#like a typical japanese series

[redrobin-detective]

From the first moment I started Iruma-kun, I was fascinated that Iruma is only ever referred to by his first name. Pretty much everyone else in the series has a first and surname with the majority of people calling others by their surname. But everyone from family, friends, teachers, enemies calls Iruma by his given name. The non-canonical narrator outside of the story is the only one to call him Suzuki Iruma.

From a practical perspective, it makes sense not to give him a last name because names and titles have power in the Netherworld. Iruma is making a lot of waves and people might want to investigate his lineage if given a potential avenue and be surprised to come up blank. On a more personal note, Iruma’s parents sold him to Sullivan. By selling Iruma, they lost all claim to him and the ability to have their surname attached to him. Sullivan seems petty enough to refuse to acknowledge the names of people gleefully who abandoned their child alongside his precious grandson’s name. In the Netherworld, Iruma is only Iruma. He is a chaos causing young demon, the chair demon’s beloved grandchild, Clair and Azz’s best friend and so much more.

The Suzukis lost the right to call Iruma their own the moment they sold him.

[neo--queen--serenity]

I noticed that, in the English dub, the ADA refers to Tanizaki by his first name rather often. It's actually pretty rare to hear his last name in the dub, and I wish I knew why.

It can’t be for the simplicity of referring between him and his sister, since everyone calls her Naomi in both versions.

It’s not a logistical (“mouth-flap”) choice either, I’ve noticed them saying it even when a character is facing away, and their mouth isn’t visible, so it’s not that.

I admit that I do like the choice, since Jun’ichirou is the same age as Atsushi—who also gets referred to by his first name by the rest of the ADA. It follows the trend of calling anyone 18 and under by their first names, too, since this also applies to Kenji and Kyouka.

It may be a small change, but it’s a consistent one, so it had to have been a conscious choice.

[ozlices]

ok now that the rage is out, actual rational reason for why this pisses me off so much.

if my love & devotion to pandora hearts didn't make it clear enough, my favorite niche of media is alice in wonderland inspired works. if i know something is inspired by aiw, i'm gonna at least look into it automatically. dunno why, honestly. but, it's been like this since i was SUPER young.

that being said, im obviously p versed in alice in wonderland inspired media. i haven't consumed them all, i'm sure there's many i'm unaware of, but. i've consumed enough to confidently assure alice in borderland is the first time i personally have ever seen an alice in wonderland inspired media portray alice as a guy, while still having him be named alice.

and, like! it's honestly SUPER clever to get away with doing this by having alice be ryohei's last name instead of his first. because, obviously, 'alice' is not typically a male name. it can be bc gender is a concept yada yada, but. like. u get what i mean.

so, like. baring that in mind. if somebody who has absolutely zero concept of how japanese pronunciation works stumbled across alice in borderland, & watched w the english subtitles... they'd have no reason to question if 'arisu' is meant to be 'alice'. bc. why would it be? they're expecting 'alice' to be a female character.

& so, like. it honestly rly fucking sucks that this really interesting way of taking the alice in wonderland inspo & portraying its references as it does gets completely sacked & made out as pointless by having alice not be referred to AS alice.

& even more so bc additionally, the white rabbit is a woman in the show. so, we have these two prominent characters from alice in wonderland being swapped. but, like. that doesn't even get to be properly appreciated bc they don't let u know alice IS alice. it genuinely just comes across as 'huh, weird this show named alice in borderland, & that's v clearly inspired by alice in wonderland, has a MALE lead & his name is arisu. weird this aiw inspired media has no alice.'

tbh part of me wonders if that's why they decided to go w that decision. to blatantly erase how silently groundbreaking it is to have an alice in wonderland inspired work where alice is still named alice, but is a guy instead of a girl. the silent way that breaks down gender stereotypes and such. but, nope. that all gets lost.

fucking bullshit.

also yes ik im v stupidly passionate abt this, but again. aiw-inspired works is my FAVORITE niche genre of media ever. my favorite series of all time is literally an aiw-inspired work. ive never seen an aiw-inspired work do this. not saying no others exist, & if they do, pls lmk! but. yeah. it does suck the only example ik of doing this gets stomped by refusing to let alice be named alice.

[yumeka-sxf]

Japanese Linguistic Observations in Spy x Family - part 2

Part 2 - Anya's "Anya-isms"

I think Anya has one of the most interesting ways of speaking out of all the SxF characters. But like with Twilight's dialogue that I previously discussed, it can only be fully appreciated in the Japanese version. Probably the most noticeable thing about her dialogue is how it's written compared to the other characters.

Written Japanese is comprised of three different alphabets: ひらがな (hiragana) and カタカナ (katakana), which together are referred to as "kana," and 漢字 (kanji). Kanji are the characters that hold the meaning of words, while kana simply represent the various Japanese syllable sounds and don't have any meaning on their own (much like the letters of the English alphabet). There are only about 100-ish total unique kana symbols, however, there are over 2,000 kanji in common use today. So Japanese children will start out learning kana and then learn kanji gradually during their school years. This is why Japanese children's books are typically written only or mostly in kana. This is also why manga and books aimed at a younger audience will have kana "translations" of kanji written above kanji characters, which are called furigana.

With that in mind, it's not surprising that all of Anya's dialogue in the Japanese version of the SxF manga is written entirely in kana. Even though using kanji in her dialogue wouldn't necessarily mean she knows kanji, reading a character's dialogue only in kana definitely gives off childish vibes – it conveys feelings of youthfulness and innocence, like "they're speaking only in kana because they don't know the kanji for these words…they're just a little kid, after all." At least, that's the feeling I get when I read Anya's dialogue. Though I haven't read enough manga in Japanese to say for sure, it seems like this concept of making little kids speak only in kana is not unusual, as there's at least one other example I know of: a manga from the mid-2000s called Yotsuba also has a titular 5-year old whose dialogue is written only in kana.

What's also interesting is that all of the other Eden kids speak "normally," using kana and kanji properly in their dialogue. This helps to convey the fact that, despite Anya being roughly the same age as them, their "rich family" upbringing has forced them to grow up faster. In the below panel, you can see how Damian's dialogue uses kanji (with furigana translations) while Anya's uses only kana, even for words that have kanji.

Interestingly, I found at least two cases where Anya does use kanji in her dialogue: when she's calling out the name of her big "Arrow of Light, Seize the Star" move during the dodgeball game, and when she calls out her "Lighting Bolt, Deliver my Aid" move when she tries to throw Yor's weapon back on the deck in the cruise arc. As you can see in the below panels, the names of these "moves" is written in kanji (with furigana translations). This makes sense not only because this is parodying shonen series where the characters shout out the names of their moves, but because it emphasizes how determined Anya was at these moments.

But going back to how Anya's speech compares to the other kids, another thing that stands out is that she speaks very "plainly." Her grammar is (mostly) correct, except for a few mistakes you'd expect a little kid to make. But she uses pretty much no colloquialisms, almost as if she knows the language but lacks the experience for using it in normal social interactions. I don't think this is unusual for a kid her age who's still learning, but it definitely stands out when compared to her classmates. For example, in the below panel, Becky uses normal interjections and other colloquialisms in her speech, like "ne" (ね), "wa" (わ), and "yo" (よ), which are all standard Japanese linguistic devices for softening or emphasizing your sentences. However, Anya doesn't use things like this in her speech. Again, this makes her speech come off as very plain and abrupt, almost like she's not a native speaker.

She also refers to herself in third person all the time in the Japanese version. In fact, I don't recall her ever using an "I" or "me" pronoun. I don't know why the English version of the manga doesn't keep this characteristic of her speech. I think it's very important in highlighting the childish aspect of her personality.

Putting all this together – the fact that she doesn't use typical colloquial speech and refers to herself in third person – really emphasizes the childish, naive, and almost baby-like nature of her character. I'm curious if Endo made her speak this way simply to show what a little kid she is compared to her classmates, or if it will somehow tie back to whatever roots she has in classical languages that he keeps hinting at. Regardless, as I mentioned in my full Anya analysis, what she lacks in speech and school smarts, she makes up for in empathy and resourcefulness.

Besides all this, Anya does make typical speech mistakes a normal kid would make, like mishearing words or saying things wrong. She mostly uses casual speech, but does try to use keigo (polite speech) on occasion, though not always correctly. For example, she says "ohayaimasu" (おはやいます) for "good morning" instead of "ohaiyou gozaimasu" (おはようございます).

But the most consistent "mistake" she makes (though it's not really a mistake) is what she calls Loid and Yor – "chichi" (ちち) and "haha" (はは) respectively.

Japanese has many different words for relatives depending on whether you're talking about your own relatives or someone else's, and whether you're talking to them or about them. "Chichi" and "haha" are the general, neutral terms for "father" and "mother," and are also used when talking about your parents to someone else. However, they're not used when talking directly to your mother and father. There are many other words for that, the usual ones being "o-tou-san" (お父さん) and "o-kaa-san" (お母さん), or some variations of these with different honorifics. Damian refers to his dad as "chichi-ue" (父上) which is very formal, while Becky calls her dad the actual English word "papa" (パパ) which is very informal and normal for kids to use. But again, "chichi" and "haha" are typically only used when talking about your parents, not to them the way Anya uses them. This started from the very first chapter where Loid asks her to call him something that sounds "elite." He originally suggests the very formal "o-tou-sama" (お父さま), but when Anya says "chichi," he doesn't bother to correct her.

Hearing a little kid call her dad and mom "chichi" and "haha" is kind of like calling them "my father" and "my mother" even when speaking to them directly – it's not wrong necessarily, just strange. But again, this serves to further emphasize the childlike nature of Anya's character.

<- Return to Part 1

Continue to Part 3 ->

[ilovejosukehigashikata]

Talking about Dragona's Pronouns

I've seen a lot of people talking about the confusing situation with Dragona's gender after reading Chapter 1. The translators are confused too! We don't have very much information yet. The pronouns used for Dragona in Chapter 1 of The JOJOLands are an educated guess that may change in future chapters. I personally have just been using a mix of pronouns to refer to them, but in official contexts I think it's best to avoid gendered pronouns for now.

The full explanation is under the cut. Spoilers for TJL #1!

Roge and I, the translators of We Need More Yankiis, decided to use he/him pronouns for Dragona in the chapter for several reasons:

The only person who addresses Dragona with gendered language is their brother, and there is inconclusive evidence as to what they identify as. We have no official word on what Dragona's gender is, only narration from Jodio's perspective. According to him, they "love girly fashion" and get breast injections. Dragona is also revealed to have a penis, but they use very feminine speaking patterns in Japanese, including the very feminine personal pronoun アタシ (atashi). This is typically used by women, but it can also be used by very effeminate men.

Jodio uses the term 'nii-san' (兄さん), translated as bro, to refer to Dragona. This is typically masculine. In Japanese, it's not always a statement on gender to call somebody by a term that doesn't match the gender they identify with - it can just be reflecting how they like to present themselves. For example, Japanese fans commonly call Ermes 'aniki' (兄貴) because she's a masculine woman. Still, it's much more likely that this is him thinking of Dragona as a man instead of just being a more unique use of the term.

Dragona makes no indication of being uncomfortable being called a masculine term. While I personally doubt this is the only pronoun Dragona would be okay being called by, they have a friendly relationship with her brother, letting him call them nii-san to their face.

The only other clear trans rep we've ever really had in the series is the prisoner seen in Stone Ocean. Jolyne is just amazed at how well a person can transition, but the doctor (who is already indicated as being a bit unpleasant) misgenders him and says he was given hormone injections.

I can't really make any statements as to what Araki may have in mind with Dragona, but I think this sums up what the situation is as of Chapter 1 well enough.

One last note: please don't worry about Dragona's name being an intentional riff on drag. Drag is spelled 'doraggu' (ドラッグ) in Japanese, but Dragona's name is spelled as 'Doragona' (ドラゴナ). I think he just wanted a cool name that was referencing dragons, which are spelled as 'doragon' (ドラゴン).

[shibaraki]

FILL MY LITTLE WORLD (RIGHT UP) ┊ AIZAWA SHOUTA

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

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

wc: 20k+ (oops) 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, “I am”. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Exactly right, Eri,” he murmurs. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bad nights sleep?”

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

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

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

“Good morning,” she mumbles. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sailor Saturn!” 

