#its not terminal but if she does die

[cronchlord]

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Hello artihunter fandom first few frames are colored cause I was funny and thought I would line/color this whole thing

[dyketubbo]

just bitching in the tags a bit to get feelings out

[lamuradex]

It's been rattling around my head recently that Discworld is almost anti-whimsy, and I mean that in a good way.

Whimsy, as I define it, is when something magical is put in just to wow the reader. A magic thing that doesn't really effect the story, but its fantastical. Pots cleaning themselves? Moving paintings? A fantastical creature used as set dressing? A spell that does something cool but we'll never hear about it again? What do they mean? Why are they there? Doesn't matter, we're moving on.

But Discworld always applies Logic to these things.

e.g. The old idea of all dwarfs having beards? Ha ha, even the women have beards. How silly.

But that means all dwarfs are men. But there are female dwarfs, right? Are they happy being men? What if you gave one the chance not to be a man? Oh, sure, they'd still have the beard, the helmet, the axe, those are cultural, but what if a dwarf wanted to be a woman? How would other dwarfs react? Would there be biting insults? Snide remarks? Jealousy from other female dwarfs trapped in their society? What if the Low King were a woman? What then?

Pratchett always had this tenacity to follow a whimsical idea until it was ground down in its own grim reality. It's like those old conversations about what would really happen if Superman caught you falling from a high building. You'd smash on his arms because you're still hitting something indestructible at terminal velocity. But the comics would never show that.

Pratchett shows that.

Introduces a werewolf? She has a constant identity crisis and feels like a dog sometimes, between human and wolf, and she's discriminated against in places for being undead. A conman running a bank? Forces everyone to realise how useless gold really is in a scathing indictment of economics. Death becomes Santa? But WHY DOES THE LITTLE MATCH GIRL NEED TO DIE? WHY THE UNFAIRNESS IN THE WORLD? WHY?

What can the harvest hope for, if not the care of the Reaper Man?

It's what sets these stories apart from so many others. Magic is never the solution, reality is usually the solution. And little is introduced without Pratchett delving the idea to its depths, sooner or later.

[vorestarr]

ascended astarion and vampire spouses

so I've been reading the dnd 2e manual "Van Richten's Guide to Vampires" for fic/game inspiration, and there's this really interesting chapter on vampire brides and grooms. after reading it, it's very clear to me that Astarion didn't turn Tav into a typical spawn, but into a vampire spouse, which are two very different rituals with very different outcomes.

the typical vampire spawn creation process is exactly what Astarion describes happening to him: a painful death, a painful rebirth into undeath, fighting his way out of his own coffin, and Cazador's complete control over him. this is described pretty clearly in the guide to vampires:

According to most related tales, a vampire can create another simply by killing a mortal either with its life-energy draining power (draining all the character's experience leveIs) or by exhausting the mortal of his or her blood supply. If the victim's body is not properly destroyed, it arises as a vampire, under the control of the creature who killed it, on the second night following the burial. [...] Most vampires remember the instant of their death and the nature of their killer, and understand immediately their new nature. Certainly their new hunger gives them a good idea of what they have become. They must immediately free themselves from their grave. either by breaking it open from within or by assuming gaseous form and diffusing out.

so that's definitely what happened to Astarion, but that's not what happens to Tav. after ascended Astarion turns Tav into a vampire, they can ask him what happened, and he describes the following:

Astarion: You are so beautiful... And you will be beautiful forever. Thank you for trusting me. Player: What exactly happened? Astarion: You were drained dry, and at the height of your delirium, I granted you one drop of my own blood. Things will be a touch different for you than they were for me when I was a spawn. I'm imbibed with unfathomable new talents. I am fairly certain I can extend Mephistopheles' blessings unto you. Player: Does that mean I need not fear the sun? Astarion: You need not fear anything. You will be stronger, swifter, sharper, but you won't be different. You were already perfect before. It's hard to improve.

for reference, this is how the guide to vampires describes the ritual for vampire spouses:

To actually create the bride, the vampire bestows what is known as the "Dark Kiss". lt samples the blood of its mortal paramour—once, twice, thrice—draining her almost to the point of death. This process causes the subject no pain; in fact, it has been described as the most euphoric, ecstatic experience, in comparison to which all ether pleasures fade into insignificance. Just as the subject is about to slip into the terminal coma from which there is no awakening, the vampire opens a gash in its own flesh—often in its throat—and holds the subject's mouth to the wound, As the burning draught that is the vampire’s blood gushes into the subject's mouth, the primitive feeding instinct is triggered, and she sucks hungrily at the wound, enraptured. With the first taste of the blood, the subject is possessed of great and frenzied strength (Str 18, if the character’s Str isn't already higher), and will use it to prevent the vampire from separating her from the fountain of wonder that is its bleeding wound. lt is at this point that the creator-vampire's strength is most sorely tested. He is weakened by his own blood loss, and also by his own rapture as the "victim" of a dark kiss. Overcoming the sudden loss of strength and the inclinations of lust, the vampire must pull her away from its own throat, hopefully without harming her, before she has overfed. Should the subject be allowed to feed for too long (more than 2 rounds), she is driven totally and incurably insane, and will die in agony within 24 hours. Once the subject has stopped feeding, she falls into a coma that lasts minutes or hours (2dl2 turns), at the end of which time she dies. Several (1 d3) hours later, she arises as a Fledgling vampire—and her creator's bride.

this to me sounds like what Astarion describes. he drains Tav almost dry, and at the very last moment, gives them a single drop of his blood. (also interesting reading this guide, the single drop avoids the problem of the vampire spouse being driven ravenous with hunger for the vampire creator's blood and attacking them. did Astarion know this and give them one drop on purpose to avoid that and Tav potentially being driven mad by it? or was he being selfish and this is just a nice but unanticipated outcome?)

i kept reading and there's a lot more interesting information about vampire spouses, but the most interesting thing I found related to the game was this:

Although there are some folk tales that describe the bride of a vampire as its slave, in much the same way that offspring are slaves, a bride is free-willed from the moment of her creation. The creator vampire does have great influence over the bride. however although this control is totally nonmagical. When a vampire is created in the traditional manner—that is, when a victim's life energy is completely drained away—the new fledgling instinctively understands much about the vampiric way of unlife, and about its own strengths, weaknesses* and needs. Not so the bride.

so basically, the vampire spouse is not tied to the vampire creator in the same way as a spawn (i.e., not able to be fully controlled) but is still extremely reliant on the vampire creator to teach them how to live as a vampire. the guide goes on to describe that some vampire creators may lie to their vampire spouse about the control or powers they have, in order to exert more control over them.

interestingly, if you ask Astarion if he can compel you the way Cazador compelled him, he doesn't give a straight answer, he just says this:

Player: Cazador could compel you - can you compel me? Astarion: Why would I need to? You're going to be wonderfully obedient.

to me, all of this says that Astarion was telling the truth when he told Tav that they would be different from him as a spawn, and also in emphasizing that they are not a spawn but a consort. he didn't create a spawn, he created a vampire spouse. he married Tav, and because of this Tav also retains their free will.

of course, Astarion doesn't say this. if he knows, he withholds this information in much the way that this guide describes, as a way for the creator to maintain more control over their spouse. but still, extremely interesting implications for the ascended Astarion romance, imo.

other interesting facts about vampire spouses from the guide to vampires:

the married couple has telepathic communication that can span miles -- so Tav and Astarion can potentially have a telepathic bond even after the tadpoles are gone. (another note, this communication has to be consensual both ways for it to work, so you can't just dig around someone's mind if they don't want it.)

the vampire creator is extremely jealous and possessive. (yeah lol)

their life forces are linked, so one suffering a great deal is felt by the other.

the bond can be broken, but the ritual to do so has to be initiated by the creator. to break it, they both spill their blood on the ground and allow it to mix. this dissolves all aspects of the bond (i.e., telepathy and linked life forces), but the spouse stays a vampire.

[carpathxanridge]

what this has taught me though is a lot of yall’s pro-choice arguments are not that ideologically sound, or at least don’t get to the heart of the argument. i know there are a lot of common abortion arguments that we like to default to, and none of these are wholly original arguments on either side, but i can’t emphasize enough the process of thinking deeply about these common arguments and understanding what the actual warrant for the claim is.

for example, if you say “a fetus is not a person.” and then the person you’re arguing with says, “it’s a literal human being,” and instead of refuting why the fetus does not have “personhood” in the legal sense and then making a broader philosophical claim that we shouldn’t view a fetus as a person, switching to the argument “okay even if it is a person it doesn’t matter because no person can be forced to be an organ donor even if the other person will die otherwise etc.”…. kind of makes you look like you don’t know what you’re talking about and are conceding that a fetus is a person.

similarly, if someone says “okay but there’s a difference between a nonaction (organ donation) and an action (abortion), there is no moral justification to abort because if the pregnancy progresses naturally the fetus will become a baby”… the crux of that argument isn’t answered by making a convoluted scenario (i haven’t seen it used in this particular argument but i’ve seen it in other context) where “ok someone connected all your vitals to a dude on life support against your will, do you have the moral justification to pull the plug?” no, the crux of that argument is that the pro life person is making an appeal to nature, usually paired with the argument that a pregnancy and its outcome is god’s will, and is suggesting that women’s role in the pregnancy is passive, just letting nature take its course. you might better be able to engage that particular argument by interrogating “why isn’t abortion natural when there are natural methods to abortion, when medical abortion has only made safer what women have done all throughout history? when miscarriage too is natural, happens in nature all the time, and isn’t always experienced as a loss by the mother—often it’s mundane, a woman’s body making the decision to terminate an unviable pregnancy, often before she’s even aware of it. so why is it natural for a woman’s body to terminate a pregnancy for her own survival and wellbeing, but as soon as she wills it and takes steps to do so it’s unnatural and immoral? yes, abortion is an action, but why do you see it as a perverse and immoral choice for a woman to make equivalent to murder, rather than her natural domain?”

and following these kinds of lines of questioning (rather than just switching to another stock pro-choice argument) will always get you closer to the heart of the disagreement, that which cannot be resolved over the course of a single conversation. which is that feminists simply believe that in a humane, moral society, women should get to choose whether or not to bring life into the world, whereas forced birthers believe a fetus is a life from conception, willed by god, and that women must surrender to god’s will.

[primussavethesemechs]

I want the human/cybertronian life difference to be talked about more in canon

Cuz I mean. it’s RIGHT THERE.

Just a smidgen of true acknowledgment I BEG YOU HASBRO‼️

i mean come on all it takes is someone mentioning how long the wars been going for one of the humans to go “4 MILLION YEARS???? WHAT THE FUCK HOW OLD ARE YOU???”

And optimus or ratchet to be like “…5/7 million?” And all of the humans to have a break down CUZ WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOUVE BEEN ALIVE SINCE BEFORE THE HUMAN SPECIES EXISTED??? WE WERE MONKEYS WHEN YOU WERE BORN???

And the (woefully uniformed) cybertronians to be like “??? What do YOU mean your species was still evolving when I onlined, how long do you guys live?? A thousand?? A few hundred??”

And the gobsmacked humans to be like “??? NO WE HARDLY LIVE OVER A HUNDRED ITS CONSIDERED AN ACCOMPLISHMENT?? AVERAGE OLD AGE DEATH IS LIKE MID 80s!! TECHNICALLY THE AVERAGE LIFE SPAN IS 72 OR SOMETHING???”

Cue the autobots being like “😨 72??? THATS A CHILD WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT⁉️”

the more attached/emotional bots looking at their charges and realizing that not only are they sparklings compared to them but they’ll die as sparklings too in just a few decades, causing them to straight up have a mini meltdown.

Yeah they’re in a war and they’ve lost plenty of friends, but never to anything as predictable and inescapable as old age.

It’s the seeing-it-coming part that gets to them, the slow dread of knowing that even if they do everything right and keep them out of danger and they stay healthy there’s nothing they can do to stop them from withering away in a couple of decades.

