#Childhood meetings

[kuroneko1815]

The Handkerchief

Okay, am I the only one who thought Penelope might have been slightly jealous when Callisto brought up the fact that the handkerchief was from another woman? It seemed to me like Callisto might have been angling for one from her. (And I’m disregarding the translation that says it was given before the hunt. Because what I remembered reading originally was before the war).

There’s a symbolism of accepting and keeping a woman’s hanky which means that you accept and reciprocate her feelings.

Callisto: I’ll give it to the Princess and maybe she’ll give me one as an indirect love confession.

Penelope, a bit jealous: Here, wash it up and give it back to her if you don’t want it.

Callisto: The Princess is cold but I love it.

(Callisto likes the chase)

It could be that the handkerchief was really Callisto’s and he was giving it to her, just hoping for an exchange as well because then she’d be obligated to keep it to wash it and she could conveniently forget it and give him a new one.

Meaning that they reciprocate each other’s feelings and want a relationship. But he also wasn’t sure how it’d be taken so he tells her it’s from another woman to gauge her reaction.

Because Callisto at 12 or 13 receiving a hanky and holding on to it without it getting soiled or stained, or just plain ruined while he was at war for almost ten years is nearly impossible unless he left it at his palace. In that case, how’d he even remember something like that? Like this man, I think also has a case of subjective memory… He purposefully forgot that he nearly killed her at the maze.

-

-

If you’ve read this far… welcome to the hidden side plot from the past.

Penelope at the age of seven was an independent child who had grown up practical and pragmatic but loved deeply by her family. Penelope was there with her mother and the caravan and runs into an older child who was about eleven or twelve. He was a pretty boy with hair like gold and eyes like the rubies the wealthier merchants traded.

She was unknowing of his real identity, of the Crown Prince that now holds her hands and takes in the streets of the capital, the narrow corridors of the slums that she’s taken to showing him around. He’s a wealthy child, she can tell immediately from the make of his clothes. The merchant in her can easily see that. The poor commoner child that she was felt some slight envy at the obvious luxuries he had. But more than that… he looked the very definition of rich and she loved looking at rich people. Especially when they were like this boy who was like a living jewelry. Gold and rubies.

She shows him the life of a commoner, of the children she’s learned to play with. And teaches him what it’s like, let’s him experience what her life is like. She calls him Cal and he calls her Penny.

Mother calls for her and she pulls him along, laughing happily. (She doesn’t know that the boy looks enraptured at the child with dark pink hair who laughs so freely). Mother pats her head and bends down to kiss her and give her a hug, inquiring over her health before turning to Cal who she introduces immediately.

Mother smiles at him and pats him as well. Gives him a small kiss on the forehead and a hug. “Any friend of my daughter is a friend of mine as well.”

The caravan, her family, all laughingly echo that. And they give him a place at their table. Invite some of the others as well and share a simple meal. Cal watches all this with a wistful longing smile, listening to their tales and happy teasing. (He nods to himself, resolute. He marches off to war soon and he knows what he needs to fight for now. It’s this tangible thing, this one happy family. This warm girl who smiles and laughs freely.)

When the sun dips low, Cal says goodbye. Penelope is used to this. Never has friends that she gets to keep, is used to hellos and goodbyes and reunions and distances but somehow she thinks it’s different with Cal, as if he’s found the answer to some question that’s been in his mind for so long. She wonders what it was but knows better to ask so she wishes him well.

She has nothing to give but a simple handkerchief. It’s not to the quality that he’s no doubt used to but it’s the best thing she has, it’s clean and new. Grandma had made it for her. Had woven it herself and created the patterns on it. She presses it to his hands.

“For you.” She says. “To remember today.”

He’s silent, looking at it with a frown but he nods.

“Have a good life, Cal. And be safe.”

The golden boy walks away into the distance and she returns to her family.

-

-

Callisto walks no more than twenty steps into the alley he’d turned into when he stops. Porter appears silent like a shadow along with three other men, his guards who’d been shadowing him from a distance. He knows they’d been following him since he snuck out but he just… he needed this moment.

Needed to understand the heart of the Empire, of this place that he was being sacrificed for. Needed to see why he was being sent off to fight in a war. Why he needed to bloody his hands, his mind, his heart; why he needed to taint his very soul.

But he’s found that answer. He wants to do it for her. This innocent little girl who welcomed him without another thought.

“Are you done, Your Highness?” Porter asked. Not commenting on the handkerchief he holds in his hands. Staring at the delicate fabric.

