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solarstranger · 3 months ago

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HOLD ME CLOSE (HOLD ME TIGHT) (3.8k)

pairing. k. bakugou x reader

synopsis. masaru has a stroke that nearly kills him. bakugou handles it well—until he doesn’t. (read on ao3)

cw. pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (32), established relationship, mentions of illness, themes of grief, discussions of past trauma (bkg's)

a/n. i was all good and even chirpy brainstorming for and writing this until i got to the last few lines and i shed a tear (damn it). wrote this in one sitting; apparently writing comes more easily if you take inspiration from your own experiences. this is equally a character analysis of bkg, so i hope i captured his psyche well!

bakugou remembers it clear as day.

it was only a few weeks after the two of you celebrated his 32nd birthday in a secluded resort out of town when he got the call.

he was in the middle of chastising his klutz of a sidekick’s ear off for forgetting to submit an important case report when his phone started ringing, and the very fact that it wasn’t your ringtone further soured his already worsening mood.

with a final reprimand laced with an hr-appropriate amount of expletives, he dismissed the rookie, leaving him alone in his pristine, corner office.

he recalls sighing in annoyance upon seeing the caller id, as well as his clipped tone when he greeted the old hag with a curt, “what.”

that annoyance was immediately replaced with alarm, however, when his usually bright mother spoke into the microphone, her typically level voice shaking with unmistakable fear.

“it’s your father, katsuki…” she started, and he instantly braced himself for the impact.

mitsuki takes a shaky inhale. “…he’s having a stroke. we’re on the way to the hospital. please, come here.”

he didn’t need to be told twice.

he remembers being on autopilot—the entire way to the suburban peripheries of musutafu where his parents decided to move after he got his own place at the age of 22. he’s not entirely sure—the journey over now a hazy blur—but he might’ve sent you the link to his location, because you magically arrived at the local hospital around fifteen minutes after him.

the moment he saw you burst into the entrance of the emergency room, a huge, tidal wave of relief immediately washed over him, he thought he could’ve collapsed. the second you lock eyes, he witnessed a whirlwind of emotions dance across your beautiful features, before you ran over to where he stood near the vending machine, unceremoniously crashing into his arms.

at that point, he had no idea what made you drop everything—including the precious work that you do—and just follow him based on an ambiguous gps locator he sent you without context, but he was glad you did.

because it was only as you held him so close to you all the while soothing his back and chanting soft ‘it’s okay’s’ in his ear did it hit him.

the fact that he’s fucking terrified.

it must’ve been at least three hours of stewing in tense silence in the emergency room’s waiting area before the two of you finally saw mitsuki.

he remembers the way his heart ached when he first laid eyes on his mother, someone who’s typically radiant and spirited and happy, now looking too frail and painfully vulnerable.

words weren’t exchanged as the three of you walked towards each other, and he promptly engulfed his mother into a tight hug before he could talk himself out of it.

“how is he?” he whispered into the side of her head, choosing to ask then, in the middle of a hug, because he didn’t know if he could stand the look on her face when she answered.

“he’s alive,” she managed to get out, but she said it so tentatively that he knew it was too soon to feel any sort of relief.

“but…?” he recalls asking with bated breath.

“it was a hemorrhagic stroke. it’s… it’s bad, katsuki.”

it wasn’t until a few more hours later, when the two of you were finally granted permission to enter masaru’s hospital room together with mitsuki, did he realize what bad meant.

some parts of this story are blurry now, but the way his stomach dropped at the sight of his father remains to be unforgettable.

the sight of him paralyzed, head to toe.

masaru remained confined in the hospital for a few weeks more after that. the three of you took turns—one would go home to clean up and catch some sleep while the remaining two kept watch and assisted the man.

you almost got booted out of there on the second day, with the nurse saying only immediate family was allowed due to overcrowding in the hospital, but bakugou was quick to step in and say you were practically married.

when the nurse politely pressed for more details while looking pointedly at your ring finger and the lack of a wedding band, he lied and said you forgot to wear it in your rush to get there.

she didn’t seem too convinced, but she thankfully let it go, probably because it was #2 pro-hero dynamight who said so, eventually exiting the room after checking masaru’s vitals.

he remembers you heaving a sigh of relief once the three of you were left alone, tossing him a small smile that sent a familiar shot of longing straight to his veins.

one day, he recalls thinking to himself, you will be married.

just—not now.

the first day home was as much of a nightmare as he expected it to be.

growing up, and until that moment, he never really found himself wanting siblings.

sure, it got pretty lonely during his childhood, but he almost always had kids following him around what with how flashy his quirk is, and he had izuku, which he can now admit was (and still is) his best friend.

plus, you always said you loved how he’d roughhouse you, which you chalked up to him being an only child and not having had the opportunity to do that with anyone else.

but, as the three of you struggled to lift masaru out of the car and into his newly minted wheelchair, he remembers wishing for a brother or a sister who could lend a helping hand and make sure all of masaru’s numb body parts were carefully looked out for.

it’s fucking hilarious, how he didn’t just lift his father all by himself with his pro-hero muscles, but the fear of accidentally hurting him even more turned out to be more paralyzing than he anticipated.

not that he would ever admit that to anyone.

not even you.

but as he watched you and his mother fluttering around, tending to masaru’s needs not even a minute you get in the house, it struck him that maybe he should.

you might not be his sibling (thank god, no), but you will most likely become his parents’ daughter if things go his way.

and, whether he liked it or not, he’s got to do something about the growing ache in his chest that’s only growing wider by the second.

the next few weeks he spent busying himself with the stuff that came with looking after a stroke patient.

mitsuki, who’s done nothing but throw herself into caring for her husband, insisted on helping him find the people they needed, but bakugou didn’t even let her get a word in.

when he tucked himself into bed right next to you later that night in his new bedroom (you moved in with him to his parents’ despite his protests), he recalls ranting about how the old hag was getting on his nerves with her inability to just let him handle shit.

“have i ever been incompetent?” he huffed, turning on his side so he could lie facing you. “it’s like she doesn’t even trust me.”

“i think the two of you just want the same for the other, kats,” came your steady yet gentle voice, not missing a beat and totally unfazed by his petulant behavior.

“…waddya mean?”

you reached out to caress his cheek, and he remembers how soft your fingers felt and how his eyes momentarily fluttered close at the warmth.

at the sight, you flashed him a sad smile before pressing on.

“you’re both hurting, but the two of you would rather carry the weight by yourselves instead of burdening the other. it’s how you and mitsuki show you care.”

he didn’t say anything after that.

at least, for a while.

finally, he spoke up. “…i just don’t like to be bossed around, is all.”

to that, you only tossed him a knowing look. “yup, just that. definitely. never mind your immense sense of responsibility and the stubborn yet admirable way you carry everybody’s bur—”

“yeah, yeah,” he cut you off before you could ramble any further. “i get it.”

seemingly satisfied, you grinned up at him before pulling him close, cradling his head by your chest.

with the new position, he could feel your familiar, rhythmic heartbeat.

your heartbeat that he liked to listen to for reassurance—telltale evidence that you’re alive and right next to him, and that no villain has wrestled you out of his firm grip.

and as he lay there snuggled into you and listening to the consistent pulse, he found his frantic, loud thoughts slowly but steadily being lulled to a hum.

thoughts that he knew you’d kick to the moon if you found out he’s been thinking them.

thoughts like maybe he’s just selfishly gatekeeping all the tasks so he could distract himself from the pain that’s threatening to swallow him whole.

thoughts like maybe he deserved this for all the wrong he’s done growing up.

thoughts like maybe his mother would be in far less pain if it were him instead of his saint of a father who had to go through this.

he fell into a fitted sleep that night.

after a few more weeks of searching for and screening applicants, and with your and mitsuki’s approval, he finally settled on a stay-in caregiver and physical therapist.

it took quite a while for the two to learn the ropes and master how he wanted things to be done around here, but they eventually got there, and when they did, they cleared a lot of stuff that has been on everybody’s plates ever since masaru had the stroke.

with that, mitsuki insisted the two of you go home to your shared condominium and get back into working full-time again, but neither of you relented. he tried to get you to return, not wanting to hold you back from the important things that you do, but you were quick to dismiss him.

he didn’t tell you then and there, but he secretly wished you would.

he’d never confess this to anybody, but he’d definitely crumble without you around.

he remembers one specific thursday, when you first started getting masaru into exercising his left, albeit non-dominant hand, by drawing.

it was silly, but he recalls not even being able to look his father in the eye as the two of you sat across from him who was plastered in his wheelchair, a small coffee table between you, on which sat a piece of paper, a pencil, a box of crayons, and an all might plushie you swiftly grabbed from his bedroom.

and as he sat there avoiding his father’s gaze, he watched you as you talked animatedly to the man, explaining the deceivingly simple activity: he just had to try and draw the plushie, after which, if he still had the energy, he could color in using the crayons you dug out from bakugou’s drawers.

but masaru wasn’t having it.

the man only stared at you in disinterest as you tried your best to engage him. despite himself, bakugou felt indignation creep up his spine.

he knew. fuck, he really did. after he made sure you’ve fallen asleep, he had spent nights researching his father’s condition, poring over mountains and mountains of information all in the name of being able to better understand and help him.

so he knew—he knew that strokes, especially severe ones, can cause noticeable changes in one’s personality, at least in the short term. it can turn someone sensitive and in tune with others’ emotions into someone who’s apathetic and seemingly self-absorbed.

still, that knowledge doesn’t stop him from jumping on his feet when masaru, his kind, sweet father, angrily wiped off the table with his left arm, sending the materials you worked hard to gather scattered all over the floor.

and, before he could stop himself: “hey!”

you were onto him in an instant, a soothing albeit restraining hold on his shoulder. “katsuki, it’s okay.”

he was about to open his mouth to spit venom when he felt you tighten your grip. he didn’t have to glance at you to know you were looking at him the way you always did when you were begging him to stay quiet.

and because he loved (loves) you, he did.

and as he wordlessly picked up the papers and pens in silence, he couldn’t help but mourn over his father, and the patience and calmness that characterized his being.

the very patience and calmness that he always wished he had, instead of his temper and aggressiveness, because that’s what you, of all people, deserved.

and then the all-too-familiar guilt hit him again.

because why was he acting like his father died, when he was still very much alive?

simple, bakugou thought to himself.

it’s because it feels like he has.

his relationship with masaru didn’t get better after that.

he’d been trying, he really had been. if not for you, who’d been tending to his father like he was your very own, then for his mother, whose fatigue and sadness have been chipping away at her by the minute.

he was washing the dishes in the kitchen after you’ve had dinner—all the while his parents watched tv in the living room—when you walked in, a couple more dirty plates in tow.

he wouldn’t have noticed he was glaring down at the brick of butter on the shelf if you didn’t point it out.

“a few more seconds and that’s gonna melt,” you quipped.

he looked back at you, gears in his head turning for a beat, before he chuckled half-heartedly and turned back to the sink.

behind him, he recalls hearing a click, which he now identifies as you putting down the plates on the kitchen island, before he felt your arms wrap around his middle, encasing him in a hug.

your voice was smooth when you drawled out, “what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, baby?”

still, and despite all the shit that’s been going on in his life, he still found himself shuddering at the pet name.

“nothing.”

“really?” came your immediate response. “because i was getting kinda jealous with how hard you were staring at that butter.”

at that, bakugou couldn’t help but snort. you followed suit, that delightful laugh echoing across the small room.

“stupid,” he simply retorted, although both of you knew there was no bite to it.

you didn’t press him for more after that, choosing to just hold yourself against his back in comfortable silence—which he now knows he’s grateful for.

because at that time, he couldn’t have told you he was feeling nothing but resentment for his pitiful father.

his pitiful father who loved to put butter in virtually every dish he whipped up.

his pitiful father who probably wouldn’t be pitiful if he just led an active lifestyle, monitored his health, and made better choices so that his poor mother wouldn’t have to go through all this.

his train of thought was interrupted, however, when a pang of that same old guilt hit his chest, and then he was once again flooded with scalding shame.

because what else should he be feeling for his father aside from empathy, as someone who has had far too many brushes with death itself?

“…katsuki?”

he recalls jolting ever so minutely, before turning his head to look at you, who, by then, was already standing behind him, apparently already having released him from the hug.

“huh?”

“i was just asking you,” you continued as if he didn’t just zone out. “our friends want to come by and visit, if you’re okay with it. is that alright with you?”

the last thing he needed was for his nerd-ass friends to visit and witness his family’s dirty laundry, which would inevitably be aired out for them to see given the circumstances. his entire life, he always, always, kept those from prying eyes, even if they were his closest buddies’.

but, at the mention of his friends, he found his heart clenching in yearning despite himself.

and so, before he could talk himself out of it, he nodded in approval.

“…and so that’s how i saved the little girl who was convinced i was the bad guy!”

he remembers everyone in the room erupting in laughter at kirishima’s story, even masaru, who’s been steadily gaining control of the left side of his body back.

his right has seen little to no improvement, but you and mitsuki have been making it a point to celebrate every win, no matter how small.

at kirishima’s gag, bakugou himself couldn’t help the somewhat imperceptible smirk that encroached on his face, which izuku, unfortunately, caught sight of. the #1 pro-hero beamed at him, and it took bakugou every ounce of self-control not to roll his eyes at the nerd.

“what about you, midoriya-kun?” asked mitsuki, who’s seated on a stool right beside her husband, who’s nestled comfortably in the reclining chair you got him about a month ago.

at the call out, the green-haired man shifted his attention to the lady, before sheepishly retorting with: “oh, i just try to be funny.”

that granted him his round of laughter, and this time bakugou finally allowed himself to give into the visceral urge to roll his eyes.

he must’ve been being so obvious with his expressions, because it’s you who managed to catch him again, shooting him a chastising but nevertheless playful look.

before he could wink at you or do anything in response, though, he recalls mitsuki standing up quite abruptly, startling the five of you.

you shot her a question before anyone else could. “what is it, mitsuki-san?”

“i didn’t notice! we’ve run out of tea and snacks. sorry—” she leaned down to get the trays, “—let me get some mo—”

“i’ll do it!” volunteered the ever-good-natured izuku, who moved so fast the plates were on him before the rest could blink.

“i’ll help the nerd,” bakugou added, standing up before taking some of the cups from his rival lest the latter drops them.

at the uncharacteristically generous offer, izuku once again beamed at him, which bakugou immediately dismissed with a wave of a hand.

the short trek to the kitchen was quiet amidst the background noise, which has been brought up a notch thanks to kirishima’s vivid storytelling.

without a word, bakugou gestured where to get a refill on the snacks while he busied himself with brewing more tea.

the silence that engulfed them was comfortable—familiar—that was, until, izuku broke it.

“thanks again, kacchan.”

bakugou felt his eye twitch at the nickname. “for what?”

izuku turned on his feet to regard his best friend, a grateful smile gracing his boyish features. “for letting me and ei visit. i just wanted you to know i appreciate it. i’m sure it’s not easy having guests around while, you know…”

he wasn’t about to tell the nerd he and kirishima were the only ones he felt comfortable enough to visit at the moment, so he merely nodded.

(un)fortunately, the greenhead took it as a sign to continue.

“she’s been amazing, huh?”

bakugou met the man’s soft gaze, which was directed toward you.

“yeah,” came his sure reply. he remembers not even knowing where to start, so he just simply left it at that.

a pregnant pause.

“you’ve been doing great, too, kacchan.”

that caught him off guard.

he must’ve looked stunned, because izuku shrugged quite timidly, before: “we all see how hard you’re working.”

the #1 pro-hero hesitated for a moment, as if debating whether or not to say the next thing, ultimately deciding for it.