Most versions of bumblebee looking at their charge/friend and realizing his assumptions about the fact that since they’re both still young that they’ll have plenty of time to just. Live together and have fun- are wrong?? Immediately tears. Even if cybertronians can’t cry tears he’s doing whatever the equivalent is and running away to cry in his room. And then running back to snatch them and take them with him cuz HE CANT WASTE A SECOND IF THEIR LIFESPANS ARE REALLY THAT SHORT HES GONNA JUST HAVE TO SPEND 24/7 WITH THEM

This whole concept ESPECIALLY applies to TFP since all of them got their own little human buddy and there’s only like 5 autobots to begin with (of the main season 1 crew) they’ve lost so many of their own so recently, their numbers are already dwindling down to nothing, they’re losing the war and the kids are what’s given them a major morale boost. To continue fighting they need hope, and the kids have kind of become their hope for the future- to know they’ll die off in under a century despite how young they still are is a shot to the spark.

Look me in the eye and tell me bee wouldnt panic hearing that Raf only has 70-80 years to live. LOOK ME IN THE EYE AND TELL ME HE WOULDNT HAVE SOME KIND OF FIT OVER BEING TOLD THAT HIS LITTLE BUDDY (from a cybertronian perspective) HAS A LIFESPAN EQUIVALENT TO A LATE STAGE TERMINAL ILLNESS DIAGNOSIS. Bee would start treating Raf like a kid with stage 4 cancer 😭

I just KNOW bulkhead would have the worst reaction other than bee, maybe even worse cuz he looks at miko and realizes she’s used up basically a fifth of her entire lifespan already and she’s Still So Little and straight up starts weeping. That’s his DAUGHTER you can’t take her from him so soon it’s not FAIR! He might have to go destroy a canyon wall or something to let some of the anger and grief out

Arcee is Not taking it well either.

She JUST got attached to this one, just got used to a new partner and your telling her that no matter what she does he’s never going to last as long as tailgate of cliff jumper did?? Even if both he and she do everything they’re supposed to do to protect him and extended his life?? Depression time baby

Optimus and ratchet don’t react as much outwardly to the news as the others but inside they’re both 💔💥

These kids have brought optimus a level of contentment he hasn’t felt in vorns, and he sees how bright their spirits shine- Only to now know those precious spirits will burn out in less than a century- it gnaws at him inside, yet another strike from the cruelty of fate

Ratchet is devastated but refuses to acknowledge it, these kids- yes even miko- have become his pseudo grandkids and he’s not ready, nor will he ever be ready, to outlive them. Jacks reminds him too much of a younger optimus, still learning and still hopeful. Miko is… well she has a fire to her that ratchet can appreciate (when she’s not actively annoying him) she’s determined enough to make anything happen which he does begrudgingly respect even if he wishes she wouldn’t just throw herself into any and every situation just for fun.

And Raf…

Raf is his apprentice, the only one of the kids to understand him and listen intently to his stories of cybertron. To show appreciation for his work and his ideas, to Listen and Learn and Improve his inventions. He harbors the most fondness for Raf since he sees so much potential in him, and has taken him under his wing in teaching him cybertronian language and biology.

He feels almost like he’s training a student to take his place- only for the ground to be ripped out from under him to know that Raf will never have the chance to succeed him, will never even outlive him.

A parent should never have to bury their child, and ratchet already feels that he has.

-

TLDR the autobots find out humans have fruit fly lifespans next to them and become one big soggy mess of tears, optimus and ratchet included although they try to have a stiff upper lip about it (and fail to varying extents)

I swear this was supposed to be about any and all continuities but TFP took over completely😭 idk it just fits the best since they focus so much on how attached the bots get to the kids

Edit: btw this was inspired from the fact I found out that the cybertronian equivalent to a year (yes I know technically they have solar cycles which are roughly a human year but what they consider a year vs their lifespan/time perception is different) is a vorn. A vorn is 80 HUMAN YEARS. I saw that and went “oh wow a vorn is like a whole human lifespan!😃” and then I went “OH A VORN IS A WHOLE HUMAN LIFESPAN 😀“

[strawberrystepmom]

pairing: Toshinori Yagi x F!Reader -> Mirio Togata x F!Reader

word count: 7.8k

contents: Canon divergence for final war arc and beyond, friends to lovers with history, reader has a defined quirk (magnetism) and is a support equipment safety consultant, reader is 29 and Mirio is 30, appearances from other heroes (Deku & Bakugou and they are married, in their 20's)

cw: major character death and discussions of aspects of caretaking for someone at the end of their life, discussions of loss and grief

notes: This idea could not have come to fruition without my most beloved @izvmimi and @bakvrue so thank you to them for always being the very best. I have really been having a Mirioaissance lately and as you all know I love Mr. Might so here goes. Hope you enjoy! Thank you for reading ♡ | crossposted to ao3

“I’m dying.”

Mirio Togata nearly chokes mid-swallow, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth to prevent droplets of tea from seeping out of his lips. It’s a rare Wednesday day off for Lemillion and sunlight pours into the expansive room used as an office at. He’s a guest in the home of one of the most prolific heroes of all time, as he often is, though today he was invited by the man himself instead of showing up to pop in and say hello.

All Might, Toshinori Yagi, is dying.

Technically he has been for years though hearing it from the man’s own mouth feels different than the vague conversations about ‘terminal’ and ‘incompatible organs’. 

“No,” the younger man starts but Toshinori raises a hand to stop him, shaking his head with a chuckle.

It’s no secret he has been rapidly looking more and more frail as autumn faded into winter which is now melting into the bright green of spring.

“It’s true. No matter how many times you tell me ‘you can get better’ or ‘medical technology is improving’ it will not change the fact that my time has a finite number on it.”

There has been a finite amount of his life remaining for a very long time, he’s simply managed to dodge it for as long as possible. Running away from the truth is no longer an option, the years he has been given since the War and its finish already leaving the man feeling like a perpetual cheat. He was supposed to die then, and then after that, and then again and again and again…

There are no more ducks and dodges left in him. 

“Midoriya knows and has accepted it. It’s time for you to do the same.”

The words would be harsh coming from anyone other than a beloved mentor turned friend though Yagi has always had the natural ability to soften blows when necessary. Mirio nods, blue eyes trained toward the ground and refusing to meet those of the man in the comfortable chair next to him. He dares to take a peek at the man who will forever be known as All Might, the thinness of his hands and arms and wrists alone a surprising sight. Time has run out. No medical science or quirk or act of God can reverse the inevitable. A transplant cannot save him, medicine will not save him, and he’s made the decision to be as comfortable as possible over the remaining weeks to months he has left. 

Togata’s mind unconsciously drifts to you in all of this. You are the young woman who has devoted the latter half of her twenties to taking care of this iconic man, tending to his illnesses and the complications from them with a smile and a joke, a reassuring hand on his shoulder and a kiss on his forehead. The younger of the pair has witnessed this kindness himself on more than one occasion and he remembers when you were simply a Support course student at UA high school a year younger than Mirio himself. You assisted with equipment in the war and it has followed you through your adulthood, your support item safety consulting business thriving and helping build a safer world.

The way you care about everyone is so admirable, it’s difficult not to view you as a hero in all of this. Mirio raises a brow and balls his hands together into a fist, letting it rest in his lap. 

“How does she feel about, well, everything?”

It’s a daring question to ask given the older man is well aware of the younger man’s affection toward you no matter how discreet he thinks he is about it. It’s the perpetual elephant in the room.  Toshinori sighs, shifting in his chair and positioning his hands in his lap. Mirio’s eyes dart from them and toward the older man’s sallow face, noting the hint of a smile at the mention of you. 

“She was the first person to know. It’s the least I could give her for wasting her youth on a sorry old man like me.”

Togata offers a tight smile and tilts his head to the side. The self deprecation isn’t anything new, it has been like this the last several years, though it never sits well when the man he has attempted to pattern his own morals over says something so blasphemous about himself. 

“That’s a pretty downer way to look at things, All Might.”

This gets a chuckle from the older man, the sound of his head shaking against the back of his chair causing the younger one to look up at him curiously. 

“It’s a pretty downer thing to die but telling you it’s coming isn’t the only reason I asked you here today.”

The older man clears his throat, wiping his thumb against his bottom lip and looking away, joining his hand in his lap. How can he properly phrase what he’s asking his young friend to do without it seeming sordid and disrespectful? He’s leaving you his legacy when he goes. His home, his royalties that will keep you well taken care of for the rest of your life and, well, he’s planning on leaving Mirio Togata the one gift he deserves the most - you. 

He simply lays the plot down, hands still folded in his lap.

“How long have you loved her, kid?”

Mirio feigns shock that his mentor, the one who came after the one he lost years ago, is onto him. He has always played off his affection for you as friendliness and lingering glances as simply curiosity and assumed he has been doing it well enough that nobody notices.

“It’s not like that.”

Toshinori laughs, a weak cough wracking his body and he raises his fist to his grinning mouth to cover it. Mirio leans forward in his seat, reaching for the man who waves him off and instead leans to grab the bottle of hand sanitizer on the desk next to him. 

“You are a grown man, Togata. Own up to it. It’s not going to offend me.”

There was no expectation of a trip down memory lane set for the younger man prior to arriving for this visit yet his mind launches into years of fuzzy and undefined memories. Evenings he’d come to visit you in the Support course workshop when he was younger with fewer scars covering his arms and torso, the few times in your early twenties you sat thigh to thigh with him in dimly lit izakaya hanging out with your mutual group of friends and their respective partners who are also heroes. He remembers too much and too little at the same time, skin crawling. 

Shifting in his seat, he unclasps his hands and claps them against his thighs. 

“A long, long time.” He finally responds and Toshinori chuckles in response, leaning back in his own chair and sliding one of his hands out toward Mirio. “Since I was in high school.”

The truth doesn’t hide forever. It makes him feel childish that he was so easily caught by the older man, replaying years of interactions in his head. Did he smile a little too wide at you? Glance a little too long? Pine a little too openly?

There is no way for him to change anything that has happened before now and the usually easy going man tensely lifts his head, meeting Toshinori’s soft gaze. There is no anger even if these events crossed boundaries, something the man is infinitely grateful for, and he reaches across the desk to take his mentor’s offered hand. 

“I know.” He weakly squeezes the younger man’s hand, his lack of strength more evident than ever. Mirio feels emotion welling up inside of him and blinks it back, taking a deep breath. “That’s why I am asking you to give her the life I never could, Togata. Take her traveling when you can. Remind her that she’s brilliant and will probably keep this country safer than any hero ever could. Just…be there for her. For me.”

The request carries more weight than the older man could ever possibly understand. It’s not merely a responsibility but a strange kind of bequeathing. No formal paperwork, no meetings with officials, just two men discussing a woman they both care about deeply and how to best assuage her in the sorrows to come. 

It also brings another question to Mirio’s mind he has contemplated for many years - do you have lingering feelings for him too? A far younger version of you, magnetism quirk engaged and using it to make him laugh, certainly did. He assumed those feelings just vaporized over time and with responsibility, your heart belonged to another man before he could ever ask that it be his.

A noble man. A good man who you did not want to see live lonely, by himself in his ailing years. A man Togata spent his entire life trying to emulate.

There’s a flutter of hope through the sorrow of knowing the end is coming for his friend and the younger man is the one to squeeze the older mans’ this time, gentle firm pressure to ensure it doesn’t hurt.

“I know it’s a big request. I don’t blame you if it makes you uncomfortable or if you’d like to say no,” Toshinori adds quickly. “I simply know that she cares about you a lot and always has.” His voice cracks and he swallows his sadness, only grateful that his life has been so glorious the last few years thanks to your gentle touch and your silly stories and your tendency to ad-lib songs to make him smile. “She deserves to be happy.”

