shonen-brainrot - Tumblr blog

shonen-brainrot · 5 days ago

Text

Touya's past analysis: Part 2: Chapter 302

Right, let's flash forward to 5 years later. Touya was on the computer probably working until Natuso and Fuyumi came in to invite him to play soccer with them, to which Touya responded with a natural expression.

Touya here seemed quiet in contrast to his exuberant personality in the last chapter; that might be what he looked like around other people from the outside.

But there's something I noticed Touya doesn’t seem to enjoy the same activity his siblings invited him to even though he agreed the biggest difference is in his face when he agreed he didn’t look excited when he was being asked to play the only face we ever saw him that ever looked happy was training with Endeavor.

Then the look Touya gave in his panel, Touya is looking at Endeavor it had anger and jealousy. He had jealousy towards Shoto as his replacement and anger at his father for abandoning him. He knew his father was looking away from him on purpose and was angry at that.

Here, it is obvious what Touya wanted: his father to pay attention to him. The look on his face is what he wants for his father to look at him.

Another thing Touya noticed was that Shoto was dragged off by Endeavor to train. None of the siblings noticed Shoto, but Touya did. This small aspect says something about him; this indicates that he's the only one who saw the problems in the household when his family didn’t want to look.

The fact that his siblings didn’t notice meant that they were not aware of what Touya wanted; they neither acknowledged his feelings nor completely understood Touya’s wants. They were blind to what he needed and never listened to his feelings properly. They aren’t just blind to Touya but also blind to the problems in the family. These problems were not brought up, and it felt like Touya was not being seen. Touya never felt understood in the household.

After the accident with Shoto, Touya is still thinking about and feeling guilty about it. This shows he is capable of feeling remorse and recognizing his wrongdoings even if he is losing sleep over it. He never properly spoke with his parents about it in the household or had the moment to process his feelings about the accident he didn’t have anyone he could talk to about it which only left him with Natsuo, Touya knew it wasn’t a good solution, but it was better than bottling up his emotions.

Here Touya is questioning the very notion of a hero to Natsuo in bed such as if heroes are supposed to be righteous then why do they commit atrocious acts and get away with it and question how someone like Endeavor can be considered a hero when he isn’t a decent person to his family this proved that Touya at his age was well aware of his circumstances in the household at his age even question them.

He told all this to Natsuo and not to anyone else in the family, the whole reason he clung to Natsuo is that he views Natsuo as someone who might understand him due to having similarities both being boys, discarded by Endeavor and being neglected by him and called failures for not having an ideal quirk Natsuo is a product of endeavors ambition like him that the reason why Touya only talked to Natsuo is that he mistakenly believed that Natsuo would understand him but he's wrong that was only a misconception on Touya’s part. Natsuo had different feelings regarding the situation, he had no idea he was born for his own father's ulterior motives and never experienced the same thing Touya did. Touya doesn’t think that maybe Natsuo views the situation differently. The reason he doesn’t think that Natsuo didn’t feel the same is because He had no one to talk to.

I pointed out empathy before in my posts a long time ago, and here it solidifies what I thought: empathy is acknowledging that you don’t know someone, it's acknowledging that very limit.

When Natsuo shoeing him away so he can sleep, Touya doesn’t understand how it's not obvious to his brother and takes his words as rejection because Touya feels Natsuo is the only one who listens to him and understands his feelings but Natsuo doesn’t understand him those tears meant that Touya is desperate worried that he had no one to turn to and that he's all alone. To Touya, being understood means being seen. He wants Natsuo to understand him so he can feel seen. If he acknowledged that no one in the house understood him, it would be like saying that no one saw him.

This is exactly like how he vented to Fuyumi. It ended with Touya feeling dismissed and stomping away. Neither of his siblings acknowledged his feelings.

Touya never went to Fuyumi and Rei for his problems to be around them Touya would either have to pretend everything was okay or be shamed and gaslighted for complaining they both isolated those who aren't and are being hurt like Touya both willing turned a blind eye of the abuse of the household this is what Touya meant by good for nothing because they saw the abuse but did nothing about hence they are good for nothing. This is why Touya felt rejected when Natsuo asked why he didn’t go to Fuyumi because Fuyumi is one of the people complicit in the abuse.