“…but don’t forget to take care of yourself, too, alright?”

and just as fast as he scooped the trays back in the living room, izuku patted him on the shoulder before taking the cups from him and waltzing rather clumsily out of the kitchen.

later that night, bakugou found himself unable to fall asleep.

it’s been ages since you both got into bed, and you were now on your side with your back turned against him, probably already fast asleep.

he recalls just staring up at the off-white ceiling, playing back in his head the earlier conversation he had with izuku again and again and again.

“you’ve been doing great, too, kacchan,” was what the nerd said.

if he only knew.

if he only knew the terrible thoughts that had been plaguing his mind since shit went down.

there’s a reason why he hasn’t said a single word about the things he’d been thinking since day one.

there’s a reason why he’s kept all of this shit to himself even though they were fucking heavy to carry all on his own.

it was because he was scared of them, and even more scared of what people would make of him when he finally verbalized them into existence.

what you would make of him.

he’s spent most of his life running away from who he used to be, that the mere thought that he might have just always been that guy this entire time is like a fucking 100% detroit smash to the gut.

he didn’t even notice he was crying until he felt a single tear go down the side of his face.

he quickly reached up to wipe it away.

to his horror, he felt you shift beside him, and he found himself frozen in fear as he waited for you to settle into another position in your sleep.

but that didn’t come.

instead, he remembers so, so clearly how you turned to face him—absolutely, evidently wide awake—with such a worried expression on your gorgeous face, and how he just completely lost it at the sight of you.

he remembers how you scooped him into your arms as ugly sobs finally wracked his body, how you led his arms to wrap around your waist to help anchor him as he cried into your chest.

he remembers the soothing circles you rubbed on his back as you started to cry with him, your sniffles the only thing he heard aside from his own weeping.

he remembers the way your voice cracked when you started whispering ‘i’m here’s’ in his ear. and, he doesn’t know if it’s because that line carries a massive fucking weight for him, or that it’s you—the love of his life—who’s saying them, but the words wash over the entirety of his exhausted body like a violent storm, leaving him shivering in its wake.

he remembers deciding then and there, that he was going to tell you everything.

maybe tomorrow, but not now.

for now, and in the safety of your arms, he finds himself finally allowing the grief—the grief that he’s unknowingly been trying to tamp down—to come forward and make itself known.

˗ˏˋ while likes are appreciated, they don’t do much on tumblr! if you want to support me and writers in general, reblogs, replies, and tags are the way to go. feel free to drop an ask, too—i’d love to chat. have a nice day! ´ˎ˗

#the messages that i've gotten about this fic are probably some of the most heart-warming i've ever been told. 🥹#thank you to everyone past present future who has given/will show this personal fic some love <3 #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha x reader #re: bakugou katsuki #eeya.docx

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gin-juice-tonic · 1 year ago

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So, for Starters: Book Of Bill Spoilers warning. Another opinion from me below. This new one is about the lost journal pages again, of course.

Originally, I wanted to make a super big crazy essay about all the reasons I think the journal pages in BOB (The Book of Bill’s given name) are fake, and show off my super-cool totally completely sound deductive reasoning techniques in the process.

Unfortunately, knowing myself I’m not sure I’m actually capable of accomplishing such a feat. You all know how I tend to post things in parts, sometimes out of order, often never finished. However I would like to share something in particular that’s been eating at me that I’ve seen… partially discussed, but only partially. And certainly not the part that I would like to discuss.

It’s about the rats.

You know, the rats.

I saw these rats being talked about since before I was even able to have a look at the book myself.

But before I get further into it all, I would like to start off with a joke:

Why did dead rats, eggnog, a land orca, shrimp colors, It’s a Small World After All, and an Anti-Cipherite Suit cross the road?

Well, that’s easy. To get to the other side.

Of the book, that is.

If you’re anything like me, you probably skipped right to the journal pages upon contact with the book. And if you’re even MORE like me, you were probably left a little confounded by them. Not only did they seem… wrong somehow. But they also felt random. Full of odd choices of subject that didn’t make a lot of sense. Could these pages really have come from journal 3? If so, why do parts of them feel so… completely out of context?

And this is where the rats come in. As I mentioned before, I saw many people discussing them. In particular, they were noting a connection to this passage from earlier in the book:

Many of the related discussions also felt odd to me. Though I lacked the knowledge to be able to articulate why at the time. UNTIL, I read the book for myself from start to finish. That's when I realized something: This is not the only time something from earlier in the book connects back to the journal pages. In fact, it happens many, many times throughout the earlier passages. (Here is a small collection of them for your perusal.)

And then it started clicking into place. The reasons the pages felt like they were so abnormally out of context… is because they WERE lacking context!

Now, before you can finish saying “Gin, you’re an idiot.” I would like you to ponder these three questions:

1) Why, if these pages were taken from Journal 3, should they require context from outside of it to be able to be completely understood?

2) Why is it that this context can be found in what Bill Cipher has been writing in the preceding passages up till now?

3) If you put food in a mogwai’s mouth at midnight EST but drive it over the CST time zone line back to 11PM before it can swallow, will it still transform into a gremlin?

Okay, you caught me, that third one is unrelated. But the first two I believe require further thinking. So let’s delve a little further into the idea. Consider this the real third question:

3) Are we to seriously believe that these, the only pages of J3 still lost to us, just so happen to tie into the new topics from the rest of the Book of Bill over and over like this?

And since you’ve done so well thinking thus far, I’ll ask a fourth question:

4) Are you aware of the concepts of Watsonian and Doyalist analysis?

Assuming you don’t and you won’t google it, I’ll skip to the important part. Watsonian analysis is to analyze a story from within it, as if you yourself were Watson making deductions in a Sherlock Holmes novel.

Now, from a Watsonian point of view, what happens when we try to answer our earlier questions? Why should it be that the Book of Bill provides so many of these points of reference to the journal pages?

One possible line of thought could be that Bill wrote the earlier passages of his book *around* the idea of what was contained in the pages, but I think this doesn’t work for a few reasons. For one thing, the purpose of the book is to get the reader to make a deal, not to take a whole novel to set the stage for a 3 day mini Ford adventure. For another, not all of what I described prior is really fit to be called “context”, is it? The rats, the “Small World” cassette, and the Bill-Suit are one thing, but Eggnog? Shrimp colors? Land Orcas? I certainly wouldn’t define them that way. If anything, they’d be better suited to being called “references”. And unlike the more contextual ideas, there’d be no real need for Bill to sneak mere references to the pages into his grand story. And lastly, there are a great deal of Bill pages that have nothing to do with the content in the journal pages at all.

So what exactly am I trying to say here?

If we do intend to think of the callbacks outlined above as references, the only logical conclusion within the story is that the journal pages themselves are referencing back to the Book of Bill, not the other way around.

But… how? And why? Something Ford has written in the 80’s shouldn't be able to reference something Bill is writing post-weirdmageddon certainly.

That’s because “Ford” isn’t referencing it at all!

And as for why… Well, have you ever noticed when you're writing a story on the fly, things you wrote earlier all come crashing back to you as you try to wrap things up? I believe personally that the journal pages are not pages actually written by Ford, but more a strange endcap on Bill’s crazy train of thought! That Bill is the one writing them, and the "references" are just fuel that further the pages creation. Almost as if, to quote someone much more knowledgeable than me on this subject…

(This single paragraph has been inserted a good deal after the original writing of this post.) I would like to clarify, I am not trying to claim the ideas presented in the pages have no basis in reality whatsoever. Ultimately, what I'm saying is I think Bill wrote them, and they should be taken with suspicion instead of as complete fact. "Did this event happen exactly this way?", "Does some of this feel distorted?", "Did this part even happen at all?" I think those are questions worth examining with the events detailed on these pages.

In the end, all I've described above (as well as other aspects of the pages I've not mentioned here) leave me with the impression the pages are not real.

As I stated only a bit earlier, the idea that these pages, the only pages of J3 purported to be lost, should be so connected to the rest of the book is beyond coincidence to me. Not to mention that in order to take these pages as total truth, you must give credence to several other passages of Bill's book as well. And I'm not too keen on having to trust him that much.

To all who have read this far, even to those who may have scoffed at the ideas in here or think I've only written up nonsense. Thank you for reading and considering my thoughts.

I am not saying anyone must agree with me on this. I know some people have found the pages to be important and meaningful to them, and I do not wish to give the impression that I think my view is the end all be all correct one, or that I think lesser of those who believe them to be Ford's own writings. I only want to share my own thoughts on them. And to anyone else who found the pages to feel "off" somehow, possibly validate their feelings too.

#long post #the longest post #book of bill spoilers #the book of bill spoilers #for real this time #rat #rats #(those are warning tags)#gin discusses cartoons #bob investigations #this one can stay in the discussion tag bc i particularly like the way i wrote this one

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inzaynety · 1 year ago

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part of the job ⤫

➢ summary: after using no. 10, hoshina realizes one of the reasons behind his drive to fight. after listening, you realize the limits to your everything.

➢ content: hoshina x fem!reader, 1607 words, non-explicit injuries, spoilers from the manga (fight starting at ch. 88 and hoshina’s past lwky), locking someone up (crack part lol), slight angst, hurt/comfort

➢ notes: yo🫸🏼🫷🏼this is more of a character analysis for hoshina and reader so i added some dialogue from the manga itself to connect it a little more (w/ reader influence ofc be we’re delulu like that)

pt. 2 - pt. 3 of slice & dice - pt. 4

Not yet. My sword is right there.

He feels like he’s floating, like his body is lighter than he remembers. But there’s no time to waste, he has to grab hold—oh. That’s why he feels that way.

His arm is gone.

Hoshina stares in shock as his blade moves further and further away, and all that’s left is him and his thoughts. He can’t feel himself moving; he can’t feel himself breathing.

If he were his brother, he would have been able to switch over to his firearms without a worry and take down the Kaiju just like that. For crying out loud, this was a smaller one. This should have been easier for him. His father and the first commander he trained for, didn't need his particular set of skills.

And you—what were you doing there? He knows he’s dying, and he knows this is what people might see before they go. But how cruel is it when it’s your own lover staring back at you?

If he were you, what would he do?

He’d take your other hand and shove his blade back in there, probably complaining about how hard to hold Izumo tech made them, more so than the guns at least. And he’d push you to keep on fighting even if neither of you knew you’d make it back.

Why? Because he knows how much you love your weapon. He knows how much you trained with that old thing more times than he can count. And he knows it’s the same for him.

A jarring laugh takes him out of his thoughts. Hoshina gasps and clenches his left fist, then his right. His arm was still there.

How was that?! I totally fended it off!!

That son of a bitch Kaiju No. 10.

You can’t listen.

Having been injured in a previous mission yourself, you were pretty much banned from joining the fight anywhere. Your division knows that despite whatever persona you had as their commander, if there was a place you’d want to be, you’d be there no matter what.

The only thing you could do now, however, was send your vice commander and platoon leaders off before settling into your office and waiting. The control room was only a corridor down and from the messages you’d been receiving, your team was doing just fine.

You just didn’t know if he was. The First and Third had their fair share of strong opponents but it doesn’t seem like they ever caught a break. Even if they were going to be using Kaiju powered suits and weapons, that was never going to be enough, was it?

You only had the call with Okonogi to go off of and had placed yourself on mute so as not to distract her from her job. But it scared you instead upon hearing the Third’s own shouts and cries of their vice commander’s name.

Your finger hovers over the red button after a particularly devastating yell until an alarm blares in your office.

“Commander! There’s a situation with Mizutani’s Platoon!”

Without hesitation, you lift your finger off and connect it to your in-ear, placing your phone in your pocket before rushing to the control room.

Why is it that even though I’d lose and lose, I never stopped swingin’? Why is it that even after being told I should give up time and time again, I never stopped fighting?

He stands unwavering on an equal level with Kaiju No. 10 sitting in front of him, waiting idly for his answer.

“To beat my brother.”

No.

“To hold on to the one thing I’ve got goin’ for me.”

No!

“To fulfill my duties as vice-captain.”

Quit trying to put up a front!

Hoshina doesn’t know what the monster wants to hear, but he knows they don’t have much time right now. No. 12 is much stronger than No. 10 was and he can’t imagine what would happen if he failed to neutralize it now. Only he could do something about it but now he was utterly lost. What could he do?

The world around him steadies and he blinks. Oh.

“Because swingin’ the sword...”

Kaiju No. 10 doesn’t move.

“...is fun.”

No. 10 grits its teeth, veins popping against its skin as it rises, its eye peeking from the cross-shaped hole in its head.

That’s right.

You’re pacing back and forth, receiving poorly concealed glances sent your way by your own division. It felt like an eternity from the time you were called into the room to the time of any other update from the Third Division. This can’t be healthy.

You hate thoughts like this. They give you doubts. Doubts about things you can’t control by yourself, nor can you even if you were given the wheel. It’s not in your place to stop him or abandon your post just for him. You wish you could split yourself in half and not worry so much, but wouldn’t it be easier to find a way to get rid of that worry? What about–

“Vice Commander Hoshina has neutralized No. 12!!” Okonogi announces that you can hear it through your in-ear as well as your control room’s speakers. Your team lets out a collective cheer and sighs of relief as you visibly relax, reaching into your pocket to hang up the call.

On the monitors, every platoon leader and officer worked with pride and neutralized their own Kaiju with ease from the moral boost that, among Shinomiya and Gen’s victories, had given them. Everything was going to be fine.

But the piercing eyes of those thoughts stay in the back of your head.

His whole body is sore and hot when he wakes up. The smell of fresh linen and alcohol comes to his senses and when he opens his eyes, you’re right there in front of him. Hoshina’s surprised but he’s also imagining the look on the medics faces seeing you rush through the halls like he knows you did.

“Sweet–” You punch his better side and he yelps. He tries to retort at the action but one look at your face has him holding it in.

“Dumbass! Stupid. You were—god, I swear I’m locking you up and never letting you see the light of day.” But then you’re gently pressing your face against the same arm and letting out the deepest sigh you had been keeping in. His expression softens as he brings his hand up to pat your head.

“Not even congratulations? Good job?” You were probably aware of how much he overheated his suit and definitely aware of how he was using the prototype No. 10 suit, so that did not help in extinguishing your worries. Yeah, he was reckless alright.

Tears start to form in your eyes and while you’re grateful that your face is hidden from his sight, Hoshina knows you better than that. You must have been so worried for him while being preoccupied with your own division and everything. It was so, so hard. Your grip on the back of his pillow doesn’t go unnoticed.

The sudden thoughts hit you again and guilt runs through you. How could you think that?

“Hey–” Hoshina starts as now you’re crying, holding onto his arm with a grip just a tad lighter than the one you have on the cloth behind him. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” You weren’t one to cry so much, at least not lately. He made that a mission for himself.

You only shake your head, allowing yourself to be moved by a man more hurt than yourself into his arms as he comforts you. His warmth is there, his heart is beating, and his words are spoken right into your ear to tell you he’s there. He’s alive, he’s fine.

But what if he wasn’t? What if he didn’t make it out of there?

“Look at me.” His voice is firm, juxtaposed with the hands lifting your face to get you to focus your attention on him. “I’m right here.”

You should be here comforting him, not the other way around. Of course, your Soshiro would be the one to do this, though. You raise your eyes to him and come to the realization of the utmost contentment you’ve ever felt. Something you’ve always felt with him.

Of course, your Soshiro.

It takes a few moments but you’re able to calm yourself. He wipes away your tears with his thumbs, and waits patiently in case you want to say something, even if it is nothing at all.

