#Japanese hell scrolls | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chimielie · 5 months ago

Text

hold ‘em up (above my heart)

summary: Atsumu x Physical Therapist!F!Reader. the sun rises and sets over and over as your relationship progresses from friends to pro yearners to more.

wc: 4.3k

cw: friends with benefits subplot and all that entails; not explicit, just suggestive, reader is fighting for her LIFE in her brain, atsumu is just chilling (not really)

a/n: hi i didn’t die :3

“Hands up,” you say, voice low so as not to disturb the peace of the morning.

Atsumu raises his arms, elbows bent, making a frame of his face. His blond hair is pale, almost white because his little kitchen window faces east and he wakes before it rises above the upper pane. You sidle past him, back to his front, ignoring the weight of his hand as it settles on your hip while you reach up for the granola you keep in the cabinet next to the fridge.

He likes traditional Japanese breakfasts, the savory and umami flavors of natto and rice and miso. You have a sweet tooth and a craving for crunchy food, like a wild animal that needs to grind down its molars. On the days he has work, he settles for an omelette (or scrambled eggs if he fucks it up). You eat the same thing every morning or you'll be sick.

Growing up, Atsumu was never a morning person, but he sleeps better on the nights you're next to him. He doesn't get angry when you slosh milk over the side of his bowl onto his dining table, doesn't snap when you ask him what his plans for the day are. Maybe this is what being an adult is, these steady waters and calm skies.

You don't speak much as you chew, staring into space and thinking the slow thoughts of the exhausted, and he busies himself scrolling through his group messages and social media accounts.

There's a request from a verified account, a retired athlete-turned-model. He knows her name, has seen her in ads, bumped into her at the last Olympics. He clicks on it.

Hey, handsome. I'll be in Osaka this upcoming weekend - let's get a drink!

"I'm gonna shower," you're patting your hair, looking irritated. It always sticks up in the morning, no matter how you sleep on it, a few particular strands defying gravity.

"You should go to work like that," he says, voice still rough even if his mind's woken up. His accent is thicker in the morning, you've told him, but he can't hear it.

"Hell no," you say. "You're the only one who gets to see this morning glory for now."

"I better be," his grin is roguish, running his hand through his own bird's nest. "C'mon, you gonna let me shower with you or what?"

"No, you'll use up all my nice shampoo again!" You fake running to the bathroom, keeping your pace slow enough for him to wrap his arms around your waist and tackle you down, careful to fold himself so that you land on top of him, body between his legs, face cushioned on his chest.

He leaves his phone face up, forgotten on the table.

He's toweling off his hair, dressed in his practice uniform, while you're packing your bag for the day in the kitchen. His apartment is small, way smaller than some of the other guys' on the team, but he grew up crammed into a room with his mom and his brother. He'd toured one penthouse and decided he couldn't live with all that space strangling him.

He'd tried to get Samu to bunk with him like old times, but his brother had just said I'll sleep three meters from your dirty laundry in hell, and that was the end of the argument.

Besides, he has a lot of car bills to pay. He managed to fold another Mazda last month and you've been carpooling in your ancient Toyota while he waits to get license privileges again ever since.

"You got a text, by the way," you say casually, digging through your purse with your lips twisted to the side. "Aha!" You pull out a tube of lipstick triumphantly. "You should respond before you forget."

"Ah, was it Samu?" He asks, crossing back into the bedroom to put away his damp towel.

"Nah, the model," you call. "Sorry, I read your texts."

You're fighting the growing bitterness of the words, trying to sound jaunty and uncaring and casual. The admission of invading his privacy weighs heavily on your shoulders; you can't make yourself look up into his face when he comes into the kitchen.

"I don't care," he shrugs. "You can read whatever you want."

"You shouldn't say that," you try to laugh and wince instead. He just grunts and picks up the phone, swiping away from the conversation and leaving her on read. "I don't have the right, don't I? I shouldn't have—"

"I really don't care," he cuts across your strained attempt at an apology again.

"You should!" You sound like you're about to stamp your foot at him. He doesn't understand why you're so angry; he doesn't bite. "Aren't you gonna get mad? Shouldn't we be fighting?"

"I don't wanna fight," he rubs his large, calloused hand over your shoulder, your upper trapezius, to cup the back of your and pull you into a loose embrace. You stand, dumbfounded, chin pushed into his shoulder, hands at your sides. "Do you? We can if you want to."

"No," you whisper. "Sorry, I—sorry."

"'S okay," he says, digging his thumbs into the tight knots of muscle. "No big deal. Here, you dropped your thingy."

The thingy is the tube of lipstick, a deep berry color, rolling towards the edge of the table. He steps back and squeezes your cheeks in one hands, prompting you to part your lips slightly. He does it how he knows you do, a soft smear on the lower lip and two dabs made sharp by a swipe of his thumbnail on the outer creases, all blended together at the end for a subtle touch of color.

"You look like a frog about to burp," he says when he's done. You laugh so hard you cry.

On the car ride to work, you keep chewing on your lip. He frowns when he notices, all his work bitten off.

You wait for him to get out of the car first, a holdover from the days when you would wait five minutes so no one would notice that you were coming from the same place. In some ways, it's easier that he crashed his car; so convenient that you volunteered to be his chauffeur. He comes to your side, opens your door. You squint at him, jutting your chin out like you're bracing yourself for something.

"I wasn't gonna go out with her," he tells you, a secret between you, him, and the hard asphalt of the MSBY gym's employee parking lot. "Ain't nobody else seein' this in the mornings either. That's all."

He turns around and strides off, leaving you blinking in the morning light.

"Can you move it?" You say, your brows knit together. Hinata grimaces.

"I can bend it, like this—" he curls the injured finger inward. "But it won't stretch out, like this. Ah!"

You release his hand, where you'd applied pressure to the digit. "It's sprained. You're sitting out the rest of practice."

"Aw, but it really doesn't hurt that bad," he protests. You give him a look. "Okay, okay. Can I least do some running and stuff?"

"Do you want to come to practice tomorrow?" You say evenly. He gives you big brown puppydog eyes and you fold like wet paper. "I'll give you some stretches and exercises for your legs that you probably can't fuck up."

"Yay!" He cheers. "Thank you!" He uses an affectionate diminutive of your name with -chan tacked on the end. You laugh and wave him off, walking out of the main gym area toward your office, where you can print him the exercises.

You lean against your desk while the printer huffs temperamentally, taking a long sip of coffee. You should really stop going over to Atsumu's on weeknights, but you've been telling yourself that for well over a year, and it's a lot more convenient since all your clothes and your toothbrush live at his place.

You tell yourself a lot of things when it comes to your blond coworker.

The door to your office slams open and you make an involuntary, high-pitched noise in the back of your throat, focusing hard on keeping the cardboard cup in your hand from jumping with you.

"Sorry, sorry," Bokuto says, his hair drooping dramatically. "It's just really important—Tsumu's hurt!"

You take an inhale so quickly it hurts and burst your coffee cup all over your coat and work pants. Luckily, you take it mostly milk and sugar, so it doesn't burn you, but you don't even really notice it, just shedding the coat and rolling up your sleeves as you stride out the door without hesitation.

Behind you, Bokuto follows, making garbled promises you hear as through water to buy you a house to make up for startling you and ruining your outfit.

You try to take three deep breaths before you enter the gym, knowing you'll be much more helpful calm rather than battling the wall of panic that threatens to overtake you. Atsumu is blocked from your vision by a crowd of his teammates, fluttering around him like a herd of bumblebees.

Iwaizumi is already there, you see with an exhale of relief, ordering everyone around him to stay calm. You motion to the players around him to give him space, hoping your terror doesn't show untowardly on your face, hoping he can feel your singleminded prayer: please be okay.

"Eh?" He has a dopey expression on his face, dopier than usual, anyway. He says your name gleefully, but you're too busy scanning him for visible blood or bone to respond right away. "Nice shirt. Hey, why's your coat off? Were you taking off your clothes in there? Without me?"

"He collided with Sakusa," Iwaizumi tells you. Atsumu reaches for your hand and you stroke your fingertips lightly over the back of it, along the bones and tendons, each touch saying you'll be okay, it's going to be okay.

I'll make it okay.

"Sakusa's shoulder got banged up, you should probably put him on reserve for a couple days," Iwaizumi says. You glance over at the black-haired spiker, who gives you a thumbs-up though his expression is characteristically flat. "Atsumu, though... he fell pretty hard."

You can see that. There's a bruise blooming along the side of his face, like the sloppy trail of your lipstick after a night out. His ankle is swollen, too; the disorientation of the head injury must have impaired the grace of his landing.

You kneel and shift into clinical mode, receding into the comfortable space of your training. You feel along his leg, asking him over and over does it hurt, can you move this, does it hurt when I do this.

"Okay, doc?" His beautiful honey eyes are unfocused. You want to cry. You want to squeeze his hand tighter, but you don't want to hurt him more. "S all good. I'm fine."

You shake your head, grateful it's not worse. Afraid of what you have to say to him.

"That's right, you'll be fine. But the concussion paired with the ankle injury... I don't think it's a good idea for you to return to practice for a month at least."

You squeeze your eyes shut and pull your hands away from him. He probably doesn't want to be touched. He might hate you for this.

What's the point of sleeping with the doc if I don't get special privileges, you imagine him saying, if you're gonna take my life away from me like this. A month of recovery doesn't sound like so much to other people, but you've been working around these volleyball freaks since high school. You know that it's everything to them.

"Okay," Atsumu simply says. You look at him. "You gonna drive me home?"

"If you don't mind," you say softly.

"Yeah, then it's okay," he says, and scoots around, hissing when he forgets and puts pressure on the injured ankle. He leans back, and you catch his head in your lap.

"I'm gonna break my leg," Barnes says from somewhere behind you. "I want the doc to hold me like that."

You hear a thwack and then Iwaizumi's voice: "Sakusa, stop concussing your teammates. L/N only has so much room in her car."

Atsumu recovers more quickly than you expect. You should have known, though; he's always had a strong ability to heal. He rarely gets sick and though he's brash and reckless and sometimes outright stupid, he's lucky. In almost all the inadvisable endeavors you've seen him pull, he almost never gets hurt.

You're not actually a doctor, not that the team believes that. You've been trying to explain that you're a sports medicine physical therapist for the three years you've been working for MSBY and not once has it deterred anyone from calling you doc.

Atsumu was signed six months after you started, and you had only been friends until a year after that. In all that time, you've been the consummate professional at work, never letting your touches linger, never stretching him too deeply, trying not to stare at him like he's just any other player. When he first propositioned you, you tried not to say yes too quickly, as businesslike as possible.

You went into sports medicine because of your sister. She had been a superstar from the moment she stepped foot on a tennis court; even at a young age you saw that she wielded the racket like it was an extension of herself. As the two of you grew in age, you also saw the ways she overextended herself: the swollen knobs of her knees, hidden under frozen packs of peas, the frequent doctor's visits for hyperextension, the tear tracks when she tore her ACL.

You had spent so much of your childhood waiting for her during practice, doing your homework in the bleachers, fielding questions about her play to the uninitiated relatives who came to support her matches that it felt like the most natural course of action to go into a career field that meant you could help her and others like her chase their dreams.

You had also almost exclusively dated athletes as a result. While you were attending university and chasing your certifications, you had been surrounded by two types of people: students and athletes. You had barely any time in your schedule, much less the ability to align it with a similarly crammed med student. Athletes, on the other hand, didn't have an obsession with comparing your knowledge, liked that you were too busy to monitor them all day long, and loved that you had to attend every one of their games because it was literally your job.