Touya was not seen or understood by either of the siblings. Touya must have felt that no one in the house ever saw him, and it's not hard to see why

Next, we have Rei trying to stop Touya from going to train in the mountains,

when Touya said different worlds people believed that Touya adapted that mindset from Endeavor this is what makes people think he is turning into Endeavor but he isn’t it sounds like the same wording that Endeavor uses but Touya is not Endeavor, this is the same boy who questioned the notion of a hero to Natsuo in bed it may the same wording but with albeit different meanings.

Different worlds is a term Endeavor uses as an excuse to run away from his problems and avoid facing any responsibility for his actions.

In the previous chapter, Touya said that his classmates wanted to be heroes, so here Touya uses the term to emphasize the disconnect between him and his classmates. Touya feels disconnected from others since he was raised as a tool. No one his age can relate to his situation or possibly understand him. Not even his classmates can comprehend a hero doing bad things to his family since they wanted to be heroes. So, hearing them say they want to be heroes is isolating because it reminds them of the abuse at home. Disconnected not only from his classmates but also from his family, so he's saying, “I don’t need them because they don’t understand me”.

Then, Rei asked this.

It manages to pierce through Touya enough to halt him in his tracks. He does want to be a hero, but he wants to be good enough in his father's eyes only, but the follow-up ruined it.

Rei’s words confirm that she saw Enji’s mistreatment of their kids but turned a blind eye to it, revealing that she was complicit in the abuse in the household. That's why he looked shocked because it confirmed that he had Natsuo.

This is the same woman who noticed Touya's desires. If she knew to some extent, why did she fail? This ties back to Shoto’s talk with Izuku about how actions are important and Rei did nothing and what makes matters worse her advice sounded the same advice to what Endeavor gave Touya

she has done the same thing that she told her son not to do so, basically telling him to do what I do ignoring Touya’s feelings in favor of her own it ignores Touya’s feelings problems and goals she didn’t practice what she preached and this is what Touya called her out on.

Touya angrily calls her out on her hypocrisy in her advice and is aware that Rei didn’t marry Endeavor out of her own will but for her parents, which is why her words come off as belittlement because she has done the same thing she told her son not to do this is what he is angry at Rei for.

He told Rei that she couldn’t understand his pain and was just as guilty of the abuse for being complicit. The sad thing is that he's right.

Touya must have read self-help books to learn to manage his feelings, but they didn’t address his feelings.

Touya's anger showed that he poured his heart out with sweat dripping on his face, meaning his body temperature is rising and making him sweat, and his intense yelling at Rei heated his emotions and increased the flames of his fire.

That line here is a metaphor for his emotions.

This part is used to amplify the fact that Touya has a weak body. Touya is 13, and his voice didn’t change when he hit puberty. That could be why his family couldn’t recognize Dabi by his voice, which had gotten deeper yet before he left the family. What was more noticeable was the change in his flames.

This revealed something about Touya: that he didn’t have control over his flames, just their intensity. He knows how to increase his flames, not decrease them, a metaphor for how he cannot regulate his emotions.

Touya is crying as a result of a discovery and here Touya is smiling as well, which means that Touya is still holding on to hope that his dad might care.

Touya is still smiling and holds positive feelings for his dad. He is hopeful despite years of being neglected. Not good enough, he is still not giving up, only to have the opposite of what he hoped.

That sweat meant he didn’t expect his father to react this way to being violently grabbed by the arm.

Touya made sure to hide his wounds in places that wouldn’t be visible so his father wouldn’t tell him to give up since his wounds were the reason why Endeavor created distance in the first place.

Touya is tearing out his hair. Referencing the change in the color of his hair is what started the distance in his relationship with his father in the first place.

Touya knows why Endeavor is training Shoto, Touya sees Shoto as his competition Touya recognizes that Shoto is stronger than him at the moment as long as Shoto is around and better than Touya Endeavor won’t pay attention to him but Touya doesn’t dwell on his feeling he knows Endeavor is currently only impressed by Shoto and Shoto sets the bar and Touya is trying to make his father see that he can reach that bar too and had hope that his father would be proud of him and view him as worthy.