“I…” You can’t pick out your words right away, “...felt like I couldn’t do anything. Watching you like that. Soshiro,” he’s hanging onto your every word, “I thought that if, just for a second, you weren’t in my life, maybe it’d be easier to not feel like that.” Even coming from your own mouth, it sounds too harsh and too horrifying to say out loud. His hold falters, you can feel it, and you’re immediately wracked with more guilt.

“But–”

“That’s okay.” Is what Hoshina answers first, stopping you. His hands on your face grasp you more and bring you closer to his. “I’d like to think I know ya enough to know what ya want to say. Maybe ya don’t know it yet.” The glint in his eyes are back, earning an automatic roll of your eyes.

He’ll tell you later how much you helped him.

“There’s my girl.” He places a kiss on your nose and rests your foreheads together. “Besides, ya can’t get rid of me that easily.”

You’ve helped him so much more than you think.

“I’ll always be here.”

©inzaynety 2024

#kaiju no. 8 x reader #kaiju no. 8 fluff #kn8 x reader #kn8 fluff #hoshina x reader #hoshina fluff #hoshina angst #kn8 angst #kaiju no. 8 angst #hoshina soshiro x reader #hoshina #hoshina soshiro #soshiro hoshina x reader #soshiro hoshina #fics

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lobotomiesatclaires · 6 months ago

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Lighter Kink and Psychology Analysis - Zenless Zone Zero

Full disclaimer: I don’t play Zenless Zone Zero, but through my friend’s love of the game and Tumblr osmosis, I’ve learned a great deal about Lighter. I find the differences between his canon and fanon interpretations fascinating, so I thought it would be interesting to break down the psychology of kinks and what I think Lighter’s are. I’m going to focus on the ones I believe he has, and if people want me to go into further detail, let me know! Also if it was clear from the title 18+ content below

Exhibitionism – Subcategories: Semi-Public Sex, Secret Keeping, and Risk Play

Lighter is fascinating because he’s full of contradictions. He doesn’t like having his picture taken and prefers to keep a low profile, yet he wears flashy clothes and takes on high profile work where he cannot NOT be noticed. He wants to be left alone but craves connection with people. Part of this can be attributed to losing so many important people due to his own actions, but I think another part of it is Lighter’s hopeless romantic streak. He wants to die for love, and I think part of that is tied to finding someone worthy of that sacrifice.

He’s not interested in people who praise him or send him gifts because, to him, they don’t truly know him- and if they did, they wouldn’t want anything to do with him, he thinks. This low self-esteem and disorganized attachment style create a loop where he desperately craves connection, has opportunities for it, but never fully lets his walls down to allow a deeper bond. Because of his past and the fear of never being truly understood, Lighter communicates in subtle ways. In-game, he can give the player purple lilacs. In the language of flowers, purple lilacs symbolize one’s first love or the first time one feels love for someone. However he leaves on a job right after, to stop any possibility of asking him more about why he gave them to you.

When it comes to sex, Lighter has experience, but in romantic love, he’s very much a virgin, in my opinion.

In line with this, I think Lighter would be needy as a partner, in constant need of validation but unable to ask for reassurance. He hates when his friends are mad at him- it distresses him significantly, which reinforces my earlier points about his emotional sensitivity. Thus, I think one of his core needs would be for a partner to be very possessive of him. Not only would this push back against his feelings of guilt, but it would bulldoze past his tendency to panic at intimacy and distance himself.

While I agree he’d be into risk/thrill-seeking, I don’t think it would be extreme or involve pain. I believe it would be a form of intimate thrill-seeking - the kind that engages an overactive mind.

Imagine:Lighter and his partner in an elevator, on the way to a party. Four seconds before the elevator reaches the destination, his partner pushes him against the wall, kisses him, and whispers in his ear that they’re not wearing anything under their dress coat. The doors open, and they walk out into the party crowd - no one the wiser. Except Lighter.

For example: They’re at the party. Lighter’s charming, slipping easily into conversations with strangers. But every so often, his partner brushes their fingers lightly over the back of his neck, just once, fleeting. No one notices, but Lighter does. His spine straightens slightly each time, a silent acknowledgment: I know who I belong to.

Or: Club sex on the top floor behind a loud rock band. The balcony overlooking a busy street. Going to dinner with friends with a remote in his hand and a small vibrator in his partner’s underwear.

I think Lighter would enjoy all of these scenarios - not just for the risk, but for the inherent trust required to play and keep these secrets between him and his partner. It’s something completely his, something no one else can encroach upon, yet it’s right there, obvious to anyone observant enough to notice.

Marking – Physical and Psychological

Marking, both physical and psychological, would lean into Lighter’s desire for connection. Think: visible signs of his partner’s presence, like a hickey or a faint lipstick smudge on his collarbone.

While traditional marking overlaps with the possessiveness I imagine he’d enjoy, psychological marking might be even more appealing to him. This could involve embedding someone’s presence in his mind through habits, sensory triggers, or routines.

Lighter’s fear of being forgotten or unimportant could be countered by the constant reassurance that he’s always present in his partner’s thoughts. Non-sexually, his partner might leave voice notes for him to listen to during missions or spritz their perfume on his scarf. They might even snap a risky picture and set it as his lock screen so the next time he checks his phone on the job he’s left with a surprise.

Lighter is haunted by the dead, but I think what he truly craves is being haunted by someone living. He would adore his partner’s presence lingering in his personal space, feeding his need for connection without direct confrontation.

Domination – Receiving, Direction Taking

I firmly believe Lighter likes to be dominated. In terms of desire, I don’t think Lighter experiences much spontaneous desire; rather, he’s more connected to responsive desire (see the paper “Sexual Arousal and Desire: Interrelations and Responses to Three Modalities of Sexual Stimuli” by Katherine Goldey and Sari Anders). That man is too tired to be dominant, and as seen in-game, he prefers to take orders. He would definitely call his partner “Boss” in the bedroom.

Beyond the bedroom, I feel Lighter would continue this relinquishment of power through authority transfer dynamics as a coping mechanism for emotional instability, much like he does for the Sons of Calydon. This could manifest in routines or rituals where his partner makes decisions for him, offering a sense of control without the burden of autonomy. It’s both a reaffirmation of care and a release from the pressure of decision-making.

Given his tendency to overthink, delegating power outside of sex could ease his mental load and reinforce security in his relationships. I think Lighter would enjoy having his partner pick out his clothes, jewelry, ect, decide small daily routines, or even manage his finances in a consensual dynamic. This creates a structure where emotional care is embedded in everyday life, not just during intimacy.

Additionally, given Lighter’s need for emotional grounding and his craving to feel “claimed,” collaring - whether in a literal BDSM context or as an everyday symbolic gesture - would be something he could secretly obsess over. If Lighter were given a necklace, choker, or even a collar (especially since he loves jewelry), he’d never take it off. He’d wear it under his clothes, hidden from everyone else but always present. On rough days or when away from his partner, just feeling it against his skin would serve as silent reassurance, grounding him.

It would satisfy both his exhibitionist streak (a hidden “secret” between him and his partner) and act as a reminder: I’m not lost. I belong somewhere. To someone.

For example: if before a mission his partner was to kiss him goodbye, place a necklace around his neck and say “Come back wearing this” he would tug at the small chain subconsciously the entire time he’s gone. He would sleep with it on, shower with it, and when he returned, the metal would be warm and oxidised from his skin, his skin stained from the metal.

Praise Play

An extension of his need for domination and grounding, I see praise play as a huge turn-on for Lighter. While some believe degradation is one of his kinks, I think it’s the opposite. While he might engage in degradation play if his partner wanted it (and part of him might believe he deserves it due to his low self-esteem), I think he would emotionally shut down if it became a consistent dynamic. To me it would be a similar dynamic to the start of the Astarion romance, fulfilling a role as a tool rather than as a person.

Kinks often reflect core emotional needs. Non-consensual fantasies, for example, are about being desired so intensely that someone is willing to break laws and social norms. Degradation kinks often involve a need for others to see the worst parts of us and want us regardless. However, for sensitive individuals, this negative reinforcement doesn’t bring solace- it simply reaffirms their worst fears and destroys their fragile attempts at building a better self image. I also don't think Lighter would find any attraction in demeaning his partner, I think he would feel unworthy of their attention and trust, especially in the beginning.

Lighter is consistently wracked with guilt and desperately wants to know whether he’s doing the right thing, whether it’s in his job or in a relationship. For someone like Lighter, praise isn’t just arousing, it’s reparative in a way nothing else matches or soothes. Each compliment is a stone in the foundation of a self-worth he can’t build alone. When his partner says, “You’re doing so well,” or “You feel like home, like safety,” it’s not just about sex. It’s about rewriting the narrative he’s been telling himself for years.

Domestic Play

You cannot convince me that the image of Lighter’s partner cooking or doing general domestic chores wouldn’t awaken something deep within him, even though he might not admit it at first. In-game, he respects and surrounds himself with women who embody dominant, traditionally masculine qualities. He’s more than happy to take orders from them, but in terms of romantic or sexual attraction, he seems to have little interest in those traits. I suspect this is because these qualities mirror his old self, and that’s not something he finds much solace in, either romantically or sexually.

I think Lighter would be attracted to someone fundamentally different from those around him, someone softer and more considerate, yet still strong in a more traditionally feminine sense. Given his history of loss, trauma, and the absence of a stable family, I believe he harbors a profound urge for a family-like relationship. His partner would create an environment that feels like home, a concept Lighter likely yearns for but doesn’t fully understand.

Home-cooked meals, small domestic gestures of affection - these would make him unbearably needy, though he’d only show it when alone with his partner.

For example: During mundane moments, making coffee, fixing his jacket - his partner casually murmurs, “You belong to me.” It’s subtle, not always sexual, but it lights up the part of Lighter’s brain that craves validation without having to ask for it.

Things like his partner knowing how he likes his coffee without needing to ask, or grabbing the salt shaker from him because it’s bad for his cholesterol would make him unbearably turned on you cannot convince me otherwise. These small acts of care would hit him hard, far more than overt declarations of love.

For Lighter, being told what to do isn’t about submission- it’s about relief. In a life where his choices have often led to heartbreak, the absence of choice feels like safety.

Sensation Play – Both Sensory Deprivation and Service

Lighter is an overthinker. According to Emily Nagoski’s Come As You Are, overthinking is one of the primary reasons people struggle to achieve climax or engage fully with emotional and sexual vulnerability. When you place too much pressure on external factors - self-image, internal worries, even things as small as ‘the dishes need to be done’ - it inhibits your ability to ground yourself in the present and truly experience pleasure. This is why many people, particularly women, struggle with partnered sex and climax.

For Lighter, orgasm denial or delayed gratification would likely be a huge turn-on, especially in situations where he’s restrained or unable to interact directly with his partner - think handcuffs or shibari. The removal of senses, such as blindfolding, helps heighten arousal by redirecting the energy normally spent on processing visual stimuli toward pure sensation. It doesn’t stop the overthinking; it realigns it, forcing it to focus on the present moment.

For example: His partner lightly places a hand over his mouth while he’s blindfolded - not fully cutting off air, but creating a soft restraint. It’s not about danger; it’s about trust. The lack of visual and verbal control pushes him into a space where he can’t overanalyze - he can only feel.

Considering Lighter’s past - especially his time in the fighting pits, where he described himself as feeling like a zombie. I don’t think he’d enjoy pain or impact play. His physical existence outside the bedroom has already been filled with similar kinds of suffering. Instead, sensation play becomes a refuge - a way to experience his body without violence, without pain. There's a running joke that he fears the sight of blood in game, which is another reason why I believe centering pleasure rather than pain would be more attractive to him.

Emotional Edgeplay

I believe Lighter craves not just physical intensity but emotional vulnerability pushed to its limits, scenarios where trust is tested, intimacy feels dangerous, and attachment triggers are explored in consensual, negotiated ways. Emotional edgeplay isn’t about causing harm; it’s about walking the razor-thin edge of emotional exposure, where the potential for catharsis is as powerful as the risk.

Overstimulation is an aspect of emotional edgeplay, often resulting in emotional release- like crying during or after sex - as the body lets go of trauma it’s been holding onto for too long. Lighter, who is profoundly dissociated from his needs due to guilt and a deep-seated dismissal of his own worth, would find this both terrifying and necessary.

We see hints of this in-game. For example, there’s an interaction with a guide dog trained to seek out the most vulnerable person in the room - that ignores everyone else and goes straight to Lighter. This detail speaks volumes about how disconnected he is from his own emotional fragility; the desensitization runs so deep that he doesn’t even recognize it anymore.

In these moments, speech and affirmation would be crucial, especially during heightened emotional states or low points.

For example: During edging, when he’s trembling with frustration not just sexually, but emotionally his partner gently cradles his face and whispers, “Do you see how wonderful you are when you’re not pretending?”

It’s not just arousing, it’s disarming. Because in that vulnerable space, Lighter isn’t the cool, edgy pit fighter turned bodyguard. He’s just him, stripped of all pretense. No walls, no bravado. Flaws and all. It also provides acceptance by omission, that his partner sees all and accepts all.

Caretaker Dynamics (Reversed Aftercare)

I also believe Lighter would prefer to be the primary aftercare provider, despite this traditionally being the role of the dominant partner. According to Dominatrix Eva Oh, aftercare is a service role, and for Lighter, providing that service would be deeply fulfilling. (It’s a common misconception the Sub role in BDSM is the harder or serving role, because truly Dom’s are required to be very emotionally stable, beholden to their sub and can turn out to be a very stress inducing role for the wrong people). This is why high flying jobs such as CEO’s actually prefer to be submissive because it is the only place in their life they get to be minded.

While aftercare is essential after most sexual interactions especially those involving intense scenes, reversed caretaker dynamics, where the more emotionally fragile partner provides aftercare, would align perfectly with Lighter’s psychology. Despite his vulnerabilities, he has an overwhelming desire to feel needed, to prove his worth in relationships even when he feels broken.

Being allowed to “take care” of his partner post-sex, even when he’s emotionally raw, satisfies this need. It’s not about dominance or submission- it’s about anchoring himself through acts of care.

For example: After an intense session, when his partner is spent and emotionally vulnerable, Lighter insists on making tea, carefully bandaging small marks, or physically holding them - even if he’s the one shaking. He tucks the blanket around them, brushes sweat-damp hair from their forehead, and whispers, “I’ve got you.”

In those moments, his value isn’t measured by strength or stoicism. This role reversal reinforces his sense of purpose without undermining his vulnerabilities. He doesn't always have to be the strong one here, in this moment.

Closing Thoughts

Ultimately, Lighter’s kinks aren’t just about physical pleasure, they’re reflections of his deepest fears, needs, and desires. They’re coping mechanisms woven into intimacy, helping him navigate a world where connection feels both a gift and a threat. Whether through domination, praise, or emotional edgeplay, his kinks allow him to confront the parts of himself he hides from the world.

At the heart of it all, Lighter wants to be known.

References

Disclaimer I have dyslexia and English is my second language so I apologize for mistakes.

Theswaddle.com. (2019). The Psychology of Sexual Kink. [online] Available at: https://www.theswaddle.com/what-is-kink-the-psychology-behind-sexual-behavior [Accessed 9 Feb. 2025].

admin@blossmcart (2023). A dive into the definition of Lilac Flower and its Significance. [online] Blossmcart Flowers. Available at: https://blossmcart.com/blog/definition-and-significance-of-lilac-flower/#:~:text=The%20Lilac%20is%20a%20flower,purple%20Lilac%20signifies%20first%20love.