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

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

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

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

“Got it”. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I gave one to Kota… he’s my friend”. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love grows by sharing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“‘Toshi!”

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

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

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

“You must be—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Started?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He flowers a little when the topic steers to Aizawa. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready?”

“Ready!” 

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

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

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

Hitoshi smirks, “May I have the honour?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” you offer lamely. He snorts. 

“What’re you making?” 

A fool of myself, you think. 

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

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

“We just—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ferment,” you whisper. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” he says. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sick?”

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

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

“They… they get mad”.

“Who does, sweetheart?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then how about I run you a bath?”

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

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

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

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

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

More importantly, you need to text Aizawa. 

You : 11:16

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

Aizawa Shouta : 11:20

Do you need me to come home?

You : 11:21

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With his daughter. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your initial goal may have been overly optimistic. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s here”.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“—Like hell you are!”

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

Aizawa Shouta : 21:34 

You handle your drink better than I thought. 

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

You : 21:34 

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

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

Aizawa Shouta : 21:36

You sure are paying a lot of attention to me. 

And then: 

Aizawa Shouta : 21:36

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

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

You : 21:37 

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

Aizawa Shouta : 21:37

Hitoshi. They’re having a movie marathon. 

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

You : 21:38

I can’t wait to hear all about it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” you murmur thickly. 

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

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

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

Aizawa Shouta : 00:08

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

Aizawa Shouta : 00:08

Just us two. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It smells a little like… cinnamon?”

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

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

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

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

His movement halts, and you regret having said anything. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah”. 

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

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

“Would you mind if I kissed you?”

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

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

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

“You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs.

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

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

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

And so, he kisses you. 

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

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

He tastes like cinnamon. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sugar tits (Touya) : 13:03

Oi. Are you alive. 

Ru-ru (Rumi) : 13:12

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

You : 13:26

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

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

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

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

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

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

She must’ve found the fort. 

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

“Can I…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A nod, “That’s right sweetheart”.

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

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

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

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

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

Her head tilts. “Aren’t we?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

[chaos0pikachu]

Is BL Being Overly Influenced by Modern Western Romance Tropes?

Short answer: No. anyways, in the following essay I will explain that James Cameron is a weeb...

(okay fine~~ lets actually do this)

TLDR: discussing what media globalization is, how fandom can distill it down to only American/European cinema, showcasing how a lot of current BL is influenced by countries within it's own proximity and NOT "the west" but each other, also James Cameron is still a weeb

I had seen a post that basically proposited that BL was being influenced by modern western romance tropes and had used things like omegaverse and mafia settings as an example. I found this, in a word, fucking annoying (oh, two words I guess) because it's micro-xenophobic to me.

It positions western - and really what we mean by this is American/European countries, we're not talking about South American countries are we? - cinema as the central breadbasket of all cinema in and of itself. Inherently, all following cinema must be in some way, shape, or form, influenced by American/European standards, and as such America/European countries are directly responsible for cinema everywhere else, and these places - namely non-white countries - do not influence each other, nor have their own histories in regards to storytelling or cinema and do not, in turn, also influence American/European film making either.

Now like, do I think all of that~~ is intentionally malicious thinking on behalf of folks in fandom? No, so chill out.

I do, however, think a lot of it is birthed from simple ignorance and growing up in an environment where ~The West~ is propagated to be central, individual, and exceptional as opposed to the monolith of "Asia" - by which we mean China, Korea, Japan don't we? How often in discussions of Asian countries is Iran, India, or Saudi Arabia brought up even tho they are all Asian countries? - or the monolith that is South America - in which some folks might believe regions like the Caribbean and/or Central America belong to, but nope there both North America.

Anyway, what we're talking about here is the concept of "media globalization":

"The production, distribution, and consumption of media products on a global scale, facilitating the exchange and diffusion of ideas cross-culturally." (source)

"The media industry is, in many ways, perfect for globalization, or the spread of global trade without regard for traditional political borders. [...] the low marginal costs of media mean that reaching a wider market creates much larger profit margins for media companies. [...] Media is largely a cultural product, and the transfer of such a product is likely to have an influence on the recipient’s culture." (source)

Typically when I see fandom discussing what falls under MG the topic is usually focused on how "the west" is influencing Thai/Korean/Chinese/Japanese media.

Enter, Pit Babe.

Surely Pit Babe was influenced by Supernatural right? Omegaverse is huge in the west - love it, hate it, meh it - it originated in the west - specifically via Supernatural after all.

Nah.

Omegaverse has been popular in Japan and China for almost a decade, if not longer. The earliest omegaverse manga I can think of is Pendulum: Juujin Omegaverse by Hana Hasumi which was released in 2015, almost a decade ago.

(what if you added furries into omegaverse? WHAT IF?? - Japan)

There's countless popular omegaverse manga too, and the dynamics only moderately resemble the ones we're familiar with in the west. Juujin is part omegaverse and part furry/beastmen - the alphas are all beastmen the omegas are humans - while something like Ookami-kun Is Not Scary only slightly resembles omegaverse dynamics as a hybrid series - beastmen are really popular in Japan in part b/c of historical mythology (you see the combination of romantic Beastmen and Japanese culture & folklore in Mamoru Hosoda's work The Boy and the Beast and Wolf Children).

Megumi & Tsugumi (2018) is so popular they're an official English edition published by VIZ's imprint SuBlime and that's a straight up omegaverse story.

(look at the omega symbol on the cover loud and proud baby)

So if Pit Babe was influenced by anything, it certainly wasn't "the west" it was Japan, Korea and China. Because those countries have a thriving omegaverse sub-genre going and have had such for 10 plus years now. Supernatural is popular in Japan, yes, and that may be where Japan and Japanese fans originally found omegaverse as a fictional sub-genre.

HOWEVER

Japanese fans took the sub-genre, bent it, played with it, and evolved it into their own thing. As such, other countries in their proximity, like Thailand, China, and Korea who read BL and GL manga, found it and were like "hey, we wanna play too!"

(is that an omegaverse yuri novel I spy?? yes, yes it is)

When I watched the Red Peafowl trailer, it had more in common with Kinnporsche, History: Trapped, along with films and shows like: Jet Li's The Enforcer, and Fist of Legend, Donnie Yen's Flash Point, Raging Fire, and Kung Fu Jungle, Han Dong-wook's The Worst of Evil, Kim Jin-Min's My Name, Lee Chung-hyeon's The Ballerina, Baik's Believer & Believer 2, Yoshie Kaoruhara's KeixYaku, popular Don Lee films The Gangster, the Cop and the Devil and Unstoppable alongside BL manga like Honto Yajuu and Bi No Isu (probably one of the most well known yazuka manga to date).

Like, we're seeing a rise in mafia based BLs and people think that's because of "western influence" and not the absolute insane success of kinnporsche??? Especially in countries like China, Korea, Taiwan, Philippines and other Asian countries???

Mafia films and gang shows aren't even that popular here in America/Europe; don't get me wrong, they still get made and exist, but the last full length film was The Irishman which did not make it's budget back, and while Power is still on-going it's not a smash hit either. The heyday of Breaking Bad, The Sopranos, The Wire, Goodfellas, and Scarface are long gone. And if you've watched any those shows or films they have very little in common with Kei x Yaku, Kinnporsche, or Red Peafowl in tone, or style.

(who knew martin just wanted to make his al pacino/robert de niro fanfic come to life all these years?)

Another example, The Sign, which is clearly taking inspiration from Chinese costume dramas: Ashes of Love, Fairy and Devil, White Snake (and it's many adaptions), Guardian, & Ying Yang Master Dream of Eternity. Alongside Hong Kong and Korean cop and romance shows like Tale of the Nine-Tailed, Hotel Del Luna, Director Who Buys Me Dinner, First Love, Again, and previously mentioned cop dramas.

Like, I know y'all don't think Twins is influenced by, what, American sports classic Angels in the Outfield?? Gridiron Gang?? Rocky?? Nah that shit is inspired by the popularity of sports manga like Haikyuu!!, Slam Dunk, Prince of Tennis (which even has a Chinese drama adaption), and the like. And also probably History 2, & Not Me but I'm like 87% sure Twins is just Haikyuu fanfic.

So like, does this mean that there's NO history in which American and European cinema influenced these countries? What, no, obviously that's not true, American/European totally have had media influence on countries like Korea, Japan, etc.

Astro Boy by Osamu Tezuka considered "the father of manga" was inspired by Walt Disney's work on Bambi. Another more recent and prominent example is director Yeon Sang-ho and his film Train to Busan.

"And it was Snyder’s movie [Dawn of the Dead, 2004], not the 1978 original, that filmmaker Yeon Sang-ho recalled as his first encounter with the undead. “That was when I started my interest in zombies,” Yeon said, in an email interview through a translator from South Korea. Even today, he added, “it’s the most memorable and intense zombie movie I’ve ever seen.”" (source)

HOWEVER, the global influence doesn't stop there. It's not a one-way street. Yeon Sang-Ho was inspired by Zack Synder's Dawn of the Dead, a remake of George Romero's own work, but Yeon Sang-Ho's work has inspired countless Korean film makers to make their own zombie media; following Train to Busan there's been: Kingdom (2019 - current), All of Us Are Dead (2022), Zombie Detective (2020), Zombieverse (2023), Alive (2020), Rampant (2018).

And hey, wouldn't you know it now we're starting to see more zombie media coming out of places like Japan (Zom 100 the manga, movie, and anime) and High School of the Dead.

Do you know what Domundi's series Zombivor (2023, pilot trailer only) reminds me of? It's NOT The Walking Dead (which is the only relevant zombie media America has created in the last decade) it's Korea's All of Us Are Dead (2022). Comparing the trailers, the settings, the tone, it's clear where Zombivor is pulling inspiration from: Korean zombie cinema. NOT American zombie cinema.

In fact a lot of Domundi's shows - Cutie Pie, Middleman's Love, Naughty Babe, Bed Friend - are all very clearly inspired by Korean filmmaking, specifically that of romantic kdramas from the 2016 - 2020 era. Not always in story, but rather in technique.

This is media globalization. It's not simply ~The West~ influencing non-American/European countries but countries who are often more close in terms of: proximity, culture, and trade are going to have more influence on each other.

It is far more likely that Aoftion (Naughty Babe, Cutie Pie, Zombivor) was influenced by watching Train to Busan, All of Us Are Dead, and other Korean zombie shows and films than a single episode of Walking Dead.

My point isn't that this goes one way only, but rather it is very literally a global thing. This includes American and European film makers being influenced by non-American and European cinema.

Martin Scorsese, Steven Spielberg, Darren Aronofsky, Christopher Nolan, the Wachowski sisters, George Lucas and James Cameron have all been influenced by Japanese film making, especially the works of Akira Kurosawa, Satoshi Kon, and Mamoru Oshii.

John Wick's entire gun-fu sub-genre is heavily influenced by classic Hong Kong action films, specifically John Woo films. Legend of Korra, The Boondocks, Voltron, Young Justice, My Adventures with Superman are all obviously inspired by Japanese anime but animated by a Korean animation studio (Studio Mir). Beyond that, the rise in adult animated dramas like Castlevania, Critical Role Vox Machina, and Invincible to name a few are very clearly taking inspiration from anime in terms of style. The weebs that were watching Adult Swim's Inuyasha, Bleach, and Dragon Ball Z have grown up and are now working in Hollywood.

Okay so like, what's the point of all this? What's the issue? Since American/European cinema does influence et all cinema does any of this really matter?

YES.

I take contention with this line of thinking because it centers "the west" and our supposed individual importance way to much. Declaring definitively that "BL is being influenced by western tropes" and then including tropes, narratives, and film making styles that aren't inherently western and actually have major roots in the cinema of various Asian countries, removes the existence of individual history these countries have which are rich, varied, and nuanced. It removes the "global" part of globalization by declaring "the globe" is really just America and Europe.

It distills these countries down to static places that only exist when American/European audiences discover them.

BL doesn't exist in a vacuum you can trace the development of Korean BL to the development of Korean het dramas almost to a T. You can also trace their development to the queer history of each country and how Thailand interacts culturally with China, Japan, Korea, etc and vice versa. It also ignores the history of these countries influencing American cinema as well. Don't mistake "the globe" for only your sphere of experience.

Anyway James Cameron is a damn weeb y'all have a good night.