“Yes, let’s return to the palace now.”

If the Empire had more children, more families like that one… he wanted to protect them. He remembered the spike of jealousy at the way her family had so easily shown affection. At the open love her mother showered her with. His forehead feels warm from where the woman had given him a motherly kiss.

His heart has been closed for awhile now, after his mother’s death. After, the remarriage. After the assassination. But for a moment… even if he felt like an outsider as he ate that simple fare, he felt that he wanted to belong. Felt as though the food was the most delicious he’d ever eaten.

-

-

Callisto marches off to war not too long after that. He brings the handkerchief with him, cherishes it and keeps it practically pristine. Holds on to it only when his hands are clean. Washes it gently by hand when it gets even a single speck of dirt. Uses it to remind him of that one day when he got to act as a normal child with her; uses it to remind him of the innocence he wants to protect.

-

-

Time has dulled their memories of one another. Callisto no longer remembers her name or what she looks like. All he has is the simple handkerchief made of common cotton to remember her by. And the ghost of her laughter ringing in his ears, the feeling he felt when he held her hand and the warmth that spread through him when she looked him in the eyes bravely and gave him that sunshine smile.

-

-

Penelope’s memories are warped through all that she’s suffered from. The abuse has her lock those happy days away, knows that she’d shatter if she remembered them. The regressions don’t help. Now all she remembers is pain, humiliation, and death. Her soul cracks and shatters, forming anew in another world before she’s returned to this world.

-

-

Even after the war, even after the jaded, brutal thing that he becomes. He still keeps the handkerchief with him. He never offers it to anyone.

At least he didn’t. And then Penelope Eckhart came into the picture and he finds himself offering the handkerchief to her. Feels right to do it, even when she dirties it with soot and gives it back to him with an annoyed face.

He tucks it back into his pocket determined to wash it when he got back to the palace.

-

-

After all is said and done, Penelope finds the handkerchief again among his possessions. He doesn’t try to justify it. But she merely raises a brow. Penelope now remembers the child she’d been.

Touches the handkerchief and feels the fabric. There’s one feature to it that she knows deeply. A minuscule P is embroider there.

“I didn’t know you’d kept it all these years. I’m glad you remembered that day even after all these years, Cal.” She said.

His eyes snap up to her and he laughs, feels as though fate had been telling him where his heart and future lay all along with that handkerchief. “I’m glad I got to meet you again, my beloved Penny.” He pulls her in for a kiss.

[herohikara-wol]

FFXIV Write 2k23 - Day 10

Pick Your Own (Meetings) - Dravanian AU, y'all are just stuck with it now.

Reymanaud had four fearsome brothers and three terrifying sisters. The whole time he’d been in the room, they hadn’t left him alone, not for an instant. One was always beside him and keeping a keen eye out as if guarding their small brother with their life. They’d laugh at jokes, flirt when flirted with, and even dance with others as the night went on. However one was always there to keep an eye on them, and Haurchefant had a lot of time to notice this through the window he was stuck watching the party through.

He didn’t even know why he bothered watching, these parties had been a bitter sore spot for him since childhood and watching from the outside only made his anger grow. Haurchefant wasn’t allowed to attend parties alongside his siblings. His egg had been given to his father, the last gift his late mother gave to her secret love. Edmont had kept him safe from an angry wife, even in the egg. She’d told him to smash it, he’d argued that all children are precious. It had been the final rift in their marriage born of status instead of love.

Which meant the countess hated him, she hated him for having his mother’s downy soft feathery wings instead of the proper scaled ones like his brother. She hated his soft silvery hair, the same color as his mother’s, and her mother’s before her, and her mother’s before her, all the way up to a clutch laid by Hracevelgr after the devouring of his beloved Shiva. Most of all, she hated him for having his father’s charming smile. She couldn’t look at him without being reminded of her failed marriage- so she did everything in her power to never have to see him.

Once upon a time he’d been barred from a party at the manor, and he’d met Francel. The pair became unlikely friends and had experimented with each other in the way young Dravanians did when trying to figure out the difference between fondness, mating, and love. This time, he met Reymanaud, and an odd mixture of jealousy and heartbreak hit him. Rey was a small thing, but he took up more space by sheer personality alone. He filled the room when he walked into it, chipper and bright and gentle and soft. So unlike most other Dzemael boys, because just by looking at him, anyone with eyes could tell he was adopted.