‌Li, S. (2024). The Psychology of Kink: A Cross‐Sectional Survey Investigating the Association Between Adult Attachment Style and BDSM-Related Identity Choice in China. Archives of Sexual Behavior, [online] 53(6), pp.2269–2276. doi:https://doi.org/10.1007/s10508-024-02829-1.

When Kinks Come to Life: An Exploration of Paraphilic Behaviors and Underlying Predictors. (2024). The Journal of Sex Research. [online] doi:https://doi.org/10.1080//00224499.2024.2319242.

The Kink Orientation Scale: Developing and Validating a Measure of Kink Desire, Practice, and Identity. (2024). The Journal of Sex Research. [online] doi:https://doi.org/10.1080//00224499.2024.2387769.‌

Oh, E. (2020). I Was a Corporate Slave Until I Became a Professional Dominatrix. [online] VICE. Available at: https://www.vice.com/en/article/eva-oh-dominatrix-sex-kink/ [Accessed 9 Feb. 2025].

Youtube.com. (2025). Available at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t_Ng_b28uxM [Accessed 9 Feb. 2025].

‌Youtube.com. (2025). Available at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G2_aCw-DMq0 [Accessed 9 Feb. 2025].

‌

#zenless zone zero #lighter lorenz #zenless zone zero x reader #lighter x reader #lighter zzz #yes i cited my sources #im a freak like that #zenless zone zero lighter

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verdantwyrm · 7 months ago

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Anya, The Virgin Mary or the Vengeful Bitch

Or, shorthandedly, the Anyalysis.

I'm going to be occasionally stealing some points from my Curly thread over here, which you should absolutely also read. And also some segments from here, my small analysis of Jimmy and him being a monster vs choosing to be.

This analysis will be going over partially some of how she's treated in-game, but also how she's treated outside of the game as a representation of sexual assault and abuse victims, which is to either make her a mournful, bleeding heart virgin Mary, or a vengeful, final girl that's a violent, hysterical she-bitch. Which she is neither.

I think it's perfectly fine to orchestrate fictional characters killing their abusers, there's nothing inherently wrong with just that, it's more how people actually write it.

Just like any other trope, there are ways to go about it that are extremely harmful and ways that are generally inoffensive. As a victim myself, I personally see so many issues in wishing harm against your abuser, and there is nothing wrong with acting that out in characters you feel comfortable and relatable towards, but there are ways to do this that don't end up doing more harm than good— which is where most people fail. It's an objectively hard topic to address, because it requires nuance and understanding, possibly even lived experience to truly understand why someone would want this. Grieving, the absence that comes with being a victim, is not straightforward or black and white, it's an uncomfortable topic thats often on a spectrum of anger, grief or sadness that most people do not want to engage with because they have a very nearsighted opinion on how a victim should react– the perfect victim.

No one actually likes her as a character, they only like her for what she represents.

The Sexism of the Final Girl

I am sick and tired of people making up the realities in their heads where Anya overcomes Jimmy and kills him,

The trope of a "Final Girl" is not the feminist girl boss you want it to be and is incredibly misogynistic. The definition, as told by Wikipedia

"the final girl in many movies shares common characteristics: she is typically sexually unavailable or virginal, and avoids the vices of the victims like illegal drug use. She sometimes has a unisex name such as Avery, Chris, or Sidney."

There are feminist ideals and intentions behind it, but it is not inherently feminist as a concept and is often very misogynistic despite its intentions to display the woman of the group to be strong, better or uphold moral superiority for declining sex, drugs or any of the vices mentioned forehand. It is a sexist trope, and all it does is ridicule women for "falling" for said vices as if that inherently makes them inferior or deserving of murder or assault.

On the surface, the use of the final girl trope may seem like a progressive portrayal of feminist strength and ideology. It can be satisfying to see a strong, independent "girl boss" overcome an otherworldly predator or rapist. However, upon further examination, it is clear that this trope perpetuates prejudice and reinforces societal expectations for women. The final girl is typically portrayed as a straight, white, morally superior woman who abstains from "immoral" activities like drinking, drug usage and sex. She serves as a voice of reason and represents the ideal woman in our society.

Most importantly, she survives while those who deviate from societal norms face violent deaths. This trope is a subtle commentary on the expectations placed on women in our society - good girls will prevail while those who do not conform will suffer a violent and brutal death, usually at the hands of a man. Ultimately, it seeks to shame women for behaving in ways that are not considered "ladylike."

The film industry as a whole has a history of using females as vessels for pain and suffering. Hollywood loves to profit off of female suffering. These male directors may believe they are earning brownie points with audiences by having female survivors in their films, but in reality, they are simply using feminism as a disguise while indulging in the fetishization of female pain.

It is rather exhausting seeing who we are being reduced to one note Virgin Marys with bleeding hearts, scorned mothers or wounded victims of assault who will never recover, never love or never will have sex again. I do think Mouthwashing does an excellent job of telling the story of a rape victim, but how other people treat her beyond that, it's almost impossible to even have a character like Anya or even Angela from Silent Hill 2 without people stripping them and violating what their character is and instead of focusing on what they represent, a victim.

But back to Anya specifically, she does not even exert any interest, desire or want to murder or harm another person. People dehumanise her the same way Jimmy dehumanises her. They strip her of everything she could be, everything she wanted to be and make her out to be a perfect victim, a bleeding heart, a weak and pathetic woman.

How about Anya has a nice day, how about Anya smiles, and she's happy and safe. What about that? Huh? Or do you only like her when she's a victim. People care more about Anya being a victim they can save, a victim they can nurture and heal and rescue than anything else. They care more about her being weak, sad, frail and miserable. Always the mother, always the victim, always the virgin Mary and a sacrifice but never ever a woman and most definitely never a person.

It's even worse when I see people continuously writing and "re-imagining" Anya being Raped just so Curly, Daisuke, Swansea or even a self-insert reader situation to save her. I totally get that you want her to be happy, and to be rescued and for that to never happen but you severely miss the point of the story that there was no one there to save her. And constantly rewriting it to put a man in the favour of the situation comes off as very shallow and misogynistic the way you're all so ready to have someone rescue her like she's some distressed maiden in need of a big strong man, it also takes the point away from her entirely.

The horse that bites

Jimmy's constant dehumanisation of Anya affects how other people perceive her character as well, that she's weak, small or a crybaby in some sense because of how she responds to situations - emotionally, which is then amplified by Jimmy's pre-existing hatred and lack of respect for her.

Jimmy tears her down every chance he gets, makes her feel little and even compares her to Polle in his hallucinations. And Anya knows that he and Curly have a very lengthy history, so her caution and anxiety about even mentioning the incident, let alone saying the word “rape” is borderline impossible for her. It’s a manifestation, it’s a verbal acceptance and confession that it’s even happened. Something she has been trying to avoid coming to terms with.

And when she does eventually tell Swansea what happened, as much as you want to think she told him- she most likely told him to not do anything, to try and keep the peace for as long as possible.

Again, her vagueness is not her fault, nor is it her responsibility. It was Jimmy’s responsibility to not abuse and rape her.

It’s also very present that Jimmy is verbally abusive to her, putting her down at every opportunity by ignoring her very talented medical skills by saying Pony Express only hired her to cut corners in an attempt to reduce costs because she failed Medical School and that she’s not a “real nurse” because of that, and how he constantly questions her skills despite keeping Curly alive for such a long time in such a state.

After being insulted by him multiple times, she fawns to get him to actually do something beneficial because she knows he responds well to praise, and he complies, all while still insulting and belittling her for being "weak" and "sentimental"

Anya shows a clear fear of Jimmy and has consistent fawn responses around Jimmy. She is extremely careful not to make him upset and praises him to keep him amused and compliant to a degree.

Just like Anya says, our worst moments don't make us monsters. It's one thing to fuck up, and immediately suffer the consequences and acknowledge your mistakes— But it's another thing entirely to purposefully make it so you never have to deal with the repercussions and then make yourself out to be the victim. Jimmy takes every opportunity to blame everyone around him. All the time and Anya is no stranger to this.

Curly genuinely saw the good in Jimmy, in the same way, Anya sees the good in others and possibly even tried to see the good in Jimmy despite the pain as one of the key important things about how everything went about is that Anya never directly refers to her rapist as Jimmy, nor does she ever actually insult or talk badly about him, she only expresses her disinterest in talking to him because of his reluctance to cooperate with her. They both believe that our worst moments don't define us, and Curly had his own interpretation all of how we're defined by our past, but not slaves to it.

She is scared, she is terrified at this point and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that nor should we rush to change that. Her being scared is realistic, she is a scared lady in a very scary situation with an even scarier man who constantly switches between dissociation and lashing out depending on what's going on around him. And she is not that person to fight back, to be violent or to hurt him and that is perfectly fine. She doesn't need to be a girl boss feminist and fight back, she can just be a scared and quiet woman stuck in her own terror, and trying to infer that one Is the "better" option downplays victims who freeze in their own terror and makes them out to be weak or a hapless damsel because they're incapable of "standing up for themselves"

She has every single right to be absolutely terrified and that is in no way a bad thing. I actually really, really dislike the interpretation that Anya is angry, resentful or has any revenge towards Curly, or that she has to be this, hysterical mad woman sent out to kill or hurt Jimmy. I don't believe she's either of this. Anya deserves peace, and I think it's extremely important to understand just how similar she is to Curly. And I'm full of the belief that if Anya had actually done something to Jimmy (hurt him, kill him, whatever) she would be demonized and the misogyny she already faces in the fandom would be worse tenfold. Do not lie to yourself.

Not to even mention one of the many, many reasons as to why Anya OD'd in a room with a lock in the first place. It was to make sure Jimmy could never touch her again? Or do something awful to her body, even when it was lifeless and cold? It was to keep the gun safe, to protect Curly, to protect herself, to take control of the situation, to finally not have to worry about him ever touching her again. And Jimmy still violates it, even after she's dead.

He touches her, drags her body, and props her up in that chair. Even after death, she is never free from him. She thought she was going to finally be free of him, his rage, his desires, his touch, and she died thinking this, that he would never ever be touched or hurt by him ever again. She died thinking all was well, that it would all work out in the end, it had to. She died thinking Daisuke and Swansea would somehow make it out of there, tell her story, and make Jimmy face the consequences of his actions, it was the ultimate sacrifice, it was the greatest thing she could ever do.

Jimmy ruined her life, and he ruined her death, her sacrifice. To keep herself safe, to keep Curly safe, to keep the gun away from him, it all meant nothing.

Thinking outside the Ship

Anya is fun, she is enthusiastic, loves to make jokes, draw, play board games with Daisuke, read, and teases Swansea about his love for sweets which he doesn't even bother to object to and Swansea hands her a note so that she could give it to Curly during his psychological evaluation,, implying that they're casual enough for an exchange like that to occur, and even has what seems to be a budding relationship with Curly himself, taking to his comment about being fit to fly in her eyes like it's a common exchange of flirting between the both of them and she even teases him at the birthday party to "hop to it" in terms of the cake. She is at ease around him, her walls have dropped, and she feels safe to talk to him, and even attempts to try and get him to open up more to her.

She reads psychology books, she is extremely determined having applied to Medical school on total of eight different times and obviously has the skills and interest to keep doing it despite failing and only joined Pony Express so she could make money and keep trying to get into medical school.. She also has good taste in music, one that Swansea and Curly enjoy very much. She also seems to get along well with Daisuke and even allows her emotions to show with anger when they play games they seem to have much of the same sense of humour, judging by how Daisuke is genuinely worried about her when she locks herself in the Medical, they seem to have a positive relationship. We don't know much about her relationships with the others beyond what the wiki can provide.

She seems to have the best relationship with Curly, although. And after the crash, she can't bear to give Curly his pills due to him being in visible agony and her own trauma of forcing him to do something he very obviously doesn't want to endure, likely due to memories of her assault being triggered by both the act of forced insertion and the sounds produced by Curly during it.

Anya also spends most of her free time studying. She runs to clear her head. And when she really needs to destress, she binges on the worst reality television and fast food. She is a very free-spirited woman who is eternally doomed to be reduced to nothing but a hapless, miserable victim.

Final Comments and Thoughts

I don't have much to say here unlike my last analysis, but the situation on the Tulpar is not as straightforward as people would like, I understand it's extremely cathartic to think of a situation where Jimmy gets what he deserves but it isn't realistic, and thats what this game is trying to say. Abusive corporations, exhausting capitalism, this environment breeds Abusers like Jimmy and victims like Anya and Curly. There was nothing that could be done. Pony Express is what doomed them all, they're the catalyst.

Anya deserves to be written and viewed as more than just a representation, a victim or a vengeful hysterical bitch. She deserves to be happy!

Thank you for reaching the end of the thread, please don't be scared to share your thoughts in the tags or in my inbox, I'd love to hear them! good job! (っ˘з(˘⌣˘ ) ♡

#mouthwashing #mouthwashing anya #mouthwashing jimmy #mouthwashing curly #just talking #curly mouthwashing #mouthwashing daisuke #mouthwashing swansea #long post #analysis #character analysis #mw #mouthwashing meta

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mapoeggplant · 6 months ago

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skip to loafer chapter 67 analysis // spoilers

“who do you think the author sympathizing with, the monster or victor?” and who should us, the reader, should sympathize with, the mother or the son? skip to loafer is, once again, making us see the two sides of the same coin.

honestly, this was a chapter i had been waiting for a long time. i always wanted to know a little more about how shima saw his mother's role in all of this. not only in the way she treated him, but also how she acted on set and behaved in front of the entire crew. in my mind, shima's mother's role had a certain level of obscurity, something that hadn't been explored very well yet, since he himself needs to understand everything that happened to him over so many years. i still have more questions about her, but that's for the next chapter.

i like how shima's past and present are battling in this chapter — and they don't happen separately, but rather interconnected, as if they were on the same battlefield, even though they are rivals.

the beginning of the chapter resumes the rehearsals for the play for the school festival, and with that we can see a little more of the doubts that shima has regarding his character (the monster) and the play in general. just as shima begins to change and mature, his understanding and absorption of the story also begin to undergo slight changes. he still sees himself very much as the monster and understands all his suffering and can indeed understand where his obsession with his creator comes from, but he also begins to have a notion of a slightly more distant view, of an author who writes two characters full of gray areas.

shima then begins to wonder which character he should sympathize with more: the monster or victor? him or his mother? present or past?

the unfolding of the chapter further interconnects shima's own story with that of the play in which he is so immersed. upon meeting his past (chris and ririka), the present shima, someone who’s ever-considerate as kanechika-senpai would say, feels an immense need to open his eyes and see from the outside; see not only the monster, but also victor. to understand the root of the monster's obsession with his creator and finally open doors to forgive this great scientist who did him so much harm, he sees no other way than to face all the essential elements of his painful past in order to live a peaceful present.

however, what is most painful about all of this is that in order to come face to face with the past and understand the victor’s point of view, shima also needs to acknowledge the pain of the person who hurt him the most throughout his childhood: his mother.

it is not so strange that shima felt empathy or pity for his mother. after all, even though he is still a very closed person, he has always shown himself to be a very empathetic with others, trying to help them as long as he does not need to expose himself too much. with his mother, the person who was by his side for so long, it would be no different.

shima is able to acknowledge the pain that his mother carried for so long. he knows, deep down, that everything he suffered was a consequence of her trauma, of a pressure that she herself could no longer control and ended up emptying all of it on him. this doesn't mean that he has to accept it or not question it at any time, that’s exactly what he is doing now, something that it was so hard for him to do before. when you're a child, the only way to get attention and try to make that person you love so much look at you for real is to commit a destructive act of rebellion; it's to try to run away as much as you can and, as a consequence, be deceived by people with bad intentions, who lead you to a much greater ruin.

he is not an idiot for seeing his mother's side and trying to understand her, but he also does not need to forgive her without thinking and forgetting everything that happened. he is not an idiot for looking at his mother and acknowledging her pain. but he also needs to stop losing himself and finally find the forgiveness he so desperately needs.

searching for the past is talking to the present. meeting taiga again is reopening one of his wounds just so that it can heal properly. for shima to be able to understand frankenstein once and for all, he also needs to embrace his inner monster and try to reconnect once again with the scientist who raised him.

and both the past and the present are also in people. his group of friends is felix's family who welcomed him with so much love and affection. his past is chris and ririka who hug him tightly and cry for him, knowing all the pain that will never go away. the past is being able to stand next to ririka and feel the love of the friend he thought he would never get back because he had done her so wrong. the past is having chris in his life no matter what.

present is the girl he finds under the apple tree, who looks so much like a flower. present is that same girl, who he wants to be like and feel confident enough to walk alongside. present is his group of friends who want to see him do well. present is mukai and an afternoon spent talking about what it means to love someone.

being in the monster's shoes is not just about looking in a mirror, but also about recognizing your reflection. identifying with the character he plays is not just about finding similarities, but also about trying to fix the past that the monster couldn't. facing the scientist on stage is telling his mother that he finally sees her, after so many years. forgiving his mother is not about taking sides, but about understanding that all humans have their own poison.

i believe that now we will finally delve a little deeper into shima's past and understand once and for all what really happened. we will increasingly have this overlap between past and present, between monster and shima, between doctor and his mother, between the play and his reality.

another month another beautiful chapter 💛 can't wait to see what sensei have in mind for the next arc!! thank you so much for reading my analysis and support sensei if you can!!!