Check out other posts in the series:

Film Making? In My BL? - The Sign ep01 Edition | Aspect Ratio in Love for Love's Sake | Cinematography in My BL - Our Skyy2 vs kinnporsche, 2gether vs semantic error, 1000 Stars vs The Sign | How The Sign Uses CGI | Is BL Being Overly Influenced by Modern Western Romance Tropes?

[like these posts? drop me a couple pennies on ko-fi]

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

Tohru Honda: a Subversion of Shoujo’s Nice Girl Trope

Fruits Basket absolutely nails subverting your expectations of character tropes in anime. 

Momiji is introduced as the cute childish boy but boom we are slapped with the fact that he a mother who hated him so much she had her memories wiped of him. Shigure right off the bat looks like the typical perverted uncle of anime when in reality he is one the most manipulative characters in the series. Ayame is the flamboyant, boisterous one whose bravado hides his regret and desire to repent for his past neglect of his younger brother. Which ultimately brings me to the protagonist of Furuba itself, Tohru Honda.

I'll make it no secret that I have a huge soft spot for Fruits Basket as a series. It was the first manga I read, I watched the 2001 series and I was right on the hype train when I saw it was getting a remake that would follow the manga storyline. But I did my best to be as objective as possible in this essay of sorts saying why I believe Tohru is a great example of subverting the "Nice Girl Protagonist" of Shoujo. Tohru is the protagonist of Fruits Basket and when it comes to those who don't like her, it seems she can be hit or miss due to the assumption that she is perfect. 

The general consensus of those who do not like her or find her bland compared to the rest of the cast is that Tohru is a perfect and bland protagonist with no issues of her own. That all she does is wave her healing wand of warm smiles and makes everything better for those around her.

However, that opinion couldn't be more misguided. In reality, Tohru is just as emotionally broken as the Sohmas and they mend her heart just as much as she mends theirs. As such, I hope to show those who find her bland or otherwise boring that there is more substance to Tohru's character than they believe.

At first glance, Tohru does seems like your typical Shoujo protagonist. She's nice, almost to a fault. She would rather talk her way out of a situation instead of throwing hands, she doesn't get mad in situations other typically would, and she has a hard time asking for help. Oh and with a dash of anime originality, she's an orphan. However even as early as episode 1, you can see hints that Tohru is not going to be the usual nice girl protagonist with her desire to work and be as independent as possible. The mangaka does a great job throughout the series showing with hints and broad examples that Tohru is just as complex as the colorful cast around her.

Ironically enough though, when hints of Tohru's trauma are sprinkled throughout the series it is seen as annoying even when the Furuba takes time to give insight into why she does the things she does.

She mentions her mother constantly in anecdotes of whimsical stories or snippets of wisdom her mother imparted her with.

Compared to the death of parents to other anime protagonists, Tohru's situation is a bit more unique. Tohru's father may have died when she was young but the same cannot be said for her mother, Kyoko, who died fairly recently. When the series begins, Kyoko has only been dead for a few months and it is more than apparent as early as episode 1 that Tohru is desperate to keep any semblance of her mother's existence alive. Kyoko died before Tohru's first year of high school even ended and worse, was told in the middle of class. Tohru has had barely any time to heal from this loss and it is evident in how she talks to her mother's photo.

Yes, in Japanese culture, it may be typical to have photos of departed family members, making a shrine for them and leaving offerings from time to time. But Tohru takes this to a completely different level, showcasing how deep her trauma runs.

When she is digging frantically to take out her mother's photo after the landslide destroyed her tent, she cries "She can't breathe in there. She's in pain." And that's just episode one.

Nobody completely over the death of their parent would speak like this, referring to a photo as a living person. She lost her mother and she didn't even get a chance to say goodbye, even feeling guilt to an extent about the situation. Tohru didn't wake up to tell her mother that she would see her later. There is no way that simply getting up to tell her mother goodbye would have changed the outcome of her fate, but Tohru still feels that way. That it didn't matter if she had tests or work or the next day, the one she should have put first was her mother. 

Anyone who has or is currently experiencing the grief of losing a loved one has likely done the same. Wondering if, if the situation was anything other than illness or old age, there was something they could have done. Things they should have said or could have said differently. What more could they have done to help and the feeling is all consuming. Even if it is unprompted, they somehow will manage to insert their lost family or friend into a conversation that didn't include them or may randomly begin talking about them. A lot of the time, these people don't even realize that they're doing it which is shown in season 2 with Tohru when Hiro asks her why she talks about her mother so much.

She is too positive.

Tohru's positivity is one of the most easily seen aspects of her character. Where others might see the glass half-empty, Tohru sees it as half-full. Her positivity is even noted upon by characters within the show, Saki (Hanajima) mentioning that she doesn't believe she could personally smile like that so soon after the death of a loved one.

Tohru doesn't like thinking about her problems. She doesn't like expressing her sadness. She doesn't want to worry those around her when they likely have their own problems to worry about. Saki predicts that this ability Tohru has to act this way is because she would scold herself if she ever showed a hint of sadness. And Saki was right because we see Tohru later on doing exactly that, crying but forcing herself to try and smile and scolding herself for not keeping it together.

Rather than let Yuki comfort her when she is in tears, she smiles and completely changes the topic even though tears are coming down her face.Tohru tells Kyo that she needs a minute to get herself together because breaking down in tears in front of him wasn't what she planned. She was supposed to smile when she saw him again.

Tohru would rather pretend everything is fine even when she is seconds away from falling apart because toxic positivity is something she struggles with.

No one can be that positive all the time, not even Tohru.

Tohru has a hard time asking others for help.

Yes, Tohru is kind-hearted by nature but she genuinely does believe that she could burden those she troubles for help. Considering how her maternal side of the family wanted nothing to do with her and her paternal side of the family talks poorly about her, it isn't difficult to see where that frame of thinking came to be. When her mother died, her paternal side of the family didn't argue over who wanted to take Tohru in, they argued over who should take Tohru in and that is an important distinction. Even more so the fact, they had these arguments in front of her. When it was finally settled that she should live with her grandfather and that was uprooted due to upcoming renovations, it makes sense that she would rather be homeless in a tent than bother her friends who don't have the space to provide for an additional person even if that.

In Tohru's mind, it was shown very clearly by her family that she is a burden. She's an extra mouth to feed and an unwanted mouth at that, as her family never holds back in disparaging Kyoko even if Tohru is present.

As such, when Tohru is in a situation where she has no other choice than to accept their help, she believes she should be extremely grateful. They're taking their time to help her when they easily could have done otherwise, so why should she want more? Why should she complain? If she has any desires, she pushes it down because of that belief because she feels awful and that she shouldn't want for more when people are already going out of their way to help an extra mouth to feed. Because of this mentality cultivated by the bulk of her paternal relatives mistreatment, she will seldom voice her wants.

She never gets angry or upset.

To say Tohru never gets angry or close to physical in her reactions is far from the truth. Tohru gets angry when the issue impacts those that she cares about.

Tohru can tolerate being mistreated but she will always draw the line at the abuse being directed to someone else. When she first meets Akito and she sees Yuki's clear discomfort and fear, she pushes Akito away from him immediately. When she witnesses Momiji being punched by Akito, she immediately steps in and places herself in front of Momiji to physically shield him. When Rin tells her not to meddle with the curse and involve herself, Tohru, without cruelty, shoots back that she will absolutely meddle and involve herself because she refuses to lose the people she cares about to someone who has clearly been abusing them emotionally and physically for years. Tohru's tolerance for mistreatment has a limit, she is just unfortunately not included in that limit. So when we finally see her get angry in a scenario that includes herselfー when Kyo tries to run away because he feels he doesn't deserve her love, it's incredible.

There is so much more to Tohru than meets the eye. Tohu's reaction to Yuki getting a cold isn't just Tohru overreacting for the sake of being a nice girl, it's because her father died from a cold he brushed off and that cold turned into a fatal illness. For Tohru, colds aren't something that can just be brushed away because what if it turns into something worse.

Tohru would rather wear clothes until they practically fall apart than buy new clothes because she knows that she can't just spend her money haphazardly. But when it came to Valentine's Day and wanting to express her gratitude for those who cared about her, she had no problem dropping an entire check to purchase the ingredients to make enough chocolate for everyone.

She disregards herself and the efforts she puts forward. When she feels she has failed in helping Arisa, she specifically says "everyone around me has always helped me and when it is my turn to do the same, I can't." These aren't problems she overcomes herself by simply "smiling through the pain" as some who discredit her argue. Tohru is repeatedly loved and helped by those around her who care for her and opens herself up to receive that love and help over time. She is taught by her grandfather and Sohmas that is okay for her to be selfish and ask for things.

Her friends teach her that she helps them so much and that in reality they feel like they are never there to help her when she needs it.Her friends get upset that the same amount of money she would spend on them, she wouldn't spend on herself.

She is told that the way she villainized Katsuya after his death because doesn't make her dirty or a bad person because she was a child that was scared to lose her mother. That her fear and desperation to make her mother acknowledge her was understandable. That mimicking her father in her attempt to draw her mother's attention probably helped more than she realized.

Tohru is not just a "Nice Shoujo Girl" Protagonist, she is a girl with trauma who would rather focus on the issues someone else has than look to her own.

Like I said before, this isn't me trying to get Tohrus haters to like her. People are entitled to like and dislike whichever characters they please, but it is a complete disservice to Natsuki Takaya's writing to say Tohru is bland and has no struggles of her own. Tohru has many problems and struggles she has to deal with throughout the series and seeing those issues she overcomes being brushed aside as her being perfect and having no problems is a complete oversight. As such, I just simply wanted to peel back Tohru's layers and showcase that just as characters such as Momiji, Shigure and Ayame are more than the tropes they are introduced as, Tohru is as well.

[i wrote this on reddit too]

[earthstellar]

Brave Bang Bravern!: A Review for Transformers Fans

I've seen so much about this on my dash that I had to give it a try, and I gotta say, as someone who hasn't watched any new anime series since around 2008 at the most recent and I also hate the fucking military, this is a pretty good show.

THERE WILL BE SOME MILD SPOILERS. Nothing major. I'm not gonna spoil anything critical or mention characters that are introduced later etc. At of time of writing, only 6 episodes have been released.

Understanding Genre: The Trailer is A Lie

Now, while there is a trailer here, I want you to largely disregard it.

Why is that? Well, we need to talk about the "big two" robot show genres in Japan, which are as follows:

Real Robot -- This refers to a typically military setting or other serious setting, in which robots are handled as realistically as possible in terms of how they work and how they are applied. There tend to be less individual/sentient robots and more "suit" type mechs right along side human-made, more realistic machinery and mech designs, although that isn't entirely unique to this genre. Usually this stuff is labelled as sci-fi/action outside of Japan.

Super Robot (THIS IS THE SHIT TRANSFORMERS FANS GENERALLY WANT) --Essentially borderline seemingly magical robots with their own rules and in universe backstory for how they work, which isn't necessarily tied to realism. Usually this stuff is labelled as sci-fi/fantasy or space fantasy outside of Japan, since a lot of these tend to be space robots. They can be "driven" by pilots or just straight up sentient robots who are vibing with some human companions, although it's not exclusively that. It can be both, it can be neither, but no matter what, Super Robot shows are less about strict realism and more about really cool shit with robots that are basically their own people and exist according to their own rules.

Now, the trailer for BBBB (the acronym for the show is based on the Japanese title, which is Bang Brave Bang Bravern) is a COMPLETE FUCKING LIE.

It wants you to think this is going to be some dumbass GI Joe shit.

While there are elements of dumbass GI Joe shit, this is largely just to set up the premise for why shit is happening in the first place, and to help introduce the main threat (alien space creatures with fucking light beam lasers) as well as bring in our main characters under the premise of everyone having to work together to address this alien threat to Earth.

What we care about here amongst Transformers freaks is gay space robots, and this show delivers.

Getting Into Bravern: First Episode, Mild Plot Spoiler Summary

It wants you to think this is a Real Robot show.

The first episode sets things up as though it will be a Real Robot show.

There is a threat to Earth, a mystery space alien mechanical enemy, and nobody knows what the fuck to do. A military exercise between multiple nations using Titanostriders (which look very much like Shiro Masamune Appleseed-style mechs, human made in nature) to practice battle drills who are now instructed to swap over to real ammunition and go to fucking town.