The younger man couldn’t agree more. He nods, emotion continuing to rise, breaking eye contact to gaze down at his lap to allow him a moment to compose himself. For his entire twenties, he regretted losing his chance with you despite his gratefulness for the care and love you gave Toshinori. Now, entering his thirties, he gets the opportunity to try again. To speak up when he should and to put the feelings he has harbored for more than a decade to good use.

“I will do everything I can to make sure she is, you have my word.”

Even if it means you want nothing to do with him and keep yourself away from everyone forever. Whatever makes you happy, Mirio Togata will make sure you have it. 

“I only have weeks. Months if I’m lucky but I don’t think I’m all that lucky anymore.”

The words make Mirio look up from his lap, brows furrowed. He didn’t think there was so little time left but he is a man of action and nods.

“Then let’s make these next few weeks memorable. What do you need me to do?”

A chuckle from the older man as he finally drops the younger one’s hand gently, tucking it back into his lap to join the other.

“For now, just be around if you can make it work.”

That he can do and he does for three more weeks.

On a warm spring day, a little past the end of cherry blossom season, the world loses All Might.

‘The days I spent with you were the happiest of my life. Let me take care of you for the rest of yours. - Toshinori’

The note he left you, the one you were handed by some man in a suit you’d never met before in the days following his death, rests on your desk. It feels too soon to tuck away the increasingly wrinkled piece of paper and you’re far too grateful for the life he has put between your two palms to stop glancing at the note every few hours each day.

It doesn’t answer any of the questions you have about what becomes of your life now though.

Emotion wells up in you again, a lump in your throat you have to swallow down to continue working, the results from your audit of the Dynamite agency’s safety audit on the screen of the tablet in front of you. They’re generally highly rated, Bakugou’s fastidious tendencies seeping through even the smallest detail of safety and care of his employees, but you have to look away. You close the screen cover and slide the device aside, standing up from your spot at the kitchen table to walk into the living room.

The house feels like a mausoleum even if it’s now yours and yours only. Being alone for the first time in weeks leaves a strange taste in your mouth and you fold your arms over your chest, padding across the wooden floors to plop down on the overstuffed couch you picked out three years ago. Deku’s wife spent a week by your side, the first seven days after the tremendous loss ensuring you ate and slept, sleeping in your bed with you and letting you cry on her shoulder. The day she went home hurt almost as badly as the day you lost the man himself, the encroaching loneliness feeling claustrophobic.

Thankfully, the second week was dotted with various visitors, your former classmates and long time friends of Toshinori paying their respects posthumously by being good to you in his departure. Dynamite’s wife tended to you and forced you out of your house, inviting you over with the promise of visiting with her eager to see you children. 

The third week was much of the same, even chatting with his old friend David and accepting condolences from other heroes former and current. Your refrigerator stayed full, your mailbox overstuffed with more cards than you could open wishing you well and thanking you for taking care of him.

The fourth fewer people came but you still stayed busy. The fifth, same. The sixth, seventh, and eighth all followed suit although the amount of visitors thinned. Ninth, tenth, eleventh your house became empty outside of your close friends and Mirio. Now you are twelve weeks past his death and facing down a lifetime of uncertainty in a house that feels too large for you but too small for your pain.

Your heart swells recalling the love you’ve been given but it shrivels when you look around, wondering when it will start to feel full of life again; when you will.

Standing, you lumber over to the wall adjacent to where you sit, admiring the artwork and memories on the wall. There are photos of a freckle-faced teenager who became a freckle-faced man with his wife and children alongside Toshinori. Photos of Mirio grinning and giving a thumbs up in a vintage American All Might t-shirt that was almost too small for him. Photos of you and Toshinori smiling side by side when he was still well enough to attend the occasional event, you in glittering floor length sequins and him in a custom suit built to accommodate his ever weakening body. 

Sighing, you reach out and brush your thumb along the frame. The photo doesn’t move, anchored into the wall, and you know that all of the care you gave him wasn’t wasted for a moment. He truly made your life better and you believe you did the same for him, though your eyes flit back to the photo of Mirio for a moment. 

You took the picture a few years back while cleaning out the spare bedroom used solely for merchandise and collectables Toshinori had been given over the years. You accosted the younger blonde for pulling a shirt that was clearly too small for him over his head but snapped the photo anyway, grinning behind your phone at his silly posing. 

Mirio. 

He has been here for you almost as much as your closest friends, popping by daily if able with food or stories or just…sunshine, which is exactly what he is and always has been for the time you’ve known him. Even when the two of you were back in high school he knew your favorite candy and delivered it to your desk daily while spending his evenings sticking paper clips to your arm or the side of your face while your quirk was engaged.

Reaching into your pocket, you grab out your phone and dial his number. He answers before the first ring can even finish its trill.

“Hey-o, what are you doing?”

You giggle at his greeting though he hears the strain in your voice that indicates you are feeling down. He tucks his phone between his shoulder and ear, pulling his sweatpants on in the changing room of the agency, ready to head home. 

“Nothing. I tried to work a little bit today and couldn’t focus. I’m sure Bakugou will bitch at me but his audit will simply have to wait another week.”

The man on the other end of the phone chuckles, rising to his full impressive stature and heading toward the exit.

“Do you need a distraction? I could come over.”

The offer is appreciated but you wrestle with how to respond to it. What you assumed were long forgotten feelings for Mirio surface every time you are around him and in your grief and confusion, you struggle to separate them from reality and what’s a balm to make you feel temporarily better. Would seeing him now, only three months removed from losing Toshinori, be appropriate? Is it what’s best?

“You don’t have to, I’m sure it was a long day.”

Togata scoffs, using his coded keycard to exit the building. The sun is still somewhat up, a hot summer evening encroaching and he does not want to go home when he could be spending time with you. The day exhausted him a bit, lots of petty crime picks up during the summertime, but he’s never too tired for you.

“Actually, this was the easiest shift I’ve had in a long time.” He’s lying and you can tell by the lilt in his voice, a particular tone he takes when he’s pretending everything is fine you’ve heard before but you are in no condition to press the issue. “I can pick you up in about thirty minutes and we can just drive if you want?”

You shake your head although he can’t see it. Part of you wants to say no, to rebuff your own feelings once and for all, but you’re weak and hurting and needy. 

“We don’t have to go anywhere, we can just stay here if you want to come.”

And come he does, in that promised thirty minutes. He doesn’t bother to knock on the door anymore, punching in the code and announcing himself with a boisterous smile, then plopping down on the couch next to you.

It feels a lot more like coming home than it reasonably should but every time he feels guilty for envisioning his place in his life, next to you, he remembers the promise he made. He will make you happy no matter what that looks like.

Time passes so quickly when he’s around and it’s welcome to have something besides your own loneliness to listen to while he explains one of his heroic saves of the day, enthusiastically explaining phasing through a tree to capture a runaway attempted bank robber.

“So I caught the guy and somehow managed to save all the money too, which is crazy when you think about it. I thought the wind would carry half of it off but not today.”

You smile at him fondly, eyes crinkling at the corners, but he can tell something else is on your mind. Repositioning himself on the couch, he turns toward you and props his head up with his fist.

“Wanna talk about it?”

He has always been able to tell when something is bothering you and your brain screams that you should say no. You should turn down all of Mirio’s kindness and lock yourself inside of this home with your grief forever, a timeless pseudo-widow trapped in a prison of her own making.

But the warmth of his gaze encourages you so much, words bubble out of you before you can stop them, your hands instantly flying to your face to be pressed against your cheeks.

“Despite what people have said, I loved him.” 

Mirio’s face falls into a concerned frown when he notices your eyes welling up, your glance firmly trained on his face. The papers were pretty harsh to you when the news of his death and your subsequent appointing the heir to his agency, legacy, and image were announced. Opportunistic seemed to be the media’s favorite term, honing in on the age and vitality difference between the two of you rather than the fact a fairly selfless young woman took care of him not knowing any of this was in her future.

You never took care of him in hopes of getting anything, only out of compassion for a man who has made the lives of others so much brighter. Who heals the healer? You took it upon yourself to be the one and you do not regret a moment of it, sitting cross legged at twenty-nine with a sense of pride despite it all.

“Maybe not in a conventional way. I never had,” your face falls a little, as though you’re fearful of reaction toward what you’re about to say. “You know…sex or anything with him. We kissed a few times, we held hands on occasion but my days and nights revolved around him for five years.”

Your voice breaks and immediately you push your thumbs against your eyes to keep yourself from crying where someone else can see it although the sniffling gives you away, sharp little inhalations through your nose. 

“What do I do now?”

The question appears to be rhetorical though he feels compelled to answer, wrapping a reassuring arm around your shoulders and gently pulling you against his side. The lack of personal space between the two of you is honestly nothing new, certainly more so since Toshinori’s departure, and you settle into the warmth of him. It’s a comfort you need desperately, his fingers drumming a little beat of four into your shoulder.

“Whatever you want.” 

You remove your thumbs from over your eyes, sensitive and red rimmed as they are, glancing at the man next to you carefully. The brightness of your living room causes you to squint and he reaches his free hand to wipe tears from your bottom lashes, his crooked index finger pressing delicately against your skin.

“I know that sounds callous and it probably is the wrong thing to say but your life isn’t over just because he isn’t here to watch you live it.” Now it’s Mirio’s voice that cracks and he clears his throat, hand flexing against where it rests on your upper arm. “He left you the tools to live however you want. You have a successful business, you are young and beautiful and…”

He trails off and you blink at him silently. The true feelings he has tried so desperately to hide for the years he has known you are seeping out of him. How much longer can he possibly hold it in before the pressure starts to cause cracks? Before it spills out of him wildly, an ode to you from a boy who has loved you since seventeen?

You stop him from spiraling, opening your mouth to speak while tears escape over his finger and roll down your face.

“I think I’m scared, Mirio.” 

This is the first time you’ve admitted it, even to yourself. An undefined future is a terrifying prospect and while Toshinori was here, you were guaranteed to always have him. Scheduled pills and injections, showers and quality of life activities. Even your work is unstructured outside of your scheduled annual audits, only being called upon when you are needed. 

He holds you against him, leaning down to press his lips against your forehead. This could be just what you need and although he worries about pushing boundaries, you prove his worries wrong by snuggling further into his side. Your tears drip onto the cotton of his t-shirt and he uses his second hand to begin wiping them away, shushing you gently and affectionately.

“It’s okay to be afraid, he wouldn’t judge you for that, but don’t let it make you waste the opportunity to live exactly how you want.” His words are comforting and you nod against his chest, sniffling. “There is no right or wrong way to handle this.”

This is the first time anyone has told you that it’s okay to not know what to do right now. Not that you’ve ever asked, too fearful of making missteps to try and prevent them at all. You need reassurance and although you’ve been given it, it’s hard not to seek it from a man you’ve found so much comfort in over the past few months. He has been vulnerable with you, it seems only right to do the same for him in return. 

Sighing, you unbury your face from his chest. “Do you think I’m doing okay?”

There is a version of you, more than a decade younger than you are now, that lives in Mirio’s mind and he sees her in the way you look up at him with uncertain eyes. It strikes him how long the two of you have known each other; how long he has been dancing around his feelings for you. He nods, removing his arm from your shoulder to cup your cheeks in his palms.

The urge to kiss away those tears is strong but he talks himself down, tilting your head until your gazes fully meet. All of the love he has kept to himself for a decade further threatens to spill out. He stops himself, self restraint a requirement of being a hero after all, and his thumbs gently stroke the rose petal soft skin beneath them.

“You’re doing better with all of this than anyone else ever could.”

There are no words he has ever meant more than these besides the ones he decides to keep to himself, saving the oft considered ‘I love you’ for another day. 

“Thank you. For everything. I kind of worry I’m asking too much from you,” you rush to apologize and he keeps his grip on your face gentle but firm. 

“You can ask me for anything you need.”

He means it more than he meant his promise to the last man that loved you.

“Alright, I think we’ve had as much fun as we are going to have. Babysitters get paid hourly, you know.”