But here, he's begging Endeavor in the last two panels. It's pretty desperate...

Touya is sitting alone, huddling. He starts to cry but rubs it. Touya condemns himself for his weakness since that weakness is why his father abandoned him.

When he was thinking of his father tears came into his eyes, and it made him lose control of his flames.

Touya was surprised that his fire grew so strong he was unable to stop it. He wasn’t aware that he couldn’t control the flames, just the temperature. Endeavor only taught Touya how to increase his flames, not how to decrease them.

92 notes · View notes

shonen-brainrot · 5 days ago

Note

Could you please write something about Endo Yamato? Maybe something about how he met his girlfriend?

And yet you yell at me?

Wind Breaker Fanfiction

Image from the anime

Yamato Endo x Fem!Y/N

Hint

Word Count: ≈ 3200

Set in the world of Wind Breaker

All characters belong to Satoru Nii

Please note: English is not my first language, so there may be some small mistakes

Author's Note:

Since I only know the anime and this character hasn't been in the spotlight for more than 10 minutes so far, this is going to be a very wild affair for me😅

I did some research for this fanfiction to better portray his personality, but much of it will be my own interpretation.

But I hope you like it anyway.

— — —

I usually don't write in the first-name perspective, but mostly work with he/she/him, etc., i.e. from a somewhat more distanced point of view. It can therefore happen that every now and then a "she" or "her" slips in between.

Warning oppression, blood, Description of violence, swear words

The wind that swept across the asphalt of the narrow side streets was mild and heavy with heat, like the languid aftermath of a summer day long past its zenith. The sun was already low behind the rooftops of Makochi, only occasional golden streaks still clinging to the windowpanes like memories of light. Your footsteps echoed on the concrete, quiet, hurried, accompanied by the nervous beating of your heart, which sounded a little faster with every intersection you left behind.

You walked alone, gripping the strap of your backpack tightly as your footsteps echoed across the pavement – a sound that seemed louder in the silence than it actually was. The art tutoring session had dragged on longer than expected. Your friend just hadn't stopped asking questions, complaining about perspective and lighting, keeping you on your toes with her pleas for help, and you –as always– nodded. Because you couldn't bring yourself to say no.

And now you curse you good nature.

The lights of the shops had long since gone out, the curtains drawn, the doors locked and only the faint hum of the street lamps and the rattling of a distant railway line broke the silence of the night. You pulled your collar tighter around your neck, feeling an uneasy chill settle on your neck despite the warmth.

A rustle, barely audible, like the whisper of fabric, and a shadow emerging from the alley to your right. He was so fast that your breath caught before you even realized what was happening – cold hands grabbed you roughly by the arms and hurled you backward against the wall. The impact was hard, your back arched, the backpack barely cushioning the shock, and a slight pain crept through your ribs.

"Money. Now." The voice wasn't loud, but it was sharp, like a blade being placed directly against your skin. The boy –no older than you, maybe sixteen, with a worn hoodie and eyes that had seen too much darkness– pressed you against the concrete with his forearm, his face inches from yours. Your fingers tentatively reached for the zipper of your bag, and your lips trembled with fear.

"I don't have much... just school stuff..."

"I don't give a shit. Give it here before I—"

A thud, so fast and powerful that you couldn't identify the sound at first, interrupted the conversation. The boy's head snapped to the side; a hand –tattooed, strong, with cracked knuckles and a silver ring that flickered in the lamplight as it moved– had struck him squarely in the face. You heard the dull thud of skin on bone, the crack of cartilage, the groan of the attacker as he staggered back and thudded onto the asphalt.

Before you stood someone else now – broad shoulders, tall, with the nonchalance of a lion who doesn't need to hurry to show he rules the street. He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, and above the collar of his dark shirt, the beginnings of a tattoo snaked towards his neck.

"What kind of pathetic attempt was this supposed to be, huh?" His voice was calm, almost bored, but with an underlying rumble, as if a storm were brewing in the distance. The way he spoke, the way he moved – he wasn't a hero or savior in the traditional sense. But he wasn't someone you wanted to mess with either.