By the time you got the position in Osaka, you were beyond over the routine of dating the people in your care. You swore to yourself that you wouldn't mess around with the team and entered a yearlong celibate streak, which Atsumu blew up into a million pieces and never allowed to recover.

To his (and your) credit, the both of you became close friends before ever crossing the boundary of inappropriate conduct. Just because you were strictly business during work hours didn't mean that you, lonely and shy in a new city, were going to turn down your coworkers' offer to go out after practice. You'd gotten to know Meian well and considered Bokuto to be something of a little brother. Then they had traded a couple of players for Atsumu, and the moment he gripped your hand and slapped your shoulder instead of shaking it or bowing like a normal person, you knew that he was going to mean much more to you than any other of your team.

You had fallen quickly into a deep friendship, and his apartment was much closer to the team's favored bars than yours was, so it was just easier for you to go home and crash on his couch. And his couch was gross, because it belonged to a bachelor who had never heard of a steam cleaner, so one night you insisted on sharing the bed, and you had become good friends who cuddled weekly.

It happened like this:

You were the last two left in the booth that had once contained the extremely compressed bodies of several of the largest men in Japan, probably, but they had practice early the next morning and had trickled out, one by one. Atsumu had his head down on the table while you desperately tried to convince him to come home (already you were referring to his apartment as your home without thinking, though only a spare toothbrush and a coat were kept there at the time).

"Please," you said, "I'm so tired. I'm not even drunk anymore."

"I am," Atsumu said, turning his face toward you. "Very."

"I know," you groaned. "Let's go home."

"I can't," he said despondently.

"Why not?"

"Not with you," his words slurred together. "I gotta problem."

"What?" You suddenly felt very, very sick. Maybe you were more drunk than you'd thought.

"Mhm. I gotta apologize, I think."

Oh, you thought. This is it. He knows.

"I've been having," he hiccuped and turned his face into his arms again so that you couldn't hear the next thing he mumbled.

"I can't hear you like that," you say softly. "Please, Atsumu, you can tell me anything."

You've been seeing someone, and she wants me to stop sleeping over. She wants you to stop being friends with me. You need the apartment to yourself to have her over.

"No," he says, turning back to you again, his eyes glossy with drink, his lips pink and just the slightest bit open. "I have been having manly thoughts about you. Unmanly thoughts. Whatever."

"What do you mean?" You'd asked, heart beating fast.

"I wanna have sex with you," he said, and then slammed his forehead against the table until it left a red mark. "I'm sorry, women! It's wrong to dream about kissing your girl friends, I know!"

You ignored his nonsensical shouting and put your hand under his face so he wouldn't injure it.

"Then let's go home so we can have sex," you said. He whipped his head up so fast you worried for his spinal discs.

"You promise?"

You actually didn't have sex that night because he fell asleep as soon as you coerced him into the bed. The next morning, he'd been hungover and ashamed, stuttering and afraid to look you in the eye. You had given him a handful of painkiller pills and waited until he was washing it down with a glass of green juice before you said "I think about having sex with you, too," so that he spewed it all over the floor.

Maybe it was petty, but you needed vengeance for his forcing you to drag him bodily out of that bar the previous night.

After your first time, he said, awkwardly, something about not being able to commit to a relationship at the moment, something about difficulty expressing his feelings, about being too immature to settle. A script you were as familiar with as the back of your hands. You turned to him, swiping sweaty strands of hair out of your face, glowing with a smile as he stuttered his way through it, and said I know the game. We don't have to talk about it.

He insisted that it wasn't a game, that you deserved transparency and to be treated well, and you rolled over on top of him and kissed him until he forgot his own name.

During the month-long recovery period, you had resumed the friendship you had had in the early months of knowing each other, refusing adamantly to do anything strenuous or even unsportsmanly while you had to work much more closely together than ever before. You insist on sleeping at your own apartment for the first week, afraid of aggravating his injuries further, until he threatens to walk to you with his pillow and sleepover bag. You bring him food near-daily and call his brother when your schedule prevents you from doing so.

He's diligent about doing the exercises and stretches you assign him to bring him back to full functionality. Towards the end of his detention (you pinch him for using such a dramatic word), you start taking walks together, in the evenings on work days and the mornings on days off.

You keep expecting him to ask for space, to push you out of his daily routine, to realize that he's bored because he knows everything about you; there's nothing left to hide. Nothing except the one unspoken thing, the one you're sure he knows but you can't acknowledge.

New growth is beginning to sprout on the trees, grey wood dotted with little specks of bright green. Atsumu walks without a limp, now, his posture straight but relaxed, his hands shoved into his pockets.

His body is healed, but his heart aches. You're wearing casual clothes, big soft pants that billow around your legs and a black shirt with his name in yellow letters, and you look far away, worried. No matter how many times he smooths the pinch between your brows away with his thumb, no matter how many times he asks what's wrong, you refuse him a straight answer.

He wonders if he's pulled you too close, in this month dying of boredom, forbidden from running and setting and anything that could damage his brain. He still gets to see you in the morning, your back arching as you stretch and yawn, the crinkle of your nose when your feet touch the cold floor outside of bed, which is probably slowly draining all the function from his grey matter.

You're wearing gloves, your extremities sensitive to the cold. He takes your left hand, tugs it off. When he tangles your fingers together, you look up at him, questioningly, that knot between your brows back again.

"What, woman, now I can't hold your hand?"

You stop walking. He curses his big, fat mouth. He always chooses the wrong thing to say, always has.

Osamu used to ask him what he was supposed to say to girls. Atsumu, proud big brother that he wanted to be, would puff out his chest and give him paragraphs of advice, and Osamu almost never used it. There were so few opportunities for him to advise Samu, though; he was so self-sufficient, maybe more than Atsumu had ever been. He was more introverted, less brash and crass and rude. Sometimes, when Atsumu ceded his insistence on being the wiser one with six more minutes of life experience, he wished he could be more like his twin.

"Do you love me like that, Atsumu?" You ask, mouth pressed into an unhappy line, already pulling away from him like you were expecting him to say something completely insane. "Because I understood fucking, and being friends with benefits, but I don't know if I get going out for food and holding hands and—"

"Like?" He says, refusing to let your hand slip from his. "I love you. That's it."

"Oh," you say, and your mouth is twisted up like you're searching for something he can't see again, but the crease in your forehead is gone.

"You gonna go out with me?" He says, and it comes out way easier than he ever thought it would, and if choosing the rest of his life is as simple a decision as chasing volleyball and you has been, growing up sounds way better than he thought. "'Cause I wanna do it all with you."

Once Atsumu's allowed to drink again, it's time for the real volleyball season to start, and his diet becomes much stricter and your schedule much longer, but eventually the two of you find yourselves back at the same old bar with the rest of the team.

"You're a scrub with no hope of survival in the zombie apocalypse," sneers Atsumu. This is a common topic of conversation among them; each one vying to be the leader of your hypothetical ragged survivors' team.

"I could win a fight against you with one hand tied behind my back," snits Tomas, who usually is oblivious to Atsumu's provocations but gets a lot feistier when he's drunk, to the setter's delight.

"Please don't," says Bokuto, his hair deflating in fear of his friends fighting.

"Haven't you had enough dick measuring," says Sakusa, holding a mug in front of his face like it'll prevent him from seeing Atsumu's and thus pretending he's not there.

"Have you guys ever done that?" You perk up, looking around. "Isn't that supposed to be a locker room ritual?"

"In high school, maybe," snorts Barnes. "We're way too old for that now."

"Yeah, we're real mature," insists Bokuto, his hair bouncing back up into its familiar two-pronged shape. You’ve long wondered how it does that, but if working with MSBY has taught you anything, it’s that science can’t explain everything.

You nod, taking another sip of your beer.

“So how big is it?” Atsumu addresses Sakusa and you squeeze your eyes shut. You just got him to start attending team bonding nights.

“Small. Leave me alone.” You choke on your drink, spluttering as you make eye contact with Sakusa and the tiny, prideful smirk on his face.

The rest of the team dissolves into laughter.

"What about you?" Hinata, his cheeks rosy, says to Atsumu. Before you can think, your drunken mouth speaks for you.

"You can’t have it, I called dibs!”

You slap a hand over your mouth, mortified. You can’t even begin to think about the rest of your coworker’s reactions. You haven’t even disclosed your relationship yet! Atsumu guffaws.

“I don’t think anyone’s trying to take it from ya, doll.”

#im panic posting this immediately before an appointment and RUNNING AWAY i will be back with tags and summary such later #note that there is suggestive content #haikyuu!! x reader #miya atsumu x reader #haikyuu x reader #atsumu x reader #hq!! x reader #hq x reader #atsumu miya x reader #haikyuu!! x reader fluff #haikyuu!! fluff #atsumu fluff #atsumu x reader fluff

377 notes · View notes

reformhim · 28 days ago

Text

The Warrior’s Heir

I'd like to give a special word of thanks to the talented @rowdy317 for the artwork!

Kenji never paid much attention to his grandparents’ attic. It smelled of cedar and time—full of dust-laced boxes, faded photographs, and the silent weight of history. But that rainy Saturday, curiosity tugged him upward.

He rifled through the clutter with idle hands until his fingers brushed against something cool—metallic. Pulling aside an old silk cloth, he uncovered a pendant hanging from a tarnished silver chain. The stone embedded in it was black and glassy, almost alive in the low light.

Kenji tilted his head. "Kinda badass," he murmured, slipping it over his neck.

A faint warmth pulsed against his chest.

He didn’t know that this amulet had belonged to Kenzo, a legendary warrior who, according to whispered family stories, had defended their ancestral village from invaders over a century ago. The adults always said Kenzo vanished in battle, and that his soul never rested.

Kenji just thought it looked cool.

That night, as he lay in bed scrolling on his phone, he noticed something he hadn’t before—an inscription along the edge of the stone. Etched in an older dialect of Japanese, but legible to him somehow.

力と知恵が私のものとなりますように

"May Strength & Wisdom Be Mine"

He read it aloud, unaware of the ancient power that stirred with his voice.

The amulet pulsed once—then flared, scorching hot against his skin.

"Agh!" he cried out, clutching it, but it wouldn’t come off. The chain coiled tighter, the stone glowing like an ember. Then it sank into his skin, vanishing beneath the surface.

He staggered to the mirror, gasping.

His skin began to darken, a sun-kissed bronze sweeping over him like a tide. His lean frame trembled—then swelled, muscle surging through his arms, chest, and thighs with every heartbeat. Veins bulged. His shoulders broadened, his back thickening like a seasoned soldier’s.

His jaw cracked outward and hair erupted from his face—a thick, black beard pushing out in seconds. Then, as if years passed in moments, streaks of white bled through his hair and beard. Lines carved themselves into his brow and around his eyes. His youthful features matured, becoming something weathered, noble, and strong.

He stared at the man in the mirror—a man who looked nothing like the soft-featured college student he’d been an hour ago.

His voice was deeper when he whispered, "What the hell just happened?"

Inside, he was still Kenji. He still remembered his Spotify playlists, his student loans, and how to make a perfect cup of instant ramen.

But his body now carried a warrior’s weight. A body tempered by battle. A body built to endure.

Kenji stumbled backward, a strange presence pulsing within his chest—not quite a voice, but a knowing. Muscle memory that wasn’t his. Strength that wasn’t earned. Yet it obeyed him.

The amulet hadn’t just changed him—it had restored something long dormant. The relic had brought back his ancestor's might… but not his mind.

The warrior had returned. And his blood now lived again—in Kenji’s flesh.