Katsuki wraps his arm around his wife’s shoulders, pulling her close to him beneath the same lights the six of you used to drink under a long time ago while saying his goodbye. He has never been much of a drinker and hasn’t indulged even a bit tonight but his wife’s relaxed expression gives away how many beers she’s had and you giggle at her, squeezing her hand as she walks by on their way out.

“Be careful you two,” you call after them, Mirio turning to look at you while you glance over your shoulder. Only Midoriya and his wife remain seated across from you two, snuggled in the corner of their side of the booth. Deku’s ever lovely better half raises a brow and nudges her husband in the ribs gently, subtly motioning toward where the pair of you sit.

This is the first night you’ve really enjoyed yourself in the six months since you’ve lost Toshinori. It has been a great walk down a memory lane you haven’t bothered to explore in a long time.

“Gosh, he’s so grumpy,” you laugh to yourself and Mirio giggles beside you, looking as smitten as he always does. Izuku notices it and looks down at his wife, the two of them communicating wordlessly by the time you glance at them. “I’m guessing you two are next to head home?” You tease, your own brain slightly hazy from the few beers you’ve allowed yourself to indulge in. 

A little voice in the back of your head made you fear showing your face in public, especially after the scrutiny that came so few months ago, but nobody has taken a second glance at your group of friends despite all of the men in the group landing in the top five of the Hero standings. It appears whatever backlash was sparked has faded quickly. You make a note to thank the classmates you had that now work in the media who were likely behind it, hoping you remember it later.

You haven’t just had a good time tonight, you’ve had a great one. Smiling gratefully, you look over at your two remaining friends.

“Like Kacchan said, babysitters are paid hourly,” Deku raises his brows and shrugs. His wife kisses his cheek, beginning to slide out of the booth while he holds onto her hand and follows.

Mirio nods at Izuku and smiles at his wife, having known the two of them since high school as well, the same story with the now gone Bakugou’s.

“Get that beautiful wife of yours home safe, Deku.” He jokes with a chuckle and his friend laughs in response, reaching across the table to pat his shoulder and then yours. 

It’s hard for him to believe how much has changed over these years but how much has remained the same simultaneously. His close friends married their high school sweethearts and settled into their family life, kids and recitals and dinner parties. A piece of him has wondered for years if that could have been the two of you as well if he’d left less up to chance as a young man.

Does it do any good to wonder? Mirio doesn’t know yet he does often, tonight especially.

“You ready to go?”

A little lost in your own world, you look up at him with your eyebrows raised and nod slowly. He looks so handsome, even in this poorly lit room, and heat rises in your face straight to the tips of your ears. It has been a long time since you’ve felt that particular heat, the kind that makes your stomach flip flop.

Would it be wrong of you to ask him if he wants to hang out with you for a little while longer? You don’t have ill intentions in wanting to spend time with him, at least that’s what you tell yourself, and the few beers have made you feel brave.

“Do you wanna hang out with me for a little while? We can just go back to the house or find somewhere else or…” you trail off slightly, a little self conscious. Do you seem desperate? Lonely? Annoying? “If you don’t want to though, I understand.” 

Finishing your question hurriedly, you glance up at Mirio who looks at you with that same earnest stare he has given you for years. There are depths in those pretty blue eyes, humor and pain that he has experienced and joy and so much. There is simply so much more to this man than most people know and unexpectedly, it isn’t just your face that feels too hot, it’s the entire room.

“Of course I do. Let me just take you home and we can hang out there, that way I’m not keeping a lady out too late.”

He knows he’s taking a risk by being outright flirtatious with you after months of trying to keep it subtle. He is but a man and knows that look, though. That ‘through the lashes, lips slightly parted, beautiful woman who wants to spend time with you’ look. He’d be a fool to say no, even if you two do nothing but talk for hours. There’s nothing else he’d rather do with the remnants of his night anyway.

“After you,” he offers with a bright grin. The few beers he has had make his cheeks pink and you want to reach out and touch them but refrain, uncertain of how to do all of this correctly. You’ve never really dated, outside of a few hookups in your early twenties, so this is truly foreign territory. It’s a lot to wrestle with the guilt of moving on, something you have reluctantly admitted to yourself it seems you’re doing, and the weight of grief on your shoulders at all times. 

When does it ever get better or at the very least, when does it become less of a struggle?

Saving those questions for another, less fun evening you slide out of the booth and he follows after, placing his hand against your back to walk you out of the bar. It feels natural, his fingers splayed across your spine and heat once again blooms. It’s embarrassing to feel so excited by sheer touch.

Your relationship with Toshinori was never sexual. Always a companion more so than a lover despite the deep love that bloomed between the two of you, you spent a lot of nights in a different bed exploring your own body while he slept in his own room down the hall. This was always the arrangement, comfortable for both of you. He was physically incapable of having sex and you never wanted to make him feel like less because of it, still complimenting his appearance and doing your best to make him feel attractive. Which he was, even until the end that smile and those jovial blue eyes had the ability to light up a room.

It’s just different with Mirio. This isn’t the first time that heat has bloomed beneath your belly button, begging you to follow it all the way down a rabbit hole you aren’t quite sure you are ready for and the alcohol is making it worse tonight. If he can tell, he’s being a gentleman about it, something to be grateful about.

The two of you stand in the now cool autumn night air, the city still noisy outside. The breeze chills your warm cheeks and you look up at him to find him glancing down at you, wearing an expression that tells him some of the same things on your mind are on his.

“What are you thinking about?”

The question is laced with humor, as most of what the man says tends to be, and you feel caught with your pants down. Playing it off with a giggle, you decide to push back; to make him feel like he’s the one being surveyed instead. 

“Why didn’t you kiss me when we were in high school?”

The topic of first kisses came up tonight, your friends reminiscing about how they’ve shared their first everything together throughout the years, and you recall yours being lackluster. Some guy you went to college with named Dai who slobbered all over your face your first year.

Certainly not who you would’ve preferred sharing a kiss with.

Your question has caught Mirio off guard and he rubs his neck, scrunching his nose and refusing to make eye contact with you. The truth is that he was simply too afraid to make a move and by the time he was able to, it felt improper given the conflict and all that happened.

It was hardly a time for making a move on the girl you had a crush on and the two of you just went your separate ways after that. He became a Pro Hero, working his way up into the top 15 within his first year and then the top 10 the next and only climbing from there, you went to college to pursue your public safety certification. By the time you were able to reconnect in your early twenties, your lives had diverged so wildly it no longer felt appropriate to, well, go after you.

“I don’t know,” he finally says. “I think I was afraid you didn’t like me back.” Snorting, you attempt to stifle your laughter. He glances down at you, tilting his head, feigning offense.

“Really? I’m being honest with you and you’re going to laugh at me?”

Wrapping your arm around his bicep, you attempt damage control by resting your head against him. A breathy sigh leaves you and you glance upward to catch him staring down at you once again.

“I had such a crush on you that even Hatsume gave me shit about it.” You speak through your nose, attempting the now most sought after equipment outfitter in all of Japan's higher voice and inflection. “Where’s your little boyfriend, magnet girl?”

The two of you devolve into a fit of childish giggles, not unlike the ones you shared back then, and without warning he leans in close to you. You still cling to his bicep but he’s bent at the waist, lips inches from yours, one of his hands reaching to rest against the side of your neck.

“Can I make up for it now?”

Ocean eyes search yours, pleading for an answer. All of that heat courses through your body at once and without putting too much thought into any real consequence, you nod. Just a kiss won’t hurt either of you, for old time’s sake regardless of what may or may not be blooming here. Mirio closes the distance between the two of you and gently brushes his lips against yours, gentlemanly and chivalrous even in the throes his tremendous need to touch and feel and be close to you, and you whimper when he pulls away sooner than you liked.

“Was that okay?”

Giggling, you lean in and kiss him again to give him his reply. It was more than okay, it was everything you’ve ever dreamed of. His lips are soft, a sharp comparison to the well kept and bulky rest of him that you have had to stop yourself from eyeing hungrily on more than one occasion. His mouth tastes like salt and beer and love.

Pure love lives on his tongue that is working its way into your mouth while he hurriedly backs you two into a narrow alleyway between the bar you just left and the building next to it. His knee rests between your barely parted legs and your hands reach for anything they can grab, forearms and biceps and his shoulders and chest. You touch recklessly, one hand sliding up the side of his neck to cup his jaw and the other rubbing circles just beneath the hem of his shirt, above his belt buckle.

“Hey,” he stops you unexpectedly to catch his breath, chest heaving while he glances down at you. “I want to keep this going but I have to tell you first that I love you.”

There it is. The thing he has been keeping to himself for twelve long, torturous years. Mirio loves you so fiercely he wonders how he’s managed to even breathe the last 12 years without you by his side, your laughter and light filling his days and nights no matter how they go. 

How could he ever live without you again? He isn’t sure that he could.

Blinking up at him, you slide your hand further up his face and tousle his blonde hair between your fingers. 

“I don’t care if it’s too soon for you to say it back or if you ever will but I love you. I have for such a long time it hurts to keep it to myself any longer.”

The smile on your face turns into a full blown grin, fingers still snaked in his hair. Maybe it’s too soon, maybe lust is winning the battle between your wits and your heart or maybe this is a chance to say something you’ve felt for longer than you realized. 

“I love you too, Mirio.”

It doesn’t make your love for Toshinori any less real to admit you love the man who has been by your side for virtually 24 hours a day for the last six months and long before that too. 

He leans back in and kisses you again, silencing any thoughts other than the two of you and it leaves you breathless, gently grinding against his jean clad thigh and sucking on his tongue. Another pause and he pulls away, cupping your face. 

“Take me home with you.”

It isn’t a plea of desperation but one of pure unadulterated need. He needs you, any way you’ll let him have you, tonight. 

Nodding, you close the distance and press your lips against his.

“Let’s go.”

In all the time that has passed since you lost Toshinori, your home feels a little brighter when you arise in it each day. 

It feels like somewhere you can build your own life now instead of living trapped inside the memory of his. You were concerned that changing anything about this place would rob you of the comfort of having once loved the man who left it to your care but you know he wouldn’t want you to stand in one place for long. All those months ago, Mirio was right when he told you that Toshinori would want you to make the best of what you’ve been given.

Move forward, he’d assure you if he were still here. Be yourself and find happiness.

Despite all the ways you’re still healing, you have. 

You think about him every day. You will forever, regardless of the nature of your relationship and how other people view it. Some days the memory of him cuts through you like a knife, especially the last year of your life with him spent doing a lot more caretaking than you’d done the prior four, and other days it’s a gentle breeze. A whisper and reminder that he’s watching you, he loves you, he’s proud of you.

You’ve done the All Might legacy well, donating a large chunk of his fortune back to the communities he so committedly served. Scholarships for students who want to go to hero academies but may not have the pedigree or wealth to let them in, rebuilding the last remnants of an over decade old war that still scar areas of Musutafu tourists don’t visit. 

The dreams you have yet to fulfill with what you’ve been provided make your future seem more full than ever. Hospitals bearing his name, education about the balance of hero life and personal life, safety equipment becoming better than ever. Your ambitions are big and you will make them all come true, a vow you made to him on the day he died even if he wasn’t cognizant enough to understand what you were saying.

This is all for him, dearly departed, a man you cared so deeply about you would’ve taken care of him for ten more years if you had to. You’re grateful it didn’t come to that if only for his sake, the suffering his ailing body was facing more than you like to think about even today, but all things considered it was a good life. 

Even the papers have commended the woman they once referred to as an amoral opportunist. 

Maybe you aren’t so bad after all.

And today when your feet hit the ground, the sun rises and fills the room with light through the gauzy curtains you put up a few months back. The cat you recently adopted twines himself around your legs and looks up at you expectantly, breakfast already a few minutes late. You couldn’t go long without having something new to take care of, the cat was once a beat up little thing brought to you by Lemillion himself one evening after a shift that has grown into a demanding beast.

