Janaina Medeiros
Sade Olutola
we're not kids anymore.
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sheepfilms
dirt enthusiast
tumblr dot com
AnasAbdin
Andulka
d e v o n
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Product Placement
YOU ARE THE REASON
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occasionally subtle
Peter Solarz
PR's Tumblrdome
trying on a metaphor
Three Goblin Art
KIROKAZE
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@voidvwoop
something something that one gay scientist movie or whatever
When the enemy found out your hiding spot
audio source
Ok but imagine Fuse and Bloodhound being adoptive parents to Vantage! 🥺 I want it to happen. I know nothing about Vantage other than the trailer but Fuse is already being their father. I need BH to join in. Somebody needs to be the level headed one and it ain’t Fuse.
Fuse literally the type of dad that’s “as long as the kids aren’t crying they’re fine” and then just watches sports and drinks beer. BH gotta step in.
sunshine x brooding loner trope has me in a chokehold and i cant get out
following this confrontation his squad got eliminated under mysterious circumstances (he drove them off the map)
wattson orchestrated the whole thing (real)
_(:3」∠)_
Terminal Hanaki? Boring. Chronic Hanahaki? Exciting.
Not enough chronic illness in fanfic. Shout-out to my folks who spend 6-8 weeks of the year in the hospital.
Prof you fucking genius is it seasonal? Like it happens in spring cause the flowers bloom? Imagine it hitting hanahaki season and looking around a room and seeing whose missing, who’s out on sick leave, thr curiosity the DRAMA
It’s like how everyone with autoimmune disorders disappears during flu season! Except with even more drama.
[http://www.asofterworld.com/index.php?id=539]
#this is honestly how I initially thought hanahaki in fic worked #coughing up flowers for years because you won’t cop to your feelings? #that’s the stuff #the dying thing puts on really uncomfortable pressure for me #like ‘love me back or I’ll die’ is uncomfortable as hell for me #whereas ‘ADMIT YOU’RE IN LOVE YOU JUST COUGHED UP A BOUQUET!’ #hanahaki-suffering person: ‘no’ THIS IMMEDIATELY IMPROVES THE ENTIRE TROPE! I had really disliked Hanahaki because it’s almost like the other person - if they’re a good person - is sorta blackmailed into either having feelings or being responsible for your death which is Not Romantic, but I can totally get down for FEELIGS made into an aggravating physical metaphor that you could potential deal with if you’d either confront them or get therapy or something.
This puts the song “I Won’t Say (I’m in Love)” in a completely new light.
I am in awe at how much this tweak changes the trope of hanahaki from something I quietly detest from a distance into something I would gleefully read and giggle about to others.
Honestly I don’t even think it’s even the removal of the death thing (like that’s certainly helpful, but you can probably keep it, if you need it for the Drama) that saves it, so much as it is the idea that the problem is caused purely by you not admitting your feelings, rather than the other person not sharing them.
Like, in the standard version of Hanahaki, the point is that the disease is caused by unrequited love, and the afflicted end up coughing up increasingly large amounts of flowers, until either they suffocate or the other person returns their feelings.
A lot of versions do require a confession on top of that, but fundamentally the most important thing is the object of your affections developing specifically romantic feelings for you. Or you die.
As an aro person, I’m sure I don’t need to explain why this trope is uncomfortable for me, considering that it basically paints me as a potential death trap.
Plus some stories also feature ‘The Surgery’, which removes the roots of the flowers from the victim’s lungs, thus saving their life, but in the process makes them incapable of romantic love, which is treated as the highest tragedy.
Chronic Hanahaki on its own would still kind of have this problem, it’s just toning it down a bit— rather than being responsible for your death, your crush is instead just responsible for your continued pain/discomfort and frequent hospital visits. Better, but still kind of icky.
Chronic Hanahaki (that could still be potentially terminal in the long term, if you need extra drama) caused by not saying your feelings aloud, regardless of how the other person feels, on the other hand?
Beautiful. Great metaphor for the real effects that repressing your emotions can have on your body. Lots of dramatic potential.