And while the attacker tried to sit up, panting, the stranger slowly turned to you, and for the first time his gaze met you – Turquoise green, piercing, and a little curious as he studied you.

"You shouldn't be out here alone. Especially not this late."

He said it without accusation – more like a statement, but you still felt your knees shaking and your heart pounding wildly against your ribs.

You knew this man. He belonged to Noroshi, among those who stirred up Makochi from the underground and controlled the streets. At school, his name was spoken like a curse, in short breaths, glancing over one's shoulder, as if the sound alone could conjure trouble.

Yamato Endo.

And now he stood before you, in the flesh – with his disheveled black hair, his open jacket, the tattoos stretching from his shoulders to his chest and neck, and with an aura that made the night itself recoil.

"You don't have to be afraid." His voice was calm, almost casual, as if what had just happened was barely worth mentioning. "You don't exactly look like someone who can fight. Unlike that idiot over there."

His gaze swept over you one last time, assessing, not derogatory – then he turned away, his shoulders casually hunched, like someone who already knew how the evening would end. His footsteps echoed dully across the asphalt until he stood in front of the panting man, who had just half-stood up. Then, without warning, he struck. A clean, controlled kick that forced the attacker back to the ground.

"What did you expect?" Yamato leaned forward slightly, his hands still in his pockets, his mouth twisted into a dangerous smile. "Mob a little girl and play the bad boy? Did you think no one would see you?"

The guy writhed, wheezed, tried to push himself up with shaky hands, but Yamato kicked him again – not randomly, but purposefully, like a hunter just testing how long his prey will squirm.

You couldn't look away. The boy who had just pinned you against the wall was now little more than a sack of flesh, twitching, gasping, and whimpering with every hit. And Yamato? He didn't seem angry, more amused, as if he enjoyed the clarity of the situation that could be carved into concrete with every kick.

"Stand up." Yamato's voice sounded sharper now. "Come on, show me you have at least some backbone."

The guy coughed up blood, raised his head and Yamato kicked – harder, faster, and again and again. You felt your stomach clench, your fingers clutch the straps of your backpack and your breathing shallow. It was too much, too brutal.

"Stop!" Your voice suddenly cut through the night, shaky, but loud enough to be heard.

Yamato paused. Not because he had to, but because you dared to interfere.

The night fell silent, the tattooed man slowly straightened and turned to you. His gaze met yours, sharp as a broken mirror, reflecting every sliver of truth. There was something in his face that changed – a brief twitch of his brow, a barely noticeable lift of the corner of his mouth. Not amusement, not anger, but pure, honest interest flashed in his turquoise-green eyes.

"You're practically shaking when I even look at you sideways. And yet you yell at me?"

He took a step toward you, slowly but not threateningly, his eyes never leaving you.

"Are you stupid, or just braver than you look?"

With another step, he was now standing directly in front of you, and only a tiny bit of space separated you two. You had to lift your head to even look at his face – for he towered over you by almost a full head. The shadow of his body fell on you, your legs felt like they were made of stone and the trembling that had just been in your fingers now seemed to permeate your entire body.

"I... I..." You tried to speak, but your voice was little more than a breath, fragile and clouded with fear.

Yamato said nothing. Not a sharp remark, not a sneer, or laugh. Only piercing silence, while his gaze rested on you, unmoved – like the deep, clear water of a well into which you fall, not knowing if you'll ever resurface.

Then he suddenly raised a hand and you felt your breath catch in your throat, instinctively you close your eyes, the impulse was faster than your mind. He was a thug, a street fighter – someone who knocked out others' teeth just because someone had looked him in the eye for too long. And you had intervened, even if it was an impulse. Of course, you expected a blow – a gesture of punishment, something hard and cold that would bring you back to reality.

But instead of violence, he placed his hand on your head, roughly but not painfully. His fingers dug into your hair a little, ruffling it, impetuously, almost carelessly – like someone petting a stray kitten that suddenly hissed at him.

The gesture was unexpectedly illogical. And that's precisely why it made you freeze.

Yamato let his hand rest on the top of your head, as if testing whether you were real – or simply too stupid to be afraid.