“Saving little lost cats is a bit cliche, isn’t it?” You joked when he unzipped his hooded sweatshirt and produced the fuzzy, green eyed lump that mewed at you the moment he saw you. Mirio grinned and half shrugged. “Yeah but I’m good at it, right?”

Good he is, you think looking over at his still sleeping form in your bed. 

For some, it may be too soon to cautiously lend your heart to another man. You love Toshinori and always will, the impact he left on your life is profound in ways you’ll discover for years to come, but a part of you has always loved Mirio even if circumstances prevented the pair of you from being together. He was once a silly teenager who was too afraid to ask you to be his girlfriend when he graduated high school, satisfied to leave things up to fate, and now he is a grown man who has been by your side through the most painful loss of your life so far, holding you together on the days when you were worried you would crumble.

Both of you are grateful that fate decided well although she took her time and brought a lot of pain on her way.

Instead of getting out of bed, you lean down and pick up your now purring cat and slide back into bed beside him, his hands instinctively reaching behind him for your thighs to pull you closer. 

“I didn’t think you were awake,” you whisper and he chuckles, scarred hand running up the expanse of your thigh while your cat climbs onto his shoulder and licks his face. There’s no use in trying to carefully swat the creature away so he lets him settle onto the pillow above his head. 

“I always notice when you get up and I have to fight the urge to follow you.”

Giggling, you wrap yourself around his back and rest your cheek between his bare shoulder blades.

“Why’s that?”

He finally turns to face you, blue eyes glancing down at the thing he has wanted for years. Your unmade, half awake face. The domesticity of your cat purring above both of your heads. The promise of packing to take a week off from heroics to go and enjoy a far off destination neither of you have been together.

“In case I ever lose you again,” he admits vulnerably and you smile up at him, hand reaching to cup his cheek.

The half awake mumblings have more truth to them then you could possibly imagine, fear that something else will hurt you or pull you away from him. Fear that he’s going to waste his time again, precious days he has always wanted to spend with you meaning nothing because he’s too cowardly to fight for what he wants. Maybe a younger version of Mirio Togata would have let this happen but not this one, older and wiser that he is. 

The ring he plans on proposing to you with this week is nestled in his suitcase, buried beneath too many pairs of socks and probably too few pairs of boxers. He won’t even mind a long engagement, if you need one, as long as he knows forever with you is what waits on the other side.

“You don’t have to worry about that. I think we’re stuck together for life after all we’ve been through.”

As he promised his mentor a few months over a year ago, he will ensure that you are.

[nanomooselet]

Stampede Plant Talk

#if you want to add the rest of your points please do!

Do you realise what you've unleashed.

Not to ruin the magic, but when I write my analyses it's often inspired by visuals. So I figured the best place to start would be with this visual. Like... that's simple, isn't it?

I thought, obviously blue is Knives's colour while Vash's is red. Healthy Plants glow blue, dying ones dim to red. It would seem blue is for Plants and red is for humans. And so clearly Knives is aligned with the Plants, and embracing his Plantness, while Vash is more human and thus aligned with humanity… right?

Yeah, no.

Truthfully if there's a definitive visual motif for the twins, it's not expressed in terms of something that dualistic. But that's a little outside the scope of this post.

A dependent, Vash says, needs a human to take care of it, or the Plant just uses its energy up all at once and dies. I'm guessing that means: what a Plant will produce, when and in what quantity is in the hands of the technician programming it. Being Independent means a Plant has all that under personal control. They all produce different kinds of energy and matter (which are, in a complicated scientific way, the same thing in different states). They are essentially living generators - machines.

They're still made out of meat, though. For some reason. (They do look like sea creatures, and the higher plane is very oceanic in appearance.)

Having the Plant produce more than its Gate can withstand producing means it's left only with the energy reserves of its body to sustain it. The Last Run harvests that energy. Resembles very very rapidly developing dehydration - eyes bulging, skin blackening, skin tightening. It's a very ugly way to die. Their bulbs go red, and then go dark, because the fluid they're in is clouded with blood. The same is true of when they're cut off from the higher plane because they're been overworked.

Dr. Conrad said to Knives that these Plants couldn't be healed in the way Knives demanded of him, and I think he's being truthful. Because Vash also didn't heal the Plant at Jeneora Rock.

In the pictures above, they're at the "terminal stage"; using them any more would push it into a Last Run. Note the colour. Red as blood.

These are the ones Vash does heal. More pink than red, lighter - brighter.

Vash isn't donating energy to a Plant when he heals it; the ones aboard Ship 3 weren't dying because they were overworked or injured. The SEEDS fleet didn't make use of the Last Run, nor did they have to rely on a dwindling number of Plants to survive. They were in deep space on a journey taking hundreds of years, with all those people whose cryosleep had to be maintained. They weren't in crisis. They were planning for a long journey to build a better world at their destination, not a crash. Plants that glow blue/white are healthy. It was paradise; no one had to struggle to survive.

Luida says the problem with these Plants is that they aren't compatible with the environment they're in, and she is a geo-Plant specialist. I believe her.

Vash's super special healing power? The job only he can do? Vash is not being made to act like a battery, giving up his lifeforce to keep everyone else alive. He's not sacrificing himself. That's what Knives assumed, because that's all he sees humans do. (A whole one time before he started killing people.)

Plants do communicate with sound, but not in a frequency humans seem capable of hearing and I suspect it's because they use their Gates. Dependent Plants - and Knives - can only produce a sound. Their Gates are one-way.

Vash's Gate is two-way. He can both produce and receive. He can exchange.

He can have a dialogue.

He's hearing the Plants when they cry out for help then just... going to talk with them. Understanding them. Helping them feel more comfortable. Keeping them company. When Luida asked him so kindly to be a counsellor for the Plants, she said what she meant and she meant what she said.

Vash is a Plant therapist. And he's a good one! He travelled everywhere accompanied by his stepdad just… being kind to humans and Plants, looking after them, teaching them how to take care of each other. And he loves doing it. It's the happiest he looks after the Fall. Brad even tells him, in a very Brad kind of way, that he's done a great job; travelling with this brat beats what it was like just after the crash. And then he gives Vash water and Vash tells him he's a nice guy (and Brad gets offended lmao).

The one who assumes the humans were hurting or using him was as per fucking usual Millions Knives! Because that gives him an excuse to take bloody revenge! And everybody fell for his bullshit! Man, I'm beginning to think when Studio Orange directed Austin Tindle to make Knives sound villainous, they made the right decision.

Now, if you want to be sad?

Vash is doing so much good. He loves doing it. He's the only one who can.

But Rem wanted to see Plants and humans understand each other and she's gone. Vash is fulfilling her dream, but he's doing it alone.

Now compare the colour of his coat to the colour of the Plants. Which matches more closely? The ones who are forced to work beyond their capacity, their bodies gruesomely and horribly used without their consent for the benefit of humans?

Or the ones in emotional distress?

[freedomfireflies]

hi, i saw that you’re accepting requests and i’d really think you’d be the best to write this if you can. so i’ve been watching a lot of greys anatomy lately and i’m always thinking of harry as a patient. so could you do like a greys anatomy resident reader x harry ou blurb where harry is famous and all that just his normal self and reader is a resident at seattle grace hospital. so maybe reader and harry are secretly dating or engaged and when harry gets hit in the eye with the skittles he goes to the hospital to get checked out and reader takes care of him extra carefully and dotes on him and maybe meredith and christina and lexie see them and start to put the pieces together and all of that? idk if this made any sense whatsoever but if it did i really hope you can write something abt it 🥰 (also sorry this was so long lol) also, could you use the season 5 greys cast but have it be set in 2022? ahhh sorry if it sounds stupid and confusing 🤣

“It’s her face. No, look at it. Right there, it’s doing that weird, red, splotchy thing—”

“She doesn’t have hives, Cristina, just give her the water bottle and she’ll be fine—”

“No, I’ve seen this before, this is bad. This is really, really bad.” Cristina extends her hand to grasp onto the bottom of your jaw and tilt your head up for examination. “Are you having trouble swallowing?”

You swallow. “Uh…no, but…Cristina, I’m fine, I just...I was just...I wasn't even—”

“Mhm. Incoherent thoughts, got it,” Christiana replies, nodding as she glances down at her chart. “What about your heart? Does it feel like it’s racing? Can you breathe? Do you feel flushed? Nauseated? Dizzy?”

“Cristina,” Meredith laughs, attempting to wrangle the woman away from you. “You’re scaring her.”

“Good. She should be scared. What we’re dealing with is terminal,” Cristina retorts, and your eyes widen. 

“I…I feel fine,” you try again, but Cristina’s inquisitive and invasive stare immediately returns to you, drilling right through your pupil.

“Tell me…have you ever heard of Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire Syndrome?” she asks, in absolute all seriousness.

Meredith rolls her eyes while you blink.

“Uh…what?”

Cristina studies you carefully for a moment before nodding her chin at something just over your shoulder. “It’s quite deadly if not treated…immediately.”

“Cristina, what the hell are you talking about?” Meredith sighs, now moving to stand beside you.

“See, I thought I saw her exhibit some symptoms when we first wheeled him in,” Cristina begins to explain. “But I chalked it up to the side effects of celebrity sightings. The green eyes, the curly hair, the tattoos. You know, if you like that sort of thing.”

Shit. You swallow again.

“But then, her face started doing the same thing that it’s doing now,” she continues on, and you stumble over a shaky breath as Meredith turns to look at you. “So, I thought I’d keep her under observation…just to make sure she wasn't gonna keel over and die...and after a few tests, you wouldn’t believe what I discovered.”

Shit, shit, shit. She saw.

Meredith looks between you and Cristina now, desperate to be clued in. “Well?”

Cristina raises a brow at you, indicating the answer is yours to divulge.

But you can’t.

You promised.

“I…I was just trying to be nice to him,” you answer, the excuse burning its way out of your throat. “I thought he was probably…you know, nervous. Maybe a little overwhelmed—”

“Yeah, see, lying is also one of the symptoms of the disease,” Cristina interrupts. “Mhm, we lose millions of people a year to it.”

Torn between doubling down and just giving up, you look between them.

Then…you groan.

“Okay,” you huff as Cristina crosses her arms. “Fine. All right? You win. I’m fucking him. Happy?”

Meredith’s eyebrows just about fly up her forehead as she slips her hands into her coat pockets. “Oh.”

“Wow, look at that, you’re cured,” Cristina muses, tucking the chart under her arm. “Although, I can’t say the same for the raging case of stupidity.”

“Cristina,” Meredith scolds, but you simply shake your head with defeat.

“No, she’s right. I know better,” you concede, running a hand down the side of your face. “I just…when you said he was being brought in, I got worried something bad had happened, and I freaked out…and, I don’t know. I think I was just relieved to know he was okay.”

Cristina blinks. “Ew.”

With a smirk, Meredith shakes her head. “I think it’s cute.”

Cristina looks at her. “Ew.”

“Look, I promise it won’t happen again,” you finish as you meet Cristina’s eye, desperate to put this embarrassing afternoon behind you.

“Well, I would hope not,” Chrstina snorts. “Bailey would have an aneurysm, and then I would be stuck working with McDreamy all by myself, which is absolutely not happening—”

Suddenly, Meredith puts a hand on her friend's shoulder and begins to encourage her to step back. “You know, actually…Cristina and I have a few things we need to go do. All of a sudden, right now. So...would you mind going ahead and discharging the patient for us?”

Cristina looks at her, confused and unimpressed. “I’m sorry, what?”

In turn, Meredith shoots her an incredibly pointed look. “Yeah, you know…we’ve gotta do that thing.”

“What thing?”