#male transformation #male tf #male tf story #reality change #asian tf #magical transformation #beard growth #muscle growth tf #muscle #muscle tf #muscular

86 notes · View notes

shsl-hubris-guy · 1 year ago

Text

In-Depth Analysis On All The DR Characters Because What, Are You Gonna Try And Stop Me? Who Are You, My Mom? Yeah, I Didn't Think So- Part 2: Mondo Owada

So yeah, I decided to do Mondo's next. After all the material I ended up inadvertently collecting for him in my Taka analysis, it just made more sense to go ahead and get him out of the way, even if I'd rather go for my personal favorite characters first.

As noted previously, this analysis will only be using canon material. It'll primarily focus on the game and its english translation since that's what I'm most familiar with, but may also pull from the original Japanese, as well as the animation, stageplay, etc. If you aren't interested, just keep scrolling. Mondo fans, prepare some popcorn, and perhaps a tissue box since if you're anything like the Taka fans you may end up crying. You're welcome.

Part 1- Character Design

Mondo Owada is a delinquent character whose design pays homage to manga series Jojo's Bizarre Adventure: Diamond is Unbreakable, and is modeled after its protagonist, Josuke Hikashigata. Mondo sports a massive pompadour and a modified uniform that mimics Josuke's, and is the leader of a biker gang called the Crazy Diamonds, a direct reference to Josuke's Stand, Crazy Diamond.

Due to leading this biker gang, he was given the title of SHSL Gang Leader, or Ultimate Biker Gang Leader.

Part 2- Character Introduction

Most of Mondo's character introduction isn't actually from himself, but from the researching Makoto did prior to entering the school in-game. We know immediately that he's leader of the largest biker gang in Japan, and get a look into his public image via Makoto. Despite the fact that Mondo is being fairly chill with his greeting, Makoto remains terrified of him based off of reputation alone- "I'd better be careful around him. One wrong word and I could wake up at the bottom of the sea..."

However, we can quickly see that this reputation is built mainly on bravado, as when Monokuma first calls for the entrance ceremony, we can see Mondo begin to sweat, despite his claiming otherwise- "Well hell, it ain't like I'm scared or nothin'. Let's just get this over with!"

He continues to sweat throughout Monokuma's explanation of the communal life, attempting to cover it up by yelling at the bear to let them out. We get a brief look at his more protective nature, as he purposefully puts himself between Hiro and Monokuma in order to confront him. We also quickly learn just how easily provoked he is.

Despite this provocation, he's not completely swept up in his rage, as he's able to listen to Kyoko's warning of the bomb and follows her advice- to throw it away- without hesitation. So our first real impression of him is that he's a short-tempered and intimidating- but well-intentioned- protector of sorts. He's not completely brainless; he's considerate of his classmates and their safety even when putting himself at risk.

Part 3- Early Game Development

Mondo is an interesting case, as he's a character that almost immediately looks directly into the camera and tells the player directly what their main motivation is. The only other character in this series that's as transparent about their goals so early in is Sayaka, and even then the game makes you ask for that information.

He tells us, in no uncertain terms, that keeping promises is the #1 most important thing to him. He also tells us indirectly how highly he values his family and personal connections, holding his brother's word as law. These combined with his talent being that of a gang leader all suggest a pack leader mentality, which is immediately confirmed by his anger at Byakuya for trying to separate from the group- "Like hell I'm gonna let you run off and do whatever you want!"

Not only is this loss of control upsetting to him, but he's then immediately provoked and called insignificant by Byakuya, leading him to lash out at the closest person in an attempt to regain that hold of power- which just so happens to be Makoto. Not only is this response irrational and violent, but it knocks out Makoto for 10-11 hours. Mondo is a leader, yes, but he's a gang leader, and his bite does match his bark.

Mondo's aggressive and fairly single-minded nature is made apparent when he continuously tries to break down the hatch in the main hall. Not only does he attempt to bust it open with Sakura on the first day, but he then returns to the hatch with Leon the following day, despite the fact he already admitted there was probably no way to open it from inside, and continues to check into the following chapter. He sees one possible way out, and zeroes in on it, just in case.

The game continues to double down on the irrational, defensive aspects of his character when Monokuma appears again to present the first motive. He again confronts Monokuma directly- pretending as if he knows who's piloting the bear for a fact("We know who you are!")- and attempting to intimidate him into letting them go. Once again, this demonstrates both his desire to protect himself and his classmates, and his unwavering confidence in the intelligence of said classmates, as Chihiro was the one to suggest the mastermind being Genocide Jack based only off her gut feeling. He then proceeds to immediately turn around and make Makoto be the one to go find the motive instead of going himself, getting extremely angry when Makoto doesn't instantly do as he's told- "Hey... Hey hey hey hey hey... HEEEEEY!!! You see how passionately I'm begging you!? What's the big deal? Just check it out real quick!"

He then calms down the second Makoto agrees.

It creates a sort of duality with his character between his more protective nature and his need to exert control, something the game makes a point to call out.

Part 4- Relationships

Mondo develops a fair number of relationships across his time in the game, to varying levels of importance- some antagonistic, some exceedingly complex. We'll go from least to most important to the overarching story.

4.1- Celeste

Celeste and Mondo are written in directly opposing ways, as while they're both fairly short-tempered, Celeste is much better at hiding it. It's by this logic that throughout the early game, oftentimes when Mondo starts to get riled up by the rules of the school and/or their circumstances, it's Celeste who ends up deescalating before he can explode, maintaining a facade of calm where he can't.

4.2- Sakuraoi

While not very touched upon, Mondo does end up developing a mutual respect for Sakura and Hina. When the class splits up to investigate the school on the first day, he joins the two of them in trying to find a way to get back to the outside, and he and Sakura work together to try and bust open the hatch in the main hall.

Hina's the one that stops Mondo from attacking Byakuya in the library, and when Chihiro begins to cry over Mondo saying that 'women are naturally weak anyway', it's Hina who calls him out for 'screaming like a lunatic.'

His relationship with Taka is also directly contrasted to Sakura's with Hina by Sakura herself- "Friendship between men seems very simplistic. Nothing like what I'm used to with girls." "Yeah, for real..." It's an interesting comparison, considering both Sakura and Mondo end up dying and leaving the responsibility of failure on Hina and Taka.

4.3- Byakuya

Byakuya antagonizes Mondo more than once, first as they're splitting up to search the school, and again after the library opens. Both times he seems to take enjoyment from it, calling him unimportant more than once and refusing to even entertain the idea that he might die.

"So miniscule, so insignificant, they couldn't possibly have any kind of influence on the boundless ocean."

"You know, I still just can't believe it..." "Believe what?" "That an uneducated, brain-dead, useless piece of garbage like you has survived this long."

"You all need to try harder. If an opponent isn't going to give it their best, where's the fun for me?"

It's enough of a threat for Mondo to genuinely believe that he's dangerous and want to keep him bound so he can't attack (foreshadowing when Byakuya himself would go one to tie Chihiro up? Probably not but it's a neat connection)

He also goes on to fuck with Chihiro, both by mocking her fear and by purposefully tampering with (what he believed to be) the crime scene of her death. On both counts, this directly affects Mondo, calling him out for his bullying("Hey, shithead! You get off on bullying people that can't fight back?") and letting Byakuya pin the crime of killing Chihiro on himself in the trial.

However, despite all this, Mondo never gets the chance to give Byakuya his comeuppance for his words and actions.

4.4- Ishimondo (yeah these bitches gay)

Similarly to Byakuya, Taka starts in a more antagonistic position, directly opposing Mondo as the unofficial, self-designated 'leader' of the class and remaining insensitive to the feelings of his classmates.

Unlike Byakuya, there's no actual intent to harm here, and their banter remains more focused on their differing ideas on how to help their classmates than anything else. Still, as time continues to pass, Mondo's impatience combined with the recent losses from ch 1 starts to push him over the edge, getting angrier with the class's lack of urgency.

This impatience only leads him to butt heads with Taka more, who's trying to keep the class together and safe first and foremost. On top of that, Mondo's delinquency is directly opposed to Taka's disciplinary background, making it all too easy to see each other as foes. Despite the fact they consider themselves the better type of man to the other, they have similar views on how men are to face each other, leading to the sauna scene.

Both characters' strong-willed determination and stubbornness inadvertently puts them on the same path, attempting to use their physical abilities to prove himself a more worthy leader than the other. It's a simplistic way of deciding, but it's one they both wholeheartedly believe in, and this gives them the opportunity to connect with each other in a way they're unable to with anyone else in the class. Thus, the following morning, when asked about the contest, the two have formed an inseparable brotherhood and refuse to even acknowledge the contest, as having a winner would put them on different levels. Interestingly, Mondo shares the belief with Taka that men bond by being naked around each other("Guys gotta expose themselves to each other, ya know?"), suggesting that he removed his clothes in order for this 'brotherhood' to form.

4.5- Daiya

The first thing we learn about Mondo's older brother in-game is that he was the one who taught Mondo to always keep his promises, no matter the cost. The second thing we learn is that he fucking died. And until nearly the end of Mondo's run in the game, that's all we as an audience need to know. He had an older brother that taught him his core values and passed away, leaving Mondo to carry out his wishes. It's not until after the chapter 2 trial is said and done that we learn anything more about him through Mondo's secret: "That embarrassing memory, that secret he didn't want anyone to know... You know what he did? He killed his own brother!"

It's through Monokuma that we learn the truth of Mondo's history with his brother: Daiya was his only family growing up, and thus, became his role model, the man Mondo himself wanted to become. He respected Daiya and Daiya alone. He followed him everywhere, and together, they formed the Crazy Diamonds, which went from a local biker gang to one of the greatest in Japan. It was through his brother that he developed his biking talent, and acted as his right hand. But some of the gang didn't believe in Mondo or trust him the way Daiya did. As Daiya grew older and prepared to retire, rumors of nepotism circulated throughout the gang, saying that Mondo was nothing compared to Daiya, that he wasn't worthy to take over the gang.

"Daiya created the gang with his bare hands! Mondo's just along for the ride." "Can someone like that be our leader?" "All that'll do is make the gang look bad."

Any accomplishments Mondo had made within the gang didn't count to the gang, or to Mondo himself, because they were put next to the leader's achievements. He compared himself to Daiya as well, feeding into the rumors and developing a deep-rooted jealousy. He felt like he had to be the stronger man, had to prove himself to the gang, had to best his brother or he wouldn't be accepted. So he challenged him. He challenged Daiya, and lost all restraint on the road, charging forward with the desperation of a dead man. And it cost him his brother's life.

His brother made him promise not to let the gang go as he passed; Mondo became shackled by his honor to stay. He fully believes it was his fault Daiya died, and now not only is he indebted to stay with the gang, but can never admit blame for fear of tarnishing not only his own reputation, but tearing his brother's gang apart. His community demands unwavering macho leadership, and he can't afford to break character for even a second.

4.6- Chihiro (will be using mostly he/him due to discussing canon)

Mondo and Chihiro exist on 2 sides of the same coin- toxic masculinity. Both characters (canonically speaking here) are men, but are perceived totally differently, both by those around them and by themselves. And because of this design, when put into the high-stress scenario that they were, they were doomed to drive each other to ruin.

Even before chapter 2 starts, there are multiple instances of Mondo listening to Chihiro and respecting his words without doubt(his theory of Genocide Jack and asking his opinion on '11037'). We've also seen Mondo's confrontational and protective nature in action. So it's no surprise at all when he stands up to Byakuya on Chihiro's behalf when he clams up. And while this is done with good intentions, it only serves to make Chihiro feel weaker. Mondo is physically stronger- anyone can see that- and he's not afraid to mouth off to someone showing excitement at the killing game they were all forced into. So when asked if he's okay the following morning, he can't help but explain himself- he feels weak, and doesn't like having someone else stand up for him. For Mondo, this goes directly against his idea of strength, and can't comprehend why "she'd" possibly care.

