Japanese Tea Bag Maker Ocean-Teabag Has Been Making Waves By Creating Little Parcels Of Aroma In The

Could I request headcanons where gn!Tav said they're too plain & boring for that to happen when he asked how would they feel about being courted for Halsin, Rolan, Raphael, Gale, Astarion, and Wyll? - emoji anon

Hey hey emoji anon always a pleasure to see you in my inbox xox

Gale:

The evening sky was painted in soft hues of lavender and gold, the dying light casting a warm glow over the camp. Gale sat beside you, his fingers idly tracing patterns in the dirt as the two of you shared a rare moment of stillness. The remnants of supper lingered nearby, and the faint crackle of the fire filled the spaces where words had yet to form.

You had always been a quiet presence—steadfast and observant. Gale had long been drawn to your grounded nature, your calm amidst the whirlwind of their adventures. Over the past weeks, that draw had turned into something deeper, something he could no longer ignore. Tonight felt like the right time to broach the subject.

He took a deep breath, then turned to face you fully.

“May I ask you something, my friend?” he began, his voice gentle but steady.

You glanced at him, curious, and gave a small nod.

“How would you feel about being courted?” Gale’s tone was warm, but his words were tentative, as if testing the air. “By someone who sees you for all that you are?”

Your eyes widened slightly, the question clearly not one you’d anticipated. You hesitated, looking away as if searching the horizon for an answer. Then, with a faint sigh, you shook your head. “I… don’t think that’s something I’d expect to happen.”

Gale’s brows furrowed, his curiosity piqued. “Why not?”

You fiddled with the edge of your sleeve, your voice low and even. “I’m plain. Boring. I don’t have anything special to offer. I’m not… the kind of person someone courts.”

The words were simple, almost matter-of-fact, but Gale could hear the faint note of self-deprecation woven through them. His heart ached at the thought of you seeing yourself this way—so unremarkable when, to him, you were anything but.

“Plain?” he repeated softly, as though tasting the word and finding it absurd. “Boring?”

You nodded, your gaze still fixed on the ground, unwilling to meet his.

Gale shifted closer, his movements deliberate but unhurried. He leaned forward slightly, trying to catch your eye.

“You see yourself as ordinary,” he said gently. “But allow me to offer a different perspective.”

You glanced at him, a flicker of skepticism in your expression.

“There is a profound beauty in simplicity,” Gale continued, his voice gaining a quiet intensity. “In the way you listen so intently when others speak, as though their words hold the weight of the world. In the way you notice things most people overlook—like the way the sunlight catches on a blade of grass, or the quiet joy in a companion’s laughter.”

He paused, his gaze searching yours. “Do you know how rare that is? To move through life with such quiet awareness, to find wonder in the things others dismiss? It’s anything but boring.”

You blinked, clearly caught off guard by his words. Your fingers stilled, and for a moment, you seemed at a loss.

Gale smiled softly, his expression both kind and earnest. “And as for plain… I would argue that nothing about you is plain. Not to me. You have a depth, a quiet strength, that draws people in—whether you realize it or not. Including me.”

Your lips parted slightly, as if to protest, but no words came. The firelight danced in Gale’s eyes as he continued, his tone growing warmer.

“You think yourself unremarkable,” he said, his hand resting lightly on his knee. “But I see someone who is steady in a world full of chaos. Someone who doesn’t need grand gestures or flamboyant words to leave a mark. You do so simply by being you.”

For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The fire crackled softly, the wind rustled the leaves, and Gale waited patiently, his heart laid bare.

Finally, you spoke, your voice quieter than before. “I’m not sure I see what you see.”

Gale chuckled softly, a sound full of affection. “That’s all right. For now, let me see it for you.”

His words hung in the air, an offering, not a demand. You searched his face, as though trying to find some trace of insincerity, but all you found was warmth and a gentle resolve.

After a long pause, you nodded—tentative but genuine. It wasn’t an outright acceptance, but it was a start, a crack in the wall you’d built around yourself. Gale’s smile widened, relief and joy evident in his expression.