“The thing—”

Cristina scoffs. “We don’t have a thing—”

“Yes, we do," Meredith insists. "The thing…with Alex…and the thing—”

“Okay, I’m sorry, did you hit your head? Or something? Because we don’t have a thing with Evil Spawn. Why on Earth would we have a thing with Evil Spawn? We never have things with Evil Spawn, that’s…I don’t even wanna imagine having a thing with Evil Spawn—”

“Cristina,” Meredith hisses until Cristina stops and looks at her.

“Oh.” She blinks, seeming to come to some sort of realization before she turns to you. “So...we have a thing. With Evil Spawn.”

Finally catching on to their attempt at discretion, you smile. “Right, okay. Well…good luck with your thing.”

“Yeah, thanks. Hey—” Cristina adds, just before Meredith can drag her down the hall. “No funny business. Okay? I don’t wanna come back and see something that’s gonna give me nightmares. Or a migraine. Or both.”

Flushing yet again, you nod quickly. “No, I wasn’t…we aren’t…that’s not—”

“Cristina,” Meredith tries for a third time with a defeated exhale. “Let’s go.”

“Fine. Fine.” Cristina steps back but not before offering you one last look of warning. “Seriously. I mean it, Junior.”

Your nose scrunches at the less than affectionate nickname before Meredith finally succeeds in dragging Cristina down the hall and out of sight. But you don’t miss Cristina’s comments that echo between the walls as they go. “God, it’s just gross. We were never like that. No, we were not. I mean, I don’t see the appeal. Does he sing when he comes? Is that, like…a thing? God, poor Lexipedia. She’s gonna be crushed—”

Despite yourself, you smile and exhale a relieved breath before turning on your heel to make your way for Harry’s room.

“—I loved it, I thought it was really sweet,” Lexie is saying as you walk through the door, smiling giddily at the man on the bed. “I mean, I’m…I’ve been keeping up with your tour. Not like…keeping up. Like, not in a creepy way or anything. I just…I saw. The posts. And…the stuff. You posted. And TikTok. The outfits and everything. Which I loved. And the album. I love the album. I tried showing it to my friend Mark. Well, he’s…I mean, he’s one of the doctors here. Mark Sloan? I don’t know if you…met him. He’s…yeah, he’s my friend. We’re friends. Just…just friends. Which is fine. I’m fine with it—”

You watch as Harry nods along with every unnecessary bit of information to spill from her mouth, grinning to yourself at his strained attempt to appear interested.

Which, to be fair, he probably is.

“—and he liked it, I think. He’s not really…you know, he doesn’t really get excited about a lot of things, but I think he liked it,” she says, sighing some before she seems to notice you out of her peripheral. “Oh! Hi. Sorry, I was just…I wanted to check in. See if he needed anything.”

“She’s been very sweet,” Harry adds, nodding his thanks to the excited woman now scrambling to her feet as she heads for the door. “I really appreciate it, Dr. Grey, thank you.”

“Oh, no problem. No problem…at all,” she beams, eyes falling down to the floor as if to hide the giddy expression on her face. “Yeah, so I’ll just…yeah. I’ll go. So nice to meet you, Mr. Styles. Sir. Mr…yeah. Okay. Bye.”

She forces herself from the room, quickly spinning around to race down the hall as you swallow a laugh and finally return your attention to the man in question.

He sits, perched on the edge of the small bed, a rather triumphant grin on his face.

Doing your best to remain professional, you pull a small light from your coat pocket and step up to him. “Okay, let’s see the damage.”

His lips press into a smug smile as you tilt his head back and dip down to examine his eye. You flick the flashlight back and forth across his pupil, searching for any signs of scratching or trauma as he waits patiently beneath you. 

“Looks good,” you muse quietly. “Does it hurt?”

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “No.”

“What is it you said hit you?”

The smirk deepens. “Uh…some sort of candy, I think. Maybe a Skittle?”

Surprised, you lean back, hand dropping to your side. “I—what? Who the fuck was throwing Skittle’s at you?”

He shrugs once, rather nonchalant about the whole affair. “They just get a little excited, I guess. Maybe they thought I needed a snack.”

You snort as you pocket the light. “You really need to start setting some ground rules if you’re gonna let people stand that close to you. Okay, this really could have done more permanent damage. You’re really lucky it seems to have only hit your eyelid, but if it had been any closer—”

Suddenly, his fingers are slipping around the backs of your thighs to sneak you closer to him, easily and effortlessly settling you between his legs as you swallow a gasp.

He gazes up at you adoringly, thumbs rubbing circles over your scrubs as you swallow. “What are you doing?”

“Just…trying to get better,” he responds, lashes batting innocently. “Is there a problem? Doctor?”

Your lids narrow. “Okay, very funny. You can let go now.”

“Yeah…no.”

“Harry—”

“What?”

You chew on the inside of your cheek and anxiously glance over your shoulder to make sure the coast is clear. “We had a deal—”

“Right, and we still do,” he agrees. “I’m just looking at you. S’not breaking any rules, is it?”

You huff yet again. “Patients don’t normally hold their doctor’s like this. Except the old, creepy, pervy ones.”

He exhales a laugh. “Fine. Do you want me to let go?”

No. God, no. Never. “Yes, before Bailey shows up, and fires me.”

He studies you for a moment before obliging and bringing his hands back to his own lap. “So…am I all good to go?”

Swallowing the disappointment creeping up the back of your throat, you nod once. “Yeah, everything looks good. Maybe wear some sunglasses next time you’re on stage, though.”

He nods as well. “Great, so…I’ll go, then.”

“Mhm.”

He stands as you step back to make room.

The room grows silent. Eerily silent as a hundred missed opportunities pass between you.

Then, he reaches for his jacket. “Thank you for everything, Doc.”

Why the fuck does this feel so wrong, you can’t help but ask yourself. “Yeah, no problem.”

You don’t want him to be upset at you. But there’s a reason you made this arrangement. A reason you decided to keep your relationship to sex only. No feelings, no getting personal, no obligations.

But even despite all of that…you still felt your heart ache when you saw his name on the board. When you’d heard the passing comment that Harry Styles was being rushed to the hospital for treatment. 

Your mind had run rampant with the worst possible explanations, and you’d had to slip into the bathroom to collect yourself before you burst into tears.

Today, it’s a Skittle to the eye.

But what if tomorrow…

He makes his way for the door as you look down at your sneakers, expression weaving into a grimace at everything you wish you could do and say to make this better.

You can’t ask him to stay. Can’t tell him how you really feel. Can’t give in to what he wants, especially not here.

All you can do…is let him go.

You hear him stop.

And your heart stops with him.

“So…I’ll see you tonight, right?” he calls, and you feel your chest tighten.

Tonight. You turn around. “Of course, why wouldn’t you?”

He leans against the doorframe, smiling some at your response. “Attagirl. Same time?”

“Sure.”

“Good.” He steps back. “Cause I have a feeling I’m not gonna be feeling so well.”

You fight a grin. “Oh, is that right?”

“Yeah, I’m…gosh, I’m just already feeling a little woozy,” he says, pretending to stumble back into the hall. “And…my mouth has gone dry, and my hands just feel…antsy.”

He’s terrible at this. Absolutely awful, and you snort as you watch him retreat backward. “Uh-huh.”

“So, I just…I’m really glad you do house calls,” he continues slyly. “Cause I’m really gonna need your expertise and care.”

You wave him off. “Okay, goodbye. Go away now.”

He chuckles as you continue shooing him toward the lobby. “So…you’ll be there, right?”

“Yes, Harry. I will be there.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

He comes to a screeching halt, nearly forcing you to crash into his chest as he thrusts his pinky into the air between you. “Swear it.”

You eye his hand closely, heart leaping into your throat. You will not fall in love with this man. You absolutely will not do it. You won’t. 

You intertwine your finger with his. “Swear.”

He beams proudly. “Good. I’ll see you tonight, Doc.”

You can say nothing as he turns around and heads down the hall, rounding the corner before disappearing from sight.

But you stand there. Hopelessly and so unbelievably fucked as the realization begins to settle atop your chest like an anvil.

Despite your best efforts, and your self control, and your desperate attempts at keeping it from happening...

You are in love with Harry fucking Styles.

And Cristina is gonna kill you.

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

[orkbutch]

OKAY SO I'm wired and can't sleep so to tucker myself out I am going to do that Karlach personal story post. And ofc this is just my interpretation, my read, of Karlach's story through the game. I am not saying this is Correct. Just to be clear.

Controversial opinion: I liked Karlach's end story even from base game, before they patched in joining her in Avernus. I thought it was super bold and kind of impressive. But I'm glad they added the patch. For me, thematically, whether Karlach goes back to the Hells or chooses to die in Faerun is her taking a different approach to the same extremely difficult, human problem. Both ends are bittersweet to me, both tragic.

Thematically, like all of the origin characters, Karlach's story is rooted in discussing community and agency. She is lonely. She wants freedom. She wants to live so much life, as much as she can. I see Karlach thematically as someone with a terminal illness. She is someone living as if her life will end, she is tying up loose ends, she's wrestling with mortality, she's thinking about her legacy and trying to ignore all the things she might not get to have. And when she does think about it, when it peeks through, you can see that she is in mourning; she is grieving all the things already lost, the future she cannot imagine.

Going off of that, what do each of these endings say thematically? They are both choices, both exercises of agency, but tinted a little differently.

Thematically, Karlach choosing to die is bittersweet; its very sad, but it also makes me think of euthanasia. An act of agency that grants comfort, dignity, relief. The ultimate gesture of self determination for someone who has had so much of their life and body taken from them entirely. On the other hand, it is self destruction. It is Karlach seeing how she has been changed, and going, "This isn't worth it. If this body can't be what I need it to be, it shouldn't exist at all." That is devastating.

So then there's the other side of things, the return to Avernus. What does this mean thematically? It is a declaration of worth; "Living and my existence is worth the struggle. It's worth the risk. I can make this body my home again". It also makes me think of another very real, human experience after near-terminal illness or disability; it reminds me of adjusting the goal posts, of grieving, adjusting and accepting the new reality of life in the body you have now. Of finding new definitions of living, expanding how you find fulfillment. The incredible resilience that takes. The work of rehabilitation and recovery, of finding and establishing new systems and habits, is all slow, difficult, often painful work.

But it is worth it for life, for getting to stay. To see how you change, what you're capable of being. And I think this is particularly important with Karlach because it would surely lead her to becoming someone more whole than she's gotten to be for many years. I don't like the idea that returning to Avernus kills the innocent girl within her or whatevs; the innocent girl is only a part of her, one that endured all through the Hells. In struggling and trying toward life, Karlach is reaching for a future where she won't need to be divided at all. Where she is loving and very kind and forever, undeniably changed by Hell, but that experience and the conquering of it becomes strength. It is her, and she is worth living and loving, so the part of her that is Hell touched is too. But it required her to want different things, to adjust what living fulfilled meant to her. And that is hard, and a little tragic. But also very human and lovely to me

i love ... karlach the end

[saltygilmores]

Thoughts While Watching Gilmore Girls, Season 2, Episode 21- Lorelai’s Graduation Day, Aka Lovesick Stepcousins In The Big City, Part 3

I'm cheering Rory on as she leaves school grounds, leaving these 35 year old classmates in the dust, and as she manages to pull it off under the eyes of two teachers or administrators. Yes yes yes! Well from here on out it's going to be pure Literati appreciation with only minimal anger and rage, you know, my usual shtick. That being said, when that happens I start to sound a little disjointed, like, this episode is so pure and precious and enjoyable that I really don't have much snarky commentary on it and I can just watch it. What am I without my snark powers?

Destiny awaits. In one of many examples of what I call "Gilmore Girls Poor"*, which is a term I coined myself for how AmyShermanPalladino views lower/middle class/urban/city life, Rory manages to end up in the Port Authority Bus Terminal in another dimension. The Alternate Dimension, 100% white, Spotlessly Clean, Nearly People-Free New York City Bus Terminal where she stared down a scary dude without being stabbed and she was offered a locker to store her book bag. (*More examples of GGP: In season 4, Jess is 19 years old, a high school dropout, and is living in a clean, rat and roach free, enormous New York City apartment with working utiltiies and large windows that in today's housing crisis people would murder him to get, he just needed a bed frame and to pick his shit up off the floor but we are supposed to believe its a crack den; Rory and Lorelai live in a beautiful home and eat take out and restaurant food every day on nothing more than an innkeeper's slary)

This was cute. Rory the little mouse getting ignored by city folk. I love it so much.

