#visionoxus

[tsckcyomi-archived]

Yotsuyu is so important as an antipode to an archaic trope of a ‘pure virginal girl’ common in Asian media, thirsted for and revered by misogynist men, and presented as an ideal to strive for, to young girls.

While women like Yotsuyu would be commonly pitted against the aforementioned ‘pure’ women, and presented as ‘tainted’ and often as villainous seductresses for the hero to rebuff or kill to find his ‘true’ love, she is a woman who has found her agency and weaponised the role she’s been thrust into by her society.

There is no reason for her to care about Doma, because Doma never cared about her. To them, she was marred as soon as she stopped being that ideal of a pure and virginal girl, just as it happened to countless women raised in such societies, in real life. As an afab person from a similar background, she was incredibly liberating to observe and there was that ugly fantasy of a revenge that was fulfilled in her, that many have dreamed of.

Unfortunately, her end was predictable, as there is no place for women like her, in stories dominated by men who will be forgiven no matter what, because their goals were benevolent, or because their beliefs were strong, or because men like them think their intentions justify the means. While, she is seen as selfish and unworthy of redemption, because her pain is hers, and it remains unheard and unimportant, to those deciding the fates of the counties and of entire planets.

It feels hurtful and unfair, when you’ve felt that pain yourself. But, there she is and there her story is, and it’s still cathartic in a way. She isn’t going to appear to us in a flowing white gown descending from the heavens, and won’t smile wistfully to encourage us to carry on, in our dreams, existing as a ghost to continue validating us on our journey. And that’s part of what makes her great.

So, thank you for loving her and writing her, sincerely.

honestly there isn't much I can add to what you've already said because you hit the nail on the head… Yotsuyu is a reflection of the ugliness beneath all the beauty of her culture, a culture which has its counterparts irl that are idolized by media and people that benefit from these structures. She's beautiful, and she's been taught that that's where her worth lies. She's a pawn in the lives of the men in her life but in the end she turns it all on its head and uses her lowly position and her hatred to elevate herself into a position of power over the people that didn't care for her suffering.

I also know that there are a lot of FFXIV players who wish that Yotsuyu had stayed amnesiac and lived a peaceful life with Gosetsu, but I'm honestly very very glad that they didn't go that route. It'd be much too convenient to erase that ugly, cruel part of her and instead have her run around as an oblivious character that's closer to that caricature of a subservient, pure girl. Erasing her suffering would have made her story pointless and taught no one anything ( NOT THAT HER STORY TAUGHT DOMA ANYTHING ANYWAY AS SHOWN IN THE EW JOB QUEST THX SQUARE for my own sanity this isn't my canon Doma ).

But yes... Yotsuyu's story is dear to my heart. It's tragic, it's ugly and it's real and that's what makes it worth telling. And I'm really happy that there are people out there like you that also love her and I really appreciate this message…. ilu......

[noxianwilled]

Puts hands on her shoulders. "Don't get into a relationship. It's distracting, you might need to kill them one day, one of you might get pregnant and die, and if you break up, it will be really awkward if you need to work together in the future."

— @visionoxus

casual sex is still fine tho right

[agonizedembrace]

Picks her up like a cat. She has now been adopted.

she hisses a little, yet seems to... accept fate?

there's something familial about him she just quite can't name.

[axewhirl]

“Don’t be ridiculous. I would never sleep with your brother. It could endanger our working relationship.”

' ... listen, yer my dear old friend an' all. but are you implyin' ya would eat my brother's ass if ya weren't colleagues ?! '

[leorugiet]

“i still need you.”

HARD-TO-FIND HURT / COMFORT SENTENCE STARTERS

"No, you don't." He pushes the crutch away from himself, practically throwing it into Swain's shin -- but Cor's slender arms can't do much damage to him, can't throw with any force that means anything. Cor is a husk of his old self, no muscles, no fat, bones and skin, and he sits on the ground on his hands and knees, digging his fingernails into the soft rubber mat underneath him, protecting him from his fall.