“Then I’ll consider myself fortunate to take this first step with you,” he said. “For however long you’ll allow.”

He didn’t press further, content to let the moment settle. Instead, he shifted back slightly, his posture relaxed but his gaze still lingering on you, as if committing this moment to memory.

Astarion:

The moon hung high in the sky, its pale light spilling over the camp and painting everything in silver hues. Astarion leaned against a tree at the edge of the firelight, his posture casual yet poised, as if every movement was deliberately chosen to exude elegance. He had led you here for a moment away from the others, a chance for privacy in a rare moment of quiet.

He had been observing you for weeks now, intrigued by your quiet nature and the way you seemed to exist outside the clamor of the world. You weren’t like the others, who vied for attention or filled silences with chatter. You were steady, calm, a constant presence that had unexpectedly captivated him. Tonight, he decided, was the night to act.

“How would you feel about being courted?” Astarion asked, his voice smooth and deliberate, though a hint of genuine curiosity underpinned his words. He tilted his head slightly, his crimson eyes watching you intently.

The question startled you. Your brow furrowed as you turned to him, studying his face for a moment before looking away. You hesitated, as if unsure of how to answer, before finally speaking, your voice quiet but firm.

“I don’t think I’m the type of person anyone would court.”

Astarion blinked, caught off guard. He straightened, his usual smirk replaced by an expression of genuine confusion. “And why, pray tell, would you think that?”

You shrugged, your fingers idly toying with the edge of your sleeve. “I’m… plain. Boring. I don’t stand out. There’s nothing about me that would make someone look twice.”

He stared at you, momentarily at a loss. In all his centuries of life—undead and otherwise—he had heard many things from many people, but this? This was utterly baffling. Slowly, he pushed off the tree, taking a step closer to you.

“You truly think that?” he asked, his voice softer now, his usual theatrics momentarily set aside.

You nodded, still not meeting his gaze. “I’m just… me. There’s nothing special about that.”

Astarion’s lips parted, an incredulous laugh escaping him. It wasn’t mocking, but rather a genuine reaction to the absurdity of your words. He took another step closer, his eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to decipher a riddle.

“You are utterly fascinating,” he said, his tone tinged with exasperation. “And yet you don’t even see it.”

You finally looked at him then, surprise flickering in your eyes. “Fascinating? Me?”

“Yes, you,” he said, his voice gaining a playful edge but still rooted in sincerity. “Do you think I spend my time with people who bore me? Who fade into the background? Darling, you’ve done nothing but capture my attention since the day we met.”

You blinked, clearly taken aback. Astarion seized the moment, stepping closer until there was only a breath of space between you. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your arm in a gesture that was surprisingly gentle.

“You think yourself plain, but let me tell you what I see,” he continued, his crimson eyes locked on yours. “I see someone who is steady when the world is chaos. Someone who doesn’t feel the need to shout to be heard, because their presence speaks louder than words ever could. I see kindness, strength, and a quiet resilience that most people could only dream of possessing.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he raised a hand, silencing you with a sly smile. “And boring? Oh, darling, you couldn’t be boring if you tried. Do you know how refreshing it is to spend time with someone who doesn’t feel the need to posture or perform? Who is simply… themselves?”

His hand lingered on your arm, his gaze softening. “You’ve been a balm to my restless soul, whether you realize it or not. And while I do enjoy a challenge, I assure you, this—us—isn’t some idle game to me.”

Your breath hitched at his words, your mind struggling to reconcile his sincerity with the image you held of yourself. For a moment, you simply stared at him, searching his face for any trace of insincerity. But all you found was honesty, woven with a thread of vulnerability that Astarion rarely let anyone see.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. He smiled then, a genuine smile that softened his sharp features.

“You don’t need to say anything, my dear,” he said. “Just… allow me the chance to show you how wrong you are about yourself. One step at a time.”

There was a moment of silence, the world around you fading into the background as his words hung in the air. Finally, you nodded—a small, tentative gesture, but one that spoke volumes.

