and Mads Mikkelson. Like the Rachel and Mads thing is definitely creepy and weird because she's literally drawn herself - an adult woman nearing her 40's - being swept off her feet by a smoochy-faced Mads. But at least she didn't work for the guy or ever interact with him directly like mongie did with Markiplier. That's a whole separate level of "ew".

That said, mongie continues:

Which is just such a half-assed non-apology. Not "I'm sorry for misrepresenting a culture" or "I'm sorry I didn't do proper research", but "I'm sorry people think I'm being insensitive or that they need specific representation in my work that I'm claiming to be representation to be good". Completely shifting the blame from herself onto her audience for not being happy with the bare minimum that she gave them.

There's more though. Probably one of the worst parts and it's not even her, but one of her mods:

The fact that this is one of mongie's mods telling mongie's audience that her feelings - as a white woman who's just legitimately patronized her audience - are more valid than the people whose feelings were hurt by mongie being so insensitive... it's a real gross move and I can't believe they even pulled that.

Oh, and of course, as people like this tend to do, she goes on about "cancel culture" and how "terrifying" it is to her and then comes up with some imaginary scenario where a kid pays a hitman to kill her ?? as a defense for herself that really just further victimizes herself over her own misled actions ??

And this is something mongie does a lot, at least in this instance - she comes up with justifications for her decisions based on completely imaginary scenarios that she came up with and assumed, rather than just, idk, doing her research and being open to learning new things about cultures she's clearly not educated on. Shit like "well if I do xyz you'll be mad at me anyways so fuck you!"

When in reality? No one would have been mad at her if she didn't have any non-white characters in her comic. Would readers be disappointed? Probably. But - and I can't speak for everybody out there obviously so this is just my opinion - I know I'd much rather representation from someone who wanted to represent my respective groups and identities and put love and effort into it, than get it from someone who was just doing it because they made up a scenario in their head that they would be cancelled for not doing it. No one really has any tangible ground to stand on if they get mad at you for writing a cast of all-white characters you wanted to write, there are plenty of webtoons like that on the platform. We do need more stories that uplift and represent POC voices, but it shouldn't be from white victim complex people who only do it to virtue signal and ensure they don't get "cancelled". You know what WILL get you cancelled? Attempting to write other ethnicities and racial groups purely based on stereotypes for the sake of "representation" and then getting mad when people ask you to be a little more specific than "Asian".

Oh yeah, and then have your mods censor/delete any mentioning of educational resources regarding Asian cultures, and then essentially dox one of your community members by revealing their Twitter to the entire Discord group to boot!