Nobody knows how to do that.

They're skilled with the Titanostriders, sure, but it turns into a shit show. The alien mechanical enemies are using fucking space laser shit, it's a disaster---

--And then Bravern drops in from the fucking sky and it IMMEDIATELY TURNS INTO A SUPER ROBOT SHOW.

There's a "get in the robot, Shiji" moment where one of the Titanostrider operators, Isami Ao, is encouraged by Bravern to get inside of him.

He does. And immediately has no idea what the fuck is going on, Bravern is largely in control, and starts to blast his own theme song inside his cockpit as diegetic music while Isami is generally losing his shit, as one might do.

Humanity's reaction to Bravern is Real Robot genre type, where it is handled seriously by all the characters and organisations involved in universe, however Bravern is very much a Super Robot genre character who brings more of a Super Robot energy to the show at large.

The serious elements are mostly balanced by how fucking silly Bravern is, and there are some excellent moments in this show (currently only 6 episodes have been released) which make it entirely worth a watch.

Fun Things About Bravern Himself

Braven is very, very, very gay for his pilot.

Chances are, you've seen the screenshots of some of these moments on Tumblr already, but the delivery of these lines is magnificent.

Bravern sings his own theme song. It's the voice actor for Bravern doing the vocals, and the song itself is reminiscent of 1970s orchestrated big band energy mecha themes. For Transformers fans, it has a very Transformers Victory theme kind of vibe to it.

You gotta hear it, it fucking rules. The album cover shows Bravern holding a giant microphone.

Bravern is generally light hearted, doing his best to motivate his pilot while not hesitating to enter the action and try to defend humanity.

Now, why does Bravern care about humans so much? We don't know, but we'll talk about some mysteries in a later section below.

He is surprisingly insightful at times, while also fucking around and enjoying himself. (You may have seen screenshots going around Tumblr of Bravern with a loop of hot dogs strung around one of his chevron points on his forehead. This follows a scene in which he wants his pilot to take a break and associate with his peers for once, as a way to relieve stress. So they go to a bar, it turns out reception is positive and someone even brings weenies out for Bravern since he's too big to fit inside, lol.)

Generally, he's a very interesting mech, because we have so little information about him. He's fun, and clearly vibing, but he's also borderline if not outright obsessed with his pilot and has unknown origins, which has lead to some darker interpretations and audience discussion.

A lot of people have compared Bravern's energy to Rodimus, and generally I would agree with that. He has his high-energy silly moments, and his more serious personal moments (primarily with Isami, but also with Smith), and I think these aspects of his character work well to create a fun mech with the potential to be deep in a believable and effective way, with an equal capacity for being a doofus.

Bravern is obviously the number one reason to watch the show for most people, and I would say that if you're purely here for a giant gay space robot, then this is going to be a decent watch.

The Military Sucks: There Are Militaries Involved Yet Somehow This Is Still Watchable

I hate the fucking military, so at least the military here is depicted in an acceptable way (so far, at least). In episode 2, they waterboard Isami to interrogate him for information he doesn't have regarding Bravern, which is a realistically shitty and awful thing for the military to do-- They don't sugarcoat how fucked up the military is. These people very much have the capacity to harm their own staff, and they will do so if it means they might get an edge over the enemy.

At the same time, the actual characters in the military are depicted as primarily doing this shit out of a genuine personal desire to defeat these horrendously destructive space entities, which have attacked at least some of their home towns and home countries, so it's more personal rather than purely being a military directive that people are being forced to follow.

In this way, it's not really realistic, but everyone is on board for their own largely humanitarian aid type of reasons (there is a mission which is basically just locating survivors of an attack and then getting the fuck out) which makes the military context feel less oppressive and shitty.

Part of why this is more OK than other military depictions is because the military forces involved here are international (collaborating to defeat a global threat rather than kill each other's civilians) and because the military is clearly losing this war.

Because it's an international effort, this brings more diversity to the show-- There's a surprising amount of English interspersed between dialogue in Japanese here and there, and the military board consists of representatives from multiple nations, including some Germans who at first believe Bravern is some kind of secret American operation, lmao.

Bravern calls the military out on its shit, and essentially tells the military board to stop with the suspicious infighting bullshit and drop the internal tension because otherwise they'll all die to this mechanical nightmare creature threat.

They actually listen, which means this is an unrealistic portrayal of the military, lmao. I think they struck a good balance so far between showing that the military sucks and has problems, while also making sure that you're not really cheering for any given military force, but rather, you cheer for individual characters who just happen to be stuck doing this military shit as a premise for anything to be going on in the show at all.

So it's not the worst when it comes to the military shit; At least so far, it's watchable, which as someone who passionately hates the fucking military, is surprising to me.

It's less GI Joe and more "we just needed a reason for these characters to be involved in this situation".

Of course, your mileage may vary, but personally I found it easy to tune out or just skip through any military shit that got grating and I didn't miss anything important by doing so. At the very least, you can skip around and ignore a lot of this stuff and get right to the gay robot if that's all you want to do. It becomes clear pretty quickly what's going on if you skip around a bit, so no worries there.

Fun Speculation: What is Bravern?

Only 6 episodes are out at the moment, so there's tons of shit we don't know yet.

Bravern has a notable resemblance to a type of enemy in the show, called a Death-Drive.

Death-Drives are mecha who are distinct from the "minion" type enemies (which almost resemble flying saucers with laser gun arms and light shields), and have their own unique character designs and names.

Why these things are here, how they are here, why they are interested in Earth, and everything else is currently unknown.

Bravern looks like he could possibly be of the same mechanical species, although we don't know if that's true (yet). He has abilities that the other mecha don't seem to have, but how far this goes and what it might mean is not yet clear.

Bravern also seems to have knowledge of human media (he references The Abyss at one point and he likes 3D printing figures of sentai show characters lmao), and was immediately able to speak to the humans using language they would understand, so it's unclear if Bravern may have been studying Earth for some time before his arrival or why.

He is obsessed with his pilot and cares for him so much that he extends some care towards others purely based on their relation to Isami as co-workers; Why? What makes Isami special?

How does Bravern know seemingly every human language? How does his piloting system work? How similar is he to the Death-Drives-- Are organic beings critical to them in some way? If so, why are the other mechs killing so many of us? (These are big questions especially by the end of episode 6, due to some spoilers and a spoiler character who shows up later.)

We know little to nothing about a lot of the key elements of the show, including any motivations for the Death-Drives or what they are, what's up with the fucking UFO looking laser things, etc.

There's more to speculate on, but that would be getting into deeper spoiler territory so I'm gonna hold back on that for now.

Summary: It's Gay and Cool and Has Interesting Ideas

Bravern's not the sole source of gay vibes in this show, but it's fun that he is also a source of gay vibes in this show.

The designs are great, the Titanostriders remind me of Appleseed style mechanical suit designs which is nice, the Death-Drives are super interesting, Bravern is fucking fabulous but he's not too goofy to take seriously, and the military is unfortunately present but it's clear that they suck and are generally losing (and since the conflict is not between different groups of humans but rather is about human collaboration to defeat a non-human shared threat to our entire planet, this goes a long way to make the military shit tolerable).

It pretends to be a Real Robot show but has so much Super Robot show sprinkled in that you might as well consider it a little bit of both which the show balances pretty well.

I haven't watched an anime since around 2008 at the very latest, so I don't know how this might compare to any other robot animes since then and I am certainly not an anime expert by any means LOL, but this has been a fun show to watch so far.

It does have its problems, of course, but if you can get past the setup for the first episode (when it's still pretending to be a Real Robot show), from the moment Bravern arrives towards the end of that first episode, the show gains momentum and starts to get interesting very quickly.

It has some issues. But we're only 6 episodes in, so at the moment, they have plenty of time to potentially address those issues and we'll see where things go.

I'd recommend it if you want to give it a try!

I think there's enough here to appeal to the usual Transformers crowd and you might end up liking it, or at least having fun while watching it in the background.

If you end up wanting to to tap out then no worries-- I think it's worth giving it a shot and if it's not your thing, no problem.

Each episode is around 25 - 30 minutes, so while the first episode might feel like a slog to get through because fuck the military, once Bravern shows up the show actually gets started and I wouldn't blame anyone for just skipping to that point in the first episode and going from there, because there's nothing in that opening that you won't be reminded of or be able to figure out. It mostly just sets up the intro to the human characters and the collaboration training session, introduces the Titanostriders as a thing, and you can always go back and watch that part later if you want to.

All in all, pretty decent! Obviously we're Transformers people so we're here for the robots, and the robots are interesting and fun, and that's all I need to have a good time.

Hopefully this was a useful summary if you're interested or have seen Bravern stuff on your dash! :)

Thanks for reading!

BONUS: I forgot to mention this somehow, but there's a lot of overlap between Transformers and other Brave shows involving actual Transformers re-used in Japan for these shows; There's a good video about it here on YouTube which explains some of this, but if anyone's wondering, yes Bravern has a grounder alt-mode and it's pretty cool. Will we get a transforming Bravern figure??? We can hope!

There's another video here which mentions some of the Transformers elements in other Brave shows/Yuusha, which might be interesting for those of you who are unaware. :)

[everythingne]

akin to a pride, mv1

[series, 1] - 'the lions come at night'

Reina 'Little Lion' Matsumoto is known for her reckless driving on the track, earning her the nickname she partly shares with a certain 3x WDC. Off the track, however, she's known for being bubbly, bright, and kind. When she's reached out to by F1 about joining their new 'Siblings Mentorship,' a program that will pair her with a 'similar F1 driver' as her mentor for the upcoming season, she fully expects Daniel or Lando.

Her surprise comes in the form of Max Verstappen, and though she thinks they won't be that much alike off track, she's quick to find it's quite the opposite. Reina learns she needs someone who understands what shes going through to lean on, and Max learns that sometimes healing comes in breaking a cycle that's not your own.

(multipart series, non-linear in writing)

warnings/notes: mentioned/implied abusive father, father being manipulative and nasty via phone call, [word] used to show other languages being spoken, probably inaccurate/purposefully inaccurate f2/f1 information but its for the plot, also purposefully incorrect NASCAR information (RBR having a currently running NASCAR team being part of it), and probably incorrect Japanese culture (please correct me, I'm not Japanese myself!!), 5k words.

face claim: nina hillman

MAX HAD ALWAYS ENJOYED MEETING YOUNG FANS. Especially the ones who were karting or just getting into motorsports, there was something strong and pure in their hearts--a full love for what they were doing that was so refreshing to him. The media could wear him down day after day, racing every few weekends and changing time zones over and over making him a bit of a husk. He and the people he worked around were always so drained and tired, but one meeting with a young fan, listen to their proud "I'll be just like you when I grow up" and a big grin as they snapped a photo with him would always set him right.

Victoria had called him soft but he didn't care. He was the go-to babysitter of her two sons for a reason, the so called 'baby whisperer' by her husband and the beloved Uncle Max who they cheered on every other weekend on TV. When Victoria's eldest had an F1 themed birthday party with his class, Max had shown up with some of his gear in his car just in case, and ended up being the life of the party as he let each kid try on some of his old helmets and gloves and such.

Max loved the few and far between meetings he had with kids because they always seemed to come to him at the perfect times. Like the day Christian asked him if he wanted to do a program a few other drivers were a doing. It was a season long 'older siblings' mentorship for teens in the F3 or F2 leagues so they could get insight into what being an F1 driver was like and how it differed from what they were doing now. It had been mentioned off hand, with Christian expecting Max to say no and that he 'didnt want to do that media stuff', but imagine Christian's surprise when the man instantly said yes. He said it with no hesitation, a small smile peeking on his lips as he asked who he'd be helping.

"Reina Matsumoto." Christian had said and Max's eyes widened with a mix of excitement and genuine happiness as a grin peeked at his lips as he looked through Reina's social medias. It was a face Christian hadn't seen much, typically reserved for Penelope or Victoria's boys.

"Oh, wait until I tell Kelly!" He'd laughed, following the driver and shutting off his phone as he'd crosses his arms and smiled.

Geri had laughed with her whole heart when Christian told the story to her that night, watching as she attempted to pack three school lunches, do the dishes, and clean up while he was making his way over to help her. He dropped his bag on the floor by the island, hands coming up to her back as he slipped behind her and into the kitchen.