Astarion’s smile widened, his usual confidence returning as he stepped back, though his eyes never left yours.

“Good,” he said, his tone lightening. “Now, let’s consider this the first step. And I promise, you won’t find it boring in the slightest.”

As the moonlight bathed the two of you in its glow, you couldn’t help but feel a small flicker of warmth in your chest—a spark of something you hadn’t dared to hope for. Astarion, ever the enigma, had found something extraordinary in you, and perhaps, just perhaps, it was time for you to see it too.

Wyll:

The campfire crackled softly, casting a warm, golden glow over the small clearing. The day’s trials had finally settled into the past, leaving the evening peaceful and calm. Wyll sat across from you, his posture relaxed but his eyes searching your face. You’d spent much of the evening in comfortable silence, but Wyll had something weighing on his mind, a question that had been lingering for weeks now.

He straightened slightly, his expression shifting to something earnest and determined.

“Can I ask you something, my friend?” he said, his voice gentle but steady.

You nodded, turning your attention fully to him, your quiet gaze encouraging him to continue.

“How would you feel about being courted?” His words were soft, but they carried a weight, as though he’d thought about them long before speaking. He leaned forward slightly, his dark eyes warm yet watchful. “By me.”

Your reaction wasn’t what he expected. Rather than the usual flustered surprise or shy delight, you looked away, your brows furrowing slightly. For a moment, you seemed lost in thought, your fingers tracing idle patterns in the dirt.

Finally, you spoke, your voice quiet but steady. “I don’t think that’s something someone like me would expect. Or deserve.”

Wyll blinked, caught off guard. He tilted his head slightly, his expression softening with concern. “Why would you say that?”

You shrugged, the motion small, almost imperceptible. “I’m… plain. Boring. I don’t have anything special to offer. I’m not the kind of person someone courts. Especially not someone like you.”

His brows knit together, the statement hitting him harder than you probably realized. For a moment, he was silent, processing your words. Then, slowly, he shifted closer, his movements deliberate and unhurried, as though approaching a spooked animal.

“I think you have the wrong idea about yourself,” he said gently, his voice steady but filled with quiet conviction. “And about me, too.”

You glanced at him, surprise flickering in your expression, but you said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

“I’ve had people sing my praises for years,” Wyll said, his tone tinged with a bittersweet smile. “They see the Blade of Frontiers, the hero of Baldur’s Gate, the warlock who made a devil’s bargain to save lives. They see the titles, the stories. But do you know what’s often missing in all that admiration?”

You shook your head slightly, curiosity softening your guarded expression.

“Truth,” he said simply. “They don’t see the person behind the blade. They don’t ask about Wyll—just Wyll, the man who likes to read by the fire, who enjoys a good laugh and a quiet evening, who sometimes feels lost and unsure, just like anyone else.”

You frowned slightly, your fingers stilling as you listened. He leaned closer, his gaze earnest.

“That’s what I see in you,” he continued, his voice softer now. “You don’t treat me like a symbol or a story. You see me as I am—flaws and all. And you? You’re anything but boring. You’re steady, thoughtful, kind in ways most people overlook because they’re too busy shouting over the world.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he held up a hand, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Let me finish,” he said, his tone teasing but kind. “I’ve been surrounded by noise for so long. People who only care about the legend and not the man. But you? You’re a balm to that chaos. Your quiet strength, your grounded nature—it’s a gift, one I’m lucky to witness.”

Your gaze dropped again, your hands fidgeting in your lap.

“I’m not sure I see what you do,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s all right,” Wyll said, his smile widening. “You don’t have to see it right now. But I hope, if you’ll let me, I can help you see it someday.”

For a moment, there was only the sound of the fire crackling, the world around you fading into the background. Slowly, you lifted your gaze to meet his, something vulnerable but hopeful flickering in your eyes.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you murmured. Wyll chuckled softly, his voice warm and reassuring.

“You don’t have to say anything, not yet,” he said. “But let me court you, in my own quiet way. One step at a time.”