#skip to loafer #skip and loafer #stl spoilers #skip and loafer spoilers #skip to loafer spoilers #iwakura mitsumi #shima sousuke #will there ever be a chapter that I won't cry reading it #we'll never know #duckmetas

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iscdisc · 5 months ago

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2012 Oroku Saki ("The Shredder") Analysis / Also kind of Hamato Yoshi ("Master Splinter") too, but mainly Saki- Lmao || Part 2 !!

Here's Part two of my analysis on Oroku Saki and Hamato Yoshi within the 2012 series ! 👍✨

Are Hamato unreliable narrators within the story? Or the Foot Clan / Oroku?

This is kind of a yes and no thing for me personally. I feel like both sides have had their fair share of spreading misinformation or just not fully understanding certain events that occurred / painting them a particular way upon their recollection of them. My whole take on Hamato Uta and the centuries long Foot Clan / Hamato Clan fued shows this.

We already see this a lot with Shredder throughout the series as well, as he claims over and over again that Yoshi was the one who took Tang Shen's life even though the truth is that it was him all along. Telling himself this so much that he truly ends up believing it by the end of the series. He also blames Splinter for Karai's mutation, even though that was a tragedy of his own making since he's the one that put Karai in that position in the first place, not to mention the fact that he was the one that broke the chain that was suspending Karai over the mutagen vat himself.

However, I feel like we see this with Splinter during his recollection of past events as well.

When he's having his conversation with Karai during, "Vengeance is Mine" in Season 2, we are shown this shot which implies that Saki knowingly and deliberately attacked Yoshi AND Tang Shen during his fit of rage all those years ago. He also proceeds to claim that Saki deliberately burns their house down afterwards.

However, we know this isn't the case at all, since TOTY explicitly shows the chain of events that led to Tang Shen's death and you can see that this wasn't a deliberate action from Saki but rather a horrible circumstance. Both Yoshi and Saki witnessed Tang Shen walk away before they started their battle, so neither of them were expecting her to be there whatsoever. This is further reinforced by their shared shock at her death. We also see throughout their fight that the fire is caused directly from that altercation. Candles that were lit inside were being knocked over by them, which is what actually caused the fire that burned down Yoshi and Tang Shen's home.

I'm not saying Splinter necessarily lied to Karai or that the trauma of it all couldn't have caused Splinter to recall things poorly, since it's entirely plausible. It's also EXACTLY what Saki is doing / experiencing throughout the series. Cough cough. 🙃

And although I've already talked about it kind of extensively in the first part of this analysis, I feel like his relationship with Saki is another instance of him recalling things differently than how they actually were / happened. Which is how I want to pivot into talking about Splinter right now, since I'd like to give some attention to his "perception issue".

Hamato Yoshi / Master Splinter and his relationships with those around him:

I want to make it extensively clear that I personally really enjoy 2012 Splinter as a person and a character. I'm not saying that others can't dislike him or be critical of him or pick apart his character, because obviously you can and I would be super hypocritical for saying you can't considering that's what I do on a daily basis ! I'm also a firm believer of someone being critical of a character or a character's writing and that not necessarily meaning that they think the character is dogshit or an awful person necessarily. Sometimes being critical or analytical of something is how we express our love or interest for it (Like me with this entire decade old series- LMAO) ! But I just wanted to put that out there, since I'm not necessarily going to agree with any negativity or hate comments directed at 2012 Splinter as a character. I just blatantly disagree with most of them, and I think it's okay to agree to disagree if you feel that way. I'm sure a lot of people feel that way about my takes on 2012 April and how I'm pretty overly critical of her and don't really think the best of her canonically. 👍✨

With that out of the way, I really really like talking about Splinter's perspective and how different it feels from perspectivea of the people in his life that he specifically claims to love and care about very much ! It was such a perfect opportunity to really delve into his character and how his relationships, specifically his relationship with his brother Saki, plays such a big role in the overarching plot line that is the 2012 series !

From TOTY, we see the two most important relationships that he currently has in his life (Not discounting his daughter Miwa, but she's still an infant at this point so it's not like they've had many deep conversations- Lmao). Two relationships that, from his perspective, are relatively strong and healthy and wouldn't collapse in the near future whatsoever. I think it's safe to assume that prior to the events of TOTY, before all these issues started flaring up, that this was his mindset completely. I feel like this is also reflected in his mannerisms, and how he comes across so airy and carefree when talking to Saki during their conversation about Yokai with their Father. To Saki, he's being condescending and undermining his opinions / experiences yet again, but to Yoshi he's just shooting the shit with him and having a friendly brotherly interaction. Yoshi's disposition only shifts when Saki pushes further about never listening to others and of course when he brings Tang Shen into the equation. Something similar happens with Tang Shen as well. Yoshi's content and happy being with her and their daughter on their late night stroll, and it's not until Tang Shen brings up wanting to move away that Yoshi shifts once again.

Which leads me to wonder why in his eyes things are completely copesthetic until these problems come up? In both these instances, it seems as though Yoshi just expects them to "understand" rather than meeting them in the middle and actually having a conversation about these things. He wants his Brother to understand that he's always been there for him, despite Saki expressing the opposite which stems from lived experience it seems, and he wants his Wife to understand that he has responsibilities to this Clan and that he can't abandon them. Not that this is an excuse, because I absolutely don't think it is, but part of me feels like this is just a reflection of how he was raised by their Father, Hamato Uta. Where Yoshi was constantly forced to "just understand" when he was burdened with something or forced to bear something, like being the next head of the Clan. That he was "meant to understand" when his Father wouldn't give him the time of day because he was a busy man. Etc.

Through this, you can definitely draw a parallel between Yoshi / Splinter and Leo. Always feeling this need to be perfect, to maintain the vision that your Father has for you, to bear the burden of something that you didn't ask for and not expect any grace or understanding from others in return (Something Splinter expressed to Leo in, "New Girl in Town"-). To sacrifice your wants for what is needed of you, like your individualism and freedom to live your life outside of these responsibilities. I feel like this can be tied to Yoshi very well actually, since we don't exactly get a lot of insight on his feelings and opinions about being the next head of the Hamato Clan,, We honestly don't even know if that's something that he really even wanted. Not that it makes the scene any different, but it's interesting to view his exasperation with Tang Shen's asking to leave from that particular lens. How even if he does feel the same way she does and agrees with her completely, he doesn't believe he's allowed to say that. He doesn't feel like he's allowed to have any dreams or wants outside of this Clan, because those in it depend on him. Yoshi also brings up how this Clan is the last of its kind and that being a big reason why it must endure, which also adds a whole other level of stress,,

Like I said earlier, I don't think this excuses his poor management of his relationships with his Brother and his Wife, but I think it does give a little more insight (Or potential insight-) as to why that was. It also speaks volumes to the way Saki is so gentle and open-minded it seems compared to Yoshi, who comes off cold and emotionally unavailable, during this time (Primarily in his interactions with Tang Shen during TOTY-). In this way, I truly feel like Saki and Raph paralleled one another. I wouldn't be surprised if Saki was actually surprisingly in tune with nature and very respectful of the earth and the universe. That he felt much harder than most people, like Raph, which is why he was so emotionally reactive. That he was actually a lot more receptive than we ever got to know.

This moment from Season 2 ("Vengeance is Mine") always stuck out to me with Saki / Shredder for that very reason. When he's pleading with Karai and expressing how he doesn't want to lock her away (Even though he currently is- 💀 Lmao). Up until this point in the series, this had been the gentlest we had ever seen him. Like a part of his old self was really shining through in this moment,,

But circling back to Yoshi / Splinter, part of me wonders if he was somewhat aware of the state that his relationships were in-? Maybe he was already stressed enough that he just couldn't bring himself to address it without falling apart or feeling like the ground is caving underneath him. So to the detriment of his Brother and his Wife, he maintained this almost aloof attitude towards their concerns as a means of holding himself together. Maybe he didn't feel like he was strong enough to face these problems at the time. This issue clearly wasn't resolved by the time we reach the beginning of the events of the series either, since we can still see this very present in Splinter and how he behaves with his Sons. Regardless of my opinions about April's position here during this conversation (Lmao), I think her questioning of Splinter during the Season 1 finale is a great example of this. His tone and body language truly reflects something almost akin to escapism in my opinion. The way Leo had to pester him constantly for him to open up about Karai being his daughter. The way Splinter seemingly shut down after Karai got recaptured after she finally learned the truth and it seemed like she was within reach for the first time in ages, and Leo was constantly talking about how worried he was about their Father's mental well-being. How Splinter also became kind of closed off yet again after Karai's mutation (And if we're being entirely honest, I wouldn't be surprised if Splinter was a little upset with Leo during this time, which also contributed to his lack of communicating with him-) + a majority of Season 3 due to Karai's new situation. Like I brought up earlier about his upbringing, it seems like Splinter has a hard time really communicating about anything emotionally charged and would rather maintain this composed disposition than to actually confront these things and, quite honestly, cry...

He's eluded to having temperamental tendencies in the past (Like when he was trying to verbally express a lesson to Raph about managing anger in, "Turtle Temper"-), and I wouldn't be surprised if this is something that he's learned to suppress over time. Especially with the "guidance" (so to speak) of their Father, since that most likely contradicted with what he wanted for Yoshi if he were meant to be the next head of the Clan. But Yoshi's not a robot and he shouldn't have been treated like one (If any of my theory were to actually hold up-).

Reasons like this are exactly why I feel like this should have been Splinter's whole Character Arc throughout the 2012 series. How building his relationship with Saki once again would be both a literal battle and a mental / emotional battle. Shedding light on how difficult it can be to overcome emotional pain and mending relationships that you had a lot of fault in, even if you didn't mean it,,

This Character Development Arc absolutely should have started with his Sons (And Daughter, but given the events of the show, I think it would be more feasible to start with his Sons- Lmao) first and foremost. I think having some kind of epiphany through them about his relationships with those he cares about should have been the catalyst for him viewing this entire situation with Saki a completely different way. I think giving the Turtles an opportunity to be more openly honest about how they view him as a Father and how they feel he views them as his Sons would have been the best way to go about that. For Splinter to have a moment where he realizes that maybe the people that he loves and cares about in his life don't always know that he does. Maybe it's obvious to him, since it's his perspective and his actions, but it's not always obvious to them and he needs to consider that more. This should definitely cause him to make connections to his past with Tang Shen and Saki,, Realizing that there actually was some truth to Saki claiming that he doesn't care for anyone but himself. Understanding now why Tang Shen worried about whether or not he would've been a good Father to Miwa, especially in relation to his role in the Hamato Clan. This, of course, wasn't something that he wanted or meant to do, but it still happened,, And he has to face that now.

I also love how having this moment with his Sons would helped break some stigma around masculinity and the relationships that Fathers can have with their Sons. They should be allowed to be emotional together. They should be allowed to have meaningful conversations about their relationships,,

I also feel like this would have been a great way to have more of a discussion about Splinter's position as a Father, and the toll losing his first daughter and abruptly gaining four Sons had on him. I don't think anybody could cope with that very well, and I feel like that should have been reflected in his parenting and how he tackled this new family dynamic. That's honestly why I kind of enjoy the fact that Splinter isn't this "perfect Father", because why would he be? That would make no sense- He has as much growing to do as everybody else in the show- LMAO 😔👍

I think it would have been super interesting to see Yoshi and Saki interact with each other very differently throughout the series in small increments. In Season 1, during the finale, we can see Splinter try to converse with Shredder (Saki) rather than immediately jumping into combat. Again, I'm not saying this couldn't have just been a stall tactic on his end, but I like to think that maybe that was his attempt at trying to be more civil despite everything that's happened. Saki's the one hunting him down, not the other way around, you know? I would have liked to see way more interactions with Splinter and Saki where Splinter truly is just trying to talk to him and reach some kind of understanding. Naturally, this wouldn't yield any results since he hasn't done any reflecting about their positions and their past yet, so his approach would be ineffective. But after Splinter realizes the part that he's played in where they both are right now in their lives, I think he would get through to Saki a lot more. Being more willing to apologize. To understand why Saki is so upset, as opposed to before where he behaved as though he didn't understand why Saki was doing this. To admit that he didn't know about his post and Saki's Father, and he how should've tried harder to make him feel seen (Which I want to add that it would have been absolutely chef's kiss for us to see Splinter actively do more research into the Foot Caln and Hamato Clan past before approaching Saki and trying to fix things- It would truly show how much Splinter means what he's saying and that he actually cares-!) . To reaffirm to Saki that he's a human being just as much as he is, and that Saki has a right to exist without being labeled (Referring to his Foot Clan heritage-). Since Saki's predicament truly feels like the epitome of, "They labeled me a monster, so I became one.", you know?

I also think it would have been interesting for Splinter to grow to view his predicament in a positive way-! Like, if what had happened between him and Saki hadn't happened, he never would have been free from becoming the head of the Hamato Clan and he would have had to wear those metaphorical shackles for the rest of his life. In a way, Saki kind of saved him from that timeline, you know? Which obviously would be bittersweet considering the position that Saki is in currently and the fact that Tang Shen is gone now, but you know- 😭 Lmao

And from Saki's side, it would have been interesting to see him slowly give in to these attempts from Splinter to make amends and fix their relationship. Sparing him more and more despite how often he's threatening Splinter. There being a lot of hesitance in some of Saki's actions. During Season 3, when Splinter was mentally absent and reduced at a rat in the most literal sense ("Return to New York", where the second picture comes from-), what if Shredder had felt guilt and sorrow for him-? To see him in such a state was more painful than it was gratifying, you know? Imagine he took care of Splinter in secret during that time, as to avoid having a confusing and complicated conversation with his followers- It's small details like that that I think would have made all the difference.

This also makes me wish this particular moment from S4 went differently for Yoshi and Saki. For Yoshi to want to help his brother now more than ever, seeing how far he's plunged into this darkness. Saki needed someone . He needed help . He needed support and understanding and a real family .