Which was the sticking point. Adopted. This small fluffy eared boy four summers his junior was adopted into a noble family without a single question. He was no Greystone, not like Haurchefant was. He was a Dzemael, and no one questioned why there was a rabbit amongst dragons. Between the noble cruel knight Percival and the high inquisitor Charibert, no one dared accuse Reymanaud of not belonging in the family. So why was he allowed to attend parties and functions like the rest of his brothers, and Haurchefant was left out in the garden, watching through the window?

His eyes made contact with the dark haired viera and he ducked down to hide, lest his stepmother catch him again, but the damage had been done. Soon enough the door opened, and that too small, too fragile young boy stepped out. “Hello? It’s cold outside, don’t you want to come in?” He shut the door behind him, making it clear he’d been allowed away from the watchful eye of his siblings. Or he was just that good at sneaking away from them.

“I’m not allowed. The lady of the house doesn’t want me to attend.” Hopefully that would be enough for the small boy, he’d turn and leave following proper decorum like any good noble child and that would be the end of it.

“Well that’s bloody stupid. Come on then, if she gets mad at you, I’ll tell her I invited you in as my guest.” That wasn’t how things were done, or how this conversation should have gone at all.

“You can’t invite someone into someone else’s house, my lord.” Clearly he was too young to understand, or he didn’t have a proper education on the matters. Supposedly Charibert was from a commoner’s background, maybe that was why their son didn’t know what hospitality rules were.

The small boy thought for a moment, ears drooping as he tapped his foot on the ground. His face scrunched up until his smile grew wide and wicked and his eyes lit up like crystals before a fire. “I can’t, but my parents can say they brought you as a playmate for me. To distract me when I get bored so my brothers can mingle and find mates and settle down without having to babysit me the whole night. How good are you at lying? I’m awful at it, but if you claim we met before tonight and you’re good at convincing people, maybe we can sell it.”

“How can an Inquistor’s son be shite at lying?” The words tumbled out before he had a chance to tell Reymanaud how terrible this plan actually was.

“Halone help me, I’m too honest for my own good, it’s a curse I tell you. They named me after a bloody saint and now I can’t lie, it’s so bad even Father pities me and his job is exposing lies!”

Haurchefant found himself snickering a bit despite his earlier anger. “You really think your parents would allow it?”

“I know at least one of my dads would publicly shame the countess for locking someone from her own house out in the cold. Maybe both, at the same time, but one would be more subtle about it.” He offered his hand to Haurchefant, and reflexively, Haurchefant took it. “Just act like you belong, and follow my lead.”

Just like that, Reymanaud’s protective detail of siblings became his own. 

Not one questioned where their little brother had gone, or why he came back with the count’s bastard son. They simply hovered around the pair like nothing had changed. Florine brought them both drinks and a plate of food from a table, claiming she’d grabbed too much to eat herself and figured they’d do it for her. Francel found him after a short while and even danced with first Rey, then himself, then Dacien. Then he found himself dancing with Rey and for just one night, the world made some sort of sense. He’d have no regrets the morning after, no matter how angry his stepmother was. Tonight he had finally figured out what he’d spent all that time looking through the window for.

A place to belong.

[hairmetal666]

Steve wins the bat plush at a fair when he's seven. He doesn't care about bats, but it's the prize for making all five baskets in the basketball game, so he gets the little bat. Its eyes are a little crooked and one wing is slightly smaller than the other, but it being lopsided sort of makes it cuter.

He and his dad, they're supposed to be going on rides now, but his dad's pager keeps going off. He puts Steve next to a funnel cake stand, tells him not to move, and goes in search of a pay phone. Fifteen minutes pass, and Steve is bored under the flashing lights and tinkling music. He wants to play not sit and wait.

Eventually, he drifts back towards the midway, watches the people rushing by, searches for a sign of his dad's return. His attention is caught by another boy at the basketball booth. He has to be about Steve's age, with a mop of dark curls on top of his head and a jean jacket that's slightly too big, sleeves flopping over his hands as he lines up his shots.

This boy, he's terrible at basketball. Every shot is too high or too short or goes wide, but he's trying. Even from this distance, Steve can see how hard he's trying. He uses up his five balls, fishes into his jacket pocket for more money, and gets five more.

He misses every shot. This time, when he goes back for more money, he comes up empty. Steve thinks he sees his lip shaking.