I think AmyShermanPalladino inserted this smoking guy to make it look like Rory was in a rough part of town. Someone finally gives our little mouse an abrupt answer on how to get to Washington Square Park where she can meet her stepcousin and her destiny.

The little smirk before he turns around! And then, and then...and then...the big grin when he sees her!

I am STARVING for stepcousins!!!!!! ..And the Emmy Award for the whitest words ever spoken on teleivison goes to Alexis Bledel, as Rory Gilmore in Gilmore Girls:

Baring his naked forearms like a saucy strumpet. Book sticking awkwardly out of his back pocket. He either finds the smallest books or has the roomiest ass pockets that he keeps pulling that off. How does he do that?

This is all so precious and pure I could die.

He is RAPT with attention listening to her silly stories. Show me where Dean or Logan ever paid this much attention to her telling one of these stories.

We know, Bubs. We know :(

Red alert! Red alert! Our first display of physical contact!

Jess says he eats from this hot dog cart every day. Let's unpack this: 1) Holy child neglect, Batman! I mean, Liz Danes. You can't even make your kid a peanut butter and jelly sandwich once in a while? This boy is feral. These are survival hot dogs. This may be all he can afford to eat on his own. 2) How are you still as skinny as a rail? 3) How's your blood pressure? 4) Where are you getting the money?

This sweet bubba unquestionably paid for Rory's lunch like a true gentleman.

I refuse to acknolwedge any sort of Behind the Scenes Hollywood mumbo jumbo like "Milo wasn't ACTUALLY eating the hot dog" or “umm, it’s a prop hot dog”. i am firmly committed to a scenario where everyone on the set for this episode was like "Milo our precious vegetarian baby boy we will get you a tofu hot dog to eat"

Ending this chapter with this adorable face.

[cupcraft]

Feel free to completely disagree w me i just want 2 share my thougjts after rewtaching bombshells last night: As much as Cuddy wants to believe that she left House because he couldnt be there for her in the way she wanted to (which is valid but its rlly not what happened imo) She ultimately broke up w him because he relapsed. Forgive my poor memory i may be recalling wrong but the end of the episode vicodin relapse reveal hinted that house had been back on vicodin since before cuddy’s cancer scare, and the moment that Cuddy found out she dropped him. The vicodin was the catalyst in a sense she saw him relapse back into drugs and she was like Nopeee. like it was the longest he’d been sober since he developed the addiction which is a good thing but its like. the expectation that you will relapse at least once. and yeah cuddy had just gotten a big death scare but she had also found out her boyfriend had fallen back into his addiction and instead of allowing them both to comfort eachother on their respective issues she left him liek broo😭😭😭youre dating a known addict and the minute he starts addict-ing you turn away. Also ntm even though cuddy told him outwardly she didnt want him to change, she definitely had inward hope that She could he the one to change him, that he’d love her so much he wiuld change for her and that didnt happen so she quit

No your 100% right and now I'm going to rant about huddy and a missed opportunity for her character's writing.

Cuddy historically has been a character who has understood House's addiction and thus in turn his chronic pain and disability almost the least. She has a repeated history of ableism in the show towards House, but I am going to focus on her lack of understanding around House's addiction and how that ties into why she dumped him and ultimately was a failing on character growth on behalf of the writers.

In season 7 it is implied House has relapsed before the surgery date, and it's implied that he relapsed because of his intense fear of losing Cuddy due to cancer and he loved her and WANTED to be there for her, and in a way this triggered a relapse. In the world of addiction relapse can happen as addiction is a lifelong chronic illness and moments of stress, loss, etc can be a common trigger for relapse. And the fact House wanted to be there for her without panicking, definitely also makes sense why he considered relapsing. Cuddy's problem here, is that she moralizes it. It's understandable she doesn't address her subconscious thoughts on "huh, I wonder if House has relapsed..." because she's actively undergoing a panic of "am I going to die", so it makes sense she doesn't address it until she's finished surgery. But her problem is she MORALIZES this action. Think about what she tells House. She does think House couldn't "be there the way she wanted" and that "he'd never change", but those are the excuses to rationalize how she feels being in a relationship with an addict. She tells House by "being high" he wasn't "REALLY there" for her when she had the surgery/medical scare. Though House might have been pretty high (which is hard to confirm it's never really stated, and House does have a high opiate tolerance to consider), but in the end it doesn't matter if he was. Cuddy thinks House being on Vicodin is in a way subverting his love/care/attention away from her. Instead of seeing the relapse as a concern, as her terminal illness scare, fear of loss of her, wanting to be there for her, she sees it as a means of NOT being there for her. That of course, in the end, House chooses "drugs" over her. Here's a few notable quotes:

Cuddy quite litereally says the pills mean something, as in his addiction is a moral choice in which House chooses to be a careless loveless asshole who is selfish and only cares about himself and in turn cares only about avoiding pain instead of "being there for Cuddy" which is an insane way to look at someone's addiction, and blatantly fucked up. She quite literally dumps him because of this, the relapse, of because he is an addict.

Because the reality is, like I stated, House wasn't afraid Cuddy would hurt him. House isn't afraid to be there for Cuddy. House has also gotten to a point in their relationship by season 7 that he isn't afraid to love Cuddy. He didn't fear experiencing pain, he feared losing her. And he knew, and he WANTED to be there for her in her potentially dying moments because he loved her. And that in turn triggered relapse. Cuddy's interpretation here is that House never changes, but in reality we should see this as Cuddy has never changed. She's never changed since season 1, not understanding how addiction operates.

Early seasons in which Cuddy has a history of the following: Making House go cold turkey and being cruel when he experiences withdrawal instead of intervening to help him, Cuddy telling House his "pain" is just made up in his head and worsened by the Vicodin (not in a medical sense, in a moralizing sense) such that she ignores his bad pain day and tricks him into getting a saline shot and then uses his brief "distraction" from the pain as confirmation it's in his head/drug seeking behavior (again not from a nuanced position of how mental health and chronic pain intersect, instead moralizing it), she doesn't at all ever understand how opiate addiction operates nor how to treat someone's addiction (ie with methadone...foreshadowing for later) and again moralizes his choice to remain on Vicodin (The entire tritter arc), she is ANTI methadone entirely a known medical treatment for opiate addiction enough that instead of recommending House go to a methadone clinic for increased safety and monitoring threatens to fire him unless he agrees to let her control everything about his methadone treatment plan, and etc.

The writer's have posited Cuddy as someone who cares about House, who loves House, but at no point takes a moment to understand his disability, chronic pain, and his addiction. She moralizes it. And when he enters a relationship with her sober just nearly avoiding relapse, she's almost ashamed to be with him. She enters this relationship, ashamed she could be with someone like House. She takes that scene intervening in his relapse as a moral commitment he will prioritize her over drugs, thus entering the relationship without ever really wanting to understand or be compassionate dating someone who has a history of addiction. This is a missed opportunity for her to develop as a character.

Instead, the writing goes as Cuddy doesn't get to change but the narrative wants us to believe it is House who never changed or cared about her enough, because drugs and addicts bad. Which is really fucked considering they took a lot of time making Wilson grow more understanding of addiction. There's that one episode he fears House has relapsed and he says "relapse is common!" ready to help him and when he relapses after the breakup he recommends House get help instead of moralizing it. He even yells at Cuddy for leaving him, not just as a partner but as a friend.

Sorry this is long but I hope...this makes sense

[ming-sik]

as a devoted hater of isekai where the premise is "oh no i got isekaied as the most unfortunatest character ever but Actually my unfortunate situation is secretly the most bestest divine power and now i'm a minor deity" and a triple hater of characters whose disabilities get magically cured i have REALLY mixed feelings on the devouring bc despite appreciating the mooooostly really good deconstruction, aob stumbles at the resolution for me.

bc lets face it, that IS what the devouring is. rozemyne starts as a terminally ill peasant living without access to medical care, but from when her terminal illness is revealed to be her excess of mana the story does in fact follow the path of lvl 1 commoner → lvl 99 avatar of a goddess, and that kind of sucks because it means that aob doesn't end up doing what it seems like no isekai has the will to do and just make a protagonist that never attains godlike power and has to create a fulfilling life in this unfamiliar and harsh world despite never ever ever ever even getting to meet the crown prince, which cuts off an interesting story i wish got told more often.

However, aob is very clearly doing a deconstruction of this plot structure and her relationship with her power is extremely complicated. i do kind of wish rozemyne was kept at the level of "archduke candidate" instead of the godlike power she ends up having because rozemyne's ability to slam the 'put enough mana in the machine to Win' i think prevents some instances where she would otherwise be forced to struggle with the gap between what she wants to do and what she's physically able to do, but deciding to recreate the premise closely in order to subvert it is a fine narrative choice.

especially because rozemyne's power IS balanced and caveated by the fact that the devouring & its resulting mana clumps are a pretty severe disability. the fact that she is denied any education on it to the point of being seconds away from dying from an unknown illness for most of part 1 and even when she understands the devouring and eventually her mana clumps she has to reckon constantly with her physical limits, and the fact that she can't just pour 1 million magiwatts into any given issue to make it go away because she will die. despite rozemyne's power, her disability makes it so that she narratively has to deal with a pretty neat subversion of the 'commoner elevated to noble trope' that really takes advantage of the fact that commoners in that world are so completely locked off from magic that becoming a noble doesn't just result in mild culture shock judged by the Prissy Rich Villainness but is a fleshed-out, complex tool of systemic oppression that causes real obstacles for our heroine even as she spirals ever deeper into becoming a noble. it also serves as a really elegant allegory for systemic ableism and the way that minor issues for a rich girl can be life-threatening if you don't have access to quality medical care.

But Then The Jureve Walks In. "literally don't even worry about that," aob says, "theres a magic juice which just cures any disease, and the only challenge is creating that juice and using that juice". but no, no you tell me, the jureve is balanced narratively by the timeskip and the difficulty of getting it! rozemyne loses years of her life, that's not nothing! but while it's not NOTHING it also just. doesn't have enough far-reaching consequences that i don't feel like it's an invocation of the "dw abt your disability theres a magic cure for it" rather than a true subversion. imo a true subversion would require that there either 1) straight up not be a cure and rozemyne has to live the rest of her life at 150cm with 3 HP, 2) only be an imperfect cure which maybe allows rozemyne to reach adult size but keeps her health frail enough that using her full magic potential has serious consequences or vice versa if they want to also subvert the '300 yr old child' trope by acknowledging how much it would suck to be eternally trapped in a body with no fine motor control that people instinctively don't take seriously, or 3) only be a cure that is either temporary or otherwise not a one-and-done deal because now that she's big and healthy she just has no long-lasting consequences from her severely disabled childhood, which seems like a narrative branch that was pruned way too hard and way too early to feel like a satisfying subversion instead of just playing the trope straight with a couple extra steps. indeed, option 2b is what the jureve initially seems like...... until your man gives rozemyne some steroids and she's tall now too. so there's just no conflict whatsoever between rozemyne's power and her ability to utilize it, which makes it much, much harder to balance her power in a way that lets her have interesting conflict around magic where she can't just press X to win.