You hesitated, the weight of his words settling over you, before finally giving a small nod. It was tentative, but it was enough.

Wyll’s smile brightened, his joy evident but restrained as he respected the moment’s delicacy. As the firelight danced in his eyes, you felt a small spark of warmth in your chest, a flicker of something you hadn’t dared to hope for.

Halsin:

The two of you sat on the edge of a tranquil grove, where the whispering trees and a gently trickling stream created a sanctuary of peace. Halsin had invited you here—his favorite spot in the forest—to share its beauty with you. The warm glow of sunset bathed the grove in golden light, making everything feel almost dreamlike.

Halsin turned to you, his expression thoughtful but earnest. For days, he had been working up the courage to address the feelings stirring in his heart, feelings he couldn’t ignore. He was a man who valued honesty, and with you, there was no need for pretense.

“How would you feel about being courted?” he asked, his deep voice as steady as ever, though a flicker of vulnerability softened his usual confidence.

You blinked, caught off guard. The question hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning. For a long moment, you simply stared at him, your thoughts turning inward as you tried to process his words. Courted? By Halsin?

When you finally spoke, your voice was quiet, your tone steady but tinged with self-deprecation.

“I… don’t know why you’d want that,” you said, avoiding his gaze. “I’m… plain. Boring. There’s nothing special about me.”

Halsin’s brow furrowed, and he leaned closer, his large frame radiating warmth and concern.

“You think yourself plain? Boring?” He shook his head, a soft sigh escaping him. “I don’t see you that way at all.”

You shrugged, a small, almost invisible motion. “I don’t talk much. I don’t stand out. There’s nothing about me that would catch someone’s attention, let alone someone like you.”

The words were simple, but they carried a weight that struck Halsin deeply. He studied you for a moment, his golden eyes filled with quiet contemplation. Then he reached out, his hand hesitating briefly before resting lightly on your forearm—a grounding gesture, firm but gentle.

“You are wrong about yourself,” he said softly. “Painfully so. Perhaps others might overlook you, distracted by louder voices or flashier displays. But that does not make you plain. It makes you rare.”

Your gaze flicked to his, searching his face for any sign of insincerity, but all you found was honesty—unflinching and unwavering.

“Do you know what drew me to you?” Halsin continued, his voice steady. “It wasn’t grand gestures or clever words. It was the way you see the world. The way you move through it with quiet grace, noticing things others miss. The kindness in your actions, the thoughtfulness in your silences. You don’t need to speak loudly to be heard, nor shine brightly to be seen.”

Your brow furrowed slightly, skepticism still lingering, but his words stirred something in you—a small ember of hope, fragile but warm.

“I have lived a long life,” Halsin said, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I have seen many things, met many people. Yet none have made me feel as you do. When I am with you, I feel… peace. A sense of balance I have long sought. How could I not wish to court someone who makes the world feel whole?”

Your breath hitched, the sincerity in his words overwhelming in its simplicity. He wasn’t trying to convince you or charm you—he was merely telling you the truth as he saw it.

“I know you think yourself plain,” he added, his tone softening further. “But to me, you are extraordinary. And I would be honored if you would allow me to show you that.”

You looked away, your fingers tightening slightly against your knees, processing his words. It wasn’t easy to see yourself through his eyes, to accept the idea that someone as kind, wise, and strong as Halsin could feel this way about you. But his earnestness was undeniable, and the warmth in his gaze felt like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

Finally, you nodded—a small, almost imperceptible movement—but it was enough. Halsin’s smile widened, a quiet joy lighting his face. He didn’t push for more, didn’t press you for an answer beyond that. He simply placed his hand over yours, a silent promise in the gentle weight of his touch. For the first time, you felt that maybe you weren’t as plain as you thought.

Rolan:

The late afternoon sun filtered through the trees, casting dappled light over the clearing where you and Rolan sat. The camp was a short distance away, but it felt like a different world out here, surrounded by the gentle sounds of nature. Rolan had invited you to join him, claiming a need to get a break from the tower, ostensibly to discuss a spell he was refining, but the conversation had meandered into more personal territory.