"You don't need me. Look at me... Look at me." He hisses with bone deep contempt in his voice, directed at both himself and at Swain. "Look at what they did to me..."

The scars on his body, the breaks in his bones under his skin, the bruises, the rope marks, the burns, the injection sites...

"You didn't need me when I was dead. You didn't need my team when we rotted. You don't need me. Nobody needs me. If you needed me, you would have found me. If you needed us, you would have kept us safe. If Mors--"

Cor cuts himself off by panting, he's covering up whatever he wanted to say about Mors, but it was true he did need to pause to catch his breath. "..."

After much long and careful breathing, all still not managing to help Cor catch his breath, he sinks a little, from his hands to his elbows, still on his knees. His whole body sinks a bit, like he's trying to stop himself from laying flat on the ground.

"... Mors said I've had over six months to get it together. I'm still... Crawling and gasping like this. He said when six months is over... the military is discharging me."

"... Mors says he doesn't need me. Nobody will hire me. But he's... going to hire me anyway."

"The military doesn't need failure." Cor stated simply.

The image of his teammates bodies, rotting, festering, putrid and flyblown, laying on the floor of his cell, a reminder from his captors that every time he refused a question, they would torture his team, and when they broke and died, Cor would have them shoved into his cage, until all five bodies were in there, rotting beside him, the flies digging in his wounds, huddled in a ball, covering his face, screaming...

"... I failed." He hissed.

[yanlei-a]

1v1 me, little shit

— @visionoxus

aren't you the guy who lost to a fourteen year old girl who barely knew what she was doing while in your prime?

1v1 seems unfair. you can bring the rest of the trifarix too, old man.

[tsckcyomi-archived]

I'm so glad the og milf sundered us all into pieces. If i had to wear the robes of the ancients and make trash mob retextures all day, I would simply rather die. Thank you for your service, queen.

you're welcome ♥

[noxianwilled]

He still remembers meeting her, well. He had spotted her across the street before he had gone into the store. It was a quiet, rainy night, and not many people were out in the late hours when the noise of heavy rain drops mixed with the sounds of cars rushing home and shutters closing for various businesses lined up on the street.

Her long red hair stood out against the drab worn clothing thrown on her lanky frame, and she was undoubtedly starving, staring at the glass display with leftover baked goods.

He walked into the store he was headed to and did his shopping, and luckily the girl was still there when he returned, handing her a bag filled to the brim with groceries, and offering her his umbrella.

Many years had passed since, and Katarina now dozed peacefully curled up on a sofa alongside him, dressed warm and cozy. The black cat had draped himself over her head, paws entangled in her hair, and several ravens kept them company, napping nearby.

Rain poured outside and late autumn wind howled, seeping through the cracks of the old mansion, but the fireplace burned bright and content silence had befallen the room as all enjoyed their rest.

— @visionoxus

There is something about returning to a parent's house, a feeling of home that never entirely disappears. Katarina is an adult, successful in her own right, and she would not easily let go of the independence having her own place afforded — but she never stopped returning to visit, and it never felt any less welcoming than when it was the only home she had.

The warmth and safety linger, in a way they never had in her first home. They are not quite affectionate people, not in the ways most people would use the word to describe, perhaps; she is not the best child, coming and going as she pleases rather than with any established frequency, and staying only for as long or as little as it felt right.

And yet, for as long as he would offer her a place there (for as long as he would consider her family), she would never stop returning. The luxurious lifestyle may belie it, but she had not forgotten what it was like to be hungry, and she had not forgotten the cruelty that had driven her to choose starvation over returning to those who sired her.

But family isn't blood, not to Katarina. And there are few places where she would sleep as peacefully as she does curled up on that sofa, the black cat nestled in her hair, the ravens settling nearby. It is her father's house, after all. The only father she has. The only one she would choose.