"You are really strange," he finally muttered, almost as if talking to himself.

"Tell me... what are you doing alone in this shitty neighborhood?"

You avoided his gaze, searching for support somewhere in the shadows between the cobblestones and the lamplight, but there was nothing there to help you. Only the warmth of his hand still in your hair and his gaze, fixed on you as if he could pull every thought from within you if you remained silent long enough.

"I... I was... with a friend. I was tutoring her..." The words came quietly, shaky, almost apologetically from your lips, as if you'd done something wrong. "It just... got late. I live right around the corner."

You felt a blush rise in your face – out of shame, out of relief that he was listening to you, or maybe because it sounded ridiculous when you said it.

Yamato snorted softly, raising an eyebrow, as if your answer had actually amused him. There was something in his gaze that was reminiscent of a grin, even though his lips barely twitched.

"Not many people have the guts to go for a walk around here at this time of night. And especially not when they're as weak as you."

He didn't say it angrily. More like that tone you use when you observe something completely absurd – like a chicken trying to fly. For a moment, he even seemed amused.

Then, a noise behind him – quick, uneven footsteps, a raspy breathing, like an injured animal on the run.

Yamato only half-turned, saw out of the corner of his eye your attacker staggering away, glancing over his shoulder as if the devil himself were breathing down his neck.

"Tch..." An annoyed sound, almost a growl, left his throat. His expression darkened slightly, not from genuine anger, but from disappointment that he'd lost his toy. "Coward. Now I'll have to find someone else to play with."

He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, his gaze fleetingly grazing you – scrutinizing, but not hostile. More like he was considering whether to classify you in that category as well.

"So. Now what? Do you want to continue walking alone, or should I escort you?"

The words hit you like a false note in a silent room. You flinched involuntarily, your gaze briefly slid over his face, as if checking if he was serious.

"Escort...?" You blinked. "Like a bodyguard?"

Yamato snorted softly, a smile more visible this time –like a brief flash between clouds– that didn't say exactly whether it was meant to be friendly or mocking.

"Kind of, yes." He shrugged as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "You seem to have a magical attraction for those guys out there. And I..." his gaze casually wandered across the alley, as if the next shadow was already lurking there. "...I'm constantly looking for someone whose nose I can break. Fits, right?"

You swallowed. His words sounded raw, brutal, and yet somehow honest. And if you were honest with yourself, you didn't want to walk through these alleys alone right now. Not after what had happened.

"Then... this is probably for the best." You said it quietly, almost hesitantly, but determined enough that Yamato nodded and began moving without another word.

Your footsteps echoed between the walls – his strong, firm, with a rhythm that spoke of confidence. Yours, however, seemed quieter, uncertain, always a few centimeters behind him, as if you were instinctively keeping your distance. There was a silence between you that weighed heavily on your shoulders.

For you, this wordless closeness was uncomfortable – this energy that surrounded him like an invisible net and radiated danger. But as you cautiously looked over at him, Yamato didn't even seem to notice the tension. He seemed completely calm, his shoulders relaxed, his gaze gliding over shadows, past corners and dark windows – searching, alert, as if he weren't your companion, but a predator patrolling its territory.

When you finally arrived at your front door, you stopped, your eyes fixed on the lower step, while Yamato walked two steps further before he paused. Only then did he turn around without a word and slowly let his gaze wander over the old building, as if weighing whether it would collapse or survive another night.

"So this is your apartment?" His voice was calm, a hint of amusement resonated, accompanied by a grin. "charming, with all the graffiti."

You lowered your head, unable to contradict the sarcastic undertone. The plaster was crumbling at the edges, the window frames were stained, and the old graffiti stood on the wall like a monster.

"It's not the best," you murmured, barely audibly. "But... it's cheap. And I don't have to live in a shared apartment or with my parents. Things aren't going particularly well there."

You didn't expect an answer. It wasn't an invitation to pity. Just an explanation. Something that explained why you were here – alone, free, but not safe.

Yamato didn't answer immediately. He let his gaze rest on the front door for a moment, as if he could see something in it you'd overlooked. Then he turned around, rolling his shoulders slightly, as if trying to shake off the tiredness that suddenly settled in his bones.