With all of Mondo's toughness, he carries not just the expectations of a man, but the misogynist beliefs that often come with it. But regardless of that, he's immediately able to tell he fucked up("Hey, c'mon, don't cry... I-It's my fault, okay? I won't yell anymore...") as far as the narrative will allow him due to writer's bias*. He feels bad about this, genuinely, enough to offer Chihiro his promise as a man. It's enough of a gesture for Chihiro to trust him completely, believing in the man's promise he's emphasized as being the most important thing to him since the very beginning.

(*Writer's bias in this case means the author is also sexist to a degree. Mondo is very clearly meant to be a tough guy with good intentions but because the creator appears to agree with the sentiment that women are weaker on average, we as an audience are meant to take issue with the fact that he's yelling and not the sexist statement. Said bias is made pretty clear by the fact their 'weak boy' character is dressed like a woman to emphasize his weakness and be a 'gotcha', as well as the fact they later have Kyoko force Makoto to tear paper out of Hifumi's rigor mortis hand because Makoto's a boy and she's a girl, even though earlier in that same game she, still a girl, was allowed to examine Chihiro's corpse in enough detail to find her dick. Writer's biases can and does affect the final product, so it's always important to consider that when looking at a character's development to determine whether they're being shitty because they're supposed to be or if it's some fault with the creator themself inputting their biases into something that otherwise wouldn't develop in this way. This has been Critical Consumption of Media 101.)

When Chihiro's found dead, Mondo keeps his head hung, lamenting about the fact that Chihiro wanted to be stronger, and when Makoto points out Chihiro was a woman anyway, Mondo just dismisses it, contradicting his earlier statement.

He respects Chihiro's memory and refuses to speak poorly of him. And while at first glance this is all it appears to be, as the trial unfolds and we learn the truth about what happened to Chihiro, a dual meaning behind this reveals itself- another showcasing of his devotion to the promises he keeps and the desire to protect his friend, even in death.

Chihiro is physically weak; a strong wind could probably knock him over, and he's much more in-tune with his emotions than your average guy. He mourns the losses of Sayaka, "Junko", and Leon all deeply, and has a deep shame for not being able to defend himself against Byakuya. But despite all this, when tested by Monokuma's secrets motive, he doesn't crumble away. He thrives, taking that threat and turning it into motivation to push his limits. He has the self-awareness to know when to ask for help, and isn't swayed by the threat of death. He's physically weak, but is incredibly strong mentally and is able to conquer his fears and face the lie he created for himself. Unfortunately for him, living with this toxic idea of what masculinity is supposed to look like makes him believe the way to do this can only be found in becoming physically stronger, and dies without ever seeing the strength he already had.

Mondo, on the inverse, is extremely physically capable, even without trying. He's 187 cm of muscle, and is confrontational to a fault, only giving him more opportunities to show off that physical strength. But on the inside, he can't face the sins of his past, can't admit his faults, and can't comprehend how to make peace with himself. All this is exacerbated by the weight he carries of leading the gang his brother formed, unable to release that weight from his conscience.

"N-No matter what... I couldn't let the other gang members find out. If that happened, everything would've been ruined... Everything me and my brother worked to create... woulda been destroyed... His death... all the guilt I'd been carrying around... it all woulda been for nothing."

And when Monokuma tests his resolve, he completely crumbles. Unable to admit the truth to himself, he's faced with Chihiro, someone who has the mental capability he could only dream of. That primal fear of breaking the promise he made for his brother on his deathbed, combined with Chihiro's unwavering confidence as he happily chimes how unbothered Mondo must be, blocks out all rationale. He spirals, forgetting where he is and who he's talking to, trying to make the panic go away as he throws the dumbbell in his hand.

Chihiro and Mondo each have everything the other wants, and drive each other to death trying to get it.

Part 5- Chihiro's Trial

For most of the trial, Mondo doesn't appear suspicious at all. So much time is spent on Byakuya's suspicious behavior and his framing of Genocide Jack that you barely notice him. He fully appears to be trying to find Chihiro's killer and find justice for her, following Makoto's line of reasoning to find Byakuya as the killer- with the body's suspension and the subtle differences between Jack's methods of killing and the murder of Chihiro herself. He's all too eager to declare Byakuya as the killer- and though we can't know for sure, he may have genuinely believed it. After all, walking into the girls' locker room to find her body suspended and the message of 'Bloodlust' written on the walls certainly wasn't his doing. Unfortunately for him, that's all Byakuya did, and the conversation continues.

In the end, Mondo brings about his own execution. Even after slipping up with his words, the conversation is able to continue on, sfifting focus over to Chihiro's missing E-Handbook and what exactly happened to it. And when Mondo becomes cornered with Makoto's mention of the sauna, it's not Mondo who goes on the defensive; it's Taka. Mondo gives up; he lets his tough-guy persona go. He finally faces the truth; he's undoubtedly the one that ended Chihiro's life, no matter how he may have wanted to delude himself otherwise. He sees his bro defending him, and he accepts that he has to die. It's not beyond reason to say that Taka's insistence of his innocence was what pushed him to truly admit his guilt, both to the class and to himself. Up until this point, he'd still been trying to play it off and get away with it. But was it worth it to live and kill his bro, and everyone else, just to protect his pride? No. He admits to being the killer, straight up.

"Yeah. Yeah... I did it... I killed him."

"Go ahead, Monokuma. Get it over with... Ask for the goddamned verdict..."

Part 6- The Cage of Death

The first person that comments with some variation of OH MY GOD YOU'RE SO EVIL HOW COULD YOU PUT THE EXECUTION IN THIS gets a cookie. Anyways, the executions in these games are always thematic to the characters and are meant to send them into the worst possible despair in their final moments, so let's break this down.

The execution begins with Mondo forcefully strapped to his motorcycle by Monokuma, who's sporting the same pompadour as him. This may be representative of Mondo feeling confined to the biker gang by his guilt; he was never able to break free of the lie he created about that night. The pompadour is likely just Monokuma making fun of him for his hair again, as the thing that nearly killed him in the prologue.

The kanji written on the motorcycle reads 'Little Black Sambo,' a reference to a children's story of the same title. The entire execution is an inverse of this story as well. In the story, a boy named Sambo is surrounded by four hungry tigers, and gives up his clothes to avoid being eaten. The tigers are all conceited and argue over who's the best-dressed, chasing each other in circles until they churn themselves into butter. Sambo is then able to recollect his clothes and the butter, and his mother uses the butter to make pancakes. This story is well-known and beloved in Japan, but isn't in basically the entire rest of the world on account of the racist caricatures of the POC present in it.

Mondo's execution is a inversed version of the story(and also, because Mondo isn't blasian there's thankfully no directly racist art in it, just tigers). Rather than being the one to trick the tigers, he's the one who's full of pride, and so he's sent into a motorcycle cage and left to spin around and around, while the tigers dance on either side of him. He ends up being the one who's turned into butter, and Monokuma gets to enjoy a delicious plate of Mondocakes. It's meant to represent the downfall of Mondo's macho personality and how he sent himself into a spiral, but loses a lot of its meaning if you aren't familiar with the story.

Part 7- Jealousy

So, we've torn this character apart. We know what makes him tick, but why does that all matter? What was the point of his story? Simple- it's a cautionary tale. It's a warning against everything he stands for. Mondo, through all his faults, is NOT someone you're actually supposed to idealize or hold up as the epitome of manhood in the way that Chihiro does. Rather, he's a deconstruction of everything society views as 'manly', and a demonstration of why that line of thinking is inherently flawed. He's big and tough, he yells and cusses at the people around him, he doesn't have a handle on his own strength. He knocks a dude out for like, 10 hours straight because he was mad at someone else!!! That's not a healthy way to get your frustration out!!!

Simply put, your image and pride are not worth your mental health, and comparing yourself to the people around you not only tortures yourself, but can hurt those who you love. Mondo couldn't stop comparing his own faults to the strengths of others, and ended up pushing himself too hard trying to prove himself. Not only did he lose his brother over it, but he felt like he had to keep all his pain and regret locked up for the sake of an image they'd painted together. It pushed him up to the edge, and he never learned to cope with it in a way that was healthy. It only led to him lashing out more and more, and repeating history when he killed Chihiro. Your trauma can't be fixed by ignoring it or shoving it down; seek out help when you need it. It's okay to confide in your friends; they aren't your enemy, and they aren't making fun of you. That line of thinking will only push you over the edge.

Afterword

So yeah, this was longer than anticipated. Even after doing Taka's and creating a point of reference for myself, I still ended up surprised. I mean, Taka survived longer, so you'd think his would be longer, right? But no, Mondo is not only a very well-established character, but he has more important connections and a much more impactful storyline. I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say Mondo may be one of the easiest characters to understand from THH, considering how in-your-face they make him. And I respect that, even if his whole facade can be kind of annoying for me. I totally see why this guy is so popular among fans. Happy birthday Mondo!

Anyways, hope y'all enjoyed this one, and be sure to stick around! Sayaka's analysis is coming up next, and holy shit am I excited for this one.

311 notes · View notes

danieyells · 3 months ago

Text

UPCOMING CARDS!

Episode 15 is tonight!!! Which means the episode cards are in and the next episode title is too! ARE YOU READY FOR SPOOKY GHOSTARUBI??? I love these cards they've got a bit of an eerie flavor. . . . .

Also sorry for the wait I had some delays and priorities out of order lmao. . . .

Subaru's empty eyes lend so well to this expression just. . .aaa it's a beautiful card. . . . ALSO A LITTLE SUBARU THIGH FOR FREE??????

Character Card: Hell Flower(「奈落に咲く花」 "Flower That Blooms In Hell") Skill: Hidden Hobby(「隠れた趣味」 "Hidden Hobby") Fully Awakened Skill: Convincing Actor(「迫真の芝居」 "Realistic Play") Warding Card: Rainy Garden(「雨の庭園」 "Rainy Garden")

His snake-like eyes and then they've got him with an orochi. . . . . .it's just a great looking card and he's so shady and I love him.

Character Card: Hypnotic Gaze(「心を掌握する瞳」 "Eyes That Seize Hold Of Your Heart") Skill: Frightener(「驚かし役」 "Frightener" more or less 'frighten assignment' as in 'it's his job to scare you') Fully Awakened Skill: Teaser(「からかい上手」 "Good At Teasing") Warding Card: Unseen Charity(「見えない施し」 "Unseen Charity")

AYO GHOST FEET FOR FREE????

Character Card: Night Parade(「妖怪道中殊玉絵巻」 "Kotodama Picture Scroll Of Spirits' Journey" this is so hard for me to translate haha sorry this is clumsy) Skill: Cowardly Ghost(「怖がりなお化け」 "Cowardly Ghost") Fully Awakened Skill: From The Other Side(「彼岸の住人」 "Inhabitant Of The Other Sude") Warding Card: Ghost Stories(「みんなで怪談話」 "Ghost Stories With Everyone")

So normally I know who's in the next episode because of sprite names being added into the StoryPresets file. However no such sprite names that indicate the next ghouls were added. I'm not sure what that means exactly. . .perhaps that break they mentioned before is coming after this. Nonetheless Episode 16 is called "The City Of Ill Omens" (「凶兆を告げる街」 "The City That Heralds Bad Omens")

That's pretty exciting, isn't it? I'm eager to learn what it means!!! Getting ahead of ourselves though we haven't even seen this episode yet!