"He's got a big heart," Geri said gently with a grin on her lips, pausing mid sandwich packing to press a kiss to her husband's cheek. Her nails scratched slightly as she pat his shoulder as she handed him the dishes she needed put away, "and look at him and little Penelope! He's practically her father."

"This is a teenager though." Christian emphasized as he opened the cabinet with one hand, the other balancing a stack of plates from dinner--porkchops, he'd missed it due to being in the office for the exact thing they're talking about.

He sets down the dishes in their respective spots and shuts the cabinet as he turns back to Geri, "She's seventeen, she’s Bluebell's age.”

"First of all," Geri zips closed the remaining lunch bags for the kids and turns to Christian as she points at him, "Teenager or not, Max knows how to deal with kids. We've seen that."

Geri then flicks her wrist to show a peace sign she points at Christian once more, "and second, she's from Formula Two and she? Is it Matsumoto?"

"Yep. The Reina Matsumoto, Miss Little Lion," Christian nods, the girls nickname being given due to her driving style being very similar to Max's when he was her age. Controlled chaos, slightly reckless depending on the day, but she almost always left unscathed.

"Her dad was one of Japan's top Tour Racing drivers," Christian explains as he moves to help Geri finishing wiping off the counters, "Her mom raced drift cars in the states, works in NASCAR now. Reina used to live with her dad in Japan. She just moved to England to continue pursuing racing."

"So she has two motorsports parents... how much pressure is on her?" Geri crosses her arms as she leans back on the kitchen island and Christian lets out a low whistle as he rubs his forehead.

"I don't know, they don't exactly brief me on her entire past, Ger. But from what I was able to dig up on her father? It's not good."

"Do you think they teamed her with Max because of how they were both raised?" Geri pushes off the counter to open the fridge and waves over Christian to help her stuff the lunch boxes inside with all the leftovers and other foodstuffs stacked in the fridge,

"I don't know. But looking at the words 'Project Matsumoto' as the third term when I looked up her name; and having it be an article where her dad says he pushes her to be her best 'no matter what he has to do to make her'? I can't imagine it's anything good."

Geri sighs, rolling her neck and then nodding, "But how's her mother?"

"Oh, Hana is a sweetheart. She owned the NASCAR side of Red Bull Racing until about... two years ago, when she took full custody of her daughter. Now she does engineering, she has nothing but good articles about her."

"So, dad who forces her to be the best in every race she does, and a mom who was in racing but doesn't seem to push her too hard. Parents divorced, she lived with her father, now she lives with her mother." Geri recounts and when Christian nods sharply she starts to laugh and rub at her forehead.

"So... literally Max?" She says and Christian just nods again. There's no other way to explain it, she was simply a younger version of Max. But maybe there was a chance here, to save some of the love for the world she had left, because while Max was a genuine sweetheart he was always a bit haunted in Geri's eyes.

If she could save Reina from looking the same way, that would be her own personal WDC.

reinamatsumoto made a new post !

liked by biancabustamente, lilymhe, premaracing, and 15k others...

reinamatsumoto: winter break recap. whew. what a time. from my dad's place in fukushima to my grandparents home in washington state, to buying an apartment by myself in london :D!! (with my mom living there until I know how to adult because lord knows I can't be trusted by myself yet..)

also, big news! I am excited to announce ill be joining in the f2 to f1 mentorship program! I cannot wait to see which f1 driver I get to annoy with my useless knowledge of everything (and katsu…)

tagged: mrshanatanaka

mrshanatanaka: [my beautiful daughter] xx

user1: so pretty!!

biancabustamente: so i need your whole workout routine

⤷ reinamatsumoto: when are you back in london ?? I can take u to my trainers .. 👀

premaracing: so happy to have you back reina!

Dear Reina Matsumoto,

I READ MY NAME FOR THE THIRD TIME, fingers dusting over the slight texture change from the ink on the white paper that slightly creases in my hand. René had handed it to me at Prema last weekend before I went home for Christmas. Inside was a little invitation from Formula One. I had assumed, and kinda prayed, it was some sort of contract for any team (my fingers had crossed briefly for Red Bull) but was also a bit more delighted to see it was an invitation to their 'siblings' mentorship program. I took my time reading the letter, glossing over the words asking if I would be fine being trained by a handpicked Formula One driver who matched my driving style and my personality...I was elated.

I didn't know many drivers who matched both, maybe like Lando as the closest, or if we pushed it a bit maybe Daniel but his driving was more reserved than mine. I had explained to my mother, and she had joked saying my closest match would be Max. But I doubted they'd put him with me. I doubted he'd even said yes to the whole thing, everyone knew Max hated media stunts that didn't involve him driving some weird ass vehicle or like, putting snow chains on an F1 car.

I roll over to slide the note back on my bedside table, sighing as I curl deeper into my blankets to try and fight off the chill I still felt after my afternoon run in the light snow. Probably my last exterior run of the year, I was lucky to get one so close to the end of December.

The heater fan is on high blast next to my bed, rolling warm air across my chest as I look out the window and into the setting sun on the snow tipped trees of Washington State. My mom had worked hard to get us here, to her parents home up in a coastal town, where I can faintly smell some sort of curry dish being prepared by my grandmothers nimble hands. My grandfather a fisherman, my grandmother a school treasurer, my mother a business owner and engineer, her only daughter an aspiring Formula One driver.

Quite a group.

My attempt at warmth is abruptly ended by my mother knocking on my door, waiting only a brief moment before entering. She's dressed from work, I can tell it was some sort of zoom meeting by the slippers she has on. Her hair is pulled back, makeup light on her face as the warm golden rays slip through into my room from the hallway.

"You got mail, Rei, did you not see it on the counter?" My mother asks with a slight huff, sitting on the edge of my bed and cranking up my heater with a complaint about how its still too cold in my little room. It was supposed to be an office, but when I visited my grandparents and moms side of the family (since my aunt and cousins lived with them here in the states) it became my room so I didn't have to share with toddlers.

"Jiji was cooking, didn't wanna disturb her." I say softly, looking over at my mother and noticing the giddy expression on her face. Her eyes are sparkling as her nails crease the edges of the letter.

"What?" I ask, looking up at her through the thick fuzzy blankets that cover me and basically cement me down to the bed with their weight. Another wonderful thing about my grandparents, they were always prepared.

"It's from Oracle Red Bull Racing." my mother emphasizes each word with a huge smile that only seems to grow. My mother had raced for Red Bull back when she was a bit older than me, and owned their NASCAR team for years, which she now was an engineer for. I think her excitement bleeds onto me as I throw myself up into a seated position and snag the unopened letter. I take it and nearly tear the damn thing open, my mom laughing as I hand her the envelope and flip the letter open to read aloud.

"Miss Matsumoto/Matsumoto-san," I say and then whistle, "Someone did their homework."

My mom laughs and urges me to keep reading, and so, I take a deep breath and read the words that seem so powerful even with their tiny ten or so pixel statue.

"We at Oracle Red Bull Racing wish you well this holiday season, and it's an honor for me, Christian Horner, to welcome you to the family as the younger sister/mentee of three time world champion, Max Verstappen!--"

My mom squeals in excitement at the same time I do. The usually reserved side of her gone as she leaps off my bed and jumps around as I kick my legs in excitement. Seconds later I'm falling back as my mom is crashing into me in a bone crushing hug as she laughs with watery eyes I ignore for both of our sakes.

"Oh! Oh my god, that's so exciting!" She shouts.

"[Is everything okay?]" I hear my grandfather rough voice call from the base of the stairs in Japanese and my mother lifts her head away from my ear to shout through the doorway,

"[Yes, yes, everything is fine!]" My mother laughs once more, "[Just some very good news,] keep reading Rei, keep reading!"

"Okay, okay!" I laugh, grabbing the letter and continuing down the page, trying to keep myself from skipping ahead in excitement.

"We are very excited to get to know you over this season, and look forward to meeting you in person for the first time soon! In fact, we have extended an invitation for you to meet Max and the rest of RBR at our home base in Milton Keynes on January 5th-10th. We will provide you and one guest a flight over if needed, room and board at The Berkeley in London as well as transportation to and from our garage.

We eagerly await your response. Thank you and welcome!

Christian Horner."

But the letter doesn't stop there, in fact, there's a little hand written note that's been scanned to fit on the paper and I squint to read the scratchy handwriting.

'Reina,

Hello! It's Max, your 'big brother' or mentor for this upcoming season. As you may know, I'll be your right hand this season when it comes to advice with driving and media, but I wanted to extend an invitation for you to ask/talk about any of your interests or just life in general. I genuinely cannot wait to get to see how we get along (as I'm sure we will) and I hope you have a wonderful holidays with your family.

See you in January!

Max Verstappen.

(ps. I wrote my phone number on the back of this, feel free to send me a text/call and introduce yourself!)'

The exciting news brings my family to tears of joy as we celebrate with loud laughter and tight hugs. Max Verstappen. A three time world champion helping me of all people learn the real ins and outs of racing? It’s like a dream come true.

And even though I know it should be the absolute last thing I ever could even think about asking, he’d been raised similar to myself. I needed to know how he handled it, or the lack thereof.

redbullracing made a new post !

liked by gerihalliwell, reinamatsumoto, misshanatanaka and 674k others..

redbullracing: Introducing the final set of mentorship siblings for this season! Our @ maxverstappen will be mentoring @ premaracing 's @ reinamatsumoto for the upcoming season. Reina is known across Formula 2 for her bubbly bright personality and colorful disposition. Join us on TikTok Live, January 5th at 6pm BST to see them in action!

user1: sunshine x grumpy trope frfr

misshanatanaka: so excited for my little lion cub !

user2: they definetely picked her for her little lion nickname and yk what. respect.

reinamatsumoto: this is such an incredible opportunity, thank you so much red bull!!!

danielricciardo: soon we will have a whole god damn lion pride in RBR.

user3: unlikely duo actually?

logansargeant: and they wouldnt give ME reina???

⤷ maxverstappen: another L for logan sargeant

⤷ logansargeant: i'm gonna take your damn knees old man

⤷ reinamatsumoto: its ok logan i will never forget my first (and favorite) f2 teammate 💙

WALKING INTO RED BULL'S HEADQUARTERS WAS LIKE A DREAM. My mom chats with the woman whose brought us in eagerly, and excitedly points to a photo of her on the wall from the early 2000s. I'm shocked to see Christian Horner's in the photo as well. Reading the little plaque under makes it all click, it's a photo of all the 'team principles' or their equivalents of each Red Bull Sporting branch at the time.

My fingers skim over the names, EHC Red Bull München, FC Red Bull Salzburg, Hansen Motorsport, JMB Racing, and eventually I find my moms name, 'Hana Matsumoto (neé, Tanaka) Team Leader: Red Bull Racing (NASCAR).'

"Ah! Glad you both could make it!" A voice calls and I snap my head to its source, making his way across the big expanse of the lobby is Christian Horner, Geri following close behind her husband with a glittery smile. My mother shakes his hand and the two begin conversing, immediately snapping back into some sort of old pals situation while I step back to admire it.

My mother, after my father abandoned us when I was twelve, refused to touch racing for years, except for when it came to me and my karting. When I advanced to rally, she got back into working for NASCAR as an engineer, and then when I was going into Formula Four she had become a head engineer for Red Bull's NASCAR team.

I had never had an opportunity to work for Red Bull myself, narrowly missing making their junior team due to my dad's interference. I had hated Red Bull due to my fathers influence, but once or twice I caught my mother reminiscing over old images of her in her glory days of drift cars and owning a NASCAR team, and it made me wonder...

I wondered about wearing navy blue, standing on a podium, racing a car that would rocket itself around a track with no issue. And then slowly my mind would shift and I would wonder what else my father had stolen from her other than money and her daughter for years. A stolen daughter for some sort of prize he could never get for himself. A Formula One racer. Something I could be, something he would beat into me.

"And you must be Reina." Geri's voice catches me off guard and pulls me out of whatever pouty moment I've found myself in. The smile on my face is real as I allow her to pull me into a tight hug, her warm hands settling on my back as she squeezes me. It's safety in two arms, immediately, and I relax into it as I place one hand on the center of her back.

"Geri Horner, it's such an honor to finally meet my favorite Spice Girl." I say into the hug and Geri laughs, stepping back to squeeze me shoulders in her hands as she looks me over with an approving grin.