Rolan, ever the picture of confidence with his sharp wit and sharper tongue, seemed uncharacteristically hesitant as he looked at you now. His fingers drummed lightly against the cover of a spellbook in his lap, the only sign of his nerves.

"I’ve been thinking," he began, his tone carefully measured. "About… connections. Relationships. And—hypothetically, of course—how one might feel about being courted."

You raised an eyebrow at him, your expression unreadable, but you stayed silent, waiting for him to continue.

Rolan cleared his throat, his gaze darting briefly to the ground before returning to you. “How would you feel about it? If someone—hypothetically, of course—were interested in courting you?”

The question hung in the air between you, his carefully chosen words laced with something more vulnerable than he let on. You tilted your head slightly, processing his question, before finally replying in your usual quiet tone.

“I don’t think that’s something I’d expect to happen.”

Rolan blinked, caught off guard by your matter-of-fact response.

“Why not?” he asked, his voice sharper than he intended, though curiosity softened the edges.

You shrugged, your gaze drifting away from him. “I’m plain. Boring. Not the kind of person someone would look at that way.”

For a moment, Rolan was silent, his expression frozen in something between disbelief and frustration. He closed his spellbook with a decisive snap and leaned forward, his golden eyes fixed on you.

“Plain?” he repeated, his voice incredulous. “Boring? You cannot be serious.”

You frowned slightly, the smallest sign of discomfort. “I don’t see what’s so surprising about it.”

“What’s surprising,” Rolan said, his tone gaining momentum, “is that someone as unique as you could think of themselves that way. Plain? Hardly. You have a presence that is… grounding. Quiet, yes, but not boring. Do you know how rare it is to meet someone who listens so completely? Who sees people, not just their façades?”

You looked at him, startled by his intensity, but still hesitant to believe him.

“And boring?” he continued, his hands gesturing animatedly now. “You? Boring? I’ve seen the way you notice the smallest details, the things everyone else overlooks. The way you spoke back at the grove and at the Inn. The way you find meaning in the most unassuming moments. It’s like watching someone unearth treasure where others see dirt.”

You blinked, clearly unprepared for such fervent praise. “I think you’re exaggerating.”

Rolan snorted, leaning back but keeping his gaze on you. “Oh, I assure you, I’m not. I confess I may have a penchant for flair but if anything, I’m being far too restrained. You may not see it, but I do. And the fact that you don’t parade it around for the world to admire makes it all the more remarkable.”

There was a beat of silence as his words sank in. You looked away, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve.

“I’m just me,” you murmured. “I don’t think I’m what anyone would want.”

Rolan sighed, his usual sharp edges softening as he leaned forward again.

“And what if I told you that you’re exactly what I want?” he asked, his voice quiet but unwavering.

Your eyes snapped to his, wide with surprise. He held your gaze, his expression uncharacteristically open and earnest.

“I’m not saying this lightly,” he continued. “I’ve met plenty of people who’ve tried to catch my eye with flair and dramatics. And yet, here I am, drawn to you—not despite your quiet nature, but because of it. You make me feel… seen. Grounded. And that’s not something I take lightly.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came. The fire of his conviction left you momentarily stunned, your usual composure slipping.

Rolan, ever perceptive, offered you a small smile.

“I’m not asking for an answer right now,” he said, his tone gentler than before. “But if you’re willing, I’d like to show you what I see in you. What I value.”

You hesitated, your mind swirling with doubt and confusion, but there was something in his eyes—a sincerity that made it hard to look away. Finally, you nodded, the motion small but meaningful.

Rolan’s smile widened, his confidence returning as he straightened.

“Good,” he said lightly, though his eyes still held a spark of warmth. “I’ll consider this a victory for now.”

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the clearing in hues of gold and amber, you felt a strange warmth settle in your chest. A welcome warmth, one you began to wish would never go away.