I say the same things every time because they bear repeating

Gacha is gambling and gambling addictions are serious! Please be mindful of any spending you do on this or any gacha game. If you do spend, please set a limit for yourself and keep to it. Remember that banners rerun and you can get a character you missed further down the line. It doesn't have to be now. Seek help if you're struggling with your gacha spending!

My Japanese isn't very good at all so please take my translations of titles with a grain of salt!

Step out of your comfort zone now and then and find a safe way to explore that which frightens you!

Here are the card stats!!

Have a good night!!

#tokyo debunker #tokyo debunker spoilers #datamining cw #haku kusanagi #zenji kotodama #taro kirisaki #subaru kagami #danie yells at tokyo debunker

131 notes · View notes

carelessflower · 5 days ago

Text

Ranking all book covers featured Alec Lightwood-Bane

I don't make the rule City of Lost Souls cover, remain Alec Best Vogue photoshoot

I also created this tier list, everyone feel free to join and post your ranking in the reblog (✿ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)

An extensive ranking from worst to best cover in the cut below

19. City of Fallen Angels Polish cover

Whoever did this is better prepared to get dragged to hell

18. City of Bones: The Graphic Novel

Nothing was due, all bills paid in advance, Alec missed like fifty shots

17. The Red Scrolls of Magic Turkish cover

When you got the TRSoM cover at home

16. The Land I Lost US cover

Kudos for the leather pants, your contribution to Asslec gallery will be noted

15. City of Glass 2nd Vietnamese cover

Doing this to my youthful princess...

14. City of Bones, Chinese movie tie-in complete edition

That hair gel is my enemy

13. City of Heavenly Fire German cover

Isabelle outslays him by a Milky Way

12. City of Glass 3rd Slovakian cover

He's cute, I guess

11. The Lost Book of the White Reverse cover

Alec in red is pretty

10. The Red Scrolls of Magic US hardcover

He's like a pop star, THE archer boy

9. City of Bones Japanese cover, 2nd part

Lesbian in a pop-up event is trying to get funds for an independent law firm. Only rank this low because his face is too sharp, it's like an almond

8. The Red Scrolls of Magic Ukrainian back cover

Body's so tea the British are invading

7. The Mortal Instruments: The Graphic Novel Volume 3

He's like a warrior fairy (Also, Alec's sun sign Virgo on Magnus's clothes is such a cute detail)

6. The Red Scrolls of Magic French cover

He's got the sadness in his eyes you can only find in a nepo sugar baby

5. The Red Scrolls of Magic by jemlin_c

This is what religion is created for

4. City of Lost Souls by jemlin_c

The biceps and the holster thing on his shirt are enough to knock demons out

3. The Red Scrolls of Magic Paperback cover

He's carrying the pretty boy community on his back

2. City of Glass Luxus Kollektion

The type of beauty that launches a thousand ships (THAT S CURVE)

City of Lost Souls Repackaged paperback cover

Parabatai's linked with demonic stepbrother from hell, sister can't even DTR with vampire nerd, boyfriend won't tell him shit, immortal Carrie Bradshaw's after his ass. He walked into the set, hair, face, body card ready, grabbed the leather tank and pants, and made history

tag list

@magnus-the-maqnificent @literallytypogod @hoezier-than-thou @sociallyineptbibliophile @queenlilith43

@khaleesiofalicante @wandererbyheart @raziyekroos @onetimetwotimesthreetimess @alexandergideonslightwood

@noah-herondale-lightwood @elettralightwood @dustandducks @deliciousdetectivestranger @delightfullyterrible

@letsgofortacos

@kita-no @thelightofthebane @secrettryst @goldendreams3 @cityofdownwardspirals

@stupidfuckindinosaur

@i-have-not-slept @rinadragomir @potato-jem @kasper-tag

@banesapothecary @culiehua @seolihexagon @n3v3r-l3ft

@herongrystrs

41 notes · View notes

cosmicdream222 · 1 year ago

Text

What is “the state of wish fulfilled” or “feeling the wish fulfilled”?

(Explained in my own words cuz states tumblr is a shitshow)

When I was in HS, I was obsessed with Japan and wanted to visit, and eventually move there.

My dream life = living in Japan, doing the things I wanted to do

My life at the time = living in America, not being able to do the things I wanted to do

Was I sitting around feeling sorry for myself and whining “boo hoo poor me, I wish I was in Japan. Why did I have to be born here? It’s not fair I’m missing out on so much.” HELL NO!! That = the state of lack

Instead, I was excited. I didn’t see going to Japan as such a big deal, it’s not like I wanted to go to outer space! All I had to do was save up some money and buy a plane ticket. It was totally realistic in my mind, why couldn’t I do it?

Sure I wasn’t there now, but I KNEW I could go there eventually. So I spent my time studying & practicing Japanese, enjoying my hobbies from afar, researching & planning my future visits. That = the state of wish fulfilled.

(And yes, I did end up visiting many times and eventually lived there for 5 years.)

Here’s another scenario:

Imagine right now that you won the lottery for an extremely large amount of money - let’s say 1 billion dollars. You have the winning ticket in your hand and you’re at the lotto office right now. They tell you it’s gonna be a few weeks of processing and paperwork before you actually receive the money, but it is yours. It is done.

It doesn’t matter if you’re currently broke, in debt, hate your job, hate your living situation or have any other unfortunate circumstances. In a few weeks, you will have more money than you will ever be able to spend. You will never have to work again. You will never have to worry about money again.

You might not currently know what it “feels like” to be a billionaire, but you know that your current circumstances don’t matter anymore because everything is gonna change soon.

Now, if you are reading this, you have learned about loa/void/shifting - and that is even better than any lottery you could ever win. You found out the truth, my dudes! Reality is an illusion and you can have anything you want. ANYTHING anything, not just materialistic earth things!

Yes we have been programmed with opposite beliefs our whole lives. It might be hard to wrap your head around at first. It might be hard to let go of all the victim-based thinking that society encourages. It might take a week or a month or longer to manifest your desires - but does it matter? Time is an illusion, and you WILL succeed eventually. You didn’t find out about the truth only to fail.

Sitting around on tumblr scrolling for more methods, asking every blogger the same questions, complaining that you don’t have your desires yet = the state of lack

Knowing that you WILL have your desires NO MATTER WHAT and not letting your current circumstances affect you = the state of wish fulfilled.

Have patience and persist! I have faith in you, so have a little faith in yourselves! ILY all and want you to live your best life ❤️

#manifesting #loa #law of assumption #states loa

298 notes · View notes

persona-confessions · 2 months ago

Note

(Damn I really be the only one submitting Persona 2 confessions, huh?)

Alright lads, time for the Persona 2 fandom’s occasional reminder that Jun isn’t a submissive bottom. (INHALES DEEPLY)

Jun in canon is a very capable, powerful, and intelligent person. Not only did he lead a whole entire CULT for who knows how long, but he also could beat the hell out of Tatsuya and the gang with no issue (he deadass held Tatsyua by the neck with ONE FUCKING HAND.) Not to mention that boss fight required 5 PEOPLE, (6 if you’re including Anna in that) to beat him. His ultimate persona, Chronos, is a whole ass TITAN in mythology and is technically the dad/grandad of the P2 gang’s other ultimate personas.

In terms of personality, there’s this amazing post by “maritessa” that translates some of Jun’s Japanese dialogue and reveals that not only is his speaking style more casual in Japanese compared to English (he isn’t like Yusuke in P5 where he speaks like a sickly Victorian child. Not knocking on Yusuke tho love that artistic/autistic fucker) but he’s also more authoritative, repeatedly telling the gang to stay on track and where to go next. I remember “maritessa” saying that Jun felt like the leader of the P2 gang in Innocent Sin instead of Tatsuya and I wholeheartedly agree with that.(Kind reminder that Tatsuya REALLY doesn’t know what he’s doing half the time). His voice is very deep in Japanese too which is very cool (Bryce did a good job as Jun in English too)

However despite Jun’s clear strength, intelligence, and leadership skills, he’s always headcanoned as this submissive, wimpy brat who’s only there to fawn over Tatsuya. Now, WHY has Jun been twisted into this borderline unrecognizable version of himself? Well for a number of reasons actually: he’s short, he’s gay, he has feminine looks and hobbies, has cried at least twice, y’know, completely ASININE REASONS. The amount of fics I have read where he’s this weak, overemotional BITCH that squeals every time Tatsuya so much as BREATHES or has Jun bursting into tears at the sight of a hat dropping pisses me off. And you know damn well that Jun’s always the bottom in any intimate scenes. Why? Besides the previous stated “reasons” it’s pretty simple: Tatsuya is TALLER. That’s it. Ain’t. That. Fucking. L O V E L Y.

Jun’s main shtick is he is a walking contradiction. His soft and feminine appearance/interests contradicts his authoritative, calculating, and sometimes cold personality. He’s loyal but cruel, kind but vicious, selfish yet selfless. The guy has literally gotten into fights repeatedly because he actively waits for the bullies to approach him FIRST out of underestimation before he kicks the shit out of them. Hell, that’s how Jun got into Kasugayama High in Innocent Sin IN THE FIRST PLACE. It’s a DELINQUENT SCHOOL afterall. (Meanwhile with Tatsuya he always tries to AVOID school fights after accidentally hurting a few people with his Persona, instead preferring to run away when someone challenges him)

Jun is perfectly capable of throwing hands on his own without needing his precious Tacchi like everyone thinks he does, but little do they know that’s what he WANTS. Jun WANTS people to underestimate him so he could get an advantage and turn the tables. His “Fawn” action when talking to demons? An act. Jun knows that if he acts weak, some demons will lessen their guard around him. He is a MASTER manipulator. In fact, Jun’s so good at putting up a harmless facade that it tricks the FANS themselves, which both fascinates AND bothers me because on one hand: his talents knows no bounds, but on the other hand: I have to scroll through hundreds of people calling him a frail baby kitten even though in reality he has killed an unknown amount of people and especially started The Rapture.

In conclusion, Jun is a good character, is ACTUALLY the one who’s wearing the pants in the relationship instead of Tatsuya, and I am completely normal about the character.

-That 👁👄👁 fucker once more

#👁️👄👁️ anon #persona #persona 2 #persona 2 innocent sin #persona 2 eternal punishment #jun kurosu #tatsuya suou #confessions #confession blog #long post

41 notes · View notes

kelin-is-writing · 1 year ago

Note

kelin may i hear more about rockstar touya \(★ω★)/

I was planning to post other headcanons before going for these, BUT I’ve got some for Rockstar!Touya that are pestering my mind these days and your asks come in the right moment, so bear with me please 🤧

࣪𖤐… ROCKSTAR!TOUYA

The first time Touya knew that he wanted to become a rockstar was in middle school, right at the age of thirteen, his influent CEO of a father was trying to mold him into a carbon copy of himself to rival Yagi Toshinori’s Enterprise. While taking a break from studies, he saw his sister watch on TV a rock concert of “Loudness” and to say Akira Takasaki is his role model is the least. That’s a true legend to him.

After “Loudness” and Akira Takasaki, he discovered “Metallica” and Kirk Hammett which made him go like “HOW??? HAVE??? I??? MISSED??? ALL??? THIS???”, scolding himself for taking so long to fall in love with the electric guitar and its sound. The next week he’s blasting full volume “The Final Countdown” by Europe inside the Todoroki Mansion like the good old stamp rock fanatic he is, getting himself scolded and grounded by Enji who is a fan of traditional Japanese music so yeah…

At one of the Todoroki family gatherings during the weekend, he was scrolling down his phone looking first of all where to take guitar lessons and second for a guitar to buy, but he knew his father would never agree to get him one. That’s when his grandfather, peeking at his grandson’s phone, butted in and asked Touya if he’s interested in music. He wasn’t sure if it was a good thing to answer that question, since he’s the father of his father, but he did and hell has it been the best thing he did!