"Good to know you have taste!" She teases, turning to my mother who nods and laughs as she makes her way over to where Geri has come to distract me. Christian grabs his phone out of his pocket, glancing behind him, but I miss what he calls out as my Mom starts to speak to Geri.

"Yep! God, we have so much Spice Girls stuff in our house in Washington you'd think it was a museum." My mother giggles, patting my back as she sends me a small grin, "I think you even have a replica of the union jack dress."

"It's in Fukushima, so who knows if it's still there." I hum, my smile dropping for half a second as I remember the cold home I had lived in for years, before I force it back up, "But I bet I can find photos of it!"

"Would love to see them." Geri places a hand on her heart, then turns to Christian as he approaches us. He brings us to a small room, two chairs facing a few cameras, interns and workers milling around the room as I'm instructed to sit down in one of the chairs. I sit down as told, crossing my ankles as my mom frets with my collar and sweater for a few moments, then presses a kiss to my forehead and tells me to be kind before slipping behind the lights that shine on me.

"Alright, we're gonna have you introduce yourself..." A woman starts to explain the protocols to me. The stream is running right now, people can see me, but the audio is muted. On her signal, I'll introduce myself, and then they'll start a QnA with me while they wait for Max to arrive. I nod along, smiling when she compliments me and laughing at her jokes with practiced kindness. I wasn't media trained, but rather trained by walking on eggshells and keeping peace for years.

Eventually, I'm cued in, and I wave happily.

"Hello!" I cheer, "I'm Reina Matsumoto, known as Rei or Little Lion, this is my third year racing for Prema in Formula Two. I finished my first season with them in second, right behind Oscar Piastri, my second season I unfortunately didn't complete due to personal issues and an injury, and so I'm looking to use this season as a comeback to finally get my hands on an F2 win.

"I'm going to be mentored by Max Verstappen, which is... just really incredible." I feel heat rush to my cheeks and I let a giddy smile cross my face, "So yeah! Let's get on with the QnA?"

A man steps up so I can see him, and holds up a phone, he scrolls before landing on a question he likes,

"Can you explain your racing journey to us?"

"Oh! Yeah! So I started karting in Japan with my father when I was barely three, and started competing on my fifth birthday. I kept karting, I won, I lost, y'know, and got into rally racing for a few years when I was around ten to fourteen, then I went into Formula Four when I was fifteen, did half a season of F3, and then jumped to compete in Formula Two the last three years." I explain, having to pause a few times to think and make sure I'm getting my age right. Trying my best to keep my voice happy as I recount the time spent with my father, "Around the time I switched to Formula racing, I also moved in with my Mom, Hana Tanaka, in the United States and lived partially in England."

"Do you race for Japan or for the States?"

"I'm racing for Japan since I'm technically a citizen of Japan living on a work visa in the UK. I lived in Japan for years, my mother traveling back to the states a lot for work, and--uhm," I swallowed, glancing down at my left wrist briefly as my hand twitched and my pinkie struggled to close up in the fist I balled up, "I lived with my father there when my parents divorced, from when I was nine to thirteen."

"Do you have a favorite F1 driver who is racing right now?"

"If I say anyone other than Logan or Oscar they'll be very upset." I grin, kicking my feet a little, "They're basically my older brothers! They took me in when I started racing F2, since we all raced together, and I'm really proud of both of them and all their hard work."

After maybe ten or so more questions, the man leans back as someone whispers something to him and he nods, there's a bit of a shuffle and then I see a door open. I know it's Max who walks in even if I can only see his shadow behind the lights. I try to hide my giddy smile as the same woman from before steps in front of me and begins to announce Max and I are meeting for the first time. I take a deep breath, swallow my nerves, and plaster on the most professional smile I can muster. Max is much taller than I am, that much is obvious when he dips under a light to come in front of the camera and I stand immediately to greet him. I expect him to go for a handshake, but I'm pleasantly surprised with a hug. We take our respective seats, Max gives his little introduction to the camera, and then we're off.

"So this is a drawing challenge." We're both handed whiteboards and I grin, looking at Max who laughs and looks down at the whiteboard being set in his hands. I can see a little playful gleam in his eyes, something I've never caught before in the hundreds of photos and videos I've seen of him. It's intriguing but I don't have time to stare, and this is hardly the place to do so.

"You guys are about to be amazed at how much someone can suck at art." He says, uncapping his pen.

"You both have to try and draw each other in three minutes," She says, "and then there will be a poll on who won."

The timer goes off then and I prop the whiteboard up and begin drawing. I had doodled as a hobby, so I make it less realistic (because lord knows I can't do that) and make it more cutesy. I giggle at my drawing as I add a little flare to it and when times up, we flip them around. The crew audibly awes over mine and Max laughs, tilting it so he can see it past the glare of the lights.

"Oh my god, I need someone to save this so I can have it. This is genuinely the cutest thing anyone has ever drawn for me." He looks at it in awe and I laugh into the back of my hand as he takes the whiteboard from me and just looks at it.

"Proud dad moment," I grin, trying to hide my obvious giddy attitude at the fact that Max fucking Verstappen was praising my shitty art skills. He nods, holding it up and telling everyone to look, which only makes me blush and grin harder.

We move on from that a few moments later, we're asked to draw each others cars, then we play a few rounds of pictionary where Max fails horribly the whole time. By the end of it, I'm laughing teary eyed as I lean onto his chair for support--and he's pretty much in the same boat as me as we both struggle to catch our breaths.

"How the hell is this a cat?!" I wheeze out, pointing at the oddly long cat he's drawn with a much too big head and much too small legs, "don't you have two? Do you not know what they look like?!"

"I can't draw! It's the thing I can't do!" He leans back in his chair, struggling to catch his breath and I have to pause to dot under my eyes so my makeup doesn't run. After a while we catch our breath, and move into QnA.

Max asks me, from a Twitter tag we both idly scroll on our phones, "What are some of your favorites? Racers, colors, TV Shows, etc?"

I look up as he asks the question and a big grin splits across my lips as I proudly announce, "When it comes to F1, I'm one hundred percent a Vettel girl,"

"Really?" He says, and I start laughing as I nod to him, adjusting the way I'm sitting as I lean on the arm of the chair a bit and wave my phone as I speak,

"I grew up watching him and Lewis Hamilton winning, y'know, so it was always like--my dad would always reprimand me and say stuff like 'you should race risky like Hamilton' or 'go fast like Vettel' so they're kinda cemented into my brain as the like--top drivers."

"My dad was the same with some older drivers, always had to practice like I was the best of the best." Max nods, but waves for me to continue on with answering the ret of the question,

"NASCAR is huge in my family, my mom works for Red Bull's NASCAR team," I explain, looking to where I think my mom stands behind the camera, "So my favorite driver from there? I'd say Jimmie Johnson or Kyle Busch. I've met them both quite a few times, since they both raced with Red Bull, and Kyle is one of my sponsors for racing right now which is so kind of him to do."

I continue when Max doesn't have a comment, "Favorite color, blue." He agrees, "TV Shows..? Right now I'm binging Doctor Who--I'm on Matt Smith's doctor right now."

"Oh, which episode?"

"Uhm... I just finished The Almost People. So I think next is A Good Man Goes to War?" I turn and watch Max's face light up as he makes a soft gasping noise in the back of his throat.

"Oh you have to tell me how you like that episode. It's so good."

My eyes widen, "You've seen Doctor Who?"

"Kelly watches it all the time. When I started watching them with her she made us restart at The Ninth Doctor and watch from there, and then we went back and watched all the older episodes but her favorite is The Ninth Doctor so she made me start there. I think my favorite is him or The War Doctor."

"My favorite so far is the eleventh." I smile, kicking my feet a little once again and Max nods.

"A solid choice."

We run through another twenty minutes or so before signing off, and the energy in the room is light and almost electric as we begin to pack up. A phone call ends up with me slipping out into the hall as everyone mingles, my mom loudly laughing with Kelly and Geri as Christian brings Max over to introduce to my mother. I catch Max's eye fleetingly as I whisk around and slip out into the much quieter hall, pressing my phone to my ear.

"[Hello, Dad.]" I say into the phone, the ten missed calls from him already enough to make my blood icy and my hands shaken.

"[Why weren't you answering me? Am I not important?]" His voice is hard as it always is when he thinks I've wronged him. It makes my heart pound a little bit harder, makes me swallow, makes my hands twitch.

"[I was doing work with Red Bull, Dad. I wasn't with my phone, I'm sorry.]" I say into the phone, crossing one arm over my chest as I look out into the little track behind the building from the windows, walking up to lean against a pole that separates the panes of glass.

"[Oh, about that, you didn't want to tell me? Hm? That you even thought of signing up for that? You're going to waste the talent of a three time world champion on yourself? On the lack of talent you have? You couldn't even beat that Australian boy, now you expect Max Verstappen to want to help you?]" My fathers voice grows harsher, the insults digging deep into my chest and ripping at my confidence and my heart. I hear the door next to me open, but I can't even spare a glance as my fathers hateful tirade continues. I lose track of what he's saying, his voice louder, and when I don't respond he claims I'm 'losing my heritage' and switches to English to mock me. I feel someone behind me, eyes glancing up in the reflection to see Max leaning on the wall on the other side of the hallway.

"[Dad--]" I try, but he cuts me off with more ramblings.

"A waste of talent, a waste of that mans time!" He shouts, "You are nothing but--"

A hand comes to grab the phone, a thumb thats not mine pressing to end the call. I flinch at the touch, but it's warm, and when I look up Max just watches me before slipping my phone back into my hand and sighing. Nothing is said, he just turns and nods over his shoulder. Max moves like a ghost back to the doorway, eyes peeking over at me from under his hat and his voice carries down the hall to me.

"You're not wasting my time. I picked you."

And then he slips into the room where I can hear my mother replaying some story of my early racing days to someone, and I blink back the tears that well up with my shaky sigh. Then something hits me, eyes widening as I stare after Max's retreated form.

Max had picked me to be his mentee.

He picked me. Me.

And a giddy smile crosses my face before I can try and suppress it.

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formulaupdates: Reina Matusmoto (Prema, f2) joined Max Verstappen (Red Bull, F1) to welcome their 'siblingship' this season during a livestream on Red Bull's TikTok wearing the teams signature color in a vintage Ralph Lauren sweater! (+ a scanned version her drawing of Max for everyones icon needs)

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[matenr0u]

Oblivion, the Riku Keyblade: Translation

Oblivion/Bygone Memories

過ぎ去りし思い出Sugisarishi Omoide

Here’s my entry point for a bit of a deep dive into the ‘Riku Keyblade’. I have a few points jotted down about Oblivion, since it’s one of my favourite keyblades, but I’ll start with the name of it.

First it’s important to establish that despite being the Riku Keyblade, it’s actually symbolic of not just Riku alone but specifically Sora’s relationship with him. As the series progresses it gains a level of importance to other characters too, but being a Sora enjoyer I tend to regard Roxas and Xion like two little hamsters that escaped their pen and need to be stuffed back in, so I’m not sure if I’ll overly talk about them.

On to the name: I like the sound of the already established translation, ‘Passing Memories’, but I find ‘Passing’ is a word much too vague compared to ‘Bygone Memories’, so as a personal preference I’ll refer to it with my own interpretation unless someone more fluent in Japanese demonstrates another name that rolls more easily off the tongue.

Anyway, let’s get into the meat of this thing and how I reached this conclusion.

EN: Oblivion

JP: 過ぎ去りし思い出Sugisarishi Omoide

過ぎ去りし = Sugisarishi = Bygone/Long ago/Departed

思い出 = Omoide = Memory/Memories 

過ぎ = Too much/Passed/Past

去りし = Gone

Bygone Memories

Generally you can think of the meaning like, ‘a keyblade representing our shared memories of the distant past.’

Another interpretation more specific to the breakdown of their relationship could be, ‘our fond memories which have been left by the wayside.’

An example of how this phrase is typically used: 

過ぎ去りし日の思い出 

Memories of bygone days

I wonder if the keyblade’s name is a contraction of this phrase.

I don’t get the feeling that 過ぎ去りし思い出/Sugisarishi Omoide implies literally confused/forgotten memories as much as the EN name Oblivion does; moreso a nostalgic, or melancholy, reflection on good times between two people which occurred long ago.