Raphael:

The dim glow of the Infernal plane's ever-present crimson light cast flickering shadows across the opulent chamber Raphael had conjured for this meeting. He had whisked you away from camp, claiming that he simply had to talk to you. It's not like any of you could stop him.

So, you sat across from the cambion, the weight of his intense gaze like fire on your skin. His effortless elegance and sly charm made him an intimidating presence, and yet, here you were, an enigma in his life—a mortal who had somehow dared to pique his interest.

Raphael leaned back in his ornate chair, swirling a goblet of dark wine as a faint smirk played on his lips.

“Indulge me, dear one,” he began, his voice smooth as silk and twice as dangerous. “If someone were to court you, what would you think of that? Hypothetically, of course.”

His tone was playful, but his golden eyes betrayed a glint of something deeper, something predatory and curious. He wanted your answer, and more than that, he wanted your reaction.

Your expression remained neutral, though his question tugged at something uncomfortable within you. You shifted slightly in your seat, avoiding his gaze for a moment. When you finally spoke, your voice was soft, almost self-effacing.

“I don’t think that’s something I’d ever need to consider.”

Raphael arched a brow, intrigued. “And why, pray tell, is that?”

A small shrug was your only initial response. You glanced at the ground, your hands resting idly in your lap. “I’m too plain. Too boring. I can assure you, that no one would go to the trouble for someone like me.”

The room seemed to grow quieter, the ambient sounds of the infernal realm fading as your words settled in the air. Raphael’s smirk froze, his golden eyes narrowing slightly. For a long moment, he said nothing, simply watching you, assessing.

Then, he laughed.

It wasn’t the cruel, mocking laughter you might have expected. It was something deeper, richer, though no less sharp. The sound echoed through the chamber, laced with incredulity and amusement.

“Plain?” he repeated, his voice rising slightly with disbelief. “Boring? You wound me, darling. To think you’d insult my taste so gravely.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his reaction. “I wasn’t insulting you,” you murmured. “Just… stating the truth.”

Raphael leaned forward suddenly, his goblet forgotten on the table between you. His piercing gaze locked onto yours, and the playful veneer fell away, replaced by something far more serious.

“Let me make one thing abundantly clear,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “I do not waste my time on ‘plain’ or ‘boring.’ I am Raphael, cambion and devil, and my desires are nothing short of extraordinary. And yet, here I am, entertaining this conversation with you.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off with a sharp gesture.

“Do you think I value surface-level trivialities? Flashy baubles and empty charms?” He scoffed, shaking his head. “No, my dear. What draws me—what fascinates me—is the quiet strength you carry, the steadfastness that refuses to yield even when the world would see you broken. You call yourself plain, but I see a canvas upon which potential is painted. You call yourself boring, yet your very presence intrigues me in ways no banal mortal ever has.”

You stared at him, stunned into silence by the sheer conviction in his words. Raphael rose from his chair and took a step closer, his imposing figure casting a shadow over you. Despite his intensity, there was no malice in his expression—only a fierce, unyielding confidence.

“You think yourself undeserving of my attention?” he said, his tone softening but losing none of its weight. “I assure you, my attention is not so easily won. And yet, you’ve captured it. What does that tell you?”

You swallowed, your throat dry. “That you’re… persistent?” you ventured, your voice tinged with hesitant humor. Raphael chuckled, a genuine sound that softened the edges of his sharp demeanor.

“Indeed,” he said, his smirk returning. “But more than that, it tells you that there is far more to you than you realize. And I intend to show you exactly what I see.”

You looked away, your thoughts a chaotic swirl of doubt and hope.

“I’m not sure I believe you,” you admitted, your voice barely audible.

Raphael tilted your chin up with a single finger, his touch surprisingly gentle.

“Then allow me the pleasure of proving you wrong,” he said, his voice a velvet promise. “You may doubt yourself, but I do not. And I am not one to be easily swayed.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. You found yourself nodding, unable to find the strength to argue further. Raphael’s smile widened, a predatory glint returning to his eyes.