Like, obviously there’s your bog-standard “I love you but don’t believe that you love me, so I will choose to suffer tragically alone rather than risk making you feel bad for not loving me back” thing that the Hanahaki genre was made for, but there’s room for more here as well.
Especially if you expand it to be about supressed emotions in general, rather than just romantic love.
For example:
The character who is in a relationship, but still has trouble verbalising their feelings sometimes, due to past trauma/mental illness, and thus still experiences recurring bouts of Hanahaki. Their partner who reassures them that it’s okay, that they know they love them, and that if they want to say it then that’s fine, but if they don’t feel they can right now then your flowers are beautiful babe, and that’s fine too.
The character who notices flower petals lying around their kid’s room, and doesn’t understand why their child won’t just tell them who they are in love with, so they can support them in confessing their feelings. Only to find out that their kid has actually been dating their same gender best friend for months now, and the Hanahaki was about coming out to their parent.
The autistic character with alexithymia, who by this point just treats coughing up the occasional flower petal as another, rather annoying autistic trait. “Fuck,” they say, coughing up a blood-stained rose and holding it up for their friends to see. “Anyone got any ideas what this one could be about?”
The polar opposite of the traditional Hanahaki thing. The ever happy, toxic positivity character who will die from the flowers choking their lungs unless they finally admit that they kind of hate you sometimes.
The character at the funeral of a family member they had an extremely dysfunctional relationship with, defiantly coughing their flower petals right onto the grave, and refusing to admit that they felt anything other than dislike or indifference for them deep down, because even now, when they’re dead and gone and it doesn’t matter, “you first, bitch.”
The character who witnessed or was told something that they aren’t supposed to know, and not only has to deal with the secret eating away at them, but also has to come up with more and more reasons for why their Hanahaki isn’t going away, even after they confess all their other secrets.
The character who, upon clearing out the house of a beloved elderly relative who recently died, finds a whole room full of rotting flowers, and is faced with the question of what their relative’s big secret was.
Reworking Hanahaki to be a material and physical symptom of emotional bottling or stress is absolutely fantastic, especially because it brings several more layers to the AU that weren’t otherwise worth exploring before when it was just a ‘cough flowers up till you die’ kinda deal. Obviously plenty has been said above me by excellent individuals, but I offer a couple more questions/ideas:
There is a huge following of people who believe the petals or type of flower from Hanahaki symptoms somehow represents a person’s inner feelings, emotions, or state of being.
Does a rose mean you’re holding back a romantic attraction? If your friend is coughing up daisy petals, are they hiding a secret? If you start finding lavender petals in your coughs, should you think about who it is you don’t trust?
On the flip side, perhaps each person experiences Hanahaki with a very specific type of flower, and there are some who believe that flower represents the person in some form–perhaps to the degree of astrology. Someone who is a daffodil shouldn’t date someone who is a lilac, the two of them are intrinsic opposites and they’ll never get along!
Fortune-tellers who say they can read your future if you’re currently experiencing symptoms and bring in a handful of petals you’ve expelled–they’ll read them just like palm lines or tarot cards.
ngl i thought i was dead the moment i realized my last enemy was a bald wraith
the only superior strat is the mrvn strat
its ummmmm taejoon monday <3
begging u all to go on tbis emotional rollercoaster with me its driving me insane
spoilers for the interactions in season 12 between rev and the rich kids
how long until the crk fandom ships these two
octane apexlegends if you're reading this i am free on thursday night. octavio silva if you would like to hang out i am free on thursday night when i am free to hang out. i am free on thursday night so if you want to hang out on thursday night i am free octane.
Dolores Madrigal is 12 and her tío Bruno just left, except she can still hear him. Not in a wistful thinking way. She can literally hear him: his light and nervous steps, his rapid heartbeat, his quiet muttering to himself, knocking on wood every five minutes, trashing in his bed at night because of nightmares.
She tries to tell someone but nobody listens. Mom starts literally thundering at the sole mention of his name (she says she’s angry over some old fight they had, but she heard her raining the night after he left, heartbroken). Everyone else is tense, tiptoeing around Mirabel’s lack of gift, trying not to incite Abuela’s anger. So Dolores does the one thing she learned soon after she got her gift: she keeps quiet.