I think both the EN and JP names can be interpreted to suit Sora and Riku’s connection to this Keyblade well, but there’s some nuance I’d like to get into.

忘却 Bokyaku is the term used in the JP name for Castle Oblivion — 忘却の城/Bokyaku no Shiro (Castle of Oblivion) — this word translates much more literally to Oblivion, a state of confusion or having forgot, than 過ぎ去りし/Sugisarishi, which is more like ‘long since passed/departed’. 

For this reason I get the idea that the keyblade was named Oblivion in EN because it sounds badass, still gets the point across, and goes well with Oathkeeper (which also has some liberties taken in the translation, presumably because that too sounds cooler to a western audience*).

There is a similar example within Kingdom Hearts’ usage of the word ‘memories’, too. In contrast to 記憶/kioku which is used for Memory’s Skyscraper — and sounds closer to, plainly, ‘one’s own memory/recollection’ —, the term 思い出/omoide usually denotes a memory or memories shared between people. It has a much more reminiscent tone of fond memories (or, perhaps, a particular memory?) shared with another, which fits well with the purpose of this keyblade and adds a bit of nuance that the EN name Oblivion lacks.

*You can also see this reflected in KHIII Oblivion’s default shotlock, named ‘Bladefury Eclipse’ in EN and ドーンエクリプス/Dawn Eclipse in JP. The JP name is much more meaningful to Sora and Riku and it’s a shame this was cast aside for cool points. ‘Dawn’ is written right there in kana, why didn’t they use it?

Meanwhile the shotlock ステラインセプション/Stellar Inception — which is shared with its sister keyblade Oathkeeper — remains identical in EN and JP.

I have Thoughts about the item required to obtain Oblivion in KHIII, known as Proof of Times Past in EN, but for now I’ll offer a simple translation.

EN: Proof of Times Past

JP: 過ぎ去りし証 Sugisarishi Akashi

Certificate of the Bygone

Or, ‘Evidence of Long Ago’

This one checks out, but some EN players seem confused about this certificate being called Times Past while the keyblade is called Oblivion. Hopefully my translation notes on the JP name shed some light on it.

And the item description:

EN: “A certificate awarded to those who have endured the most difficult trial of them all.”

JP: 「険しい戦いを制した者に贈られる証」

`Kewashii tatakai o seishita mono ni okurareru akashi'

“A certificate awarded to those who have overcome an insurmountable battle.”

Not much to add here either, but as a game dev myself I really enjoy the tiny gameplay detail of Sora literally being rewarded with Bygone Memories for pushing through ‘an extremely difficult conflict’— if you’re familiar with other Sora & Riku centric KH analyses, you can probably see where I’m going with this, so I’ll save that tangent for another day.

That about wraps up this part.

A final note for those who subscribe to the necklace theory: Bygone Memory — as in, a singular fond memory shared between two people long ago that may have since been cast aside, is an equally valid translation of the JP name.

This is just a fun little rant into the void, if I missed anything or made any mistakes, feel free to add on to it.

[prezaki]

Bucchigiri?! and 'being Honki' - a Show about Identity and Human Connection

With Hiroko Utsumi's newest work as a director now completed, I want to take a moment to discuss the thematic through-lines of Bucchigiri?! and explain why I think that the story was very coherent even if it first seemed erratic.

At the heart of the series is the concept of the Honki Person(TM) - and that's where the confusion starts. Leaving the word 'Honki' in Japanese for the subs suggests a lore-heavy emphasis on some kind of supernatural mechanic in-story. It caused many viewers expected a well-defined shounen-typical power system - but that isn't what Honki is nor what it was ever meant to be.

"Honki" is the Japanese word 本気, which means Seriousness, Earnestness (or doing something 'in earnest, for real' if used as an adverb). 'Honki People' literally just means 'Earnest People'

And thus "Honki" is doing double duty as a red herring Lore Concept and a regular word - an intentional ambiguity that is inevitably lost by translation.

In the show, the characters do initially think of the 'Honki Person' as a literal thing to become (a supernaturally powerful master martial artist) rather than as a state of being in which one is earnest - but the thing is that the narrative proves them wrong.

But before we get to that, we need to dig a little bit deeper into what a Honki Person is thought to be in-universe:

"Historically", those thought of as Honki were fighters who participated in conflicts 300 years ago - a bit after the end of the Sengoku Period, the continuously warring states that had defined Japan for two centuries. With the advent of the rigidly structured Edo Period, honorable fighters with no clear systemic alliance were no longer needed and the aspiring Honki People(TM) were mercilessly gunned down. This feels out of left field for an anime like Bucchigiri?! to focus on, so I propose a second more allegorical layer to impose over the literal pseudo-historical read.

Even beyond the historical fact that gun imports changed warfare, the usage of guns here is deliberate to represent something. Guns are associated with authorities, and contrasted against the Honki People(TM) shunning weapons and fighting only with their own bodies.

To be Honki(TM) means to be true to yourself and secure in your own identity - this is something that is a hindrance to a social system that relies on rules and groupthink to sustain itself. Supporting this assumption, the theme of 'death' by weapon/authority is mirrored in the show several times:

On the one hand, we have the NG Boys, a gang set apart from the other gangs in the story by their even more rigid hierarchical structure and their willingness to use weaponry. They all follow one leader, have one uniform look, and appear basically brainwashed into blind obedience.

The association of weapons=structure and authority is made pretty clearly through that alone, but is also enhanced by all the members of the NG Boys living under constant threat of being fed to the real authorities of society: the police. Fear keeps everyone in line.

And further, the idea of society as an oppressive force (especially to the lower class) is put into direct focus through Mitsukuni and Matakara. Poverty is brought up briefly before through Senya (our main Honki Person(TM) was a nameless orphan after all) and brought back with the Asamine brothers:

Mitsukuni wishes to escape his social status in order to offer a better life to his brother - and he's forcibly held down by the oppressive system around him.

The cop that causes Mitsukuni to go to jail is equivalent to the guns that shot Senya and Ichiya.

(Utsumi has explored this underlying socially critical current before. Not for nothing, her previous series SK8 opens with the memorable bridge of the title song reading: "before society can kill us".)

But Bucchigiri?! isn't about overthrowing the system. It's about the individual. Understanding the context about authority just helps setting the real theme into focus.

And that theme is to hold on steadfast to who you are and allow yourself to connect with others, even in various kinds of adversity.

After this long, long preamble, let's get to the actual main characters!!

Matakara and Arajin are people who are ruled by fear and who spend 11 episodes running from others and themselves in two very different ways.

Arajin is pretty hated as a protagonist, which amuses me a little, because nobody hates Arajin more than Arajin hates Arajin.

His past cowardice in failing to protect Matakara has clearly shown him that he is a pathetic person and he's spent his whole life since then trying to avoid being reminded of this. He avoids Matakara, the strongest reminder of his failure, but further than that he avoids connection with anybody that he could see as a peer.

Arajin is solely focused on finding love and romance because he feels inherently inferior to every person he would be invited to contrast himself against. He avoids other guys because he hates himself. He shuns connection and pursues only people (girls) he views as different enough to not invite any comparison.

Matakara meanwhile has major abandonment issues - he's lost his parents, Arajin, and his brother. Everyone important to him keeps vanishing from his life and in order to keep himself from feeling powerless about this he decides to blame himself.

If it's his own fault that people leave him (because he's weak) then there is something in his power that he can do in order to avoid being hurt again (becoming stronger). In order to maintain this state of motivational self-hatred, he puts others on a pedestal.

Matakara needs Arajin to be strong, powerful, honest and admirable... because that is the image he holds himself up by. In Mitsukuni and Arajin, Matakara creates god-like icons to chase after. And by doing so, he also shuns genuine connection.

Being confronted with Arajin as a flawed person gives Matakara a breakdown because it makes it harder to run from his own loneliness by focusing on chasing after Arajin.

Arajin is always running, but Matakara is always chasing... because he can't stand to look behind and face his monster.

In a lot of ways, Arajin and Matakara can't connect because they care about each other. Arajin can't stand what he allowed to happen to Matakara because he cared about Matakara. Matakara clings to Arajin because he loves him.

This theme of love hindering connection is again mirrored in two other characters - Senya and Ichiya, of course.

Ichiya, unwilling to confront his own terminal illness head-on, wishes to avoid it by goading Senya into killing him. By doing this, he can run from his own weakness and put Senya on a pedestal instead.

Meanwhile Senya is attached to their connection as-is and wishes to maintain this master-disciple dynamic forever - going so far as to deny his own strength in order to avoid acknowledging their changing dynamic.

Both of them are denying something about themselves.

It is their self-denial that makes their communication and thus connection break down.

Ichiya can't make Senya go Honki(TM) (which should have definitely been translated as an adverb here, e.g. 'failing to make him get serious') because he is also not HONEST with him or himself.

In the finale, Senya finally admits his motivations (his illness, his perceived weakness) and he is rewarded with the honest fight he'd been craving. They both stopped running.

This theme becomes even clearer through the two leads, of course, but even earlier than that it exists in Mahoro.

Mahoro's scene in episode 6 is the thematic linchpin that carried the whole show on its shoulders. Through Mahoro, everyone in the cast gets their first glimpse at true unrelenting Honki(tm) - and it is something totally unrelated to fighting prowess.

Mahoro is physically powerless against Akutaro, but she won't run. She has a heart that won't run away, the key quality of the Honki Person(TM), because she has an unshakable sense of self-identity.

It would be easy to dismiss her cutesy design as a contrivance to give Arajin a conventional-looking love interest despite going to Delinquent Academy - but it also says something about HER. Mahoro marches to the beat of her own drum. She does not care that she does not fit in, she does not mind being alone - she'll stick right to her own aesthetic and priorities.

So it's easy for her to call out Akutaro - and in doing so, call out the whole cast along with him:

You're empty. You are nothing but a shell, shaped by how you relate to those around you. You have nothing to offer.

And how are you supposed to connect with anybody, when you don't even know who you are?

(Notably, Mahoro is also a character who refuses to compromise on her self even for love - she knows she does not appeal to Marito, but she's not changing herself to be more his type. Her Honki does not budge, even for him.)

And lest you think I am exaggerating by connecting the theme of identity and emptiness back to all of the cast instead of just Akutaro: it does come back with Matakara.

Matakara can't believe anybody would know him and care for him, because he doesn't know himself.

For Matakara, facing himself means acknowledging his fear of abandonment rather than externalizing it as a hallucination of a literal monster.

But facing yourself doesn't just mean facing your demons, it also means facing your own positive qualities. And that is Arajin's story.

Even as Arajin turned into a scummy, evasive and selfish guy, there is a part of him that has a throughline to who he always was. He's someone who can get invested in others with reckless abandon.

Whether as a child with Matakara, or in the present with Mahoro... Arajin wants to connect.

Bucchigiri?! is a show full of innuendo and sexual gags. Merging with a genie gets equated to sex, fighting gets equated to sex... and of course this is for laughs, but it's also thematic.

Because all these things are about connection. About facing someone else with your whole self.

On a literal level, yes, Arajin absolutely wants to get laid. This is his sincere desire, and good for him.

But at the same time, his battle cry of 'I want to lose my virginity!' is him crying out for a real connection, even at a time when he shunned the idea thereof.

In the end, being a Honki Person(TM) has nothing to do with fighting. Fighting is the way a lot of the rough and tumble guys on the show like to connect, but it is not the only way to do so and not the only way to be Honki(TM).

Arajin never learns to love brawling - he did it out of circumstance and necessity, but it's not his hobby. He does not need to discover some hidden love of fighting, because this show fundamentally isn't about how 'fighting is inherently good' or anything.

It's a show about how even when you hate yourself and think you're as low as it can get, acknowledging your own self in full is the first step to finding a real bond with somebody else.

It just also happens to feature a bunch of delinquents who love to punch a lot.

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Mr. Blizzard

Debut: Super Mario 64

Who ordered the Funny Snowman? Not you, because this is a blog and not a restaurant, silly! You are just so silly. But between you and me, I am a fan of Funny Snowman, so I will humor you!

Mr. Blizzard is one of the first snowmen to appear in the Mario series, and the one who would become the most iconic and recurring. This is something he should be proud of, since Super Mario 64 has a bunch of snowmen in it! But one of them based his whole identity around missing his head, and the other one is an entire location. Gimmicks that make them memorable, sure, but not very versatile for future use!