“Good,” he murmured, stepping back with an air of satisfaction. “Then let the courting begin. And trust me, my darling—there is nothing boring about what lies ahead.”

As he returned to his seat, his goblet once again in hand, you felt a strange mix of apprehension and warmth settle in your chest. Raphael’s words had shaken something loose within you, and though you weren’t sure what to make of it yet, one thing was certain: this devil would not let you fade into obscurity. Not without a fight.

Fun to add Rolan and Raphael to the bunch with this one, hope you guys enjoyed it ! - Seluney xox

P.S thank you all for your sweet messages it truly means a lot xoxo

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

never liked the childhood imagery for bnha. It's cute, nauseatingly so, it's 100% calculated to evoke easy feelings of adoration and protection and sympathy for a character. Which is fine, I'm not against it as a trope, I think it's very cute too!

But that childhood imagery was always Not Real. It takes place in the Past. It was Things That Could've Been. And here, as the official account puts it, Things From Another Lifetime.

But why not this lifetime? Why can't the hand holding and connection and bright colors and healing be in the lifetime the characters are in now? Yeah, it probably can't ever reach this level of Brightness, but it doesn't mean it's not worth it?

But Childhood Imagery + The Conclusion We Got means it was just too late. The time to save Toga was when she was 3 years old. Being 17 means it's all over. Can you save Villains? Yes, but only when they're age 5 or less. So before they became Villains. Before they even become 'misbehaving' children, actually.

So can you save Villains? No.

The satisfaction from Childhood Imagery isn't from solving the problem, it's from a 'what if'.

And that's fine! I love AUs. But I'm not reading fanfic here, i'm reading the canon manga and the story asked 'can the Heroes save the Villains' and the answer is a no. But Maybe In Another Lifetime.

Which is also fine, if we are to take this to mean the Heroes lost and failed. But that is a downer conclusion to give to your heroic protags. idk. Maybe hence the conclusion of 'well, next time then, so just keep reaching out.' But this was the first and only time in the story Ochako tried to reach out to a Villain like Toga so we're starting off not too good, with a total record of 0. Will next time work? Or will it have to happen In Another Lifetime?

(Plus also we don't see that Heroes reach out and save the next crying taboo-quirk 3-year-old. That radio blurb of 'expanding quirk counseling' doesn't count. What does that even mean, 'expanding'? Because more importantly, that wasn't what Toga needed. She needed her parents to not be so emotionally and verbally abusive towards her. She needed a mom and dad that didn't tell her 'we gave birth to something inhuman'. Because her parents couldn't get her into quirk counseling fast enough. They depended on the counselor to 'iron' out her deviancies. What does Expanding quirk counseling solve here? Expand therapy techniques so that the parents can have a quiet child that wouldn't embarrass them so much they have to yell at them that they're subhuman? Is expanding quirk counseling going to do anything about the parents who want those expanded two-hour long sessions, expanded to every day, to 'fix' their child because else they'll have to abuse the abnormalities out themselves?)

(Else they have to lock their kid in a basement? and only when the next disaster comes, the kid can finally escape and get rescued by a guilt-ridden civilian? Instead of a Hero who hasn't done their job of 'saving' at all in this kid's years of suffering????)

Childhood Imagery is so cheap to use. smh horikoshi

Polish Literature: My Song (II) by Cyprian Kamil Norwid (1821 - 1883)

For that land where a scrap of bread is picked up From the ground out of reverence For Heaven’s gifts. I am homesick, Lord!

For the land where it’s a great travesty To harm a stork’s nest in a pear tree, For storks serve us all. I am homesick, Lord!

For the land where we greet each other In the ancient Christian custom: “May Christ’s name be praised!” I am homesick, Lord!

I long still for yet another thing, likewise innocent, For I no longer know where to find My abode. I am homesick, Lord!

For worrying-not and thinking-not, For those whose yes means yes — and no means no — Without shades of grey. I am homesick, Lord!

I long for that distant place, where someone cares for me! It must be thus, though my friendship Will never come to pass! I am homesick, Lord!