A man, one in a leather jacket and boots that Steve thinks look mean, comes up to the boy, drops a heavy hand on his shoulder. He's too far away to hear the conversation, assumes the boy asks to play again and the man's response is a shaken head and a tight smile. They walk away from the games, right towards Steve, who slinks back to the side of the midway, not wanting to be caught staring.

"What was it you wanted? That stupid bat? Just another piece of trash you wanna bring in my house." Steve hears as they pass.

The boy nods, but keeps his eyes down and to the side.

He feels bad then. Felt bad before, but now he looks at his own bat, at its funny eyes and poorly attached wings, and wishes he could hand it over to the boy who really wants it. Steve almost does, then, makes to go after them, but his dad appears, dropping a hand to Steve's shoulder and saying, "ready to hit those rides?" And he knows the opportunity is gone, knows his dad will say it's too soft, not what men do.

Steve manages to lose himself for a while in the swirling lights and funhouse music and carnival rides, forget about the little bat in his back pocket and the boy who wanted one so desperately. But then his dad's pager goes off some more, he goes back to the pay phone, and Steve ducks into the low brick building that houses the bathrooms.

His eyes immediately land on the same boy from the basketball game. His eyes are red, face damp, obviously from tears, and Steve just--

"Here." He shoves the bat into the boy's chest.

For a second, the brownest eyes Steve's ever seen widen at him, before narrowing in a harsh glare, the boy's teeth barred.

"Why?" He snarls.

Steve thinks he may regret every choice that led him to this but he says, he says, "Because I want you to have it."

The boy blinks a few times, hand reaching out to gently pinch the bat's smallest wing. "You sure?"

Steve nods and the bat is slowly withdrawn from his grasp.

"No takesies-backsies?"

"It's yours."

The boy looks at the bat in awe, and Steve says, "see? It already looks happier with you."

The boy's beaming smile is cut-off by a voice calling from the door, "you in there,? I ain't got time to be waiting for your boohooing."

"Coming!" The boy carefully tucks the bat into an inner pocket of his jacket. "Thank you," he whispers, eyes big and glistening and happy, before he disappears out the door.

---

13 years later, give or take a few months, and Steve stands in the cracked shell of a bisected trailer, rummaging through what remains of a life well-lived, searching for anything whole. He's already found a few undamaged mugs and clean hats, but this room--it took a lot of damage. The brunt of it, really. Some sick sort of joke, after everything.

It's mostly rubble in here, scraps of fabric; slivers of notebook paper, magazine, poster; crumbled shards of vinyl and cassette plastic. A few times he comes across the disembodied limb of one of those dnd figures, and something weird happens to his throat.

In the far corner there's half of a dresser collapsed into itself, and he shuffles through the debris to see what he can find. There's something, soft and black, just the edge of it, peaking out from under half of a drawer face. He pulls it out, careful as can be and it's--it's a plush bat. It's a little dirty, but unharmed, though its eyes are a little wonky, and one wing is smaller than the other.

He holds it and he stares and he has to brace himself against the wall. It can't be--it's not the same one--but he remembers those big brown eyes and the curls and--

"Harrington," a warm, rich voice calls from what's left of the hallway. "You get lost in there?"

Eddie shuffles in, slow, careful with his crutches. And it--it took so long, months and months of convalesce and physical therapy, still physical therapy, but he's here. He's alive. He's perfect. And the something blooming between them, it's not spoken yet, but it's there, growing, and now, now--

"Oh my god, you found Lilith! I thought she was toast."

"Lilith?" He's still cradling the little lopsided bat in his hands, but moves closer to hand it over to Eddie.

"Yes, Lilith." Eddie takes the bat, presses it to his chest. "The first boy I ever loved gave her to me."

His heart turns over in his chest and when he swallows his throat clicks. Eddie doesn't notice, he's smiling softly at the bat, at Lilith, but then, "why are you looking at me like that?"

"First boy you ever loved?" He says. He thinks he sounds normal.

Somehow, Eddie's smile grows even softer. "Yeah. Roan County Fair, years ago. Tried to win her, but--" he clicks his tongue--"never had great hand-eye coordination. And then this kid just gave her to me out of nowhere. I used to think I was going to marry him."

"And now?"

Eddie laughs. "I grew up, Steve."

And for a second, he doesn't know what to say, but then, "I was right then, huh? That she'd be happier with you."

He stares at Steve, those same big brown eyes, wide and glistening. "Steve that was--Steve?" Eddie presses a hand over his mouth, overcome, before launching himself into Steve's arms. The crutches clatter to the floor, but Steve has him, will always have him, no matter what.