This would've been such a great parallel to Karai as well, since she too needed help and genuine support,,

I just can't help but think about how great it would have been if Saki was allowed to change and heal alongside Yoshi. So they could be Brothers again. So Yoshi's children didn't have to be subjected to this pain and suffering through their situation anymore. They could all learn to be better from this fucked up situation, you know?

Instead of having one child, Saki can have five (As their Uncle, of course-) ! He can share so many things with them, things that he wanted to as a Father (Figure) but never could properly with Karai (Miwa) for the longest time. The Turtles and Karai can see how human Saki truly is, with Karai going through the motions alongside him given she walked his path the most and I'm sure she has her own set of insecurities that come with that. For Raph to feel the most seen by Karai and Saki in particular. To acknowledge just how much Saki's interactions with Yoshi had paralleled (And somewhat continue to parallel-) his own with Leo. For them find better ways of dealing with their emotional "sensitivity" (so to speak) but also not feel ashamed for being so emotionally intuitive either. For Saki to genuinely laugh for the first time in nearly a decade and a half because of Mikey. I bet Saki would have no problem openly gloating about Mikey's raw potential as a ninja / martial artist, perhaps being super eager to be a mentor for him ! For Donnie to have an Uncle that supports his efforts through giving him access to a top tier lab set up and genuinely showing how impressed he is at Donnie's abilities. For Donnie to have yeah another parental figure that shares in love of love / romance- I'm sure Saki would have many fond stories to share about Tang Shen,, For Yoshi and Saki to both encourage Karai and Leo's individuality and to make strong efforts to unteach any thoughts about barring burdens and heading clans (Which would apply to themselves just as much-). For Karai to have her Father and her Uncle in her life again and it not be for negative reasons. For all of them to visit Tang Shen's grave monthly,,

LIKE, HOW CAN YOU NOT WANT THIS FOR THEM?? 🗣️🗣️

Anyway, this is the conclusion of my analysis (For now anyway-) ! Thank you for reading, as always ! 😌👍✨

#oroku saki #the shredder #shredder #hamato yoshi #master splinter #splinter #tmnt #tmnt 2012 #teenage mutant ninja turtles #teenage mutant ninja turtles 2012 #tmnt 2012 analysis

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caustic--soda · 5 months ago

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Opposites Attract: A Design Analysis

(i cant think of a better title)

Wind Breaker probably has the most unique character designs I’ve seen in animanga. It’s clear that Nii Satoru puts a lot of care in them, whether it be their clothing styles to what the designs themselves symbolize, and how they pertain to the characters themselves.

This is also a common theme in other mangas as well. However, there has been one particular aspect of certain character designs that have always intrigued me: ones which involve two characters meant to contrast each other (whether narratively or just their personalities) having blatantly opposing elements in their designs and traits.

In this analysis, I’ll be talking about these specific design choices when it comes to the Wind Breaker characters, specifically Togame and Choji!

I’ve already briefly gone over some of their design elements in one of my other posts, but I’ll reiterate it here to save you some time, as well as provide some more in-depth analysis.

I. Hair

Prior to Choji becoming the leader of Shishitoren, Togame and Choji’s hair were short, most likely to highlight their youth at the time. Not much to say here, since their hairstyles look rather similar, but I’ll talk more about this later I’m still sad the anime cut their pre sstr appearances they were so cute

Right after Choji becomes the leader, Togame has noticeably longer hair that he lets down. This could represent that Togame had nothing to tie him down (ie. he was still free) before Choji went haywire. Choji’s hair stays the relatively the same.

After Togame makes his promise to Choji, he braids his normally let down hair to signify how he’s now bound to Shishitoren and Choji wishes. On the other hand, Choji’s hair is now much more longer and messier during the Shishitoren Arc, mostly likely to represent his tattered mental state.

During the climax of Togame vs. Sakura however, he removes his hairtie and lets his hair flow freely again—now that he’s seen the true error of his ways, he no longer ties himself down to Shishitoren.

On the contrary, Choji rips out his own hair during his fight with Umemiya. This is meant to further highlight his degraded mental state, and his frustration upon hearing Umemiya’s words + him not being able to understand his current situation. In a way, this could also symbolize how Choji had ripped Shishitoren apart (hence the title of the chapter being called ‘Ripped Down).

Post-Shishitoren, both boys go through a Expository Hairstyle Change and decide to cut their hair. Togame even has an undercut to solidify that he truly has nothing that ties himself down anymore. Even Choji’s hair is less messier. Their current hairstyles are also somewhat reminiscent to when they were younger in my opinion; showing that Shishitoren has gone back to normal.

Choji and Togame’s hair also contrast each other. Togame has straighter, black hair that used to be much longer than Choji’s, while the latter has beige curly hair that stays relatively short throughout the series.

II. Bodies

To start, Togame and Choji are the classic Tall x Shorter duo, with a whopping 39 centimeter (~15 inches or 1 foot and 1/4ths in 🇺🇸🦅 units) height difference:

Choji is pretty thin, while Togame is more bulkier in build.

Togame’s face is much more broad and chiseled, while Choji’s is a lot more rounder (like a bunny….). Choji’s has a button nose, and Togame’s long and thick too.

Speaking of which, their facial features can be attributed to their namesakes; Tomiyama has the Japanese character for rabbit in it, while Togame has the turtle kanji in his.

III. Eyes

Choji’s eyes are round and wide, while Togame’s are slanted and narrow. Additionally, Choji’s eyes are sometimes colored a reddish-brown/red (it reminds me of a REW rabbit), while Togame’s are emerald; red and green are complimentary/contrasting colors.

Togame and Choji had ‘soulless’ eyes during the Shishitoren arc. It’s more apparent for Choji’s eyes—which shows the drab state of his mentality at the time and the empty feeling he has after becoming Shishitoren’s leader. Togame’s eyes are less empty on the other hand, representing the cruel façade he put up. Both of their eyes eventually return to normal and regain their shines after they reconcile.

IV. Additional Tidbits

Togame and Choji are a literal reference to ‘The Tortoise and The Hare’, from their story to their namesakes. Yes, the Aesop fable. They even mention a race in their backstory:

Since Choji is the hare and Togame is the tortoise, they are fast and slow respectively. Choji speaks very rapidly and excitedly, while Togame speaks in a very drawn out and slow way:

This translates to their fighting styles. Togame uses his weight and grappling skills against his enemies, while Choji uses his height and speed to his advantage.

Since Togame calls Choji the Sun, this implies that he’s the Moon given that he’s Shishitoren’s second in command. Choji and Togame’s relationship fits the Sun and Moon dynamic overall (Togame is drawn to Choji and Choji’s ‘rays’ allows him to shine as well, but the Sun and Moon cannot coexist without each other). You might as well call him the love of your life Togame

(ran into image limit) Togame doesn’t like texting and prefers calls, while Choji texts a lot

Choji dislikes waiting, whereas Togame doesn’t like being pressed for time (lines up with the tortoise and hare correlation)

Togame stretches first thing in the morning, Choji likes to bask in the sun

Both have eating competitions listed as their hobby

Togame’s dream is to have a quiet/retired life, while Choji wants to open a shop with Togame WE GET IT!!! YOU’RE MARRIED!!!!

#wind breaker #wind breaker manga #wbk analysis #togame jo #jo togame #tomiyama choji #choji tomiyama #togatomi #i dont like tagging my analyses with ships but muh OTP is real…#also you can very clearly see my bias here lmao

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veebeeboo109 · 4 months ago

Text

Cleaning up the Timeline

{You and your boys go to the beach while you recover.}

Read on ao3. Part One.

Tags: Reader/L&DS Men, Romance, Ocean, Beach Shenanigans, Three!some, FMM, Lots of lovey doveyness in this one.

Chapter 15: The Beach Episode

You’re beginning to grow irritated. Frustrated is a better word, really. You’ve never been so utterly doted upon in your life, and so irrevocably known you were loved. Loved beyond measure or comprehension. The vow of “til death do us part” sounds like not nearly enough time.

However, despite all that love– all that dedication and care– they won’t touch you. They haven’t so much as gone to second base since your disastrous attempt at a perp chase.

Your injuries are healing nicely. The fractured ribs don’t make you nearly scream in pain when you breathe, and it doesn’t feel like breathing through a sieve when you do. Zayne is meticulous with your care, listening to your heart and your lungs every morning before he leaves for work.

Despite your improving health, they seem to have made some kind of pact of chastity, and you’re one longing glance away from stripping them with your teeth.

You tried to coax Xavier– the easiest to sway into something sordid– the night before your flight. Kissing him sweetly but then biting at him. Digging your teeth into that plush lower lip until he growled at you. The sound sent a thrill down your spine, pooling in your core and you grin in victory. He’s never missed the chance to correct you. To show you how to behave.

But he doesn’t. He kisses you harshly, and bites you back. Muttering something under his breath about misbehaving but nothing more. He lies next to you in your big bed more than a foot away, and it hurts.

So, on the flight to this exotic island getaway, you’re pouting like a child. It’s a private jet that seats eight people comfortably and you make a point to sit in the back away from the rest of them. Headphones in and gaze fixed on the window.

Rafayel comes to torment you further. Not on purpose, it seems, but tortuous nonetheless. He asks if you’re alright and you grunt in response. He must take this as you being in pain because he gets up and goes to Zayne, who slides in to sit next to you and begins another painfully clinical analysis.

It only serves to make your body ache. His cold fingers only stoking the fire hotter inside you. You need him. You need to feel them again. It’s been too long and you’re fiending.

You’re given a small reprieve from the lust devouring you when you land, and you’re absorbed in taking in the lush surroundings. The change from icy cold, to humid and hot is such a reprieve. The very air is golden and shimmers with the scent of the ocean.

You pull up to the house and your boys are piling out of the taxi van. They grab your luggage and take it inside, Xavier holding back to hold your hand to help you inside. Which, at this point, is wholly unnecessary. Modern medicine is a wonder, and beyond a little soreness and a still healing scar, you’re basically recovered.

Absent-mindedly, you admire the house that Sylus found. The floors are a floral, mosaic tile, shimmery and opalescent against your feet. The windows that overlook the ocean take up much of the wall and the place is already lavishly furnished. All white, eggshell, and cornflower. However, the plush interior only serves to grate on your waning sanity because every surface serves as the stage for a new, deplorable play of debauchery.

The couch is long enough for Sylus is lay across comfortably, and deep enough you could straddle him easily. The white marble countertops of the kitchen are the perfect height for Xavier to bend you over. There’s a large, round chair in the corner next to a bookshelf– perfect for Zayne, and better for you to have your face shoved into it.

Shaking your head, you watch them mill about, searching the new house and its nooks and crannies. There are three bedrooms and four bathrooms. And they’re deciding who gets what. Zayne mentions giving you the downstairs bedroom, preventing you from needing to use stairs while the rest of them sleep upstairs. And then Sylus agrees, picking up your suitcases and taking them down a hall.

“Wait, what?” You blurt in sudden shock.

The four turn to you, and you’re caught feeling lost. Zayne’s brow furrows and he asks, “What? Is something wrong?”

“I’ll be downstairs? All by myself?” Your voice breaks a little– betraying your heightened emotions.

“You’re still recovering. It wouldn’t be good to all pile in with you.” Zayne replies and you nearly stomp your foot in petulance.

“Uh, I beg to differ. I think a pile is exactly what I need right now.” You’re arguing and you can hear how pathetic you sound, but you’re tired of being coddled.

Rafayel laughs and picks up his two matching suitcases and starts moving towards your bedroom, with Xavier right behind him.

“Exactly, princess. I told them that was a silly idea. Didn’t I, Xavier?” Rafayel says slyly.

Xavier nods, “Yes. I was in agreement with Rafayel. We should pile. Definitely.”

“Boys…” Sylus drawls as he crosses his arms, “Doctor’s orders. She’s still recovering, and you two can’t control yourselves.”

Rafayel scoffs, “Like you’re any better. I saw Zayne’s back yesterday– taking out your frustrations on the doctor, are we?”

Sylus shows his teeth, “You want me to take it out on you instead?”

“Puh-lease. You wish you could top me, lizard.” Rafayel’s eyebrow quirks, “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’m putting my things in my girl’s room. She requests it.”

You decide to insert yourself, “Thank you Rafayel. At least one of you isn’t neglecting me.”

“Let me get your bags, bunny.” Xavier snatches your bags from Sylus and slinks over to your side, a smirk on his face, “I couldn’t bear to leave you alone.”

You’re poking a sleeping dragon right now, but you couldn’t care less. The air around you is electric with tension, fizzing like a shaken bottle ready to pop.

The bedroom you enter overlooks the ocean and you’re momentarily stunned by the view. Rafayel and Xavier begin unpacking, and you go to the wall of windows to marvel at how close the shore is. How blue the water is. And how clear the sky.

Much to your dismay, the potential energy you curated fizzles out while the men unpack. Rafayel mumbles about the lack of storage for his clothes while Xavier doesn’t waste time with folding his clothes and just grabs handfuls of clothing and shoves them in a drawer.

Xavier comes over to you, brushing his hand across your back, “Are you tired? You can nap if you’d like.”

You turn your head towards him, “I’m tired of napping. I feel like all I do is nap.”

Rafayel chuckles as he exits the closet, “You’re the one that went and broke your ribs. C’mon cutie, what did you think would happen?”

You huff and turn back to look at the ocean, biting back the stinging shame, “I thought I’d catch him. Get this whole stalker business over with.”

“Well, I doubt they’ve followed us here.” Xavier says, eyes creasing with a stern sort of determination. That look he gets when he’s hunting, “Sylus made sure the flight logs were redacted.”

You sigh and lean into Xavier’s chest. “So, when do I stop feeling like someone is watching my every move?”

You feel Rafayel’s hand on your waist– featherlight, “That’s probably me, princess. I can’t help but watch you.”

“Xavier, Rafayel,” Zayne calls from the doorway, pulling the other two mens’ attention away from you. The doctor gives them a harsh look before continuing, “Someone needs to head into town for groceries. I have a list.”

“I can do it.” You offer, but there are several hands which stop your approach.

“No,” Xavier blurts, hand hovering inches away from your shoulder. Still not touching. “We’ll do it. Just relax. Take a nap. We’ll be back soon.”

“Um, no thanks?” Rafayel says in that melodic drawl, “I don’t wanna’ go.”

Zayne sighs and shakes his head, “Then Xavier and I will go. Behave while we’re gone.”

Rafayel only clicks his tongue and places his hands on his hips, “Tell that to Miss Housekeeper. She’s the one who’s trouble.”

Zayne’s sharp gaze flicks over to you, and he reaches out. Pressing a kiss to your forehead and the barest of smirks decorating his pretty scarred lip, “Behave, love.”

He turns and leaves, grabbing Xavier gently by the arm to walk out together. Xavier places a hand to Zayne’s back as they go.

“I’m not trouble.” You mumble indignantly.

Rafayel laughs at you and pinches your chin to bring your face closer to his, “You’re bold, princess. Lying so blatantly is a punishable offense, you know.”

He’s teasing you, and it makes your knees feel weak. That miniscule amount of skin touching you is more than you’ve gotten for weeks, and you're drifting closer to him without even thinking about it.

“Oh, you’re in bad shape, huh?” Rafayel whispers now, eyes flicking down to your lips and then back to your eyes. “So cute. Have we really been neglecting you?”

“I…” You pause, a bit of the fog carved out by shame, “No. You’re not neglecting me. I…You’ve all been taking good care of me.”

“Is that right, cutie?” Rafayel hums and presses a little closer, “You’ve been such a good girl. So patient. Listening to the doctor’s orders.”

You reach out to him and hold onto his upper arms. There's tension beneath your palm– the tightened string of a harp that gets a little sharper when you drag your palm up.