"Well… it seems that everyone has a shitty family situation," he would say, as if it were no big deal, but merely one of the rules by which Makochi functioned. And with this casual realization, he set off, walking with the same self-evident step with which he had come – as if he were simply disappearing back into the night to which he belonged.

You watched him move away and his form slowly melt into the shadows in the semi-darkness. Your mouth opened, you didn't want to let it go, not so without—

"Thank you, Endo!"

The words sounded brighter than you intended, too honest, too soft for these rough streets. You bowed slightly, out of a reflex you could never quite break – a simple, polite gesture that seemed out of place in this world.

His footsteps fall silent.

Is he gone?, you thought, and when you looked up again, he was still standing there, about to fade into the shadows for good. His hand rose, the tattooed skin of his knuckles exposed as he waved it wearily in farewell. Then he disappeared into the darkness without another word.

The voices of the students around you were just a muffled background noise, their laughter, their footsteps, the screech of sneakers on asphalt – everything sounded strangely distant, as if separated by a pane of glass. You waited for your friend's class to finally end, but the minutes ticked by, as if time itself wanted to force you to think about him again.

For two days, he had been haunting your mind – like an echo lodged deep within you. The scene outside your front door, his gaze, his voice, the unexpected way he had endured your closeness without judging or belittling you… none of it left you. The rumors about him had been confirmed – yes, he seemed to be someone who liked to fight, someone who didn't know pain, or at least didn't fear it. Someone who wandered through Makochi at night, searching for something that could tame his inner storm.

And yet… there had been something there. Not warmth, no, that would be too much to say – but a kind of silent respect. As long as you weren't a fighter. As long as you didn't provoke him. As long as you stayed small enough not to appear dangerous.

With a slight sigh, you shaded the line of a shoulder, dipping the pencil deeper into the gray. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you noticed movement on the other side of the street. At first, it was only a color that caught your eye – a vibrant, garish red, pushing through the crowd like lightning in a field of fog. Long, red hair, the tips of which faded into a light blonde, striking, almost like fire slowly burning out.

You raised your head slightly, looked more closely – and then the sight hit you like a cold gust of air.

Right next to this flame-haired young man walked someone you would have recognized yourself in your sleep by now.

Yamato.

Casual, with an expression that hovered somewhere between bored alertness and quiet anticipation. His hands deep in his pockets, his shoulders slightly tilted forward, as if listening to the heart of the street itself.

Your pen paused, the line unfinished, as you blinked – not knowing whether to jump up or duck.

"Y/N!"

Your friend's voice cut through the moment, too loud, too present, and you flinched as if someone had grabbed your shoulder. Your heart skipped a beat, the sound of her shout swirling through the street – and seemingly across the street as well.

For Yamato's gaze slid to you, almost casually, and then your eyes met – turquoise-green against yours, like liquid glass about to freeze. He stopped. No grand gesture, no surprise on his face – just this brief, barely noticeable pause, as if something inside him had stopped.

And you? You couldn't look away, and for a moment everything around you was silent – the students, the traffic, the world. Only that gaze and that half-eternity that stretched on like a breath taken too deeply.

"Y/N, are you finally coming!"

Again, her voice pulled you back. You blinked, the spell breaking as if someone had broken a glass.

"Yes! I'll be right there!" you called back hastily, standing up, closing your sketchbook, and pressing it against your chest like a shield. Without looking back, you hurried to where your friend was already waiting impatiently for you.

You didn't notice a single page slipping from the book. It floated to the floor, slowly, fluttering, like a final word falling from a sentence.

As soon as the paper lay on the floor, a shadow fell on it and a tattooed hand, marked by blows and scars, picked it up.

Yamato held the drawing in his hand, his fingers barely touching the edges, as if the paper might break if he wasn't careful. He studied the lines – fine, precise lines that didn't show just any face, but him. His gaze, his posture, and a smile, unexpectedly soft yet crooked, crept onto his lips.

His gaze lifted again, gliding over the sidewalk where you were talking to your girlfriend, half-turned away, with no idea what you'd left behind.

"Y/N... so that's your name."

55 notes · View notes