Dolores is 13 years old and it’s been four months since her tío left when she hears him whisper from the first floor at night.
“You know I’m here, don’t you, kid?”
She squeaks affirmatively, but knows he can’t hear her with the clarity she does.
“You haven’t told them. Will… will you tell them? I can’t come back. I can’t. You don’t understand. I can’t do that to- I can’t.”
His heartbeat is so loud, Dolores is surprised no one else can hear it. She puts on her sandals, walks down to the kitchen, where his BUMBUMBUMBUM is coming from. She pours herself a glass of hot water, makes a tila tea and leaves it by the old portrait.
“I won’t tell them,” she whispers.
She pretends not to hear his relieved sob. She’s already by the stairs when she hears the portrait crack open and shut again, the gentle blowing over the hot surface, the hum of delight at the warm drink. His heartbeat finally settles.
Dolores is 17 and an expert at her tio’s moods. If she grabs extra arepas from the kitchen every morning and leaves them by the family portrait, she can always blame it on Camilo. Bruno laughs quietly at whatever joke is told on the table. He laughs most at dad and tío Agustin’s jokes, but Dolores finds he has a soft spot for Mirabel’s dry sense of humor. Once, he chuckles so hard, she has to pretend to bump into the table and “accidentally” knock over a glass of juice to cover the noise. Abuela chews out Mirabel over the mess, for some reason and Dolores can hear Bruno muttering guiltily at himself for hours.
“Why did you leave?” She asks, late at night, alone in the kitchen. His heartbeat jumps a little, but he doesn’t reply. She leaves a chamomile tea with some honey by what she’s come to think of as “his spot” and goes upstairs. He is specially quiet for weeks after that.
Dolores is 21 and in love and just found out Mariano loves Isabel. Everyone in town knows already, but she refused to believe it until she heard him tell his mom just now. She sobs quietly, little squeaks that no one else should be able to hear. No one must know. She can’t do that to her prima. It’s not her fault. And she won’t be the reason Mariano is unhappy.
There’s a knock on the door. Tiny. So tiny, she almost thinks she imagined it. (She never doubts her ears, though). When she opens the door, in the hallway is a warm cup of tea. She hears steps rushing away from inside the walls. She takes the tea, blows gently, takes a sip and feels her heart settle. “I am so sorry, nena, I wish I’d been wrong. Just this once.”
Dolores is 22 and just ruined her cousin’s proposal. She didn’t mean to, did she? No. She just had to tell someone. This is important. It’s about the magic and about that old prophecy Bruno sometimes still mutters about and about the miracle and she’s just so tired of holding it all in. She was already about to spill it all when Mirabel came asking, let it “slip” that she can still hear him, pointed her towards the rats in the walls… she is desperate for someone else to know.
She shouldn’t have talked, though. She listens, while everyone else loses their minds —abuela yelling for Mirabel, Luisa crying, Isabel fuming, Camilo trying to calm mom down, Agustin and Felix cleaning up the mess, Mariano’s distant sobbing, wondering what went wrong— but she tries to focus on her youngest prima to make sure she’s alright.
She hears everything. Mirabel! Bruno! She knows! Finally, finally, someone else knows. After years, Dolores finally discovers Bruno’s reason for hiding and her heart breaks all over again.
Before she can tell anyone, all hell breaks lose. The house falls apart and her gift is done and she can’t tell if her tío made it out alright. Mirabel is missing. Everything is a mess and the world for the first time is muffled and distant to her. She feels disconnected.
And then they come back. Mirabel, Abuela and Bruno. Together. There’s hugging and laughing and even if she can’t hear it anymore she can guess her tío Bruno’s frantic heartbeat when she finally approaches him.
“You’re much taller than I remembered,” he blurts out.
She finally gets to do what she wanted since she was twelve. She hugs him. He only hesitates for a second before returning the embrace. “You snore so loud,” she whispers.
He laughs, loud and clear. No more hiding.
Karen, Pearson and Javier sing I’m A Poor Lonesome Cowboy in camp.