“But I think you need some…correction.” Rafayel leans forward and you move to match his kiss– but it never comes. When you lean forward, he leans back. Just out of reach. Your breath hitches and it snags in a small spark of pain.

“C-correction?” You mumble with uncertainty.

“The others may have forgiven you,” Rafayel’s voice has dropped low, that dangerous timbre you’ve only heard once before, “but I haven’t. You left me– didn’t bother telling me or anyone else where you were going and went somewhere you knew was likely dangerous.”

With his hands on your waist, he’s moving you backwards. Leading you like a waltz until the backs of your knees hit the king sized bed. He pushes you down onto it to sit, but he remains standing– hovering over you like a statuesque monarch.

“I’m sorry.” You say weakly, although your stomach twists in anticipation instead of guilt.

“You’re not forgiven.” Rafayel replies too easily, “Not yet. You took the most precious thing to me, and put her in harm’s way. How am I supposed to react to that?”

“It was–” You stutter, “I’m tired of being a burden. I wanted to solve it myself.”

“Dummy. There is no yourself anymore.” Rafayel holds the sides of your face in his palms, cradling your jaw and leaning down to press the tips of your noses together. “There is no me. There is no you. Not anymore.”

“Wha– I don’t understand.” You whisper, tilting your head back a little further, desperate for the tiniest of contact of his lips.

“There is only us.” Rafayel uses his hold to pull you up, and he lets his words brush against you. Not quite a kiss. “Mind. Body. Soul. These things don’t belong to ourselves anymore. My body is yours. My heart is yours. My soul is yours. The same goes for you, do you understand? Look at me in the eyes, princess. Don’t look away. Your body, your heart– they’re mine. To hurt you is to hurt me. Do you understand?”

You’re enraptured. Caught in a tangled net of aventurine and amethyst. His words rumble inside you like a ballad, echoing in the empty spaces of your mind until you’re so consumed by them there’s little left beyond him. Rafayel demands your full attention and you give it to him. Offer him your body– his body– with rapturous joy.

What utter bliss to be so thoroughly owned. To have every aspect of yourself being known and understood and still desired.

There’s a quiet rage in his eyes. The lulling calm of an even horizon that hides sharp, deadly swells. The ocean itself lives inside him, and you’ve offered yourself as its devotee long before you were aware of it.

“I understand.” You whisper, “I…I didn’t intend– I never meant to leave you.”

You’re not sure why those are the words you choose, but they feel right. And the sharp edge to Rafayel’s gaze softens ever so slightly.

Finally– Finally, he kisses you. A deep inhale he takes when he presses your lips to his. Head craned back to meet him, and he holds the bottom of your jaw almost too tightly. You inhale through your nose and the resistance in your chest is nearly forgotten.

It’s over too soon, but he’s not keen on being finished just yet.

“Lay back on the bed.” Rafayel commands and you’re moving before he’s done speaking.

He presses one knee to the edge of the bed and grabs your ankles, pulling you closer to him. It’s slow and gentle, much different than his usual manhandling. He takes his time to let his hands drift up your legs and to your hips.

He hooks his fingers around your pants and tugs them down, and you're lifting your hips to assist him. Rafayel makes easy work of the rest of your clothes and you’re more than happy to be maneuvered by him. His long, perfect fingers ghosting along your skin in a very-much-deliberate tease.

“I’m going to go slow, and you’re going to take it.” Rafayel rumbles when you’re bare before him. The sunlight from the window casting beams of warmth in patches along your side. The sun is getting low in the sky, the western horizon painted beautiful hues as sunset approaches. But nothing compares to the light in Rafayel’s eyes, and the gorgeous hunger that shines there. “No whining. No begging. Doctor’s orders remember. Slow, deep, even breaths.”

You bite your lip and nod, resisting the urge to squirm.

“You can come in Sylus.” Rafayel smirks when he speaks, and his gaze doesn’t leave you when the door to your room opens and Sylus enters.

The tall man seems to be in a rush when he walks over, but Rafayel reaches out to slap a hand against Sylus’ chest to stop him.

“Why’d you invite me in if you’re just gonna’ stop me?” Sylus growls, showing a little too much teeth when she speaks.

“Because I could hear you panting at the door, and it was distracting.” Rafayel coos and grabs Sylus’ shirt. “I’m still deciding what to do with you.”

“Let her decide.” Sylus offers, sounding a little too eager. His crimson eyes turn to you, “What do you want, kitten? Tell him you want my tongue.”

You inhale sharply and Rafayel’s eyes snap to you when you do. “No, she’s not getting rewarded right now. And you’re asking for a punishment with her. Go sit down.”

Sylus’ jaw clenches, and you hold your breath, waiting to see if Sylus will obey. There’s another beat of quiet before Sylus snarls, grabs Rafayel by the back of the neck and pulls him into a filthy kiss. It’s wet and Sylus bites at Rafayel’s lower lip like he’s getting out his aggression before he pulls away, walks over towards the window where a cozy chair waits, and sits down.

Rafayel licks at his lips and chuckles softly. “So, eager. Now, where was I? Ah, right.”

He pulls you down to the edge of the bed, and kneels down. You feel his hot breath against your drooling cunt, and you clench and mewl at the sensation. A chaste kiss is pressed to your inner thigh and then the other, and then a sharp bite a little higher on your flesh.

“Slow,” Rafayel growls, “Breathe slower. Deep, even breaths. Or I’ll stop.”

“Rafayel,” You whimper, and try to obey. Focusing on your breathing until it's not an anticipatory staccato, but the slow, even tempo Rafayel wants.

“Good girl.” Rafayel coos before pressing a little kiss right to your clit. You jolt and moan, but you’re quickly returning to the deep breathing before Rafayel can punish you again. You feel his satisfied hum against you, “That’s it. Such a good girl. I’m gonna go nice and slow. And you can come whenever you want, okay?”

With your bottom lip between your teeth, you nod hastily.

Rafayel is slower than he’s ever been. His tongue drags up your slit and across your clit. Slowly adding pressure and moving like he’s lapping at a slowly dripping ice cream cone. The desire that scorches you burns like a star– a constant, searing nuclear reaction.

He takes his time, and the sounds he makes are sinful. Long slurps matched your hedonistic moans. A meal worthy to be savored– a bounty of plenty served at the altar of his benevolence. Of his possession. He groans at your taste like it’s the finest dish he’s ever tasted, and slowly, so slowly even he gets a little more desperate. Pressing lips and tongue into you, pushing his tongue in as far he can get it and letting his teeth barely scrape against you.

He’s so patient. So persistent. You’d been sure you wouldn’t be able to come, but you’re quickly approaching that precipice– jolted forward towards it every time Rafayel pulls away to bite you harshly. Reminding you to watch your breathing.

You open your eyes and see Sylus in the chair, waiting not so patiently. He’s sitting at the very edge of the seat, cock in hand and slowly stroking it. Matching Rafayel’s tortuous pace. Sylus growls when you meet his eyes, and he jerks like he might stand up.

“Sylus,” You call for him and he’s up. He strides over into your outstretched hand. A hopeless, besotted addict unable to resist even the softest of pleas from you. Unable to deny the way your eyes shimmer with lust-filled tears, and your flushed lips call to him. A siren’s song if he’s ever heard one.

Sylus crawls to you, belly on the bed to kiss you. Diving into your open, wanton mouth with rapturous desire, and he’s gone. Eyes unfocused and dizzy with the scent of you. The scent of your sweat, your slick, your love. It saturates the air. That sugary scent of oxytocin that makes him feel close to weeping.

You're a panting mess again. Breathing fast as you beg for him. Beg for Rafayel. Beg for release.

Sylus backs up a bit, moving to kneel next to your head with his heavy cock in hand. He’s got the head of it right at your lips, and you keen in desperation when the heat hits your tongue.

You’ve barely got a taste of him when he’s pulled away. And Rafayel’s divine tongue is gone too. You’re shocked at the lack of contact, and more shocked to see Rafayel grabbing Sylus by the neck. The two of them precariously balanced on the edge of the bed.

“Bad lizard.” Rafayel hisses, and clenches his hand a little tighter around the sides of Sylus’ neck, making the slightly larger man whine, “You so pussy-drunk you can’t think straight? You want to set our girl’s recovery back a few weeks just to get your cock wet?”

Sylus chokes a little and shoots Rafayel a harsh stare.

“Strip. Get on the bed. On your back.” Rafayel commands, “If you can’t control yourself, I’ll help you.”

Rafayel lets go of Sylus neck and the white-haired man gasps a little. He slowly lowers himself down next to you, but Rafayel gently takes your hand and moves you to the side.

Sylus removes his clothes, eyes a mixture of deadly, ravenous hunger, and animalistic challenge. He’s obeying Rafayel, but you can see the fight there. The opportunistic part of him waiting for a moment to turn the tables. Brat. Your mind comments salaciously.

Rafayel maneuvers Sylus on the bed, with his head near the foot. And then he takes your hand like he’s guiding you in a dance and moves you to straddle Sylus.

“You’re going to ride him.” Rafayel informs you with a grin. “Slowly. Remember your breathing. Take your time. Use him. Don’t worry about his pleasure, that’s not what he’s here for. Isn’t that right, lizard?”

Sylus’ breath hitches and his face grows a little more red. He looks at you and gently, so gently he rests his hands on your hips, “That’s right. Use me, sweetie. Just—” He swallows hard, “Just tell me what you need.”

You take in a breath that feels like it might be your very last, “O-okay. I…I will.”

Rafayel returns to the foot of the bed, and you wait until he gives you a little nod before moving. You position yourself over Sylus’ cock, which twitches the moment you do, and globs of clear precum leak out.

You brace yourself against his hard abdomen and lower yourself down, inhaling through your nose and out through your mouth. And even though Sylus’ looks completely drunk as you spear yourself, he motions you through it. Hand gliding up your arm on the inhale, and then back down on the exhale.

You take a second to just sit with Sylus fully inside you, and you breathe a few more times. Nearly losing rhythm when he jolts inside you.

“Move, princess. Ride him nice and slow for me.” Rafayel says so endearingly. You lock eyes with the amethyst haired man while you ride the other. Slow, longuid rolls of your hips. More back and forth than up and down. Grinding down on his pubic bone and stimulating your swollen, needy clit.

Rafayel hums in satisfaction, “That’s it. Such a good girl. Tell me, Sylus. Tell me how she feels.”

“S-So good. Oh, god. So good.” Sylus rambles weakly. His hands resting on your thighs and shaking, trembling with the untenable desire to touch you more. To grab ahold of your waist and move you the way he wants. “So fucking tight, sweetie. Mmm, that’s it.”

“I think I’ve heard enough.” Rafayel moves to the edge of the bed, and grabs Sylus’ jaw.

A wretched sound escapes Sylus as his mouth is pried open, and you ass slaps against his hips. Those rubine eyes grow so prettily unfocused, and it takes him a moment to realize what’s happening. Neck craned back over the edge of the bed, and Rafayel’s cockhead tapped against his lips.

God, you could come just by the sight of it. Rafayel is angelic. His almost feminine features rival the beauty of Olympian myths. A face that launched a thousand ships. He commands attention just by existing, and orchestrates with an effortless wave of his hand.

Sylus, on the other hand, is destruction and carnage. The geode cracked under pressure revealing the gemstones within. A pomegranate so easily dissected by your fingers and rivulets of his bloody devotion drips down your fingers. Raw and exposed for you to dine upon, he will wrench open the fatty parts of his organs if only to sustain you.

Rafayel makes eye contact with you when he slides his cock inside Sylus’ mouth, and the connection makes the rhythm of your hips stutter.

You’re so close, and you’re chanting your rising pleasure into the ether. Christening the room with your resinous coupling.

Hearing Sylus choke sends you careening towards ecstasy, and you’re right there. Teetering on the edge but refusing to spill over. The crescendo of this performance isn’t done yet.

“Can I–” You pant and Rafayel’s deadly stare makes you pause. Makes you focus once more on your dreadful breathing, and those deep lungfuls of air only make Sylus feel bigger inside you. You lick at the drool that threatens to spill from the side of your mouth, “Can I come, please? Please, Rafayel?”

Rafayel had said no begging, but oh, you are so beautiful when you do. He sees his undoing in your longing face.

The expression you make when you’re so very close but trying to be so very good. He sees the reason behind decisions that have long since been made. In your quiet, desperate pleas, he sees the fall of Lemuria. The death of Philos. The crumbling of a Tower.

The goddess of destruction and chaos. For empires fall at your feet for the chance to taste your ecstasy.

Rafayel gives his permission, and you fall to decadent pieces. Your beloved dragon is not far behind. His hips pushing upward to fuck all the balmy come he can into you.

It’s a wonderful sight, and if we were a different kind of artist, Rafayel would paint it. A picture of such utter desperate devotion. Sylus’ rumbling growls of his peak are the last thing Rafayel needs to finish, but he grants the dragon the reprieve of pulling out before he does.

You watch as Rafayel paints Sylus’ chest and neck with strings of pearlescent seed, and being the depraved whore that you are, you lean forward to lick it away.

Sylus groans and his hips jerk upwards again, his cock jolting inside you in one final spark. The last breath of his pleasure that nearly takes his life.

The three of you take a moment, still basking in the rosy-hued air that surrounds you. The scent of sweat and sex mixes with the salty air of the ocean-side, and you realize that you’ve started fucking in the place before even doing a proper tour of it.

You giggle softly against Sylus chest, rising and falling with the risen tempo of his breathing. He looks up at you, his eyes red-hot coals.

“I love you.” You whisper to him, moving to kiss him soundly on the mouth. And then, pressing your hands against his chest, you sit up to smile dreamily at Rafayel, “I love you.”

There’s a moment of suspended animation, but then the world is moving. Or at least, your world is moving. Rafayel and Sylus are crowding you on the bed, fighting with who can cover you in more kisses. Their mouths are nearly indiscernible from one another, but Sylus’ kisses are a little warmer. Not more tender, but physically hotter. Rafayel all but drags his lips up and down your neck. Like he’s memorizing the curve of you with his mouth.

“Love. Love you.” Sylus breathes it like he’s on the verge of tears, “I love you. God, you love me. You didn’t— I can’t believe you love me.”

Rafayel is little less shell-shocked by the declaration, lavishing you with quiet, reverent words, “My love. My beloved. My own heart.”

When Zayne and Xavier return, the groceries are put away and you’re eager to get to the beach. It’s only just outside, a walkway from the back porch leading down through the brush and to the powdery white sand.

However, it’s not as simple an endeavor as you thought it would be. Zayne is adamant about checking you over. He examines the scars from the surgery and how nicely they’ve healed and then he listens to your lungs for the umpteenth time, shushing you when you try to argue while he listens for pneumonia or some other dastardly complication.

Once you’ve been cleared by Dr. Zayne, your Zayne returns, and he packs a tote bag while you get changed. A little pink swimsuit that matches the baby pink of your scrunchie that you use to tie your hair back. Ruffles around the hips that flutter when you swish back and forth playfully.

Your boys are getting ready for an afternoon in the sun, and you’re buzzing with anticipation for it. Zayne wears a white swim shirt that covers his shoulders and slim black swim trunks. He’s got a bottle of sunscreen in his hand, wielding it like a weapon as he tries to pin down one of the others.

Rafayel uses the mirror in your bathroom to apply his own sunscreen while Xavier comes up behind you to adjust the tie of your swimsuit at your neck. His warm fingertips tracing the line of the bathing suit and you can feel the brush of his breath at your back.

“Do you like it?” You ask, and Xavier presses a doughy, feathery kiss to your shoulder.