On his fourteenth birthday, Enji’s father bought Touya his very first electric guitar, a good old Fender Stratocaster CUSTOM MADE for him. It’s snow white like his hair and has a his name engraved on the bottom left side of the guitar, while on the other side there were engraved tiger’s fangs, all in turquoise… The color of his eyes. And this has been by far Touya’s best birthday ever.

After finishing Middle School he choose to attend an Art School, taking the music classes as main classes of course; he may or not have done it to piss off and raise Enji’s blood pressure from how mad he got for choosing something different from Finances and Management. Oh his father was livid and Touya was so proud of himself for that.

He has formed a rock band, of which he’s the guitarist and vocalist, with Tenko Shimura (Bassist&Vocalist) and Shuichi Iguchi (Drummer) called “The Villains”… Are we even surprised about this name? Really? Because I am not. Tenko suggested, Iguchi supported strongly and Touya just went with it because complaining and thinking about another name was “Too much effort”. He likes it a lot but will never admit it.

At the age of nineteen, Touya owns a Fender Stratocaster (Custom Made), an Elite Stratocaster, an ST-83-80 Japan (1983) black, Lone Star Strat, IC350 black, IC50 black, ICHI00 white, Gibson SG Standard mahogany and a Jackson Pro Series DK Modern HT6 MS. He also owns four acoustic guitars for songwriting, like a Martin GPC-X1E, Martin 000-28 Modern Deluxe, Taylor GS Mini-e Rosewood SN LTD and a Taylor AD22e. Did he pay all them with Enji’s credit card? Hell yeah. Did he do it out of spite? Absolutely. Did he care about his father’s blood pressure rising even more? Not even remotely.

His favorite groups are Loudness, Metallica, Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, Europe, Scorpions, Slipknot, Three Days Grace, Green Day, Skillet, Linkin Park, The Rasmus, L’Arc-En-Ciel, UVERworld, Nirvana, Guns N’ Roses and Evanescence to list some, because there are many more he adores honestly. He isn’t a picky ear as long as the song gives him chills and inspires him, being someone who’s driven by emotions that’s what makes him likes something he hears.

Atsuhiro is their homeroom teacher, at the Art University they attend, who introduces them to Giran, a friend of his, who has an agency for new talents and after they sent him six of their songs wants to launch their very first album by August to make them debut at the “Rock In Japan Fes.”

Touya, being the emotional driven type of musician, is the one put to write the lyrics for the band’s songs and most of the times are hits, especially because his and Tenko’s voice brings to life the emotions of the lyrics in a way that it reaches the listeners right into the heart and soul.

You will never catch Touya’s fingers empty, there’s always rings decorating them and some rings are even custom made by his cousin Geten, who owns a Jewelry shop that he promotes a lot on his social media. One of his most precious rings is the one that he got made for him, with his birthstone carved in it, when he turned eighteen.

He has three earrings on his right ear: an helix, mid helix, conch and low helix. Four on his left one: two helix, a low helix and one on the lobe, plus three nostril piercings on the right side of his nose.

After “The Villains” debuts and proving his father that he could succeed through music without his help nor his name, Touya owns now a black card that he lets Fuyumi and Shoto use to their heart content.

Last, but not least, be ready to be the muse of Touya’s songs the instant he falls head over heels for you. The moment it happens everything, and I mean everything, to him becomes about you driving Tenko and Iguchi to pure exasperation.

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #mha #dabi #touya todoroki #bnha headcanons #mha headcanons #dabi headcanons #touya todoroki headcanons #bnha x reader headcanons #mha x reader headcanons #dabi x reader headcanons #touya todoroki x reader headcanons #— ❥ kelanswers;#rockstar!touya #answered #nohoneeeeeyy #BUT that post i reblogged from you and your ask just made me give in in a matter of SECONDS 😭#i had these there ready in my notes because i was planning to post them after other headcanons i have ready #if you guys have any more questions about rockstar!touya just drop in what you’re curious about #the askbox is not open BUT these days i’m like rockstar!touya brainrot so yeah…#also yeah… i made todoroki grandpa a good grandpa because someone who d words to save a kid to me can’t be a bad person…#sorry guys i’m very simple minded i guess 🥲

125 notes · View notes

sonicjustbecause · 2 months ago

Text

So, the way Sonic is supposed to look front view...

Is complicated. Sonic was born in 1991, at that time games were scrolling 2d and so Sonic was though as a 2D character. There wasn't much worries about his front view look, he had to look good especially on side view.

It was also done in front view, but he had to look best on side view. Indeed, there isn't much effort on his front look. Is like, is OK so is confirmed. For that age it made sense I think, you should not care for stuffs that aren't supposed to make it

in the '90s, those drawings weren't accessible to us fans. We only saw Sonic on side view. We all had to guess about his front view look.

Overall Westerners think in 3D when they draw, while Japanese think in 2D. This is not a rule that is set in the stone (See the Line and pokemon, they're the other way) but usually here we think more in forms while in the East they think more in lines.There are also hybrid approach (Dragon Ball, Mickey Mouse), with overall 3D characters and 2D hair style or ears.

The Line and Pikachu

Sonic in the typical 3D Western approach.

The most complicated part of Sonic are the quills. You can easily picture where the ears, he tail, the limbs and the noses are. But You only assume how quills work. Westerns that are used to think in 3D assume the quills are a mohawk because the shadows tell them this.

But also Japanese had to wonder how to make them work and make Sonic look interesting in front view... Some solutions

Japanese Juniu used a super saiyan solution, very cool but complicated in a 3D render, unless you aren't a master at rigging.

Western Solution 1 - Cool actually if you ask me, I like AoStH/SatAM design, but unfortunately is wrong.

Western solution 2 - accurate but kinda lame. You have to watch out from this. Also, this is the reason you need to think in 3D from the start.

Sonic X used the Mickey mouse effect on front view, but unfortunately they went over the top. While Uekawa actually thinks in 3D, in Sonic X they took a full 2D approach, with some weird and ridicolous result...

They only cared for the silhouette, sort of tunnel vision, losing all the rest. Yes, silhouette is very important in design and should be taken in account. But, as Shadow says:

With Shadow, who has always been drawn in 3D since day one (in fact he looks good from all sides), the effect is even weirder...

Sonic X Shadow quills like 'What the hell I should do with them?'

A character who looks good from every point of view doesn't need any redesign or overhaul beside adaption to other media (such as the movie). They were wise enough to not touch him further (If we don't count Sonic X).

And the red stripes are really cool from back view

Back to Sonic

Uekawa's approach

We are not used to it, but is not that out of place. Sonic in the 00's art had long and disheleved (althouhg relaxed) quills that stuck out, not far different from Shadow's. His quills look about like this in the two adventure games and especially in Sonic 2006.

Yes, the very issue of Sonic 2006 models is the mouth that is placed too low in male hedgehogs and the bad animation. The models aren't half bad, I think they're quite close to Uekawa's art.

Also, this artist on Tumblr, Enzio, drew a turnaround on this base and is consistent.

https://x.com/elgavechi

Modern Sonic

Aside the new, stiffer models, the drawing also lost their flare.

Not going off model rule is too extreme, at the point of not being able to emote through expressions.

That's also why I prefer Archie art over IDW art, despite IDW being more precise (and this comes from somebody who values precision and consistency). Archie art carries more energy and is more expressive and daring.

#shadow the hedgehog #sonic the hedgehog #sonic #shadow #uekawa #yuji uekawa #IDW #Archie

24 notes · View notes

jisokai · 5 months ago

Text

Out of the Old World

It’s a beautiful day in the garden, the peonies in full bloom and the sky a sea of swirling clouds, when a man falls from your roof. You’d think he’s cute—if he wasn’t convinced he’s from a different world.

sero hanta x gn reader 5.7k words | oneshot, complete

reverse isekai, mutual pining, some angst, strangers to lovers

read on ao3

semi-important note: if you weren't already aware, sero's name is derived from the japanese pronunciation of "cellophane tape" (serohantapu -> sero hanta). i reference it a couple times so that's just for your own understanding lol

+ obligatory mention of these two fics because they are by my favoritest fic authors ever and these in particular are both isekai fics that at least partially inspired mine: Into the New World (also inspired the title teehee), The Butterfly Variant

You’re clipping peonies in your mother’s garden, buried beneath the crystal blue sky, when a yelp and a thud sound behind you, followed by the frantic rustling of bushes. You frown, turning with your scissors brandished like a gun. There’s a man sprawled half on the ground and half in the hedges, taking heavy breaths as he scrambles to stand.

“What the hell?”

He grunts before he finally rights himself. He’s tall and lean, blinking dark eyes rapidly when they land on your weapon. He frowns, looking left and right. “Sorry, we’re dealing with a messy attack. Can you point me to Ginza?”

“Ginza?” you guffaw, gripping the scissors tighter. The man reaches for his ear before frowning, frantically running his hands over his head. “You’re in the suburbs of Sendai. It’s a three hour train to Tokyo. What were you doing on my roof?”

He doesn’t seem to be listening, hands clutching his head. “I’m not in my suit.”

You frown, eyes trailing his simple t-shirt and pants. Is he trying to distract you? Is he… not well? “By suit do you mean straightjacket?”

His eyes dart to his arms, gasping, “My elbows!” He lifts one, yanking it upwards before freezing.

You think they’re a little pointy. “Yeah… those are your elbows,” you try to comfort him.

“They aren’t!”

You don’t respond. What the hell are you supposed to say?

“Do you—What happened to my quirk?”

Who the hell is this man? Some sort of pick me—someone not like other boys? “I think you’re plenty quirky as you are. Now tell me why you were on my roof before I call the cops.”

“I wasn’t!” he insists. “I was chasing a guy down Ginza with Dynamight, someone tearing up the street—God, I need to help! But I can’t do anything without my quirk!” His hands slap around his pockets. “Fuck, I don’t have my comm or anything. Do you have your phone?”

Your scissors still sit between you two, pointed defensively. “Are you trying to rob me?”

“What? I’m a hero!”

Your eyebrows nearly fly off your forehead from your disbelief. This guy is definitely insane.

After a series of bickering, you relent and let him take your phone, swayed by the desperation on his face. Even if he’s crazy, he’s concerned enough for you to cave. You lower your weapon, but still hold it firmly while he stands next to you and frantically scrolls through the news. Your body tenses while he types into the search bar, hoping nothing weird pops up in your history.

It’s the first quiet moment between you, enough to let you get a proper look at him—his wide eyes and shaggy hair, the slight stubble that grazes his lip. He’s cute, in a wet dog sort of way.

“W—” he starts, interrupting your thoughts. “Where are we?”

“Sendai,” you repeat. “By Tōshōgū station.”

He stares at you bewildered, now a sad, surprised puppy. “Is this Earth?”

Not cute. He’s not cute; he’s crazy.

“Are you okay?” you have to ask.

He asks for the date, then for you to specify the year. His face twists at the answer. Next comes a frantic slew of questions about current events, wars you’ve never heard of, if the world is quirkless.

“Everyone’s weird in some way,” you try, not understanding what he means.

“No just—do people have powers? Are there heroes? Do you know All Might?”

“… Like heroes in movies?”

His lips press into a firm line.

Crazy or not, you invite him in for tea and snacks, hoping that food in his system will put him at ease. Your mother is out, thankfully, and you instruct him to sit at the table. He doesn’t, instead awkwardly pacing around the room.