also this problem doesnt exist in a vacuum, and a related complaint is one mostly unexplored comment from when ferdinand is talking to rozemyne about dirk's devouring, and he says that dirk was born with more mana than myne, but her compression method meant that her mana ballooned much bigger than what it would have if she was raised as a noble. bc like god Damn is that interesting! my ideal plot twist would be that the cinderella theme returns because there's a random laynoble whose magic tool got taken away as a teenager who ended up independently discovering a similarly desperate mana compression method, but they're knowledgeable about magic enough to hide it as physical weakness and then become a ticking time bomb who can be exploited by antagonists as a rozemyne with nobody to help her, the ultra-devouring soldier. the contracted devouring in general are such a potent and viscerally horrifying worldbuilding element that i really wish they weren't effectively treated as npc baddies, bc like-- that could've been rozemyne! only her support network and sheer luck separates her from them. part of the problem with rozemyne being cured of the devouring means that she loses even the vestiges of her personal connection to imo the most interesting take on fantasy disability i've ever seen, which is a real shame! especially from a series that's generally so concerned with Not having npc baddies, like explaining that bandits don't attack the church because they're farmers most of the time who rely on the harvest or the fact that all the minor noble antagonists have coherent motivations from bindewald to grausam, even if you aren't at all intended to sympathize with them.

pictured below: me explaining what the devouring couldve been to you

spoilers for vol5p9:

her recent PTSD around feystones... honestly feels like it exists mainly because if rozemyne is able-bodied and therefore powerful enough to just dye a duchy's foundation in minutes... she has an auto-win button for any situation that can be resolved by Having More Mana, which is most combat and a decent amount of politics because aob takes place in a society which runs on mana. i'm saying this as someone who felt like fran's PTSD was really well-done, despite it being the protagonist's problem rozemyne's is so explicitly and exclusively focused on feystones that it ceases feeling like a character trait that serves a narrative purpose and starts feeling like something that was crowbarred in because the trait meant to serve that narrative purpose got phased out before the realization that the story had rozemyne's power be balanced for a reason. is this me being unfair to miya kazuki when it's entirely possible that this was as planned out as everything else in aob and i have no idea what she thinks of this plot development or why she chose it? yeah probably especially when this is based on an incomplete prepub, which is why i say 'feels like' so much. i just read it and thought it fell really flat esp in comparison to earlier depictions of trauma triggers.

[omi-papus]

Concept I pulled out of my ass while trying not to pass out in the micro:

A couple of fanon interpretations of the architects have the idea that they have genetic children, (whether by insemination, something about spores I think, and literally just raw DNA depends on the creator) but they don't give birth, and they don't have partnerships between the parents, they also don't care for their children themselves. That's left to specific qualified caretakers and essentially no member of the equation knows who it is they shared genes with, neither do they care

Now. Present day. No architects save for one are left. Robin and Al-An have been traversing the home world for years and have yet to find sight of any survivors. They find records of what was apparently an evacuation effort to get as many of the children out of the planet as possible, apparently not all were able to be boarded, and they learn that one child was intentionally left behind. The file is too corrupted to get the explanation as to why. They assume said child has already dead, and Al-An is too afraid of facing any more disappointment, but Robin pushes him along, encouraging him to try and find it.

And above all odds they do. Its consciousness is stored in a faulty terminal and it luckily they can get a body for it rather quickly, but due to time and resource availability. They are forced to give it a body that's much smaller. Smaller than even Robin. Al-An claims it to be a couple of decades old, around 98, and to Robin it appears to hold the mannerisms and behavior of a twelve-year-old. It's initially scared and untrusting, and it only begins to trust them somewhat when it seems that they made it a body and that it has nowhere else to go. It can't speak any human languages, being far less apt than Al-An, but it can speak some architect. Both Al-An and it can communicate, and he senses that there'is something it's not telling him. The network is gone, so these two cant read each other's thoughts, so they are stuck as they are. This is why the brooding doesn't actually recognize Al-An in any meaningful way. It can tell he's an older architect, but nothing more. Al-An recognizes this insecurity and, after a long period of trust building, mostly between him and it, Robin being a presence he feels uncomfortable with. Al-An decides to sit it down and explain to it who he really is. Why things are the way that they are, and why he is here now. 

The broodling remains frozen for a second and without warning emediatly attacks him. Al-An has no problem stopping him. And begs for its forgiveness and in the midst of it screaming and crying, falling over its own legs, repeating itself in its rage induced misery, tells him “It is your genes that made them choose to leave me here!” Before running off.

Al-An doesn't understand. He stands there still for way too long, and it's only when Robin shakes him to get out of his stupor, that he manages to whisper.

“That is my offspring…”

He can't face it. Al-An has never even thought about this being before, and cant believe the chances of ever meeting it like this. The guilt swallows him whole as he realizes that his failure was not only known throughout the network, but that they deemed his very being so repulsive that they left an innocent child to die only in the name of culling his bloodline. He does not expect it to forgive him, and he is terrified by the very notion of being a genuen father. He was never meant to be. He doesn't even know who the mother was. It was just something all architects where instructed to do at one point. He's scared and remorseful and yet, even now more than ever before, so desperate to hold it close, to keep it safe and tell it he loves it more than anything. But he can't bring himself to follow after.

And Robin does not plan to let that stand. She's going to get those two back together if it kills her. And she isn't going to tell either of them… but she doesn't want to think about Al-An having a family with somebody else. She deep down wants the kid to accept her too.

[ganymedesclock]

what do you think about the white lady? got any cool headcanons about her? she's always come off to me as someone distant and uncaring, but not necessarily cruel

My silliest headcanon is I don't actually think White Lady has arms under the bindings.

The less silly headcanon is that I think the humanoid part of her is just her fruiting body / the part people imagine when they think of "what is a mushroom". This would explain why she basically practices birth control by swaddling 90% of it. It doesn't really slow her down, hence the comment that she's only restrained of her own volition, and I think if she wanted to be anywhere else she could just. submerge and then rupture out of the ground wherever she wanted. That's right. Most stationary seeming character in Hollow Knight has Flowey mobility.

To build from here to like... deeper stuff, my take on WL and her presence in the pantheon is the idea that WL is a sort of literalized "Columbia", or the role Amaterasu takes in the mythology of the founding of Japan. The idea of "The Land" or "The Kingdom" as a living mythic figure that a king is potentially wedded to.

WL seems overwhelmingly passive. She does not exhibit much concern about the kingdom or its downfall. If anything, she seems sort of perturbed or surprised that she misses PK as much as she did. Her response to an uncomfortable feeling is just sitting around and waiting for it to die. Even compared to her husband, she seems like a deeply ancient being. Which makes sense, because it's implicitly her roots that are sticking out at Kingdom's Edge, which would suggest we actually spend the entire game walking over her body. She is the soil of Hallownest. She defines its borders. There are few pockets older than her, mostly Unn, suggesting Greenpath may be- partially- a place that her roots don't reach.

WL basically does nothing with politics until it's mentioning the Grimmchild where she tells it outright to not get any ideas because the land would never accept it as a king, something that "someone who isn't a queen anymore" seemingly wouldn't have any say in. But I think WL sees herself as 'the land', even if she is more of an extremely expansive organism that lives within it and quite possibly maintains symbiosis with it. As far as we can tell, gods project their own sort of habitable spheres in an overwhelmingly barren world; WL may be the sort of underground sun warming the ground, plants growing from the 'exhale' of her root structure.

You're right that I don't think she's necessarily cruel, though she is absolutely callous in some ways. I think a lot of it comes down to her perspective. WL is kind of terminally big picture. Her response to Ghost- a long-lost child she did grieve to some extent- is to politely ask them if they wouldn't mind going to die in place of their sibling, on account of it'd be obviously not preferable if the apocalypse ensued. When Ghost in the 'true' endings (and similarly derived Godmaster endings) attains the void heart, WL equally neutrally accepts that she basically has no control over them anymore. The prospect that they could kill her probably dawns on her, but we know what she thinks about the Radiance. It's just not preferable really.

I feel like WL is significantly more "alien" or "eldritch" than PK. This doesn't necessarily make one of them better than the other, but a lot of PK's dilemmas are actually pretty relatable. The irony of him seeming like such an aloof mysterious god is that once we actually break past all his defenses, he is surprisingly ordinary. Yes, he was some kind of giant sandworm dragon. But his foibles and failings are unglamorous. We practically find him the way you find a failed survivor in a zombie apocalypse, a body huddled in a closet bunker where it held out and failed, still carrying the echo of trying to convince himself it was worth it.

WL's problems are less relatable in that sense. I think most of us don't have the ironclad certainty that unless something goes extremely wrong we'll outlive all of our problems, but that's just it. She's not going to fight her enemies or take a meaningful stance about anything. She can be almost darkly-comically negligent, such as asking "Ogrim" to go check on Dryya when she's able to track the progression of Hollow's infection through her roots from half the kingdom away, and it hasn't occurred to her that Dryya should be eating and sleeping and moving around more. Like a dotty old grandma who forgot to feed the parrot one too many times and wonders why the old thing doesn't sing for her anymore, only a bit more unsettling directly because while many of us might be upset at the fatal neglect of a parrot, many more are justifiably obstinate about the idea someone might see you as just a pet novelty, because your lifespan really isn't that long.

[retrospective-d3c-a--y]

OC LIST

As title implies, just an of list^ will try and add links as I go (hoping eventually this will be so long each oc I have needs their own post list! so! send em in!)

All ocs will be tagged on each of their involved post as follows: "#RD- [Name]" .

"Aegius" - A391U5 [Story Link] it/its via programming > grows to like he/him

Android 391- Unit 5 A pink android with eyes that change slightly depending on the program as follows: Grey- Blank, Basic program. Obedient and obeying, the system comes blank and easy to reprogram to fit the needs of any owner! Bash its head in or take it on a walk to show off to friends, this pet is incapable of disobeying and fighting back. Mind you, this program is unspecialized and may fall short if you have specific needs! Blue- Advanced math and science program. This is a specialized program for scientists and engineers of all degrees. Need a test dummy or subject or even a henchmen to carry out specific combinations for key result? This program is for you! This program will have your robot doing anything to help with your endeavors, its key command of science. Pink- Romantic program. Looking for a more durable romantic-pet? Satisfy your needs with this programing! It will do anything to do what you decide is "good"- just be careful, as this programming may cause some disobedience if not commanded properly ;) Don't worry, our patrons seem to like that. Purple- Oh no :( Unfortunately your device has been corrupted. You shouldn't try and shove new programming into these bots without first decoding old programming! You cant know what this robot will do with such messed up programming. We advice you terminate your bot and return it to our labs and get a new and improved updated item from our catalog.

[Placeholder 1 Name] - Backstory HERE! Regenerative, Immortal, Winged Whumpees. KID WHUMP TW!

Orion (He>It), Adult

Winged-Humanoid with massive brown and grey wings and birdlike legs. His hair is ash brown, greying from the trauma he's enduring. In most storied his hair is long and bluntly chopped off as allowed, but he likes his hair rather short as he hates his hair being grabbed and thinks it helps (spoiler alert.. you can still grab short hair </3). Once he'd been torn apart enough, he does scar. His regeneration is slow and painful, and although he does black out, hes never allowed to "die". He doesnt know what to think of himself most of the time. Pessimistic of all beings on earth, he doesn't believe that he was meant to be tortured and hurt like he is, but ponders why.. why is he allowed to live on like this. If there was a being above, wouldn't they want to stop this? Ellie, his kiddo, is the only star in his life. He loves her dearly and uses his own blood to feed her when they need to. He'll do anything to keep her safe.

I will rp nsfw, whump, comfort, the works with Orion. Anythin, just send stuff on in.

Ellie (She/They>It), Child

Blue eyed wonder, she is. Light brown hair and white and brown baby feather adorn her ting little body. Her hair is short, soft, and warm brown. She has a scar on her throat from the repetitive destruction and removal of her vocal cords. She knows nothing of safety in life... of hope... of the sky, ocean, or sea her dad sometimes mumbles about. But she will always love her dad..

All roleplaying with her will have her set at newborn age to age 5. You can threaten Orion with her in any way and torture her, but do not send me ask box stuff actually having her partake in any sexual activity. Infact her whump should be more like a plot point than a focus point ^^;. Thank you in advance.