- translated by Walter Whipple     ■ Cyprian Kamil Norwid (1821 - 1883) was a Polish poet, playwright, painter, and sculptor who was one of the most original representatives of late Romanticism.

■ Norwid led a tragic and often poverty-stricken life (once he had to live in a cemetery crypt). He experienced increasing health problems, unrequited love, harsh critical reviews, and increasing social isolation. He lived abroad most of his life, especially in London and in Paris, where he died.

■ His work was only rediscovered and appreciated during the Young Poland art period of the late nineteenth and early twentieth century. He is now considered one of the four most important Polish Romantic poets.

Your first time is NOT supposed to hurt

You are NOT supposed to bleed

If you bleed, that is NOT your hymen being ‘popped’, it is a tear due to lack of sexual arousal and natural lubrication.

This is all a MYTH perpetrated by men so they don’t have to make sure you are comfortable and sufficiently aroused enough before you have sex with them. It is an excuse to disregard and hurt you.

I just really want women to know this.

After getting over the initial shock and heartbreak of this tweet and this reply, it hit me that (and I don't know if this is a cultural thing here in the middle east or an Islamic one)

A child has to be named even if they're stillborn.

For a child to not be named, that means there's no one left to name them. They were killed along with their entire family.

I hoped I was wrong, but I checked the list of victims of Israeli attacks and found this:

Israel has ended 47 Palestinian bloodlines over the course of this genocide (or perhaps more), so you might think that this little detail isn't that important, but I don't think we should get used to cruelty of this proportion, no matter how consistently Israel commits it.

The number of victims isn't just a number. These are people with full lives and hopes and dreams.

It's enough of a disaster that these families were wiped out, but in murdering them, Israel didn't just deprive them of their lives, hopes, and dreams. It deprived them of even the dignity to name their children.

It continues to deprive the remaining Palestinians of their most basic human rights.

What did the Palestinians do to not deserve food or water or electricity?

What did their *newborns* do to not deserve lives or at the very least names?!

This is the most harrowing form of terrorism I can think of. The genocidal Israeli occupation is the most despicable terrorist organization the world has had the displeasure of knowing.

The whole world should be deeply ashamed that it's not only allowing such heinous war crimes to be committed, but in a lot of ways, it's enabling them.

I don't know how anyone can be neutral about this.

Stand with Palestine, stand against the occupation. Against genocide.

ربنا يتقبل الأطفال دول و أمهاتهم و عائلاتهم اللي الاحتلال قتلهم معاهم شهداء، و ينتقم من إسرائيل و أي حد بيمكّنهم أشد انتقام في الدنيا قبل الآخرة.

Well shit, Helluva Boss stans saw my post about this.

"Maybe the people posting Octavia hate are like trolls".

If it's was a trolls than explain to me, why many people hate Octavia.

I really want know because you don't know what the fuck are you talk about.

Also Helluva Boss stans please leave me the fuck alone, if you disagree with me, fine whatever but from fuck sake, don't harassing me over i share about this.

Touya is still in Pain

Touya/Dabi is portrayed in an extremely vulnerable light this chapter.

He’s ripping his hair out, crying, with a helpless mouth open/(perhaps grin?), hand stretched out, calling for help and scarred tissue already appearing. He’s looked from a high vintage point, as if the audience is looking down at him from above.

In the next one we Dabi’s scarred back, examining the new scars on his wrists/hands. His back is almost completely covered with scars, his white hair stark against his back. Showing one’s back has always been a sign of vulnerability.  By looking at his new scars, the readers understands he’s in pain that has new wounds to add to the already massive collection of scars. the tilt of his head is contemplative yet resigned, like ‘Ah another one.’ His hand here is contrast to the one above, curled and concealed, no longer reaching. 

By revealing this more helpless side of Touya/Dabi, Hori not only gains more sympathy from the audience, but also showcases how Dabi is still that hurt child, but he’s no longer calling out for help, after having been hurt for far too long.