"I can't believe you kept her," Steve whispers.

"God, I carry her everywhere. She's Corroded Coffin's mascot, and you--Steve, I can't believe that was you."

"Surprise," he bumps Eddie's forehead with his.

They hold each other in the center of the destruction, but none of that matters right now, not when it feels like every moment since they very first met as children was leading them to this.

From the other half of the trailer, they hear footsteps, chattering, Wayne and Robin and Dustin, but Steve wants this to last a little longer.

"So, marriage...that still off the table?"

Eddie laughs softly, nuzzles his face against Steve's neck. "Are you kidding, sweetheart? No way I'm letting you go."

[bet-on-me-13]

Sandwiches

So! Clark is a Kid, and he is making a sandwich, but the Ketchup he puts on it accidentally makes a Summoning Sigil.

He turns around to find a Glowing Eldritch Being floating behind him.

He stares at the Eldritch Beast.

The Eldritch Beast stares at him.

Clark wordlessly picks up 2 more slices of bread, makes a other sandwich, and offers it to Being.

It takes the Sandwich, looks at him, and smirks before saying, "Not bad." And disappearing.

The next day, Clark's parents told him that they were going to have an extremely bountiful Harvest that year, and that they would be able to pay off all of their remaining Debts, lifting all of the stress that he had seen them begin to accumulate over the years.

Later that week during the Party to celebrate their success, Clark sneaks away with a plate of Food, draws that same circle on his favorite Tree, and leaves the Plate of food alongside a note saying "Thanks!"

And thus was the start of an incredible, but rather strange, friendship.

(BTW I left the specific Ghost blank to play around with, cause maybe it wasn't Danny)

[royaltea000]

he could not control the class 😔

[jadecantcreate]

theyre holding hands……(and being shy about it)

hootsie and gricko doodles (mostly hootsie)

both requested by @nicohasperished !

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

oh hey! i was reading a fic the other day where Wangji was once misspelled as Wangu. which leads me to: MDZS Pingu-style??? noot noot!

Do you think love can bloom on the sea ice?

[luckyjorabbit]

Obsessed w Doffy’s sunglasses/googles combo so I had to draw somethin with it but then wani too <3

[blackbatcass]

bart and wally’s relationship is hilarious but when you take a step back it’s excruciating. they can’t stand each other but they’re bonded by one unbreakable similarity: iris west was the first person to ever love them when the world told them they were unloveable

[bleucalire]

« Mr Henry (🐇) was lost in the woods ! But Anthony found him !! »

[fruitsofhell]

Dumbest part of criticism of SU Future is when people say "Future is character assassination of Steven" and "The show trivializes/poorly represents mental illness" in the same breath. If you think a character whom has suffered immense interpersonal and physical trauma having breakdowns and snapping at people because of being triggered is mutually exclusive to a character being kind and empathetic, I don't think you have a right to speak on mental illness rep.

Seeing a character who is defined by kindness and compassion crack under that pressure of being there for everyone like that is crazy to see in a kids show. Personally I hadn't felt that seen by anything in a while, and it's just offensive as hell to me to say that a character acting traumatized in a way that isn't sad puppy dog eyes means they're mischaracterized or abusive now. That's half the point of Future that Steven didn't know how to express his problems within his role as precious angel.

He wasn't mischaracterized, he was recontextualized. It's like people can accept "this mean character was once nice but changed cause trauma", or "sweet character is now depressed cause trauma", but the reality that someone youre familiar with can change dramatically due to trauma - acting angry and abrasive instead of sad and demure - is blasphemous somehow.

Double points if they then say the gems or Greg were dumbed down to make Steven look better. Like, My Brother In Christ, they are exhibiting the exact lack of awareness you are thinking it's impossible for a person like Steven to have angry or vengeful trauma reactions.

EDIT: Actually not gonna leave this in the tags -

Something-something ableism, something-something not accepting dramatic and unpalatable expressions of mental illness in fiction and likely not for people IRL.

[intairnwetrust]

Archeron Sisters dressed up as Winx Club characters

Art by @Jessdraw.s on Instagram

[rystiel]

stanley, 17, freshly kicked out with a sense of hope that had yet to fade

[68spidey]

Hey weird thing to tell you but I had a dream about your tmnt last night, there wasn’t really a plot but Leo and Usagi were there

I wonder what shenanigans they got up to!

[ochablooms]

to belong

a short comic about takenaka

[rheya28]

Just like old times