“It’s possible I got sent to a different world—universe, or whatever. Back home there are things called quirks—innate abilities. Most people have them. I can shoot tape out of my elbows, for example—”

You gasp. “You’re Spiderman?”

“Spiderman?” he frowns.

Your jaw drops. “You come from a world of superheroes that doesn’t have Spiderman?” You can’t tell if it sounds more or less believable.

“I’m from a world with heroes—ones who need my help right now!” He pauses, looking towards the window.

“And you’re one of them?”

He nods, finger tucked under his chin. He continues to pace while you pour the tea. You urge him over to sit, setting the mugs on the table with a plate of grapes and crackers. He sighs, restlessly pulling out the chair. His leg bounces.

His world sounds unreal, like an American comic franchise, or a shonen manga you’d mindlessly open at the bookstore. This whole situation feels like a novel in its own right. Isn’t it a trope these days, stories where characters get pulled into another world? You recall lengthy titles, suggestions by the streaming services you're subscribed to. But those stories are the opposite of this scenario—ones where the boring, real life character gets pulled into a fantasyland. Not vice versa.

You remind yourself of the very real possibility that he’s lying. Should you take him to the police? Why did you invite him inside? What if he’s some criminal on the run and you’ve been sitting here making him tea?

“Maybe we should go to the police,” you blurt abruptly.

Sero blinks in surprise. “What? Do you really think they can help?”

You’re not sure, but at the very least they can confirm his identity—and whether or not he’s a criminal. You pause. What would happen if they couldn’t identify him? What if all of this is true, and you make it harder for him to return.

An idea comes to mind. You open the camera on your phone and snap a picture of him without warning. He freezes before protesting, a ruckus of background noise while you quickly upload the picture into the search engine, scrolling to see if there are any matches.

“Hey! What the hell—”

Nothing comes up. You bite your lip. What should you do?

“There’s a chance you’re just some weird guy lying with malicious intentions,” you say. He quiets. “But you don’t exist on the internet. If you were some escaped criminal I’m sure at least one article would pop up.” You frown again, now typing criminal on the run in sendai. Nothing.

He watches you from across the table, eyes relaxing with realization. “I’m not lying, or dangerous. I’ll go with you to the police if it makes you feel better. Ultimately I just need to find a way home.”

You relax more than you should at his reaction. If he’s willing to go to face authorities, surely he’s not an escaped convict. Maybe he can stay with you for a little while—at least until the two of you can sort out next steps to return him.

“Maybe the police aren’t a good idea,” you say carefully. “If you really aren’t from this world, and you don’t have any documentation… I’m not sure what might happen to you.” Would he get sent somewhere? Would that mess with his chances to go back home?

He nods with a sigh. “That makes sense. Shit, I’m not sure what to do other than wait.”

“You…” The invitation pours out, “I’ll talk with my mom, but I’m sure we can host you for a little while.” Is this a bad idea? Are you going to get yourself and your mother murdered tonight?

His eyes brighten, a smile overtaking his features for the first time since meeting. It radiates, and your attraction is suddenly apparent again. You swallow and try not to stare.

“Would you really? That’d be incredible, thank you. I can help out in return—anything you need.”

You could really do without the warmth taking over your chest. Averting your eyes is the only reprieve you can find, and you huff, “It’s fine. Just hope my mom will be cool with it.”

He hums affirmatively. An awkwards silence falls afterwards.

“What’s your name, by the way?” You eventually ask, eyes returning to his figure.

He picks out a grape, rolling it between slender fingers. “Sero Hanta, or Cellophane when I’m on duty. And you?”

You nearly laugh, choking on the tea. “Your name is Sero Hanta and you shoot tape from your arms?”

He rolls his eyes, another smile tugging against his cheek. “I know.”

Again you recall the show in your suggested tab. Titles like: Oh No! I’ve Been Transported to Another World, and it's Magic!?

You bite your lip, failing to smother an idiotic grin. Mister serohantapu might be from a gag manga.

Convincing your mother is hardly a challenge. You tell her Sero’s a friend going through a transition and in need of emergency support—namely a place to stay. She takes one long look at him, then you, and grumbles in agreement before going to bed. You scoff when he tries to take the couch, instead ushering him to the guest room.

Sleeping is the real challenge. You lay with your eyes closed for nearly an hour, but you begrudgingly remain awake. As you begin to deliberate getting up and doing something productive with your energy, you hear a door down the hall open.

It’s the door of the guestroom. Your eyes blow open, heart racing with fear. Did you make a horrible mistake after all? Should you prepare yourself in case Sero does in fact try to kill you?

He walks past your door.

His footsteps continue until they reach the kitchen. A cupboard opens and the tap runs quietly. He’s only getting himself a glass of water. Your heart calms.

Several silent minutes pass. After you gauge it’s been ten, you huff and sit up, tossing off the blankets as you make for the kitchen.

The scene you find is not one you imagined. A lamp in the living room is glowing softly, the one next to the couch. Sero sits beside it, curled up with a volume of one of your manga from the shelf—the ones you don't mind leaving in shared spaces. He’s facing you, alerted by your footsteps.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he says somewhat sheepishly.

You shake your head. “Can’t sleep?”

He mirrors you, shaking his head in return.

“Me neither,” you answer, filling your own glass. You make a point to use the filtered water machine instead of the tap, and then you join him on the other end of the couch. “I lay awake in fear that I’m going to get murdered by a stranger in my home.”

You thought it’d be funny, provoke a laugh from him. Instead his face twists in a grimace. You regret the joke.

“Sorry,” you mutter with shame. “I want to trust you. And as impossible as your story sounds, I want to believe you.”

He nods curtly. “I get it. I can’t imagine I would believe me either.”

You don’t know what to say to that.

Sero turns out to be harmless. He also happens to be very handy and useful around the house. In return for housing and feeding him, he assumes the role of a sort of live-in maid. You feel awkward having someone doing your dishes and sweeping the living room for you, but you can’t deny that the help is nice—especially when you’re rushing to work.

He asks to help with the garden, to give him something else to do, so you pull him outside with a pair of shears and show him how you cut the flowers. He looks sheepishly at the hedge near the front door, sporting several broken and twisted branches. You haven’t had the chance to prune it after the incident, so you walk him through that too.

You give him the instructions for watering and point out the ripened radishes that he can harvest. He follows them with ease, eager for purpose. You can’t help the giddiness you feel, having someone with their hands in the dirt beside you.

Sero doesn’t talk much about his home, but he asks questions about yours. You have questions you want to ask in return, about his day to day, who Dynamight is, if he misses his friends.

The faraway look that sometimes shines in his black irises is enough of a confirmation.

After a few days of this you finally ask him something in return. It’s after dinner, when your mother retires to bed. The sun is still setting but she’s early to lay and early to rise. You sit at the table and watch Sero scrub dishes. You offer to dry them, but he refuses.

“What do you miss most about home?” Your eyes widen despite being the one who asked. You meant to start with something easier.

He catches your look and huffs a laugh, eyes dipping back to the suds in the sink. “My friends,” he answers without hesitation. “And my quirk. I guess I don’t really need it in a quirkless world… but it’s a big part of our identities back home. Having normal elbows—small elbows—is strange.”

You squint at his arms, trying to imagine how his elbows might look if tape could shoot from them. What would be different?

When he finishes the dishes he attempts to draw it for you. You make a face—tied between disbelief and maybe even disgust, admittedly. Immediately you try to morph back to neutrality, humming in attempted thoughtfulness. Sero laughs beside you; you were never a good actor.

Your hand comes to your own elbow, trying to imagine how it’d feel to have an additional amalgamation of bone, cylinders of dispensers beneath your skin. The only difference you can imagine is how many glasses you would knock over.

But Sero’s world is different from yours at a core level—a fundamental level that you can’t wholly fathom. He tries to explain it to you, the way life is shaped around these supposed quirks. Society functions at an entirely different level because of them, and subsequently there’s an onslaught of new complexities that come with it. Mostly complexities that arise from an additional category of discrimination.

It’s a difference that hangs over him, one that sits thickly in the air between you two. It’s embedded in his life, in the history he’s lived through.

“You fought a war as a teenager?”

He huffs. “Someone had to, when all the pros started retiring.”

Huh?

“You’re saying that grown adults who signed up to protect the country backed out so that kids could stand on the front lines.” What kind of world is this?

His face twists in a grimace. You ignore how cute you think he looks. “Well… yeah. I don’t think it’s as bad as it sounds though. Things are always worse without context.”

You roll your eyes. “I just had to be there, huh?”

He pauses, smiling solemnly before he eventually answers. “I think it would be better for everyone, to have lived in a world like yours instead.”

You want to bring up the crises you think about on a daily basis: the economy, the climate, your horrible working hours and the pay you should be making. You want to talk about the villains of your world, CEOs and war criminals. Instead you say nothing.

Maybe he isn’t from a gag manga, after all.

He laughs, eyes darting from the wall as if an amusing thought occurred to him. “I say all that, and yet I’m waiting anxiously for someone to come by and take me back.”

You scowl. “Your world might suck but your friends are there,” you remind him. “Anyone can understand that. Besides, it’s what you know. You just want to be home.”

Weeks pass. He’s still in your home.

Your mother doesn’t say anything. Sometimes she gives you a look you wish you could decipher, but she remains quiet. You think she likes Sero’s company.

You can admit you enjoy having him around, more than just his services as a housekeeper. He’s good company, easy to joke with—so much so that you forget his intelligence, and the somberness that seems to sweep over his mind on sleepless nights.

Your own restlessness is in tune with his, synchronized unease. It becomes routine to take a night time walk around the neighborhood when you meet him in the kitchen—he says it reminds him of “patrol”—and then plop down on the sofa to read manga, or sometimes watch a movie.

Eventually you show him spiderman.

“This feels like watching footage of my own battles,” he mumbles while Peter Parker swings himself through the cityscape.

You grin with delighted amusement. “Really? Shit, maybe you’re inspired by him.” If he’s a character from your world, that is.

You pause after saying it, straightening with realization. Is it insensitive to make comments like that? To see him as a character instead of an actual person?

But he doesn’t say anything. You wonder if he heard you in the first place, with how attentive he watches the film, eyes saucers as he drinks in the bluelight. Your own are glued to his face, entranced by his reactions. Everytime he laughs, your lips quirk. When he’s uneasy you find your own heart racing.

He feels real at this moment. Another living, breathing human that you get to share space with—a couch and snacks and a movie.

His eyes sometimes dart to yours, and you look away as fast as you can.

Each time you do, you miss his giddy grin.

One morning after a night of popcorn and hero movies, your alarm blares in the living room. You wake with a jolt, heart racing as you scramble to turn it off. The time on the screen shocks you into panic; it's a whole half hour after you normally start getting ready. Did you hit snooze three times without realizing it? Why didn’t your mother wake you?

You scramble to stand from the couch, frowning when you realize the position you’re in—back facing Sero’s front with his arms around you. He stirs while you tear yourself from his grip with a curt shout of apology.

With less than half an hour to spare, you rush through washing yourself and dressing. Your heart races but you can’t tell if it’s from the panic of being late or an entirely different tingling in your chest. (A Sero sort of tingling.) When you finish you run through the kitchen, swiping fruit from the counter before haphazardly slipping on your shoes. You rush through the door with a curt “See you later,” not sparing a glance back.

(And therefore missing the sight of Sero: sprawled on the couch with his face—beet red—smothered in the cushions.)

You manage to catch the bus with a sigh, swiping your card before snatching the last open seat. A man grumbles two steps away, but he looks younger than you—he can manage. With the newfound security you pull out your phone to double check the time. You exhale with relief; you’ll only be five minutes late.