“Very much.”

You’re only able to escape Zayne and his liberal application of sunscreen for so long, and you’re standing like a toddler on the back porch with your arms out while he massages the zinc oxide into your skin. It leaves a slightly sticky white cast everywhere, and when you ask about a nicer less sticky version, Zayne remarks about the efficacy of mineral sunscreens over chemical ones.

Sylus passes by with a large umbrella over one shoulder, the tote bag hanging from the other, and a cooler hauled along in his hands. Xavier carries some towels while Rafayel adjusts a sunhat over his head and smaller straw bag over his shoulder.

An oversized umbrella is stabbed into the sand, and a blanket is laid out beneath it. Zayne takes special care to place some rocks on the corners to keep it flat, and when you arrive, he takes your hand to lead you to sit while he gets you a can of strawberry lemonade from the cooler.

The ocean breeze is restorative, the rush of briny air that sweeps across the picturesque sands soothes the unrest you’d been feeling. Coated like cracks in drywall with spackle. Repainted and unblemished with that cool, irreproducible blue that only the sky and ocean can be.

Rafayel pauses to kiss your temple before he’s at the shoreline, scouring the swiping sand that the waves leave behind for shells and shark teeth. The ocean brushes against his ankles and speckles of seafoam sparkle up around him.

Every so often, he picks one up and calls out to you. Showing you his prize before tucking it away in his bag. He seemed particularly picky about which shells he chose, like the inexplicable choices of a small child. Not just small or large shells. To you, there was no rhyme or reason to the ones he found special, and you stopped trying to figure it out after a while.

Zayne sat down next to you on the blanket, brushing his fingers down your arm in a quiet, intimate caress.

“Am I allowed to get in the water, Dr. Zayne?” You teased with an impish tilt of your head.

The dark-haired man grinned at you, melted into sticky, melted ice cream under the shoreline’s sun. “Why do I have the feeling I am being made the villain here? I don’t say no for the fun of it, you know.”

You giggle softly, “Oh, of course not. Though, seriously, I know actually swimming is out of the question. No holding my breath, and all. But, it's alright if I go up to my waist right? Just to feel it?”

Zayne hums and his hazel gaze drifts over to the lazy ocean surf, “I suppose. Though there’s one thing I need to do before you go.”

“I am literally covered in sunscreen, what could that possibly be?” You ask a little incredulously.

Zayne, with his weight resting on his hands, leans over to you, “Come here.”

There’s a sybaritic tone in his voice and you know what he wants. You shift to let him kiss you, and you feel the microscale smile playing at his lips when he does. A languorous press of lips that makes you smile because it feels like an indulgence and routine all at once. You could have this at any point- and oh what an utter prize that is to have.

You slip away from him, rising to skip on airy footsteps down to the waterline. Rafayel greets you and shows you a deep amber colored cockle shell, “Look, cutie! I found another one! I could make you a necklace now!”

“There are so many!” You chirp, delving into the foamy water that’s warmer than you expected. Up to your ankles you see the half-buried shells all around.

“Tell me if you find any coral pieces,” Rafayel says as he tucks the cockle into his bag, “I need the pigment to make more paint.”

“Right, I’ll let you know.” You walk deeper into the water, the waves rolling up to your knees. The pulling of each roll is a melodic dance that you’ve missed dearly. It’s been too long since the last time you’ve seen the ocean, and longer still since you’ve had a proper vacation.

You spy Sylus and Xavier swimming nearly outside the bay, cutting through the water like olympic swimmers. They’d taken off before you’d even properly sat down. Tossing aside the things they’d carried in a rush to reach the water first. A race. Of all things. Who was the faster swimmer?

“Not too far!” Zayne calls when the water reaches your thighs. A larger wave has you stumbling back, but not nearly enough to make you lose your footing. Just dancing with the waves– that’s all.

Only Zayne doesn’t interpret it that way, and is walking towards the water with determined steps. The violet-haired man sheds his bag just outside the water’s reach and follows Zayne to you, and you meet them halfway, back to the safety of water below your knees.

“Calm down, Mother hen.” Rafayel scolds, splashing a bit of water on the icy man.

Zayne sputters at the nickname and gets this odd look in his eyes, “Mother hen?”

There’s a flash of movement. Zayne ducking down to grab Rafayel around the legs and haul him over his wide shoulder. Rafayel lets out an undignified screech as he’s dragged very unceremoniously until Zayne’s up to his ribs in water, and then tossed like a sack of potatoes into the depths below. Rafayel falls into the waves with a large splash and quickly recovers, water dripping from his aventurine hair and a flustered expression on his face.

“I am not a Mother Hen.” Zayne says coolly.

You crumple into laughter while Rafayel splashes with a wave that nearly topples Zayne. Just as you nearly fall over from the delirious giggles that throttle you, Sylus and Xavier come splashing by– neck and neck.

Xavier is a streamlined machine, cutting through the water like a shark, while Sylus is more aggressive but powerful. A killer whale with a bit more taste for blood.

They reach the shore and it’s nearly a tie. But Xavier is the winner, standing triumphantly on the sand with his chest out and shoulders squared. Sylus laughs and throws his arm around the victor's shoulders.

Before you know it, you’re holding Zayne’s hand as you wade a little further into the water. Rafayel swims deeper out, head bobbing for only a moment at a time before he disappears again beneath the surf. Sylus and Xavier have entered into their second competition of the afternoon– volleyball.

You hear the thudding of the ball as they volley it back and forth amidst the waves and the calling of gulls. You watch the shifting seafloor beneath your feet, looking for sparks of color for Rafayel’s collection. Zayne’s hand keeps you steady when an errant wave splashes against you.

A harsh thunk! pulls your attention just in time to see the volleyball spack Xavier square in the face, and send him careening onto his back on the sand. Even Zayne laughs from beside you, and Sylus claims a victory for himself.

The sun gets a little further down in the sky, and you retreat back to the sand. Building sandcastles from clumpy wet sand left behind by the low tide. The two fair haired boys are tied at the moment. Xavier claimed another victory on how long they could hold their breath, but then Sylus evening the score with a “who can throw Rafayel farther” contest.

Now, it’s sandcastles. And as you pat another fat glob onto your lumpy tower, you wonder how they’re going to determine a winner for that one.

Rafayel sits at your side, sighing at the craftsmanship of your work but doing little to amend it. You’re trying for a medieval castle look. With a keep, and battlements, and merlons. Only it’s coming out more like mounds with a snake-like circle around it.

A glance over to Xavier reveals a proper castle. With tall spires and cone tops. The kind you see in fairytales and princess stories. Where a prince comes to the rescue of a fair maiden, and they lived happily-ever-after.

Sylus’ creation is a bit more– utilitarian. His castle has low towers with round tops and proper battlements. A moat he’s filled with water and little pebbles lining the outerwall. The kind of keep built for war. Built to withstand siege and prolonged battle.

Zayne’s is oddly familiar. A singular tower like one that Rapunzel found herself in. Archtop windows line the sides of the octagonal tower, and it seems to be built onto a hill. He’s taken little shells and lined the winding path up to the gates. There’s this far off look in his golden green eyes, as he uses a small twig to indent more windows along the base.

“I clearly have won,” Xavier says as the five of you find a spot on the blanket, the umbrella is mere decoration now– as the sun has begun to kiss the far-off horizon. The very air around you shimmers with gold, and you can see that both Xavier and Sylus are sporting red faces and shoulders– having slipped away from Zayne’s reapplication of sunscreen.

“It’s classic, but ordinary.” Rafayel comments as he leans back onto his hands, “A chateau-style, but clearly meant for ornamental purposes. I’d never live there, just think of the marathon you’d have to do to get to breakfast every morning.”

“It’s the tallest.” Xavier deadpans, as if that is the quantifying factor.

“Mine is just as tall.” Zayne adds, not really interested in the victory but smirking into his drink when Xavier pouts.

“If size is the measure,” Sylus begins, laying down on his stomach and resting his arms on your outstretched legs. There’s sand sticking to every part of him, and it scatters like glitter onto the woven blanket below. The heat from his skin is scalding, and you grimace at the redness of his shoulders, “Then I won. Mine is far wider and takes up more space. Plus, water features.”

“A little water in a moat is not a water feature.” Rafayel says with a scoff. “I can see the medieval influences, but the design of the keep is…lacking. Where’s the chapel? The kitchens? Did you even add a stable?”

You’re always surprised by the little things Rafayel seems to know. Who knew he’d be such a stickler for castle architecture, and so whiny about it?

“I see you didn’t build one, why is that?” Xavier asks as he delves into the cooler and pulls out a bottle of water. He uncaps it and goes over to you, pressing the spout of it to your lips in a silent command to drink. You giggle softly and drink a few swallows, and then nod at him to do the same. Xavier takes your hydration very seriously, it seems. Nothing eaten until you’ve had a bite, nothing done until you’ve had your chance with it first.

“It wouldn’t be fair.” Rafayel sighs theatrically, “I figured I’d let you have the chance at winning. Though I think it’s hard to decide from such…meager options.”

“Yikes, Rafayel. Go easy on us, why don’t you?” You say with a laugh. “Well, mine is dead last. I’ll take that trophy with pride, please and thank you.”

“Does there need to be a winner?” Zayne makes an attempt to dissuade the whole enterprise and is met with three aghast expressions.

“We need a tie breaker.” Sylus says but halfway through his sentence he nearly yawns, relaxing his head fully into the embrace of your lap.

Seeing him yawn makes you yawn, and you do so as you ask, “Why not a cooking competition? I’m starving.”

“That’s hardly fair.” Xavier gripes.

“Absolutely.” Sylus says at the very same time.

“We should probably pack up and head back inside.” You say, though make no move to follow your words. You’re running your hands through Sylus’ salt roughened hair, and if he could, he’d be purring.

“Just a little longer.” Rafayel says as he lays on his back, head resting on his hands as he luxuriates himself in the rays of the setting sun. Dappled with brilliant copper and golden light that makes him seem all that more ethereal. “Until the sun sets, at least.”

Zayne reaches out and dusts some sand out of Rafayel’s hair, mumbling, “We don’t have any lights, we shouldn’t walk back when it’s dark.”

Xavier nudges Zayne with his shoulder and with a little wiggle of his fingers, tiny starbursts of light flicker in the air. Falling like teardrops from a cascading firework until they disappear.

“Oh, right.” Zayne says, clearing his throat and then relaxing. “Well, I suppose a little longer wouldn’t hurt.”

You feel when Sylus falls asleep. The weight on your legs suddenly becomes twice as heavy, and he exhales so serenely it makes your heart swell.

The four of you sit there, quietly waiting for the sun to set. The radiant sphere takes her time in descending, granting you more precious moments of serenity. Time slows into nothing, and your focus on it. The sound of the waves. The brush of the cooling breeze. You stare, unabashedly, at your lovers. The four men for which you can only wonder how lucky you must be to have met them. The fortune to know them and to adore them. What utter consummate perfection.

So, you imprint this memory into your psyche. The shape and curve of them. The shade of their skin and their hair. The way they position themselves becomes an intaglio engraving in your mind. One you can make print after print for as long as you live.

The sun grants you one last whisper of light. Nyx with her shadowy skirts begin to cover the sky, and the painted light of day kisses her mother goodnight.

Zayne wakes Sylus and the two of them gather up the blanket and umbrella while Xavier and you roll up the towels. Rafayel, with his bag of shells, takes the nearly empty cooler.

Your sun-baked body is warm to the touch as you walk back to the beachhouse and the four of you try to cram into the outdoor shower to rid yourself of the sand before entering.

Sylus is too big to share, and takes up the entire spray, but he grabs you anyway, pulling you close to his body and using his hands to slide the sand from your arms and your back. Xavier squeezes in next to you and pushes Sylus out. You help Xavier rinse his hair and then brush the sand from him. The two of you exit and Rafayel shoves Zayne in before him, following after him with a mischievous smirk.

The air conditioned house is too cold for you and you’re rushing to the bedroom to change into something warmer. Cozy pants and a slightly oversized shirt with some fluffy pink bunny slippers.

When your boys finish changing and come back to the living room, you see that Xavier is wearing his matching slippers to you. And he grins when he sees this, sliding over to your side and wiggling his foot. The snowy rabbit on his feet kissing the blush ones of yours.

“How’re you feeling?” Zayne asks as he sits next to you on the couch. Rafayel is sorting his shells on the dining room table and Sylus is in the kitchen cutting vegetables for a stir fry with a not-at-all-unhappy Xavier by his side.

“I feel good. No trouble breathing. Didn’t even hurt at all.” You reply. Lifting your shirt you show him the little scar along your ribs, nothing but a bright pink scar at this point. “How does it look?”

Zayne’s face curdles. The mere sight of it making something dark cross his eyes. He gently traces his fingers along the scar and you shiver. There wasn’t much sensation along the scar tissue, but what was left was a sparkling tingling. Like the sharp icicles from being dunked in ice water.

“It’s still healing well. Are you still using the scar cream?” He asks even though he knows you are. He’s been there more often than not at night when you slather the oily cream along the scar.

“Of course.” You reply and let your shirt drop. Spying the stethoscope around his neck you nod towards it, “You want to listen again?”

“If you don’t mind,” Zayne says as he takes the stethoscope from his neck and places it in his ears. He starts with your heart, the cold bell makes you shiver but you’re so used to it by now that you don’t think to complain. He shifts and his eyes focus on where his fingers are, listening intently.

It’s funny sometimes. Zayne cares so much about your heart, and not the metaphorical kind. If everyone had someone who cared as much as Zayne does, you think the world would be a much happier, much healthier place. So long as they didn’t follow along with Zayne’s diet of sweets.

He shifts to listen to your breathing and you take a few long, deep breaths like you’ve done dozens of times at this point. Zayne nods satisfactorily and takes the earpieces out, “Sounds good. No crackling. No fluid.”

“Just like the last thousand times you’ve check, Dr. Zayne.” You comment with a playful tap to his nose. He flusters a little and leans back.

“And I’ll keep checking. If it means you remember not to do something so foolish next time.” Zayne tucks his stethoscope away and looks away from you. Over to where Xavier is currently attempting to ruin supper by adding in a whole bottle of sauce– only stopped by Sylus’ quick hand.

“Hey Zayne,” You say with a sigh. The dark haired man looks at you, and you hope you don’t look too much like a kicked puppy, “I’m sorry. Really, I am. I shouldn’t have gone off without saying anything.”

“And?” Zayne presses, face impassive.

You blink a little at the coldness in his voice. Perhaps Rafayel had been right. Maybe the other hadn’t forgiven you for getting hurt just yet. “And I’m sorry for jumping off a roof.”

Zayne’s expression hardens and you can see the wheels in his mind turning. He’s always been a thoughtful man. He’d been a thoughtful boy, those many years ago. He’d take ages to take his turn at board games when you were children, nearly sending Caleb into tears of utter frustration.

He places a hand on the side of your face, and for a moment you feel like something precious. Some adored family heirloom that’s too delicate to touch except on special occasions– the loss of which would mean the loss of memories as well. “I forgive you,” He whispers, and his thumb brushes against your lips.

You grab his wrist and hold him fast, turning to kiss his palm. He smells like spearmint and snow, and you’re never going to get used to the way his fingers tremble when you touch him. The way his Evol reacts to yours like two pieces of magnets– poles inexplicably drawn together.

Supper is delicious as always. Sylus follows recipes to the letter and never strays, though he always douses his own plate with a bit more seasoning or sauce than the rest. With your stomach full, you’re ready to pass out.

When it comes to the victor of their childish competition, they finally settle on a draw. Their prizes? The empty sides of your bed.

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