Mr. Blizzard's design really notably uses billboarding, the graphical trick where a sprite will always face the camera, giving flat circles the appearance of spheres in a slightly blurry 3D world. Snowmen are SO orbs! Some of the most orbs guys I can think of! It was a very good decision. Mr. Blizzard is honestly slightly unconventional compared to other cartoon snowmen, with no nose- nay, nary a carrot- and a simple line mouth, rather than the typical "series of dots" mouth that we know and love. Instead, it has a blank, autism creature face, with its eyes and mouth seemingly made of the same material! Mouth made of eye, or eyes made of mouth? You won't know until you kiss him on the lips!

Nowadays, Mr. Blizzard uses a new design, which I also like a lot! This time he has a scraggly mouth because he is, as I assume he would say, "not too sure about this one, guys". He now has snow buttons on his torso, revealing that he was previously NAKED down there, and he also wears a bucket as a hat! That's one of those things that's so common in Japanese media, but in Western media it's always a top hat. So funny how one cartoon snowman had such influence on media! The average snowman-builder is much more likely to own a plastic bucket than a top hat!

Mr. Blizzard's main Thing is his single arm, adorned with a cute little mitten, which he uses to throw snowballs. Do you think that's like throwing his own flesh? I don't think so. If clothing buttons and igloos can also be made of snow, I think snow is just the building block of a snowman's world. But still, imagine some cattle throwing delicious meatballs at each other. Messed up! How would they even do that with hooves? Would they use their tongues like slingshots? What was I talking about? Where am I?

Oh yes! I am in "Snow World". Mr. Blizzard is a recurring enemy snowman, but Mario's world is also full of morally neutral living snowman, who DO have carrot noses, thank goodness. These snomonculuses are obstacles on snowy Mario Kart courses, but it's kind of rude to refer to them as that. Is a pedestrian an obstacle to a driver? Suffer, vehicles, as I wield my high level spell called "right of way"!

In Mario Kart Tour, these entities are exclusively referred to as Snowpeople! Gender? They hardly snow 'er!

[twig-tea]

Perfect Propose: A few final thoughts

There is a melancholy to this series because it’s about a romance but it’s also about breaking out of external and internal barriers holding you back from happiness. 

Hiro’s work situation was such an incredible representation of what it feels like to work in a workplace that is out to exploit every second of your time and never thank you for it. I really loved that the show is clear about how people enable their own exploitation in these environments, and how often people don’t leave because they need the idea that their life will be better when they finally do quit, and they’re afraid it isn’t true so they’d rather stay with the devil they know [it's me, I'm people].

I loved Kai finding his way to Hiro when he was at his lowest, and going from a guy who was afraid to ask for anything or make any kind of mark on Hiro’s life, to putting up a wind chime decoration and building a hydroponic vegetable system and asking Hiro to come home to him every night.

Kai’s arc wasn’t as strong or as detailed as Hiro’s, but it was important to the story. Kai has always recognized Hiro's kindness in asking for something from Kai rather than offering something to Kai--Kai has always felt useless but Hiro gave him purpose, as a kid and again as an adult. But Kai needed to learn to want things for himself, something Hiro noticed and encouraged him to do. And when Hiro misses their festival date and realized he’d let Kai down, he offers to make it up to him in two ways (committing to the tomato growing, which was a short-term but tangible commitment to Kai, and agreeing to share a bed), which helped bring them closer together and helped Kai get bolder, sending Hiro those images of the food he was missing to help him continue to want to be home.

Kai got to see Hiro more vulnerable, and feel more wanted, and then got the apology from the old restaurant owner’s son. But when he heard that his presence had held the restaurant owner back from moving in with his son, he took it the wrong way, and defaulted back to thinking he’s a burden who puts the people he loves at risk just by virtue of being there. [There was a kernel of truth in there about how Kai, in making Hiro’s life a little better, also was enabling him to stay longer in that awful job, but he couldn’t see how he was also giving Hiro a reason to quit it.]  

And at the end, when the typical Japanese Run For Your Love failed (which I really enjoyed), the words that got through to Kai were heartbreaking. Hiro doesn’t tell Kai he’s a good presence in his life; he’s already done that and he knows it wouldn’t get through anyway, because he knows Kai. Instead, he reminds Kai that Hiro’s life was already empty and meaningless, so Kai couldn’t possibly make it any worse. He made himself and a relationship with him feel safe. I have been sitting with this all day and it still makes me devastated every time I think about it for more than 30 seconds. Kai made home a place Hiro wanted to be enough that he could actually come home, and Hiro made home safe enough that Kai felt like he could stay there without being afraid he’d ruin it. 

Would I have wanted more of these two together? Absolutely, I could watch Hiro and Kai together for triple this runtime easy. But for me, this show used its time incredibly well and ends in the perfect place. I have enough with what we got to see exactly how they got from where we leave them to how we see them in the show opening credits.

Enough to know they’re going to be ok.

[bakuhatsufallinlove]

I love your translation posts, they give great context to some moments! I’ve seen chapter 348 translated with Toga’s confession as almost being narrated by Bakugou but I’ve also seen it translated as a more generic voice. Is there a correct version?

This is a complicated question, so let me put it this way: while there is less uncertainty in Japanese about who is narrating 348, that doesn't mean there is no uncertainty. In general, I think English audiences are responding with much more scrutiny to something that is not particularly notable in Japanese manga.

We don't have a lot of information about the narrator that refers to Izuku in the third-person. "Midoriya Izuku" is not how Izuku narrated the story when his internal voice was dominant, he always used first-person pronouns to tell "the story of how I became the greatest hero."

In the series, there are inner monologues that convey what the characters are thinking in the moment, and then there is "framing narration." Framing narration positions the story in the past tense, implying a future person is relaying this event with more knowledge about its conclusion than the audience has.

Inner monologues have distinct clarity both in visual cues (who is on-screen) and how they speak.

Ochako's inner monologue during 321 is indisputably Ochako; the opening words are placed over her image, and the Japanese audience is already familiar with the fact that Ochako calls Izuku "Deku-kun" and uses the personal pronoun watashi (私), so when she says "we," it's watashitachi (私たち), pluralizing her own pronoun. If this were Shouto's monologue, we would have had Midoriya and orera (俺ら) or oretachi (俺たち) instead. The audience would have understood the distinction, although the visual cue centering Ochako would feel a little odd, like Shouto is looking to her while thinking this.

Framing narration, of course, has little-to-no visual cuing, so we have to rely on speech patterns, and thus end up with subjective interpretation and predictions.

348's framing narrator uses kare (彼) to refer to Izuku as he. This is not a pronoun we have ever seen Katsuki use for him. Katsuki exclusively refers to Izuku in the third-person with aitsu or soitsu (あいつ or そいつ), both of which mean "that guy" in a rude way consistent with his typical speech pattern.

There is the possibility that the audience is supposed to be surprised by the use of "shitty nerd" following the pronoun kare, because the two contradict each other, and "shitty nerd" is put at the end of the sentence like a zinger. This might imply that, sometime in the future, Katsuki starts using kare for Izuku, and that really would be a shocking change, because it is extremely polite and non-confrontational compared to how he normally talks. I don't think that is what is going on, though, for the following reasons:

In manga, framing devices are not always explained or particularly thought of as noteworthy. Some series use a framing device at the beginning, and then completely abandon it by the end. Some series have very inconsistent framing devices, sometimes due to the intense workload of weekly chapter output and sometimes because the author just wants it that way, and they use the inconsistency as a way to be poetic, develop story themes, or conveniently convey information.

English language media, especially in recent years, has much more strict rules and expectations about framing devices. I don't think Japanese audiences are as concerned about who this narrator is because the expectations are different.

That said, from both a writing standpoint and the experience of the audience, Katsuki's words being brought up in the middle of a love confession is not meaningless. The literal identity of the narrator may not be that important in the end, but what the narrator conveys is absolutely still important.

There are a lot of ways you can interpret Katsuki's words being brought up here, but it is undeniably intentional. If he wanted the "nerd" meaning without connecting it to Katsuki, Horikoshi could have just called Izuku an otaku, since that term carries an implication of "indifferent or ignorant to human relationships" in Japan. If this were just about how oblivious Izuku is, he could have said that Izuku 空気を読めない (kuuki wo yomenai, can't read the room).

But he chose the words Katsuki alone uses for Izuku--words that were historically derogatory but, as their relationship has improved, could almost be read as friendly or affectionate.

I personally feel like it is foreshadowing, but we'll have to see how it shakes out!

[codenamesazanka]

Spinner used to be a hikikomori and NEET, which means he was a recluse who wasn’t in school or employment (and technically still isn’t) and had withdrawn even from his family to hide out in his room.

We get two one-panel flashbacks to this era of his life and the imagery prove the label undeniable. As official Viz translator Caleb Cook notes:

…Book stacks, tied-up garbage bags, general clutter. This is the classic NEET/hikikkomori living space, as portrayed in media like Welcome to the NHK and other series. It screams "young adult whose life is in shambles.” There's huge visual contrast between a NEET apartment and a teen's room in manga/anime. The latter is almost always spick and span. In Japanese media, excessive clutter is often a visual marker for characters who have failed society's expectations of them. Practically a trope.

Going by this imagery, guess who else is a hikikomori/NEET— or, is (supposed to be) read as a hikikomori/NEET?

Shigaraki Tomura’s room fulfills all the requirements of this trope, down to every tiny bit of filth on the floor. There’s really no difference between his and Spinner’s room.

And Spinner likely recognizes this. While everyone else is watching Shigaraki after they escape from Kamino - minus Mr. Compress and Toga who are talking - Spinner is the only one staring at the dirty floor, lost in his own thoughts.

＊

I’ve seen meta before about how Shigaraki’s living conditions are a direct result of All For One’s lack of proper education - that All For One purposefully wants Shigaraki to have bad hygiene, to wallow in his own filth and just completely neglect any basic upkeep. Just another way to whittle him down. That’s a fair assumption, but I think it’s worth pointing out that in Tenko’s early years living with All For One, his room is neat and clean, even after he starts to accumulate toys and books and general stuff.

The best time to teach a child to set (or not set) habits is when they’re young, and clearly Tenko knew at least to not toss litter around carelessly, to put things away, and even to make his bed:

Of course, it could be that the teaching of deterioration started when AFO gave Shigaraki Tomura his name, but the people around Shigaraki the most have always shown to be neat and proper: AFO is always dressed in a suit; the Doctor’s lab is crowded with a lot going on, but not dirty; Kurogiri, who we assume has been babysitting Shigaraki for years, keeps the bar immaculate. AFO’s other wards also live in neat, clean environments:

That’s not to say AFO didn’t contribute at all to Shigaraki’s hikikomori vibe - simply keeping someone isolated and depressed will bound to make a mess of their mind and that will be reflected in the environment; just that AFO didn’t have to purposefully teach Shigaraki not to clean up after himself - he didn’t need to when Shigaraki does it on his own.

In any case, Shigaraki reads as a hikikomori/NEET from the start, someone alienated from society and wildly off the typical, proper life path expected of him as a young man, and resents the rest of the world for it.

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Combining the two observations, I think this is another aspect to why Spinner had so quickly grew attached to Shigaraki after the Doc calls Shigaraki a loser

Being hikikomori/NEET is just another commonality they both share, in Spinner’s eyes. Before the crumbling, glittery horizon of Deika; even before the revelation of Shigaraki’s grand ‘Destroy Everything’ goal, Spinner was just some depressed 20-something-year-old who saw another depressed 20-something-year-old and recognized their similar pain, then wanting to lift that burden somehow, however he could.

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*Important to note: Often hikikomori/NEETs are seen as failures that can really only blame themselves, lazy parasites on their families and society. Of the three hikikomori the series have shown so far - Shigaraki, Spinner, La Brava - the story have been careful to clearly draw a line between the marginalization they face and why they ended up how they did. Shigaraki was kidnapped by a criminal mastermind; Spinner stayed inside for his own protection because walking outside got him sprayed with pesticides, among other things; and La Brava was bullied and mocked by her peers. Horikoshi have made all three characters incredibly sympathetic and made the root cause of their alienation not from faults of their own but from how society had failed them.