When you arrive at your office and tug at the door you freeze and then scowl, hand retracting with the temptation to claw out your hair.

It’s a Saturday.

“It’s a Saturday,” you announce when you walk back through the front door. You weren’t sure if anyone would be there to receive you, but the smell of proper breakfast food is a pleasant ambush.

“It’s a Saturday,” Sero responds with a grin. He’s drying a pan by the sink, and gestures to two plates on the table.

You fling your shoes off and drop your bag, greedily shuffling towards the food. He sets down the pan to join you.

“Thank you so much,” you say hastily before eating with equal vigor.

He grins before digging in for himself.

Neither of you mention how you woke up together.

(It happens again and again and again, the now assumed conclusion to late night movies.

You still don’t talk about it.)

There’s a certain somberness that settles over Sero when the two month mark passes. Nobody says a word, not even your mother. You start to think that she knows something else is going on, that she’s known from the beginning.

The air is warmer than it was in April, when Sero first fell from your roof in the middle of the day. Now it’s night time, and the two of you are walking through the quiet streets, the buzzing of cicadas your third presence on the road.

What are you supposed to say at a time like this? Do you tell him to trust his friends, people you’ve never met, to bring him home? Do you tell him that your home can be his, if they fail? How do you comfort someone from another world, whose life is equivalent to words on paper?

You wish you had his story in your hands, a neatly bound stack of black and white that you could read and reread, to understand every piece of him he won’t say. You wish you knew him like a character, had the sort of grasp that would allow you to continue his story for him, to put pen to paper and secure his happy ending. The one where he gets to be happy. Happy and home and with everyone he loves.

That last piece makes your heart hurt.

You don’t know what to say, so in the end you say nothing. You can only offer a void, the emptiness of space to consume whatever feelings he radiates. Maybe you can catch them and hold them, feel them for him so he can take a break.

You wish you could tell him these things, but a boundary sits between you. It’s a heavy thing, refusing to move. The kind of wall that you know you could never pass—too strong to break, too tall to climb, too long to traverse.

He thanks you when you two return through the front door.

You frown in confusion. “What for?”

The moon casts a light behind him, a rim that halos his hair, reflecting as crescents in his eyes. When he answers you can catch the white of his teeth. “Just for being there for me throughout all this. Dealing with my vagueness… Letting me crash with you.”

“Of course,” you say plainly.

You suppress a scowl. Of course? What do you mean of course? Saying it like it’s a given, or the obvious answer.

But Sero smiles, a soft and loving look this time. You flush from witnessing it. Is this really meant for you?

A hand cradles your cheek. Fire erupts from the press of his skin against yours and you can’t help but lean into it. His head ducks as he leans closer and you close your eyes.

The kiss is tender, emotional. Complicated. It’s soft and breathy and his voice shakes when he parts, whispering, “Goodnight.”

You return the phrase by instinct, standing dumbly when he stalks off to the spare room—his room by now. The door clicks shut and you’re still at the front of the house, swallowing as your heart hammers in your chest under the spotlight of the moon.

When you finally lay in bed, sleep doesn’t come. You think it’s a restless night for Sero too, but his door never opens. His footsteps never track their way to the kitchen.

So you sprawl across your futon and stare at the ceiling, later shifting to your stomach so you can shove your face into the pillow when tears start to rain down your cheeks. You muffle your sobs and sniffles, confining them to the growing damp spot on your pillowcase. Your head hurts from the dehydration, and your heart hurts from the circumstances.

Was this your fate? Loving someone from another world—someone who isn’t real, and who doesn’t want to exist with you?

A choked cry releases from your throat, muted by the plushness of your sheets. Your heart pangs deeper when you imagine how Sero feels—

Loving someone from a world he wants to leave.

A week later, the two of you are setting the table for lunch. Sero has a yellow chrysanthemum tucked behind his ear, fresh from the garden.

A sudden thud sounds from the ceiling, then another in the front yard, followed by a string of curses.

You rush to open the door, pulling out your phone to have emergency services ready as you step outside.

There’s a man laying on the garden path.

A rush of déjà vu floods your body as you watch him push himself on his knees, rearing on his haunches before standing straight—or mostly straight, with a slight hunch. He’s beautiful, with glaring red eyes, skin as clear as the sky, and hair like threads of sunlight.

“Bakugou?” Sero’s voice calls from behind your shoulder. Your stomach drops at the hope in his voice.

The Bakugou in question twists his face into a scowl as he marches forwards. Your chest tightens at his approach, but he only nudges you out of the way. His hand aggressively clamps around Sero’s wrist, and the taller immediately wraps the blond in a hug.

You watch the scene intently. Bakugou’s face squishes into the crook of Sero’s neck and while his eyes avert in a display of contempt, his free arm lifts to wrap around Sero’s back, squeezing for a moment at his shoulder before dropping. When the black haired man relents, his eyes shine as he stares at his friend with disbelief.

“Took me fuckin’ long enough,” Bakugou grumbles. His eyes trace the living room before eventually narrowing at you.

You don’t know what to say.

The blond doesn’t give you a chance to think of anything, grabbing Sero by the wrist again and tugging him out the doorway. “C’mon.”

Your heart falls and your eyes widen as Sero stumbles in pursuit. Is this it? Your unceremonious goodbye, after countless late night walks and movies, falling asleep on the couch together, sharing meals?

(Somber kisses in this very doorway…)

The lunch on the table looms like a haunting presence behind you.

Bakugou pauses along the path, fiddling with some sort of gadget in his hand. Sero takes the opportunity to turn back towards you, but his wrist is still his friend’s captive.

“Thank you,” he says, voice sturdy. “For everything.”

You blink. Is this really how this ends?

Every thought and question you’ve ever had for him bubbles up your throat: questions of home, of his friends, of his sorrows and his joys. You want to ask about his family and his day to day, what his favorite manga is, what he does on his off days. You want to probe about his childhood, that world he comes from and the way it’s shaped him. You want to ask about his hopes for the future.

“Yeah,” you say instead. Your voice wavers.

“I…” Sero watches you somberly. “I’ll remember this.”

You nod. You won’t forget him for as long as you live, and even then some more. How could you? You’ll be haunted by your memory for the rest of eternity, the ghost of his presence lingering beside you on late nights.

Bakugou stops fiddling. He turns to Sero with a sharp look. It’s unreadable to you, but Sero seems to know exactly what it means.

He waves at you. Your eyes widen, heart thrumming when it dawns on you that this is it. For real.

Forever.

You raise your hand as the call to wait rises in your throat. Red eyes peer back at you before the blond steps forward and the pair vanish from your sight.

You stand there stupidly at your front door, reaching into the wind as a protest dies in your throat. A single yellow chrysanthemum falls to the ground. Your eyes blur with tears, the dot of gold smearing into the sea of grass beneath it.

“Where’s Sero?” your mother asks when she sits down for lunch. There are three plates on the table.

You swallow thickly, eyelashes fluttering to keep the tears from welling. “He… he got sorted and doesn’t need to stay anymore.”

She grunts, reaching for the bowl of rice in the center. “He couldn’t even stay for lunch?”

You close your eyes and exhale. She’s only playing into the ignorance for your sake.

“Guess not.”

When darkness settles and you toss under the covers, you are isolated in your restlessness. No click of the door sounds down the hall. There are no footsteps leading to the kitchen.

You’re forced through your routine the next morning, mindlessly flowing through the motions while you make breakfast. Nausea grips at your stomach when you stand to wash the dishes.

Exiting the house brings a grimace to your face, too powerful to swallow when you shut the door and walk down the path—where Sero last stood. Next to it sits the hedge he fell on when you first met. There are no traces of that encounter. The branches have stretched past where you pruned them; the leaves have multiplied to fill in the gaps.

Hot anger flashes through your body and you kick the thing before you realize what you’re doing. One of the lower twigs snaps from the impact.

You storm to the bus stop and then sprint to a seat when it arrives. As soon as you sit, the tears flood. You throw your hands over your eyes and cry on the commute to work.

Months pass without Sero, longer than the time you spent with him. You slip back into routine but nothing is entirely normal again. It’s what you promised, quietly and to yourself that day: that you won’t forget him.

Does he remember you like he promised? Are those memories somber—longing aches to have said more, asked more, to soak in the short time you had together? Why weren’t you bolder with him? Why didn’t you summon the bravery to ask and take from him what you wanted?

You return to your daily life, but he haunts the space between yourself and reality. The manga on the shelf are dusted with his fingerprints. You can see them on the cover when you angle it under the glare of the lamp. A faint smell lingers on the pillow he slept with, moved to your bed instead of washed with the other sheets in the guest room. During your evening walks you stare at the sky and wonder if the constellations are the same in his world.

He’s not real, ultimately. He never was to begin with. It’s the sort of situation you can't share with anyone, can’t process with your friends because they won’t believe you. Despite his fictionality, Sero’s isolation from the other facets of your life is part of the reason you can’t forget him—the reason he feels incredibly real.

Your mother knows. It’s a slim comfort because neither of you are willing to talk about it. If she’s worried about you, it shows in carefully sliced fruit and sneaky side eyes, not confrontational questions.

One day she comes home with a bag, white with blue ink displaying the name of a nearby bookstore. She slides it to you across the counter.

“Saw one of those manga I thought you might like. It’s a new one.”

You hum with curiosity and slide the book from the crinkling plastic. You try not to let your disdain show. It’s one with superheroes on the front, their flashy colors. Shonen isn’t your type, and especially not something that’s going to remind you of Sero.

Despite the presentation and the pristine cover, there’s a fold in the spine. Your mother read it before gifting it to you.

“Thanks,” you mutter.

It takes a week for you to open. You do so begrudgingly, sighing in preparation to read long descriptions of worldbuilding and complicated rules for fake powers.

Instead you frown at the word quirk.

Your stomach tightens when a boy with spiky hair and a twisted scowl appears. The name Bakugou stares at you from the page.

You inhale the book, poring over the panels with rapt attention. Your heart is practically punching your chest as you read anxiously. The world is Sero’s, undeniably. You realize this All Might guy is one that Sero mentioned briefly when you first met. Your fingers shake as you turn the page—with some spite, wishing you could read from Sero’s perspective.

Your heart drops when you start the last chapter. Tucked in the corner of the first page are a pair of boys, one heart wrenchingly familiar. He’s a scrawny kid with shaggy black hair. You bring the book closer to your face, exhaling when you catch the bumps around his elbows.

You wonder if this is the life you’ve succumbed to: stuck wistfully thinking about a background character in the first volume of a manga, for a genre you don’t care to read in the first place.

The rest of the chapter is excruciating. You catch Sero's name listed towards the bottom of the quirk apprehension test results, a glimpse of the back of his head, a small side profile where he looks adorable.

You stare blankly at the back cover when you finish the chapter. It's the end of the volume.

This is Sero's story—or at least part of it, a glimpse of his childhood from the perspective of this crybaby main character. Your mind is once again a torrent of all the things you wish you asked him. Instead you’ll be forced to read your answers in fragments, one page at a time, one chapter each week. The book sits heavy in your hands. Your mother said it’s new, but you hope there are more volumes published.

You turn to the bookshelf in your bedroom and shuffle some of the paraphernalia around to make an open spot. You slide the first volume of Boku no Hero Academia right against the edge, sandwiched by a carefully pressed flower.

(That yellow chrysanthemum that Sero left behind—

The only proof you have of his brief existence, other than the rapidly fading scent of oranges on his pillow.)

idk what this fic is don't look at me please.thx

bonus: musings on sero's perspective

#finally putting this on tumblr wahh #jiso.fics #sero x reader #sero hanta #bnha #bnha x reader

30 notes · View notes